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velvetydream · 4 months

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꒰ :🥀 [ Till death do us part ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : What if Alastors dear little darling wife, his partner in crime, the person he thought he'd never see again, turns up with Mimzy on the day of the visit of the big boss of hell.

Pairing : Alastor x fem! Reader

Word count : 1899 Words

Genre : Fluff , Drama , Angst

Warnings ➵ Mentions of death, you're shorter than

Vaggie, possessive Alastor, swearing

Prequel -> > The radio star lost <

a/n : I love this trope ngl, tried to not make him to much out of character, hope it worked.. T T

Also I'm rather new to Hazbin Hotel, so I say sorry if anythings seems wrong or out of character! ><

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The whole hotel was a bit chaotic right now, Lucifer himself would be visiting in just a bit and Charlie wanted everything to be perfect. Colorful decorations were hanging everywhere, a banner was hung up for welcoming the king of hell, how does one even welcome the king of hell into their hotel? Charlie was probably the most stressed of all, but Vaggie did her best to calm her nervous wreck of a girlfriend down.

The moment Lucifer stepped into the hotel was meant to make everything go down, Alastor and his Ego had somehow always a snarky remark against Lucifer. Charlie tried her best to keep them apart, introducing her other friends, before she announced how she would be needing his help. And again the banter between the king of hell and the radio demon started all over again. As if throwing insults at each other before wasn't enough already, now they were pulling at Charlie left and right, like two babies fighting over a toy.

But all things come to an end, which Charlie was thankful for right now, as Mimzy, apparently a friend of Alastor, which was interesting to know he even had any, came barging in with a grand entrance. As the woman now settles down at the bar, talking with the others, Alastor and Charlie took Lucifer on a walk around, Husker disappearing for a second too, but soon joining them at the bar again, a scowl on his face, but something else, undescribable behind his eyes.

A bang was heard through the whole hotel as the entrance door was slammed open and heard could be an angry voice. "MIMZY! You little bitch!" A demon, a slight bit shorter than Vaggie probably, walked in. A scowl evident on the face, as her eyes scan over the place, before falling on the woman she was looking for. "How dare you leave me in the shit like that?! You've got it coming if those sharks don't kill you, I certainly will!" Ignoring the questioning looks of Angel and Husker, you stomp over to the blonde, ready to yank at her hair, when suddenly a bit of debris was thrown through the window and landed beside you, barely missing you by a hair. "The fuck?" The demon's head craned around, looking out the window and there they were, those fuckers Mimzy was in debt to.

You didn't really have time to react much, as three people stormed into the entrance hall, all you could catch was a glimpse of red before the person ran outside, screams of the sharks could be heard, at least those were finally taken care of.

The loan sharks were gone and fought off quickly by that person, his voice now directed to Mimzy, your own eyes on her yourself with a scowl. She and that red demon apparently knew each other quite well, as Mimzy was walking to the door, you finally really looked at the demon. He had short red and black hair, ears sat atop his head, despite scowling Mimzy he was smiling, though a sinister smile it seems. His attire was almost completely red too, a cane was clutched in his hands, as he watched Mimzy walk off, you could only make out a small part of his face. The man seemed so familiar as if you had known him for a long time.. Your heart was running a mile right now, it was getting hard to breathe, and then...

"Thank you Alastor, really.." The long-haired blonde spoke up.. That name, it couldn't be right? Mimzy would've told you, she knew him, she would've definitely told you.. right? You must be mistaken right now.. Your eyes were fixated on the man called Alastor, the voices and sounds around you were all a mush, drowned out as your brain was going all around. Now that you could see his face, he definitely had some resemblance to him.. to your late husband, who had died before you. You were his assistant, his partner in crime, when the news hit you that he was shot, it broke your heart, but still, you continued on alone, killing. That's probably what also got you to hell, well sooner than later you were figured out and soon arrived here in hell.

"Yo smiles, this girly is gawking at you for minutes now." Slowly voices were coming back to you, the white spider beside you talked, pointing his thumb at you, the red-haired now meeting your eyes, his ears straightening and standing alert like the ones of a deer caught in headlight. What irony if he was your Alastor, the irony of dooming him with deer-like features, after getting shot assumed for a deer while hiding one of the many bodies. That day you decided to let him go alone, oh if you just hadn't done that, maybe you both would be alive or you would've at least arrived together in hell.

Alastor was taking slow steps to you, the smile on his face looking strained, yet it never disappeared, his hand was reaching out for you but stopped. Eyes moving over your form, taking in everything. Resemblance to his wife evident, but.. how did he never notice you before? Had he ever met you, walked past, maybe even taken a second glance but dismissed this feeling he has right now.

Swiftly he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him, ignoring the calls of his name of the other residents, his mind plagued by one only thought, more like one only person.. you.

Stumbling behind him, his grip rather firm on your wrist, yet it felt comforting as if you knew he would never hurt you. Not in your lifetime and also not now in your afterlife. Eyes watching the back of his head, you were wondering what expression his face harbors right now. Was he happy? Was he confused? Disappointed? Maybe he knew where you were all this time but didn't want to meet you. No, he wasn't like this. He may have been distant sometimes while alive, but in the end, he was always a darling to you. Taking care of you, just as he vowed on your wedding day. A distant memory, yet one of the most beautiful ones you have.

A door was opened and as you were pulled inside, the door closed. Steps echoed through the room, you noticed a forest on the other side of the room, but that didn't rather faze you, eyes on him again.. and him only. "Al-" You were interrupted by laughter, the man before you was hugging himself, his arms around him, yet you still weren't able to see his face. "D-Do you know.. How often have I thought about you?!" His voice was loud, a static sound like from a radio accompanied it. One of his hands was tearing at his hair now. "That bitch never told me... I'll make sure to kill her for that.. She kept you from me.." The laughter got even louder, as if the man before you was going insane.

This behavior was nothing new to you, he used to be like this, high on adrenalin when another murder was successful.. Or when he was close to being figured out by the police and detectives, yet he always slipped away right through their incapable fingers.

"I always wondered what happened to you, if you grew old with someone new.." If you were able to see his face right now, you would be able to see the sinister yet possessive smile on his face, his eyes darting around the room.

This all ended in a second when he felt a soft hand on his. He knew this hand, he also knew the person it belonged to like the front of his pocket. "I would never, I carried on alone in your memories, yet I was never as skilled as you darling, so sooner than later they connected all the dots to me." A low chuckle could be heard again, the static radio sound calmed down again too. The tall man slowly turned around now, his hand engulfing your own, his fingers softly running over your own, before he linked them together. How he had missed this feeling, despite having a distaste for people touching him, you were different. Your touch felt warm, like the summer sun kissing his skin, it felt comforting.

"I've missed you mon amour.." His voice was soft, probably the softest it had ever been since he had arrived in hell. His hand guides yours up to his lips, as he closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a smile, now softer, on his lips. He was never one for kissing you on the lips, he definitely favored kissing your hand, like the gentleman he has always been. "I figured with how you were talking seconds ago my dear.." A soft smile was creeping up onto your lips too, mirroring his own one. Red eyes open again, your hand still pressed to his face, but now he was rather holding your hand to his cheek. "Oh how I wished I could've stayed with you my darling, we would've been so successful.." Giggling at his words, with him at your side, you probably would have been going for a long time. "But who says we can't be successful now?" A smirk etched its way onto your husband's face, oh how he loved your daring little mind, always thirsting for blood. With you by his side again now, he would definitely be able to get everything done that he wanted.

"Shall we go back? I want to meet your friends properly." Wanting to pull away your hand, he softly gives you a tug, your head landing on his chest now. Wide eyes look the the side now, as you weren't really able to move, his arms having snaked around you and his chin resting on your head. This was unusual much physical contact, but figured that you hadn't seen each other for multiple decades he yearned for your touch just a slight bit. Your arms lying around him, embracing the hug. "Let's just stay here a few minutes more, we got enough time to introduce you to everyone down there but for now.. let me have you for myself." Nodding softly, your head rests on his chest, as your eyes close and you simply enjoy the presence of your dearly beloved husband.

"What do you mean 'married to smiles'?!" Angel, as he was introduced to you, shouted from his place on the couch now, staring at you flabbergasted. "We've been married for quite a few years before his death." Smiling you answered his question. Alastor didn't like all the attention you were getting, but sooner than later he would have you all to himself again when you two go back to his cozy hotel room or the radio tower. "So you two fu-" Angel wasn't even able to finish his question before he shut himself up as he noticed the look on Alastors face. This time he would've been dead for sure if he finished that question.

Overall everyone invited you happily into their little hotel family, it was amazing. Charlie immediately took a liking to you and if you're being honest she quickly was viewed by you like a daughter.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor #alastor x reader #x you #x reader #imagine #imagines #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin imagine

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artdcnaldson · 2 days

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Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader

this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously

Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.

A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!

It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin.

The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.

"Working late?”

The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”

Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.

“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze.

“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”

He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass.

“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”

A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”

You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.

It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable.

Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag.

“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”

You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed.

“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.

The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”

Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer.

How long?

You took another drink.

“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.

“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”

His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking.

“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”

You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.

“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly.

You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”

A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”

He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn.

“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”

That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”

He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”

Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”

“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”

Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.

It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse.

“At the moment, yes.”

“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.

”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”

That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out.

“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”

It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.

You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up.

Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace.

It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one.

“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”

You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.

“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone.

The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.

The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.

Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in.

You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down.

Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway.

It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.

You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side.

You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably.

You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.

Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression.

Second choice, second choice, second choice.

Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled.

His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.

That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him.

It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed.

When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare.

Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.

Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser.

In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely.

“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later.

He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt.

Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat.

“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”

The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands.

How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?

He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”

His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.

“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”

Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”

He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip.

He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him.

You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave.

Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core.

”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”

Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.

He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation.

Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.

It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit.

When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?

He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back.

“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place.

He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”

His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge.

When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly.

You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair.

But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then.

You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”

His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?

“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”

You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled.

“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”

You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.

“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh.

He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle.

His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins.

“Tell me you’ve missed me.”

Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.

”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.

He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.

“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”

He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.

You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours.

When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.

His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies.

“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”

It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.

He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.

”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”

His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever.

Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.

You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.

When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest.

“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.

But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room.

”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”

He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying.

“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”

You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.

“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”

You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“

“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”

“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.”

His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”

You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”

He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”

Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”

The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.

Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all.

The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise.

Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?

”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”

“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.

“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”

Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.

Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind.

When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.

“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded.

He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”

You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.

A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes.

He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne.

“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.

“Patrick—“

“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“

“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”

You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”

He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”

You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”

”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”

You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat.

“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”

Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”

You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.

You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”

Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.

You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”

Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out.

“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”

You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod.

“Show me.”

Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”

You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”

You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever.

“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”

Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs.

His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.

“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist.

He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.

“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”

He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”

You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”

You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?”

He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance.

You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”

His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”

And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy.

Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.

The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need.

“Close,” you gasped.

He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.”

You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock.

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“

You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth.

When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep.

Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly. A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel.

“I love you, you know that?” He asked.

You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves.

“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.

He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”

“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest.

He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.

It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”

You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.

When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him.

You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air.

When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place.

Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment.

When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.

On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls.

The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.

You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones.

Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him.

You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.

He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”

The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.

At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early.

As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word.

You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.

#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader #changeover au #my writing

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 7 months

Note

Can I request for your Halloween celebration dracula x fem reader with the prompt you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, with loads of fluff and maybe some smut please

.⋆｡A Chance｡⋆.

Count Vlad Dracula x plus size reader

When you are sentenced to death by your village, the monster in the woods gives you a chance at a better life- by his side

Warnings: minor angst (reader is sacrificed by her village), fluff, i kind of followed the Dracula Untold backstory because he is so stupidly hot and I love the angst, love confessions, mentions of blood, Vlad is slightly toxic but what do you expect, biting, sort of implied death? reader is turned

WC: 2.9k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Halloween Celebration

Every town had their own ghost stories, legends that grew from whispers in the night. But the monster that stalked your home was very real and very dangerous. It stalked the shadows between the small homes, picking off the weakest of the population in the dead of night.

Fear was woven into your very existence, taught to you since the moment you could comprehend your parent’s words. Your senses were constantly tuned to the world around you, listening for any extra footsteps, eyes locked on the castle that loomed over your home but it wasn’t enough, not when the elders of the village determined that in order to protect everyone, only one must be sacrificed.

You were the easy choice- young enough to be a valuable meal but not a child anymore, you were pure and soft, unable to protect yourself in the vast wilderness that surrounded you. You screamed and cried and fought them as hard as you could but it did you no good, you still ended up at the steps of the steps of the castle, barefoot and terrified.

Frozen in fear, you trembled as the huge ornate doors opened before you. Candlelight spilled into the night air illuminating your way, but you refused to move. Some baser instinct in your brain told you that if you remained totally still, the monster would leave you alone and once dawn finally broke, you could run to another town.

Alas, it knew you were there. “Come inside before you catch your death of cold.” A voice called to you, urging you into its den. Acting of their own accord, your legs pushed your forwards and into the warmth of the grand hall, even as your mind screamed at you to turn and run.

As soon as you were inside, the doors slammed shut behind you, sealing you into the place that would become your tomb. “Such a skittish little thing aren’t you.” The voice bounced off the towering walls and you whipped your head around, attempting to pinpoint where it came from.

Your heart pounded in your ears as your stomach twisted in fear. A sigh echoed around you. “You needn’t be frightened little one, I will not hurt you.” The voice was far softer now, the tone more of a man comforting a scared animal rather than a deadly creature taunting its prey.

“Please don’t kill me.” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could. The smell of copper and ancient books overwhelmed your senses as someone stood before you.

A soft touch against your full cheek made you flinch but the hand did not move away, in fact the tips of his fingers brushed your skin, travelling slowly downwards until they touched your lips. “How could I destroy something so pure?” He whispered.

Tentatively, you cracked open one eye and your breath caught.

Before you stood the most handsome man you could imagine. Black curls framed a square jaw, dotted with dark stubble. His eyes seemed brown at first but the longer you looked, the more you realised that they were an incredibly deep red. Shallow wrinkles decorated the outside of his eyes and his mouth, making him appear incredibly human. A smile pulled at his thin lips, exposing a pair of deadly fangs. He wore an outfit of delicately embroidered silk, making him appear as a lord or a king.

Your body relaxed, allowing him to cup your jaw with a fondness you couldn’t quite understand. “There you go. See, nothing to be afraid of.” His accent was thick, very much like the way your grandfather used to speak when you were little. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you were outside my home in the dead of night wearing so little?”

It was only then that you looked down at the thin white slip you had been wearing when the men broke into your home and pulled you from your bed. “They brought me here.” You managed to say, your voice thick with tears.

The man’s dark brows lifted, prompting you to continue. You doubted you couldn’t disobey if you tried. “They said it was to stop more deaths.”

His slightly crooked nose twitched as his eyes flashed with anger. “Foolish.” He snarled under his breath, and you gasped as he squeezed your wide hip tightly, you hadn’t even realised that his hand had moved. That seemed to break him from his trance.

“Ah I apologise. To touch a lady like yourself in that way is most inappropriate. Here, let us get you warm and fed.”

Sunset licked at the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of purple and pinks until they bled into the back of night, giving way to the silver of stars. You had slept through the day, too exhausted from the night’s events to even eat once you had bathed.

Your benefactor had provided you with a truly lavish room and clothes that were slightly outdated but made of incredibly expensive materials. He told you to rest and that he would rejoin you the next night since he had some business to take care of during the day. You were so tired, you didn’t question him but now, you wondered what possible business he could be attending to.

Too frightened to leave your room, you settled on looking through the small collection of books on the shelf next to the bed. Many of the titles were in languages you could not understand but there were a few that you recognised. Love stories and tales of valour, stories you were told when you were young before your parents had died.

Absent-mindedly, you plucked one out and turned to the first page. The words were so achingly familiar- a girl is forced into the servitude of a monster by her family. He is wary of her at first but slowly, they begin to fall for one another until she kisses him after they are attacked by the villagers and he nearly perishes. The beast turns back into a man and they spend the rest of their lives in bliss.

“I see you are quite fond of that story as well, it has always been a favourite of mine.” His voice startled you but terror did not accompany it. You looked up from the book to see the man, who had not yet told you his name, leaning against the doorway. Unlike the night before, he wore a simple white tunic and dark trousers.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks as you spotted the way the dark curls on his chest were exposed by the loosely tied shirt. “My mother used to read it to me.” You stammered out, causing his smile to become even softer.

“She must have been a woman with taste.” You nodded absentmindedly, tracing the spine of the book with your fingertips. Silence settled between you and after a moment, he spoke again.

“You may ask questions, I will not punish you for being curious.” He gently took the book from you, placing it back onto the shelf before he took your hands into his own. His skin was cold, unnaturally so, and it sent a chill down your spine.

“What- who are you?” The words flew from your lips. You expected him to show some offence to your question but he just chuckled and brought your hands to his mouth. He placed a kiss on your knuckles.

“I am Count Vlad Dracula and this is my home, as it has been for centuries.” Your breath hitched, he continued. “As for your other question, I am an ancient creature who must consume blood to live. There are many names for my kind but I prefer the term vampire.”

“Are you going to feed from me?” Your voice was barely a whisper, merely a soft exhale forced from your lungs.

“No, I would never wish to mar your perfect skin with something so sinful, not unless you beg.” Your heart jumped.

“Why would I beg for that?” But he just shook his head with a cocky smirk, refusing to answer. “Why didn’t you kill me like the others?”

Dracula sighed heavily and released your hands. “There are many monsters in this world and some are not trapped by the night. Killers and rapists, evil men who lie and manipulate for personal gain. Those are who sustain me. Their blood is sour, tainted, but I refuse to kill those who have done nothing to deserve such a death though their blood is undeniably sweeter.”

His face twisted with shame and despair, the face of a man condemned for his sins no matter how much he repented. You tentatively stepped closer to him. “You’re an avenging angel, a noble monster.”

He scoffed but it was not spiteful, in fact, it almost seemed fond. “I am no angel, I am only fulfilling a duty I was bestowed long ago.”

“You saved me, that seems quite the noble deed.” Something in your chest tugged you to him, compelling you to wrap him in your arms and hide away forever. Instead your fingers curled into the soft sieve of his shirt, anchoring you to him once more.

“Not as noble as one might think. But let us not dwell on that, you must be famished. I think a hot meal will do you some good and then maybe you can read to me by the fire.” He picked up the book once more as he gestured for you to wrap your arm through his own. You dutifully obeyed, ignoring the feeling of his muscular bicep in your hands as he led you away.

“Has this always been your home?” You asked, desperate for an interruption to the silence between you. Dracula’s eyes flicked to you briefly, the red of his irises flickering in the candlelight of the hall.

“No, for much of my human life, I lived in a village not too dissimilar to your own. But that was a very long time ago and I prefer not to think on the past.” Your mouth snapped shut and you nodded in feigned understanding.

Your combined footsteps echoed behind you, leaving ghosts of yourselves to follow as you journeyed into the heart of the palace you had feared for so long.

——————

Most days followed this pattern, you would sleep until early evening when Dracula would rouse you with a gentle knock at the door. He would escort you to the dining room, you would eat while he sipped at a goblet of what looked to be wine and then you both would settle in one of his many sitting rooms with a book, a new one each time. Sometimes he would tell you stories of his undead life, painting vivid pictures of far away lands and unique people. On occasion, he would detail his affliction, giving you glimpses of how this all came to be.

Then, as midnight struck, he would leave you then with a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He would return hours later, smelling of the earth and blood.

In those moments, his eyes were always wild. In those moments, his chest puffed with air though he did not need to breathe. It did something inexplicable to you, a fire would flicker to life in your belly as wetness pooled at the apex of your thighs. He would look at you as his nostrils flared, undoubtedly inhaling your scent. He would tear himself from your presence and retreat to his chambers in the back of the palace where you were forbidden to go.

By the next evening, he would be himself once more.

“Vlad?” The vampire opened a single eye in acknowledgement from where his head lay in your lap. One of your hands was buried in his black curls, while the other held up a book which you quickly discarded to the side so you could rest your palm against his sternum. When you first touched his chest like that, the lack of a heartbeat greatly disturbed you but now, it was strangely comforting.

“What is it my sunlight?” You tried to smile at him but you knew he could see right through you.

“Do you promise not to get mad at me?” He chuckled, his broad chest shaking beneath your hand.

“I will never get mad at you.” You breathed out a heavy sigh of relief before speaking again.

“Why have you kept me here so long? I would think that you do not need a human around that you will not feed off of. I can’t see myself providing you any real use.” His other eye snapped open and part of you screamed to stop talking, to take it back under the guise of you being too hot but another part was curious about his answer. “I suppose a woman has other uses but you have not touched me outside of moments like this so-“

Faster than you could comprehend, Vlad sat up straight, his face mere inches from yours. “Where did you come up with these ideas?”

“I-“

“If you wanted to leave, you could just leave but I guarantee the village won’t take you back.” He snarled spitefully. He scoffed and stood from the sofa but you quickly followed. Before you could think, you grabbed his hand.

The growl that escaped his lips was that of a vicious beast as he bared his deadly fangs at you, his eyes flashing bright red. A brief spike of fear raced through you and you gasped. Suddenly, he was back to himself. “I frighten you, that’s why you want to leave.”

You quickly shook your head, your grip upon his wrist tightening though you would be no match against his strength. “I am more frightened of the spiders in my room than I am of you. You tell me you are a monster yet you have never hurt me, you have been kinder to me than most humans I have met. I wonder about those things because I feel useless to you. You ask nothing of me in exchange for your home, your protection, your food. And I fear that one day you will desire something of me that I cannot give and I will have to leave you.”

His broad shoulders sagged as he faced you once more. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He murmured in reverence. “And I am a selfish, selfish man.”

“To keep you here, in my home, to dress you in clothes of my choosing, to have you read my books- it is selfish, entirely so but I find that I am unable to part from you. Your very existence calls to me, urges me to do terrible things just to keep myself from drinking you down. You have enchanted me, hypnotised me from the moment you stepped foot in my home and I cannot explain it. It feels as if my heart has known you for years.” Every word he spoke resonated through your chest, articulating the feelings that swirled around your mind aimlessly. You stepped closer to him and his arms wrapped around your thick waist.

“You make me feel human again.” He pulled you closer, your breasts brushed against his strong chest. “You remind me what it is to love and to be loved. You have given me a chance to live anew and I wish to give you the same chance, no matter how selfish it may be.” His right hand trailed up your arm, coming to rest at the base of your throat, his thumb pressed against the frantic beating of your pulse.

“I want to taint you, to condemn your soul to hell as long as it means that you can be by my side until eternity. I keep you here because I need you, because I crave you like the tide craves the moon, like flowers crave the sun. You are the purpose of my undead existence, I have lost too much already and I will not lose you too.”

Your eyelashes fluttered against the steel of your cheek as the tip of his nose brushed against your own. “You will never lose me, I am entirely, wholly yours.” His groan echoed through your chest, it made your skin explode in goosebumps.

“Don’t say that my sunshine.”

“Why not?” Your gaze was fixated upon his lips, eager to finally feel them upon your own.

“Because I really will make you mine. I will turn you, make you into a monster like me.” But his tone was eager, filled with desire and longing for just that.

“Then give me a chance for an everlasting life- with you.” There was a moment’s pause and then he ducked his head, his lips barely brushing against yours as they travelled down your jaw and moved along your throat, coming to rest where his thumb had been but he did not bite.

“Please Vlad.” You begged, burying your hands in his hair once more.

“I told you that you would beg for this.” He teased before his jaw hinged open and he sunk his fangs into your warm skin, quickly draining away your mortal life. You clung to the monster who was destined to kill you and all you could think was that maybe the fear you felt for so long was only a restlessness for a new beginning.

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vetteltea · 6 months

Text

Lando Norris and Putting Up Decorations [no warnings]

Day 1 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

“Mate, you just crossed me!” Alex’s voice shouts down the headphone set, a laugh erupting from the McLaren driver’s lips as he sees his fellow pilot cut off by none other than himself.

Lando’s down-time from the grand finale of Abu-Dhabi had lasted a grand sum of four days, three hours and twelve minutes before the boy was restless once more. He’d arrived home, seen his family, unpacked and washed his clothes in a fraction of the time it would usually take him. By the third day, he had called you at least seven times, begging for the company of his best friend- no, secret crush whom just so happened to be his best friend - and for your presence in Monaco.

The evening you had arrived, the driver was bouncing on the heels over his overpriced trainers. When he’d caught a minute glance of your face, sleep ridden and your body wrapped in comfortable traveling clothes, the excitement filtering through his body couldn’t be contained, rushing over to scoop you up, the squeal which released from your lips barely audible over his own laughter, spinning you around in circles before gently reminding him she does need to go and grab her suitcase.

He has it all planned out; a week of taking you to various lunching spots;, a few movie nights, maybe a catch-up with Max and Charles if you were feeling up to it. Most importantly, it was an entire week of being with you before you would fly home - together.

What Lando had completely forgotten about, was the promise he had made to Alex, George and Arthur about a joint livestream, speaking about their experiences throughout the year. He’d sheepishly explained the situation to you over breakfast, only feeling his heart soften when you promised him it was okay, you would keep yourself occupied for a few hours, anyway. He wasn’t sure what you meant, or where you were going, for that matter when pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and slipping out through the apartment door.

Engrossed deeply in his current driving battle, he hadn’t heard you return; it was just as well, your own phone connecting to the lounge speaker, gently playing Christmas music whilst unraveling the copious amount of decorations you’d obtained during your disappearance. After all, Lando had just moved into his new apartment and you were all-too-aware he had bought next to nothing with him. The least you could do was thank him by bringing some festive spirit into his home.

One song becomes two; two become seven as you freely move to the music, climbing onto the arm of your best friend's sofa, tongue poked out at an awkward angle as your arms reach, a desperate attempt to hang the garland across the gilded mirror. You’re certain you would have entirely lost your balance, probably slammed into the floor if not for the two arms around your waist, feeling a warm chest press against your back.

“You’re going to fall if you’re not careful.” He mumbles, keeping his grip around you firm whilst your heart caught up to your head; his arms were around your waist. Lando Norris was holding you. “I don’t want you to fall if I can’t catch you.”

Did he…did he mean to say that? Did he understand how your heart fluttered so deeply, how if not for the garland left in your grip, you’re almost certain you would have turned in his grasp and pressed your lips to his, to hell with the consequences. Wordlessly, you let his touch remain whilst stretching to hook the garland across the mirror, now secure in your balance with his helping hands. (Helping was a strong word. You’re fairly sure your heart was about to explode.)

Hands fall to your side, subconsciously leaning back into Lando’s touch. Both of you are quiet, simply looking up to take in the decorations. This time, it’s Lando to act on instinct, tilting his head slightly and pressing a gentle kiss to the temple of your forehead, lips lingering for a lot longer than would be considered friendly.

He hopes everyday. He hopes that one day the metaphorical penny will drop. Of course, you’re his best friend. There’s nobody he would trust more, who he would rather come to with his insane problems. Somewhere along the way, he had just so happened to fall in love with you. There’s the tiniest, most selfish part of him that wants nothing more than to lean forward there and then, tilt your chin and press your lips together.

‘Not right now.’ he reminds himself. ‘I can do better. I can make our first kiss better.’

The moment has to end; eventually your head leans forward, unraveling yourself from his warmth and stepping off the couch. He can’t help but let the grin fall to his face whilst seeing you weave inbetween decorations, beelining towards the kitchen.

“I picked up hot chocolate!” You draw him from his internal thoughts. “If you help me with the last few pieces, I'll make you one?”

“You had me at Hot Chocolate.”

#Lando Norris #LN4 #Lando Norris x Reader #Lando Norris Imagine #Lando Norris One Shot #Lando Norris x You #Reader Insert #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Lando Norris Blurb #Lando Norris x Y/N

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matcha-dango · 1 year

Text

Wifely Duties

Alhaitham x F!Reader [NSFW]

CW : smut / dubcon / choking / degradation / overstim / dacryphilia / sadistic dom character x sub reader

Word Count : 2015

The reason why Alhaitham took on the Akademiya’s Scribe work is simple : the job was easy and it paid well, he didn’t even have to follow the guidebook word by word as long as his performance was deemed satisfactory. Unfortunately, after throwing the government, he was practically forced to become the Acting Grand Sage and fulfill duties he absolutely did not sign up for.

There was no guarantee he was going to find a good candidate to replace him soon enough, or at all. He might be forced to either pick a not so desired applicant, either truly become Sumeru’s Grand Sage. None of those options pleased him and added more stress than necessary, as if his workload wasn’t already tiring him out.

Thankfully, he had his pretty and lovely wife waiting for him at home, always ready for him.

Nothing was going well today. By the time Alhaitham could clock out, he was done with the daily tasks and yet, a pesky member of the Akademiya holding a folder as thick as a dictionary desperately needed his attention 6 minutes before he could leave. This was the final nail in the coffin.

One look was enough. The man profusely apologised and ran away, saying he’d come back the next day. Great. Alhaitham just couldn't wait to see him again.

Alhaitham had a few minutes left before he was officially gone, he took the opportunity to tidy up his large desk and the bookshelves behind him. Now, it was time to go, finally.

As soon as he left the House of Daena, a hurried student almost knocked him off but feeble as he was, Alhaitham easily avoided the damage – but the annoyance level still increased. The moment he stepped out of the Akademiya, a running matra was about to crash into him but once more, Alhaitham was quick on his feet and managed to not get into contact. Almost as if Celestia was testing him today with those attempts at ruining his peace for the past few weeks.

Alhaitham decided to take a different route to get home, by avoiding the bustling market and busy streets. It could have been a good idea if he didn’t accidentally step on a Sumpter Beast’s pungent faeces. That was the last thread holding him back.

You knew what time to expect your husband to come home, so you started making dinner in advance to surprise him with a warm slice of his favourite dish and freshly brewed tea. Right as you set the plate on the table in your living room and covered it with a napkin to keep it warm, you heard the door open with a loud bang, which startled you. But as soon as you saw who came in, you got reassured.

Until you noticed his rather angry expression and, knowing him, if he was visibly pissed off…

“H-hey, welcome back…Tough day at work, I guess ?”

With each word Alhaitham was taking a step towards you, making you instinctively walk backwards. But his stride covered more ground and you found yourself trapped between a wall and his tall frame, as he placed – slammed – his hand near your head, without breaking eye contact. Oh you were screwed.

“It was, darling, it was. But your almost defiant behaviour is not helping alleviate my mood.”

You felt his hand on your hips, slowly but firmly gliding up.

“How about eating first ? It got ready just as you got back home !”

Your husband already made his choice and he let you know by finally catching up to your breast and squeezing it, just as he roughly grazed your neck with his lips. You tried to push him away by attempting to remove his hand still on your chest but Alhaitham wasn’t having any of it. He harshly bit your shoulder, hard enough for the mark to be visible for days.

When he stepped back, you thought he calmed down but the look in his eyes told a very different story. A mix of annoyance and carnal desire, that made you unwillingly clench down on nothing. You bit your lower lip in shame but your husband knew all of your tales by now.

All of a sudden, he lifted you off the ground and quickly carried you to your shared bedroom. He kicked the door open and almost threw you on the bed, before getting on top of you. Alhaitham was not in the mood to waste any more time. He grabbed your blouse and forcibly opened it, exposing your bare chest.

The view made him smirk in satisfaction.

You attempted to cover yourself. That, he did not like. He reached over to the drawer near your bed and took out a smooth yet sturdy handkerchief, the one he always used to tie your hands up whenever you wouldn’t behave. Before you could process it, he caught both your wrists and restricted your movements with the said fabric.

Having you now under control, he kissed you like a hungry beast. His hands were sliding up and down your torso, but one went lower down to your thighs and up, cupping your clothed groin. You pressed your thighs together in an attempt to keep his hand away and in response, Alhaitham broke the kiss and pinched your thigh, demanding you to open them for him.

Averting your eyes, you relaxed your muscles, which he took as his opportunity to spread your legs further apart. He then traced your panties up and down, slightly adding pressure where your clit was. Shortly, Alhaitham felt a damp spot getting bigger and bigger where your entrance was, making him scoff.

“I do have a great wife, huh. But you know what would make it better ?”

You shook your head in response. Alhaitham smiled in a sweet yet condescending way, his other hand now cupping your cheek, rubbing gently circles on your skin.

“Fucking you like the slut you are, sweetheart.”

Your eyes got wide in shock as you felt him suddenly push your panties aside and slide a finger inside of you. A whimper escaped your lips.

“Oh baby, aren’t you the loveliest ?”

His thumb caressed your clit, smearing your love juices all over your pussy at the same time. Each stroke made your clench on his finger ; he knew he was that good and all of your reactions fed his ego. And made him greedy.

Alhaitham wanted to hear you moan his name and the easiest way was to make you cum. Which is why he increased his pace, before adding a second finger and changing the motion to a scissoring one. You loved how his longer and bigger fingers would reach all the spots your tinier digits simply couldn’t.

“A-Alhaitham!”

That was more like it. But his flourishing greed only made him want you to say it louder. Loud enough so all neighbours would know who was making you feel so, so good.

His skilled movements didn’t falter a bit, they quickened instead. You felt a very familiar knot in your belly, a telltale for your impending orgasm. Alhaitham’s fingers got faster and faster, his thumb flicking your clit just as speedily. Your husband’s disdainfully pleased look plastered on his face altered to a sadistic, vicious expression.

Alhaitham stilled himself, before painfully slowly removing his hand. You looked at him confused with a very obvious neediness in your eyes. He knew how close you were, so why ?

“Did you really think I’d let you cum after the attitude you showed me earlier ?”

“...you’re the worst.”

“Oh, really ? Have I been that nice to you, that you don’t even know what “the worst” looks, feels like ?”

You might have been screwed earlier, but now even prayers to all of the Seven couldn’t help you.

“Wait, I'm sorry !”

“Too late, darling. No more holding back now.”

Alhaitham forcefully pushed your leg up to your chest to fold you in half, having your throbbing pussy conveniently accessible just for him. One quick glance was enough to have you still, while he freed himself from the constraint of his too tight pants.

After gathering your slick between your puffed up folds, he pushed his cock past your entrance all the way in, feeling your deepest parts against his tip. Alhaitham didn’t let you adjust to his large size and straight up started moving at a maddening pace.

The aching and pleasant sensation flowed through your whole body, the pleasure quickly overwhelming any pain you initially felt. And, once more, you felt your walls tighten around him. This time he didn't stop, his hips kept meeting yours. Your moans got louder and louder, until you finally reached your high.

Alhaitham didn’t stop then either. In fact, he managed to accelerate his thrusts without making them shallow in the process. The overstimulating feeling was making your body twitch under him, your words being a blabbery mess.

That didn’t mean he had no idea though. Quite the opposite, in reality. If you were obedient from the start, he would have allowed you to cum on his fingers, but you weren’t. If you weren’t so bratty about it, he would have denied your orgasm but made this one only more intense. Yet, your behaviour did not meet his criteria a single time.

Since you wanted to cum so badly to the point of talking back, he decided he was going to grant your wish. Unfortunately, it was on his terms.

A malevolent smirk appeared on his traits when he felt your walls clamp around him impossibly tightly again. If he had to teach you a lesson, he was going to do it properly. You felt Alhaitham’s hand back on your clit, giving it rapid strokes in an up and down motion. You came on the spot.

Alhaitham gripped your thigh tighter while exhaling as you fluttered around him like crazy. Your tight pussy felt so damn good he could paint your walls white in this instant with you. However, he wasn’t done with your punishment yet. He didn’t release all of his pent up frustration in its entirety.

“P-please… no m-more…”

With all your remaining strength you managed to wiper your request, begging for rest, but your husband only ever so slightly reduced the speed of his pounding inside your needy little pussy and flickers on your abused clit. Tears fell from your eyes, it was just too much.

The sight of his wife’s tearful flushed face made his cock throb inside of you. His hand that was still resting on your face the whole time moved up and wiped away your tears of pleasure. Seeing his love becoming so compliant with his cock buried deep inside to the hilt was definitely a favourite view of his.

“You’re so beautiful like this, darling.”

The pleading look in your eyes evoked pity, at least enough to make you cum again. This time, he stopped his motions and let your pussy milk him, filling you up. The sensation was so intense you felt your consciousness wavering. Eyes tightly shut, you clenched your wrists one last time.

After a while, Alhaitham slowly pulled out and watched his cum leak from your used hole. Chests heaving, pants hot and heavy, the bedroom was filled with your passion. You opened your eyes, looking for your husband in a sinful haze.

He got closer to you and tenderly kissed you. You returned the kiss, as your breath was much steadier.

“It smelled good earlier, by the way.”

“Thanks, baby. We should eat it soon, although it’s probably cold now.”

“I’ll heat it up and bring it here on a tray, so charge up.”

Alhaitham stood up as he finished speaking, not giving you time to answer. You tried to sit up but your body had lost all of its energy. A dozen minutes later, Alhaitham came back as promised.

“Shouldn’t we shower before eating ?”

A devilish grin appeared on your husband’s face, oh no. How cute of you. Alhaitham gave you a sweet kiss, before he spoke up.

“Didn’t I tell you I’ll show you my worst ?”

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #al haitham x you #al haitham smut #genshin hcs #genshin smut #genshin x reader smut #md.writes

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traveler-at-heart · 8 months

Text

Game, Set, Match

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a professional tennis player, struggling to go back to the top and win the US Open. Reluctant at first, she allows a sports journalist into her life... and a bit more.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R - Ya know it, fluffy af.

A/N: I love tennis and this was basically written for me. But @canvascoloredin is also a fan and thought, ok well, let's post it, maybe someone else will enjoy :)

“Thirty all”

She’s catching up, do something.

“Forty, thirty”

“Deuce”

“Come on, Natasha” her sister yells from the box.

Advantage, Romanoff.

Game, set, match. Natasha Romanoff.

Everything that happens after is a blur. Natasha feels like she just played the final, but in reality, it’s just the first round.

“Way to go, darling” her mother compliments when she’s back in the locker rooms, but Fury is quickly behind, not holding back.

“Three sets against an amateur and you won because she got nervous and got a double fault. That’s not good”

“I beat her, didn’t I?” Natasha averts her eyes, putting on her jacket to go to the press room.

“Barely” her trainer mumbles.

Natasha’s heart beats fast as she sits in front of all the journalists. They were warned about the questions they could ask, but still. Natasha feels all eyes on her, judging her reaction and demeanor.

“Did you worry about losing control at the start of the third set?” a man in the front row asks.

“It was the defining moment of the game, so I felt like I had to push myself harder and control the rhythm of the match. Which obviously happened”

“How was it to go back after your break? Unlike other players, you didn’t participate in any tournaments between Wimbledon and this”

“I’ve been playing tennis all my life, really, so it doesn’t feel like a big deal to me. Just because I wasn’t playing to win titles doesn’t mean I didn’t train”

Natasha hears Fury cough and has to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

Control your temper, he’s trying to say.

Well, maybe they shouldn’t ask stupid questions.

You’re sitting in the middle of the press room, eyes trained on Natasha. She’s looking anywhere but you.

I guess this means she read my column.

The conference is coming to an end, so you raise your hand and the assistant points at you.

“We have time for one more” he concedes.

“That’s enough for today” Natasha shuts it down before you can ask.

Yeah, she definitely read the article.

Natasha can’t wait to get out of there, thanking the press before sprinting out of the room. You consider following her, but a text from your boss stops you.

Go to LA Stadium, Wanda Maximoff just bageled some poor girl.

With a bit of luck, you’ll get an exclusive with Wanda.

The biggest crime of Shostakov

It was a Tuesday afternoon, well into the second week of Wimbledon, when the news broke out. Alexei Shostakov, retired tennis player, was arrested for fraud and tax evasion. While in custody, it was discovered Shostakov was in possession of drugs.

The famous Red Guardian, who once had won on that very same club, was now dragged away in a patrol car, stripped of his days of glory. For people who are well versed in the history of tennis, this doesn’t come as a complete shock. Shostakov was a notorious trouble maker, often breaking rackets, ripping his shirts open and getting expelled from a total of 15 matches during the entire run of his career.

No one seemed more affected by the news than his protegee and adoptive daughter, Natasha Romanoff. The favorite to win the world’s most important Grand Slam retired amid the breaking news. As a result, Wanda Maximoff’s path to the trophy was an easy one, taking the number 1 from Romanoff while she was at it.

If her career depends on Alexei’s ability to get back on his feet, Natasha Romanoff should retire now.

In her best form, Romanoff is stealthy, precise and absolutely lethal. Her movements reminisce those of a ballerina; one that gracefully dances across the court -doesn’t matter if it’s grass, clay or hard- to deliver blow after blow of brilliance. Natasha has raw talent, pure heart and an unbreakable spirit.

The biggest crime of Shostakov, is that he’s in the way of her greatness. Maybe it’s his ego or a compulsion to attach himself to a woman who has the capacity to break every record from the Open Era.

Whatever the reason, it’s clear she’s better off without him. For those of us who love this sport, and want Natasha to be the champion she was meant to be, this is an unique opportunity to watch her finally emerge from the shadows of the overbearing man.

The proverbial ball is in Romanoff’s court. In all her brilliance, the one thing Natasha rarely does is take risks.

It’s never too late to start.

“We’re finishing the second day of the US Open and we have some major upsets. Carol Danvers, number 3 in the world and only American in the top ten lost to Brit Peggy Carter” you say, holding the mic and looking at the camera.

“I understand there was some excitement on the man’s singles” you hear Maria say on your earpiece and you nod.

“Queens had a face off with Brooklyn today. Bucky Barnes defeated amateur Peter Parker, but get this! They played five sets, and Peter won every tiebreak. So it seems like we have some exciting new talent”

“We’ll keep an eye on him, for sure. Thanks for the report, Y/N!”

“A pleasure as usual, Maria. Greetings to everyone back on the studio”

“And cut” Darcy, your producer says. You remove the earpiece and hand over the mic. As you turn around, you spot Natasha training. It’s obvious you’re staring when Darcy speaks.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you know? You wrote what a lot of people were thinking”

“Well, seems like she doesn’t wanna hear it”

“It’s fine. I mean, it would be better if we could get a quote from her or an interview but if she hates you that much we can get someone else to do it”

“Or, I could go and try to talk to her?”

“So you have a death wish!”

“Didn’t you just say I did nothing wrong?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she’ll listen. I am also legally obligated to tell you that your health insurance doesn’t cover injuries caused by tennis balls. Or rackets”

“Very funny”

“Relax your wrist” Fury instructs once again and Natasha ignores him, as usual.

She hates the press, the interviews, the hoops she has to jump through just so she can play tennis.

None of it is optional and she has to follow the rules, something Natasha is particularly bad at.

“If you want to move to the next round you’re gonna have to listen to me”

Does she really want to move to the next round? Is there a point to all of this? She had lost her number one ranking and people were focusing more on her private life than her career.

Fury spots you across the court and smiles.

You nod your head towards the man and he sighs, defeated.

“Can you talk some sense into her?”

“Can anyone?” you say and he pats you on the back, leaving the court. The sun is setting and people are going home, ready to return tomorrow to watch the next round of players. You greet Natasha but she ignores you.

“You owe me a question” you try to joke, as she keeps hitting the ball so hard you think her racket will break in half.

“I know who you are and I’m not talking to you”

She looks hot when she’s pissed.

You push those thoughts away.

“Natasha”

“No, you and I are not on a first name basis. Not after you wrote all that crap about me without knowing me”

“I only spoke the truth”

“That my career is doomed and I should retire?” she finally stops throwing balls across the court and turns to look at you.

“Oh, my God! You didn’t even read it, did you?”

“I don’t need to. I know what everyone's been saying ever since Alexei was arrested. I know he was unconventional, but he was my trainer. He was beside me through the good and bad”

“I get it, ok? He’s your family. And your trainer. That’s never easy and I understand how it can be hard to see things objectively. But, Natasha, you are great in spite of him, not because of him”

That makes her pause.

“Nick Fury came out of retirement to train you. That’s how talented you are!”

The redhead serves a couple of times, staying completely silent.

“I’m not talking to you” she reminds you.

“You’re the best player out there, Natasha. And right now you’re the only thing getting in the way of your success”

Morning comes and so does the next match. Natasha is looking out the window of the suite, as people come and go around the busy streets of the tennis center.

Fury steps in, immediately aware of her nervous energy. If he asks if she’s ready, she’ll probably rip his head off. So, talking about something different might be the way to go.

“Her father was also a sports journalist,” he says, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“Who?”

“Y/N. Richard was a single parent, so he’d always bring her to the games, even as a baby. She behaved better than most people too”

“Is he retired?”

“Nope. Cancer. Four years ago” Fury sits in front of Natasha. “Didn’t expect her to follow his steps, but that girl really knows sports. She’s working with the local station, and also writes for Sports Illustrated”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Never hurts to have a couple of friends around,” he says, sipping from his glass.

“I’m not good at making friends” Natasha looks away.

“Yeah, I know. You’re good at tennis, so…” the man checks his watch and stands up. “Let’s kick some ass”

Natasha has to face Kate Bishop, currently ranked 24. Her game is the opposite of aggressive, but she’s famous for her impeccable aim. Natasha has to control the game from the start if she wants to win.

She serves first, and as she bounces the ball, preparing her stance, Fury’s words echo in her head. All the advice he has given her for the past months, advice that she has consistently ignored.

Then, as she throws the ball, her eyes meet yours. You’re sitting in the front row, leaning forward.

In a split second, she makes a decision.

Natasha is ready to take risks.

She aims for the corner of the service box, hoping it will fall inside. Kate lunges forward, shocked at the speed of the ball.

“Ace” the umpire announces. “Fifteen love”

Natasha sees you clapping and can hear Fury shouting “That’s it, you can do this, Romanoff”

And boy, does she deliver. Kate is running across the court. Natasha’s unforced errors are incredibly low. While the crowd usually loves long games, the redhead is a legend and they’re excited to see her prowess first hand.

The game ends in 47 minutes, 6-3, 6-2.

Kate approaches the net and shakes Natasha’s hand.

“That was… incredible, Romanoff”

“Thank you, Kate”

The kind words and the genuine admiration make Natasha relax instantly.

Of course, the crowd goes wild as the redhead lifts her arms, clapping and waving.

She’s in such a good mood that she decides she’ll finally take your question. But as she enters the press room, you’re nowhere to be found.

Still, she chats and even jokes around with the journalists present.

Once again, the entire family celebrates as if Natasha had already won the Grand Slam.

“Seestra, the crowd was going craaaazy, it was like a Taylor Swift concert” Yelena tells her excitedly as they eat. Natasha’s starving, so nervous about today that she didn’t even have breakfast.

They keep chatting, talking about strategy for the next game and wondering who will go against Natasha next.

“Natalia, your father wants to talk to you” Melina interrupts, holding her phone.

“Why?” Natasha snaps, going back to her stoic self.

“He wants to congratulate you,” the woman insists.

“I’m not in the mood. Excuse me” she stands up, losing her appetite.

Out on the terrace, she watches people passing by, trying to think of anything else but Alexei.

Your words come back to her, and she starts to believe them.

You are great in spite of him.

“Hey, there you are!” you shout from the bottom of the stairs, waving. “Do you have a sec?”

Natasha nods, going down.

“First of all, wow. Brava”

“You wanted something?” she rolls her eyes, but you notice she blushes lightly.

It’s quite the view, Natasha’s body covered in sweat from the physical exertion, her sculpted arms in full display.

That tennis outfit looks really good on her.

“Oh.. yeah. Do you, uh, have time to meet a fan? She’s a little girl and you’re her favorite player”

“Of course”

“Awesome, come with me!” you take her by the hand.

Natasha tries to ignore the tingling feeling she gets as she’s dragged around the center. Some people recognise her, but you’re walking fast and they don’t have the chance to stop her for a picture.

“Hey, Ava!” you greet the little girl, who’s holding a big tennis ball and a black marker. “Natasha, meet Ava. She’s your number one fan”

“Hi,” the girl says shyly. She’s about nine, her mother standing next to her and smiling.

“Hi, Ava. It’s so nice to meet you” Natasha greets. “How are you liking the tournament so far?”

“Uh, it was great, and you were so awesome today!”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. Would you like me to sign that?”

“Yes, please!” her arms shoot forward, anxiously.

“What other players would you like to meet?” Natasha says, as she signs the ball.

“Maybe Peter Parker… We met Carol Danvers, Bucky Barnes and also, Wanda”

Yeah, Natasha didn’t miss the way Maximoff signed the ball.

From the number 1 player to the number 1 fan.

So pretentious.

“That’s nice,” Natasha says, handing the ball back.

“Alright, let’s take a picture” you pull out your phone. Natasha kneels to be closer to Ava, and then places her tennis hat on the girl’s head.

“You can have it” Natasha smiles and is surprised when she gets a very enthusiastic hug. Her mother has to practically drag her away from where you’re standing, Ava turning around every couple of steps to wave at Natasha.

“Thank you, Nat,” you say, smiling.

“It’s not a problem. I didn’t see you in today’s press conference”

“That’s because it’s my day off” you say, surprised that she noticed your absence.

“What about that thing?” she points at the badge hanging from your neck that reads Press.

“That’s how I get in for free, duh”

“Sneaky”

“I can be” you shrug your shoulders and then turn back to your phone. “Hey, so can I send this to your PR team for them to post it?”

“You don’t have to”

“Fine, I’ll post it on my feed and tag you. Alright, gotta go. Have to cheer for Bucky” you say, taking her hand one last time. “Once again, thank you. And congrats. You were fantastic”

“I owe you a question” she calls when you’re walking away.

“I’m saving it for when you win the championship” you wink and she smiles, scratching the side of her neck nervously.

Later that day, her phone is blasting with notifications.

“Almost one million likes, Natasha” Yelena shows her the picture you uploaded of her and Ava.

“Is that good or bad?” the redhead shrugs her shoulders and her sister rolls her eyes.

“You’re so uncool!”

However, she knows enough about Instagram to find your profile, going through your feed. Most of the pictures are from different games, some hangout with friends, the most frequent ones being Barnes and a pro that plays for the Yankees, Sam Wilson.

She’s about to close the app when two things that are equally horrible happen.

First, she likes one of your pictures from two years ago.

Second, she gets a message.

OfficialWandaMaximoff: Congrats on your win today <3

Bucky just lost the second set and is down on the third one. You keep refreshing the feed as you wait next to other journalists for Wanda Maximoff.

Of course she’s in the quarter finals, that’s hardly a shock. Everyone’s waiting for her to face Natasha in the finals. When it happens, you’re obviously rooting for Nat.

Speaking of which…

@SportsBrooklyn: Good luck tomorrow!

@NatashaROfficial followed you back

@NatashaROfficial: Do you only use Instagram or can you text like a normal person?

@SportsBrooklyn: Oh, right, text you to the number I don’t have!

Wanda walks in that moment and you lock your phone. Her auburn hair is tied in a high ponytail, and she changed to her signature red windbreaker and black pants.

You’re busy taking notes when your phone pings again. To your surprise, Natasha actually gave you her phone number.

@NatashaROfficial: If you share it with anyone else I’ll choke you

@SportsBrooklyn: Kinky ;)

The press conference ends and you practically sprint out to see if you can catch the rest of Bucky’s game.

You have to settle for the screens on the Champions Bar, comforted by the fact that Bucky seems to be ahead on the third set. As soon as he wins it, you stand up, knowing the break is the perfect time to slip into the player’s box.

“I’m so sorry” you say as you crash into none other than Wanda Maximoff. She grabs your arm to steady herself, smiling to ease you.

“That’s alright. You’re in a hurry?” she says, turning at the screen.

“A bit, yeah”

“I wish someone as cute as you was rooting for me” she smiles, placing a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s flirting? Oh boy. “I noticed you looking at your phone during the press conference. Barnes is a lucky guy”

“Oh, we’re not…”

“Here I was thinking he was smarter than that”

There’s a sense of urgency to go before the break is over, but you’re also completely confused. Why is Wanda Maximoff taking an interest in a local reporter? You’re vaguely aware that her eyes drift somewhere behind you from time to time, but before you can turn and have a look, she pulls your press badge and smiles.

“If you ever want an exclusive, just let me know, Y/N…” she reads the name from your press badge and walks away, leaving you completely confused.

Natasha watches the entire interaction from her small table. She needed a break so she decided to put on a hat and glasses, to get a drink without being recognised.

Wanda was all over you, giggling and looking Natasha’s way as much as she could, to let her know this was entirely to upset her.

All Natasha wanted to do was stand up and take you away from Wanda. You were too good for someone like Maximoff.

Wanda thought she was making Natasha jealous.

She was right, but not in the way she would have wanted to.

“Maybe it’s time I retire”

“You’re 28”

“Might as well be 100 in tennis years”

“Buck” you nudge him.

You’re looking out the Brooklyn Bridge, trying to cheer up your best friend after losing in the round of 16.

“You won the Australian Open this year”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. See? I’m senile” he mumbles, still grumpy.

“You did great, and you’re still in the top five, Grumpa. Ha! See what I did there?” he rolls his eyes and you smile, pulling him back to the street. “Come on, Sam is waiting for us to have some lunch”

“Ok, but it’s on you because I’ll be broke once I retire”

“Yeah, yeah” you roll your eyes, looping your arms together and dragging him to your favorite dinner. Sam’s already there, chatting around with everyone that recognises him.

All eyes turn to you as he stands up and practically shouts.

“How’s my favorite girl?” Sam greets you and then slaps Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t make that face, man. You won the aussie one”

“That’s what I told him”

Bucky takes his jacket off and orders a beer as soon as the waiter approaches you; even if it’s only noon, you let it slide.

You get a text from Darcy, asking if you’re watching the game.

Your mind instantly goes to Natasha. Did she lose? No, that can’t be. She was playing against Van Dyne, who was only there because of a wild card. You turn to one of the screens and ask the waiter to change the channel.

“She’s winning” you say, still not understanding what Darcy meant.

“Why does she look so upset, then?” Sam points out.

Natasha is arguing with the umpire. You recognise him immediately.

“I hate that guy,” Bucky says, echoing your thoughts.

“Jarvis… something. Stone?”

“Yeah, a total asshole. Wouldn’t give me a point I clearly won on Wimbledon because the other player was also a Brit”

The argument ends and she keeps playing. Her forehand is killer today.

“Wow” Bucky says at the same time as you gasp.

“Man, I feel so dumb right now” Sam is looking between both of you, not knowing what caused your reaction.

“Just now? It’s more like, always” Bucky teases and Sam glares. He rolls his eyes and points at the screen. “Van Dyne hit after a double bounce. That’s not allowed. But Stone clearly doesn’t give a shit. He’s giving her the point”

“Natasha stopped playing because she saw it. He claims he didn’t so in his mind, she lost this one” you keep explaining.

“If Hope had a little bit of integrity, she’d concede the point or play it again”

“Well, she’s losing so she’ll take all the help she can get” you say.

Natasha’s rage fuels her after this and she ends up winning, the second set a devastating 6-0.

However, the two men on the screen are being unsurprisingly critical of her. Your stomach turns when you hear the words “emotional” and “aggressive” thrown around.

Even if it’s a long shot, you try calling her. Phone’s off.

If you’re lucky, you’ll manage to see her once you get back to the stadium.

“Turn it off,” Natasha grumbles. Fury is watching the news in the living room.

“I wanna see the highlights of other players. Prepare for what’s coming next. If you don’t like it, leave the room” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

After the game, Natasha did the mandatory press conference, went back to the lockers, destroyed two rackets, took a shower and then looked out the window for the better part of the day.

She wasn’t in the mood to do anything and she didn’t want to turn on her phone. The temptation to read what the press and public had to say about her after today’s argument with the umpire was too big.

“Y/N, how are things at the US Open?” Maria Hill says. The screen splits, your image appearing on the right side.

“Exciting names on both sides for the semis. We have Thor against Banner, and T'Challa faces Namor for a spot in the semis. As for the ladies, Maximoff breezed through the match against Jean Gray”

“Well, I understand Romanoff didn’t have it so easy,” Maria says.

From her seat, Natasha holds her breath. Yelena walks in at that exact moment, watching her sister closely.

“You know, I find it unbelievable that an umpire at the US Open could make such a poor call, not once but twice. First, with the hindrance call against Natasha and then by completely ignoring the double bounce before Van Dyne hit the ball” you say, clearly upset. “We’ve seen time and time again that some umpires are not up to the standards set by Grand Slams. And to my fellow journalists who like to throw around words like emotional, better save that energy for the men that smash their rackets just because they lost a point. As we all saw, Romanoff was in her right to demand fairness and she did it with the utmost respect”

“Yes, I completely agree with you” Maria nods, clearly regretting even asking about it. “Well, let us chat tomorrow after we have the final for the men”

“Of course, Maria,” you nod.

Natasha tries really hard, but she can’t help but smile at your words.

Yelena arches her eyebrows.

Well, this is interesting.

Natasha refuses to leave her room, arguing she’s not hungry. Melina, Yelena and Fury leave her alone, but the sudden silence becomes too much. There’s no noise to stop her thoughts from spiraling.

With a sigh, she turns on her phone. Two messages come through.

Y/N: Sorry about today. That umpire sucks :(

Y/N: Bucky hates him too

Next thing she sees is a picture of Bucky and you holding your middle fingers to the screen with Jarvis’ face. Natasha chuckles at that.

She also zooms in, checking that your other hand is very close to Bucky’s. She feels a pang of jealousy that is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Room service” a strange voice says.

“I didn’t order any..:” she says, but finds you smiling on the other side of the door.

“Gotcha”

“What are you doing here?” the redhead can’t help but smile. You’re wearing a black leather jacket, a white tee and skin tight jeans. She’s torn between admiring your figure and paying attention to what you say next.

“Little bird told me you were very upset and you might need a distraction”

“I’m gonna kill Fury”

“Not Nick. Your sister. And are we gonna find something to eat by standing here or…?”

“I’m not hungry”

“We’re going, Natasha. Go get changed” you push past her, tired of waiting around in the hallway. She’s taken aback by your forwardness. Her mother and sister would usually let her get away with anything.

“Where are we going?” she asks, hoping you won’t go all the way to her room and pick an outfit for her.

“Something casual will do”

She changes as fast as she can, taking her phone and some money with her. You nod approvingly and then open the door, peeking around the hallway.

“This little field trip is not Fury approved so let’s be discreet about it” you inform her, taking her hand to lead the way to the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, this is super discreet” Natasha complains as you lead her to an electrical carriage.

“Have a little fun, why don’t you?” you climb up, offering your hand. She takes and sits next to you. Natasha resists the urge to put a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean forward to give the address.

You feel her eyes on you, so you turn back, smiling and blushing lightly.

It’s a short ride, and soon after you enter a small diner.

“Hey, Y/N” the owner greets you. “My, this must be a special occasion” she leans towards Natasha and whispers. “She’s never brought a girl over”

“Ok, Pat! Natasha is just a friend” you clarify, blushing in the process. Natasha laughs at you.

“Why? She’s pretty. You need to start dating” Pat says, leaving two menus.

“Don’t bother” you stop Natasha as she starts reading it. “She’ll bring us whatever she wants. But it will be worth it, I promise”

“Do you come here often?”

“My dad couldn’t cook if his life depended on it. But he was always good at finding the best spots to eat. So we came here all the time during the US Open and then later when Bucky started training”

Natasha nods and looks away.

“So, you’re not dating Barnes either?” she says, looking anywhere but you. It’s embarrassing how much she cares.

“Uh.. no. He’s like a brother to me. His parents worked a lot so he’d tag along to games with us, and we grew up together” you wait until she turns to look at you. “Can I ask now?”

“Is this off the record?”

“Do you see my press badge anywhere?”

“One never knows with you people”

“Ouch, Natasha” the redhead laughs but you ask anyway. “Are you dating anyone? You’ve never been public about it”

“I’m not, no. I just don’t think I’d be able to find the balance. Between tennis and a partner. And my public and private life”

“Fair enough” you say. Pat approaches with milkshakes, cheeseburgers and fries.

“I hope you girls are hungry”

“Starving”

“Fury’s gonna kill me” Natasha sighs, but then dips a fry in the milkshake and practically moans at the taste.

Your mouth is hanging wide open, and your teeth clash at how fast you shut it when Natasha turns to you.

“You’re right, this is worth it”

The rest of the night is spent eating and talking about everything but tennis. You learn that Natasha likes to bake in her free time, and that Yelena is taking a sabbatical before moving to New York to study at NYU.

After finishing your food, you both agree that walking back will be the best idea.

“I’m so full” you complain as you enter through the back, too scared to be caught by Fury. Natasha walks in the opposite direction of the foyer. “Uh, what are you doing? I don’t want your coach all over my ass if you’re missing”

“Have a little fun, why don’t you?” she echoes your words from before and you have no choice but to follow her. You end up on a tennis court, balls scattered around the floor.

“Do you practice here?”

“If I can’t sleep” Natasha picks up a ball and a racket and hands it to you.

“Can I help you?”

“Play with me”

“I can’t even serve, Natasha”

“Well, would you like to learn?” she says with a smirk and you can’t resist it.

“Fine. But after that, you go back to your room”

“Stance first” Natasha instructs. She corrects your posture and movements a couple of times, inching closer until she’s whispering instructions in your ear. The last thing she does is put her hands over yours to make sure your grip is tight. “Show me what you got”

She steps away and you miss her presence instantly. Trying to remember everything she told you, you toss the ball in the air and swing a little too hard. You trip over your own feet, but Natasha moves forward and catches you before you fall.

“You ok?” she says and you nod.

“How did I do, coach?” you steady yourself, holding her close to you. Your eyes travel to her lips, and you’re both out of breath from laughing.

Neither one can tell who leans first, but the fact is that you do and you discover, with great pleasure and no surprise, that Natasha is an excellent kisser. Her lips are soft against yours and she pulls you closer by your waist.

“Is this a new way of interviewing people, Y/L/N?”

Oh, shit.

You break apart and turn to Fury, who looks very much not impressed.

“The only cardio you’re allowed to do until this slam is over is at the gym, Romanoff. Back to your room, now”

“I’m not a little girl you can boss around,” Natasha protests.

“Come on, you should rest. We’ll talk later” you don’t want her to start arguing with Fury, not now that she’s finally listening to him. Natasha turns to you and nods, squeezing your hand one last time before going back to the hotel.

“I don’t want her distracted,” Fury says and you nod.

“I wasn’t trying to… I won’t get in her way, Nick. I want her to win”

“Glad we understand each other. Now go home”

He turns to leave and you wait for a little bit, trying to calm down after a mindblowing kiss. As you’re about to leave, you spot a yellow bracelet on the ground. You’ve seen Natasha wearing one before, but you’re too scared of Fury to go back now.

Tomorrow will be a new day for all of you.

“Keep your leg behind the ball” Fury instructs. Natasha has been listening to every single thing he says.

Yes, she’s nervous about the semis. And Fury’s the only one that can understand the feeling or help her play better.

“I want you focused,” he says as she walks to dry her hands.

“I am”

“You know what I mean” he says and as if on cue, you walk up to the court, waving. Natasha places the racket down and approaches you. “Practice isn’t over, Romanoff!”

“Five minutes” she asks, meeting you on the edge of the court.

“Hi”

“Hi” she says back. Her eyes go down to your lips and your heart flutters.

“Uh, you left… I think this is yours” you remember to speak, showing the yellow bracelet.

“Yes, thank you. Do you mind?” Natasha extends her hand and you put it around her wrist. “Yelena gave it to me before my first match. It’s my lucky charm”

“Well, good thing I saw it”

“Maybe you’ll be my next lucky charm”

“Oh? Am I supposed to be at every game from now on?” you smile, nodding when you’re done with the bracelet.

“I really wanna kiss you” Natasha blurts out and you blush. “But…”

“There are people watching and Fury doesn’t look happy either”

“He never does. Can I call you later?”

“Yes, you definitely can”

You want to kiss her so bad, damn it.

“Come on, go back, before Fury kicks me out of the court”

Natasha nods, squeezing your hand gently.

The way Natasha looks at you makes you all kinds of flustered, so you leave in a hurry before your desire takes over and you end up kissing her in front of all these people.

Once again, you run into Wanda Maximoff, only this time she doesn’t smile at all.

“She’s quite the player, right?” she says with a cold voice, her accent a bit thicker.

“Uh- yes. Natasha is a very talented pro”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant” she takes a step forward and looks you up and down. “Natasha likes to fuck around. But she always comes back to me”

“You’re… together?” your heart drops. Natasha wouldn’t lie to you about this.

Would she?

“Look, of course she wants to get distracted and she’ll use anyone that is dumb enough to fall for it. But don’t forget, she and I have history. And that’s stronger than whatever it is you think you have with Natasha”

No one is around to save you from this horrible conversation. You don’t want to argue with Wanda, because you’re still a journalist and it’s your job to be on the players’ good side.

But the reckless part of you wants to tell her to fuck off.

You sigh and look down. Wanda takes this as a sign of defeat and smiles, leaving you standing there.

It takes a minute for you to snap out of it, and you look around, desperate to walk away from everything that just happened.

—

“You’re seriously telling me you know nothing?” you ask Bucky for the tenth time.

“I don’t pay attention to rumors” he shrugs his shoulders, and you roll your eyes at him.

He’s sitting on your couch, the movie long forgotten. You nudge him with your foot and glare.

“Your best friend is a journalist, you should know better. You’re my insider into this crap”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m just not on the loop of who dates who on the women’s side. But I am not surprised Wanda scared you. Heard she can be batshit crazy”

“She didn’t scare me” you mumble. The both of you sit in silence for a while, until your phones ping simultaneuosly.

Thankfully, it’s not Nat. Right now, you don’t even know what to say to her.

“Sam. Probably to brag about his date in that fancy restaurant” Bucky tells you, but his eyes widen as he reads the message. “Wow. You need to look at this”

He hands you the phone and you read the conversation. It’s your group chat and Sam just sent a picture of Jarvis Stone, who is having dinner with none other than Wanda Maximoff.

“What the actual fu…”

“So that’s why he was being a dick to Natasha” Bucky says. “You’re not telling her about this, are you?”

“No, of course not. She has the semis tomorrow and I don’t want to distract her”

You look at your phone and press send before you chicken out.

Y/N: Can we talk tomorrow?

YBelova: Sure

—

You’re waiting by the entrance to Arthur Ashe, looking around. Even if Maximoff’s match is later, you are still dreading to spot Wanda.

“Hey” Yelena says and you jump like a coward. “Wow, relax, it’s me”

“I’m sorry to be meeting you like this. I didn’t want to bother Natasha, especially today… she has enough on her plate”

“It’s ok, you can trust me”

“I know I can… it’s not easy to ask this, but do you know if Wanda and Natasha had a… thing? Like a relationship”

“Are you asking as a journalist?” the blonde says, clearly on edge.

“No, it’s not like that! Natasha and I… we kissed. And then Wanda told me yesterday that Natasha is just fooling around because she always comes back to her… and that’s weird but then a friend sent me this. It’s from last night”

“That’s the umpire that was a jerk to Tasha” Yelena takes your phone, looking at it in desbelief. “That bitch is still pulling this shit”

“If it had been only about us, I would have waited until Natasha finished her match. But it seems to me, like Wanda is trying to play dirty here”

Yelena sighs and hands the phone back. She looks around and steps closer, lowering her voice.

“Yes, they dated. Kept it a secret. It was on and off, especially when they were playing against each other. Wanda didn’t like to lose and then, after a while, she began to mess around with Nat. She would have a fight with her before a big match, even if they weren’t playing each other. Made Natasha lose her cool and struggle. They really haven’t spoken since the AO”

“What do we do? I don’t want her to mess with Natasha. I won’t let Wanda get in her way”

“I’ll speak to Fury about this. He knows everything. I’ll let you know what he says”

“Didn’t know you two were friends now”

A voice calls from behind you.

“Seestra, hey!” Yelena steps forward to give you time to recover. “Y/N was just telling me about her time at NYU”

“Is that so?” the redhead looks between you two and you nod.

She stills makes you nervous and flustered.

“Alright, my presence is no longer required” Yelena complains, but still gives you a meaningful look as she walks away.

“I have to warm up, will you stay for the game?” she asks, stepping closer.

“Yes, of course I will. I’ll be screaming your name” you blurt out and then blush. “I mean, rooting for you. Didn’t mean it to sound like that”

“Sounds good to me” she says, coming closer. “Can I have a good luck kiss?”

You look at her smile, her beautiful green eyes. Think about all the times she’s been kind and funny and brave. And you also think about how someone played with her heart just for a stupid title.

So you nod and lean forward, kissing her gently.

Natasha deserves to win, not only because she’s the better player. She’s the better person.

“Go win this thing” you say against her lips and she smiles, pecking your lips one last time.

—

Natasha’s win is not a surprise to you, considering the level of her recent games. You still have to stick around for the Maximoff match, opting to stay far away from the press room once she wins.

So, it’s down to the two of them in the final.

You’ve never wished for Natasha to win something so much until today.

Work keeps you busy enough. Both of the men’s semis take a combined time of eight hours and you end up completely exhausted, seriously considering just sleeping in one of the locker rooms.

You haven’t heard from Natasha but it’s understandable. She’s playing for the championship tomorrow, and knowing Fury, he will be preparing her in every way possible.

As you get a cup of coffee from one of the last stands open, your phone pings again.

Natasha: Are you still here?

Y/N: Yes :(

Natasha: Meet me in court 17?

Y/N: Yes :)

When you finally get there, you find Natasha serving a couple of times, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Is Fury ok with you staying up so late?”

“I did everything he said today. I think I deserve this one thing” she smiles, walking towards you. “You look a bit tired”

“Jeez, thanks”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Ugh, Yelena is right, I have no game off court”

You laugh at that, taking her hands in yours.

“It’s fine, I was just teasing you” you say, looking as her eyes drift towards your lips. You both lean forward, sharing a kiss.

“Thank you” Natasha says.

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

“I don’t mean the kiss, no. Thank you for telling Yelena that thing about… Wanda”

“Oh”

Natasha walks with you to one of the chairs and you sit together.

“I haven’t spoken to her in months. And I don’t want to be with her. I need you to know that”

“But still… you said you’re not sure you want a relationship, right? It would be too much trouble”

“I think it might be worth the effort for you” she confesses and you smile.

“You do have game”

“I do?”

“Tiny bit. We’ll work on it”

She laughs, and you sit in silence for a moment.

“I made my debut in this court”

“I know”

“How…?”

You sigh. Since you’re sharing stories…

“After my dad died, I kinda took distance from the things we did together. That included all kinds of sports. It was a painful reminder. And then, as the USO was starting, I realised he had already bought our tickets. So I came here, walked around a bit. And then I saw you”

Natasha smiles, squeezing your hand.

“Your hair was shorter, and you were wearing a weird orange top with green shorts” you frown as you remember how awful it looked.

“My mom chose it for me!” the redhead buries her face in her hands and you laugh. You take them in yours as you continue the story.

“You were amazing that day. Controlled, precise… I forgot for a little while about how sad I was. And after you won, I came back everyday to watch you play”

“Thank you for telling me that. I wish I could have known your father”

“I would have liked that too”

There’s silence as you both think about your own journies, the things that brought you to this moment.

“Come on, we should go. You need your rest” you stand up, offering your hand to Natasha. She thinks for a moment before taking it, but instead of standing up she pulls you down until you’re sitting on her lap, your legs around her.

“Nat?” you gulp, blushing at how close you are.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop” she whispers, kissing your neck and squeezing your ass.

“Holy shit, no, don’t stop” you plead, tangling your fingers in her red hair.

“Locker room?”

“Lead the way” you kiss her frantically, hoping no one sees you.

Once you arrive there, Natasha smiles and your heart stops for a second.

“Ready to scream my name?”

—

There’s warmth. And a nice pressure. Some tingling on your back. Like a soft touch.

You open your eyes in an unknown room, trying to remember where you are. As you turn around you find Natasha fast asleep, her arm around your middle.

“Nat?” you call for her, hoping no one walks in any time soon.

“Five more minutes” she mumbles against your skin.

“Nat, wake up” you plead.

As it turns out, she only reacts when Yelena kicks the door, walking in on you naked under the sheets.

“Happy finals day seestra—-ah! Naked”

“Yelena what is wrong?” to your horror, Melina joins her daughter. “Oh, you two lovebirds!”

“WHY DOESNT ANYONE KNOCK HERE” Natasha screams, putting the sheets above her head.

“Sorry” Melina says, dragging away Yelena.

“Yeah, sorry” Yelena echoes, sounding anything but.

As you both get dressed, the memories of last night come back to you.

After your rendezvous -and almost getting caught by security- you decided it would be better to continue elsewhere. You blush as images of Natasha moaning, kissing and pleasuring you also come back.

“Hey” she approaches you as you walk to the door. “You ok? You look a little…”

“Flustered?” you say, trying to hide your blush.

“Well, yes. I’m sorry about them walking in”

“Last night was… amazing”

“Yeah?” she circles your waist with her hands and pulls you closer. “How amazing?”

“Like winning all Grand Slams in the same year kind of amazing” your hands go around her neck and you pull her for a kiss.

“Wow, that’s big talk” Natasha comments agains your lips. And as she’s about to kiss you, Fury walks in.

“Romanoff! What did I tell you about that cardio”

“For the love of God, knock!” Natasha says, defeated.

“Don’t worry, Fury, I promise she was laying down for the most part” you wink at the man.

“Stay for breakfast” Melina invites as she’s setting the suite’s table with all the room service.

“This has been sufficiently awkward, thank you. And I also imagine you have stuff to do”

“You need to stay hydrated. How much liquid did you lose?” Fury says, going around the kitchen like a headless chicken.

“Fury, I haven’t seen her this relaxed in months. My sister will be fine” Yelena comments.

“Are you coming to the game?”

“Of course. I’m on press duty”

“Come to the player’s box” Melina says.

“Would that be wise?” you ask and everyone shares a look. “What I mean is, we want to make Wanda think her plan worked, right? If she sees me there she’ll know we are on to her”

“I don’t care what she thinks. I want you there” Natasha takes your hand and you smile.

“Alright. I’ll be there. See you later” you kiss her cheek and smile.

“Byeee” Melina and Yelena say, and you realise that Natasha will have to deal with their questions.

Well, if she can deal with the press, she can deal with her family.

—

The day goes by in a blur, and as the match approaches, you feel more anxious. God, how does Natasha do this? If it were you with the world watching, you’d probably break down the minute you step into the court.

“Hello there” Yelena greets as you meet at the player’s entrance of Arthur Ashe. “Ever been here?”

“Just once, with Bucky”

It’s hard to forget the luxurious facilities where players can get food, special gifts, some physio or workout before their matches.

“He won last year, right?”

“Yes” you smile at the memory. “How is Natasha doing?”

“She’s done with warmup, she had something light to eat and she seems ready. She’s also been smiling like an idiot all day, even if Fury kept her away from her phone”

“I want her to win, so whatever it takes” you smile at the blonde, and follow her to the lounge, where Natasha is waiting with Melina. The redhead smiles as soon as she spots you and you kiss her on the cheek.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a complete wreck”

“You got this. Remember she prefers short games, she also doesn’t like to volley or come close to the net. And people say her forehand is killer but she goes too far behind her back, so use it against her”

“Y/N?” she interrupts your rambling. “All of that is fine advice, but I already have Nick on my back 24/7”

“Right, sorry”

“You know what he doesn’t provide?”

“Hm?”

“Good luck kisses”

“That’s right, it’s above my paygrade” Fury says. “Say your goodbyes now”

Melina and Yelena hug her, Fury squeezes her shoulder and then they give you some space.

“Go win this thing” you say, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

Natasha leans her forehead against yours and smiles.

She’s ready.

—

Natasha comes out first, and the crowd goes wild.

Wanda is close behind her; you catch her staring at you, clearly shocked that you’re next to Nat’s family.

“Who’s losing focus now?” Yelena says with a cheerful voice and you can’t help but smile.

The game begins and it is very clear that Natasha is playing aggressively. She has an ace on every game and there are hardly any break points for Wanda. It’s been 30 minutes and the score is 5-2.

“She’s cooked,” Fury says, looking at Wanda. You shake your head.

“Maximoff has an insane record after losing the first set, you know that”

And in fact, she does lose the first set. As always, the crowd loves to cheer on the underdog, so they go wild when Wanda wins the first two games of the second set.

“Come on, Tasha” you scream, and she looks your way, smiling. In no time, they’re tied.

“What are the odds on a tiebreak?” Yelena asks.

“It can go either way” you sigh, confirming that it will happen as they reach 6-6.

Natasha is playing fast and hard, giving no time for Wanda to recover.

But as she serves for the match, Wanda challenges the call in the most disruptive way possible.

It was in, but since Nat stopped playing the point goes to Wanda.

“That’s bullshit” Yelena says under her breath and you nod.

Sure enough, Natasha zones out and goes from match point to losing the second set.

“Dear Lord” Fury says, trying to keep a neutral expression.

“Maximoff looks exhausted, Nick. Natasha is doing great. She didn’t give away the second set. She’ll do this”

The third set begins, the first four games a close call. Deuce is called when they’re tied at 2, and you know that whoever wins this point will end up winning the match.

Every time Wanda has an advantage, Natasha comes back and breaks. Even when the Sokovian is serving, it doesn’t stop Natasha from pulling her back to 40-40. The Russian is a wall, and Wanda seems to lose hope as time passes.

And then, it happens.

Wanda has a double fault that gives Natasha the advantage. Followed by a double fault that gives her a break.

“Yes” Fury claps, trying to keep it together.

As the score approaches 5, your heart beats faster. Once again, 5-2.

Natasha serving for the match.

An ace.

The crowd goes wild.

The second ball goes out of the court when Wanda hits it.

Then, a double fault.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s 30-15 and then 30-30. All Natasha needs are two more points to win.

She searches for your face in the crowd and you smile, nodding.

“You’re going to win” you say and she smiles.

Another ace.

The screens show the “championship point” sign.

Wanda doesn’t make it easy for her. She’s like a wounded animal that has nothing to lose, so she runs, she answers every throw with a groan, she comes to the net.

But when Natasha does her signature dropshot, Wanda tries to run, reaches too late and the ball bounces one, two, three times.

“Game, set, match, Romanoff”

“Fuck, YEEES” Yelena screams, standing up and cheering.

It’s all a blur, Natasha falling to the ground and covering her face. Walking to the net to shake Wanda’s hand, and then the umpire’s.

After, she walks among the crowd, trying to reach her box. Yelena is the first to jump, their mother hugging them both and crying.

Fury looks like he’s about to cry as Natasha hugs him. You’re certainly crying happy tears as you watch them.

And then, she walks past him and picks you up from the ground, kissing you in front of the entire stadium.

“Congrats, Nat” you say against her lips.

“I’ll be right back” she promises when the security guard asks her to come back for the ceremony.

“You owe me a question”

“Save it for the next championship” she says against your lips and you kiss again, in spite of the guard’s insistence and with the crowd cheering you on.

—

It’s been six more slam titles, two years of tours around the world.

Natasha still owes you a question.

You’re saving it for a time when you’re both ready, and you’ll ask her to marry you.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff fic #Natasha Romanoff x you fluff

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starlight-eclipsed · 1 year

Text

Rockets Pointed Up at the Stars (Pt 1/2)

Inspired by this braindead rejected soulmates au post by @im-totally-not-an-alien-2. More art at the end!

Part II

Tim slumped down on the edge of an apartment building, leaning his weight against the rooftop’s fence. The alleyways below were deserted, criminals retreating to get a couple hours of sleep before sunrise. A perfect setting to catch a breather before ending his patrol for the night.

The Red Robin suit still felt wrong on him. He thought waiting a week to get accustomed to it would help, but he might have made a mistake when he tried to adjust it to be as close to his Robin uniform as possible without it being obvious. He’d have to remember to alter it further the next time he got the chance, to see if wearing something entirely different would finally make him stop checking the shadows for Bruce. Patrolling Gotham alone felt too much like admitting he was really gone.

Just as he was about to move on, the rooftop access door slammed open.

Tim nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around, ready to either apologize, attack, or flee, when he met familiar glowing green eyes.

Subconsciously, he let himself breathe easy as he took in the other’s appearance.

Phantom was an anomaly at the best of times. A phantom thief by definition, the criminal had simply appeared one day to cause chaos—lingering only to taunt his pursuers as he made a daring escape with whatever priceless treasure of the month. His motives were unknown, as was virtually anything about him besides his calling card (a green sticky note with nothing but ‘BOO’ written in permanent black marker), appearance, and a meta ability to phase through objects.

Of course, one couldn’t be a phantom thief without a detective rival (or so the thief in question claimed). For some reason, Phantom had outright declared not Batman, but Robin for the role. Tim couldn’t count how many sleepless nights were spent chasing after him, face red from a mixture of exertion and embarrassment. Because it wasn’t enough for the admittedly good-looking criminal roughly his age to run circles around him. No, the jerk had to go out of his way to flirt with him the whole time.

He hadn’t even thought about how Phantom would react to there being a new Robin. But looking at him now, a small part of Tim couldn’t help but feel selfishly glad. From what he could see of the furious expression on his shadowed face and glowing eyes, it wasn’t hard to see that Phantom was taking the change about as well as Tim was.

“I leave for two weeks, and suddenly there’s a new Batman and Robin?! What the fuck, Detective—you’d think to at least have the decency to tell a guy, but nooo, I had to find out through goddamn Victor Fries!”

Tim blinked, “Didn’t Mr. Freeze retire after someone brought his wife back?”

Phantom paused his fury, shrugging a bit. “Nora keeps track of everything happening in Gotham in case something her husband did to save her comes back to bite them.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway! It took me going after Victor to ask why there was a new Robin for me to hear that the actual Batman was dead, Gotham went berserk for a while as every other guy tried to take up the position, and somewhere along the lines you got the grand idea to add ‘red’ to your name! Which makes no sense, since you practically lived for that mantle and I would’ve bet that you’d take it past the grave if given the chance.”

Tim winced. As per usual, Phantom’s words hit home in more ways than intended.

The thief stopped short, the glowing of his eyes intensifying as he looked over Tim’s new identity. Tim didn’t move as soundless footsteps strode forward, not even pausing as Phantom phased through the chain link fence to sit a couple feet away from him.

He could count on one hand the number of times Phantom had done this. One second they’d be exchanging insults, and then suddenly the criminal would stop and stare, feeling like he was gazing into the depths of Tim’s very soul. Each time, he called off their chase, insisting that Tim take a break and talk to someone about whatever was troubling him. It was uncanny how he could somehow tell when Tim’s negative feelings were overwhelming his rational thought—Batman himself would use Phantom encounters to measure Tim’s wellbeing at times.

Looking back, it was odd how Phantom would insert himself into every aspect of Robin’s life, but back off the second he sensed something was wrong. He’d call attention to whenever Tim was particularly anxious, once even physically dragging Bruce over to ‘talk to your son when he’s sad’, but never offer any comfort himself. But here they were, Phantom obviously seeing something Tim could never hope to conceal, with no Bruce nearby to summon and make things better.

Tim’s throat clogged at the reminder of yet another little thing Bruce might never get to do again. He couldn’t be dead, not with how many times Tim checked the body and struggled to recognize the man who’d become like a father to him.

“...I…I know we’re not exactly friends, Detective. But if you need to get something off your chest, I swear to never use it against you.” Phantom fidgeted with his cloak. From this close a distance, Tim could see the faint glimmer of sparkling purple constellations embroidered on the inside. For some reason, the sight of the soft fabric never failed to calm his nerves.

(It reminded him of a time long ago, when he held a gel ink pen and asked a mystery person to quit whatever they were doing that left his arms covered in star charts that didn’t match anything in the Earth’s night sky.)

He didn’t dare force himself to speak, for fear he might break this tentative peace. Thankfully, Phantom seemed to be taking initiative that night.

“...did you know that I used to be a teen hero?”

Tim’s head jerked upright, meeting Phantom’s eyes. It was impossible to tell exactly what expression he was making behind the mask, but he got a sense of bitter nostalgia. “You never talk about your past.”

A scoff, “Yeah, ‘cause it’s depressing as fuck. Not exactly the sort of thing you can talk about causally.”

He chewed his lip, thinking. “Your suit…minus the cloak, it looks reminiscent of a uniform.”

Phantom fiddled with a cylinder hooked on his belt. It was the only piece of tech visible on his person, a modified soup thermos that somehow served as a near infinite item storage. Impressive, if not odd.

“Yeah, the cloak is more of a blanket than anything else. I added it on when I got tired of looking at the same clothes I used to save my hometown in. It…I didn’t become a hero for fame. It was more trouble than it was worth, honestly. You guys nowadays have so much better support systems than when I was in the business. Makes me wonder if…” he trailed off.

“...why’d you stop?” Tim asked gently, more than willing to throw himself into this new mystery now that he knew it was there.

“It was too much. Everyone wanted me gone, even the people I was protecting. I was hated for my powers, for not always being on the scene when I was needed, for not ending fights faster and for the property damage my villains caused. I didn’t live in a place with metahuman protection laws. The few people that knew my secret identity got tired of superhero life and ditched the first chance they got.” He sighed, “I was hurting, and was desperate for a way out.”

Tim frowned, “So you moved to Gotham and started stealing?”

Phantom snorted. “Nah, I was fucked up for a while after I ran away. It’s funny, one of my rogues was the first to track me down and drag me to a hospital to get my injuries checked. Like a dozen of them got together for an intervention, I thought I was finally losing my grip on reality. I spent a couple months recovering, then took one of them up on a suggestion to try causing trouble for a change. Not anything super bad, but…”

“...enough to feel more in control?” Tim suggested. It wasn’t uncommon for people in bad situations to commit minor crimes, both for the adrenaline and the power rush. Tim himself had once poured his whole soul into tracking and photographing Gotham’s nighttime birds. A hobby that was more than a bit cringe-worthy in hindsight, and definitely creepy considering how much effort he put into stalking his idols. Honestly his young age was the only reason he didn’t get put on a watchlist when he revealed himself to Bruce. That, and the whole I-know-your-secret-identity thing.

“Oof. Yeah, that’s a way to put it. Being hated hurt less when that’s what I was aiming for, y’know?”

Tim tilted his head. “I never hated you.”

A derisive laugh, “Uh-huh. And you loved being led on goose chases when there were more important ways to spend your time.”

“I’m serious.” Tim shifted so that he was better facing Phantom. He didn’t know why, but couldn’t stand the thought of Phantom leaving tonight convinced he was universally hated. “You only make a scene on quiet nights, and you always slowed down for me whenever I had to stop and intervene on some other crime. And you only target the private collections of rich people. Not anyone whose life would be ruined by something getting stolen. You even go out of your way to make sure the guards on duty don’t get in trouble, even when it puts you in a strategically worse position. And…”

He hesitated. Bruce wouldn’t approve…but then again, there was that weird relationship he had with Selina.

“And it was fun. To chase you. It was challenging and frustrating, but your appearance meant that there was nothing else to worry about that night. We could just run regular patrols.”

Oracle was the one to make the connection. Tim didn’t know where along the lines it became an accepted fact, only that Bruce was more comfortable about Robin patrolling alone when Phantom was making a move. A miracle considering what happened to the last one.

Phantom blinked, frowning a bit before his eyes went wide, a shaky smile forming on his lips. “Thanks…it was fun for me too. Kinda the whole reason I kept setting up scenes for Robin to find.”

Tim laughed. The sound startled both of them—he didn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled like this. It had to be sometime before Bruce was gone, at least.

“So…” Phantom hopped down on the railing of a balcony below, balancing precariously in the way that only he could. He looked up at Tim with an easygoing smile that did little to hide the concern underneath. “As your self-proclaimed favorite rogue, wanna tell me what’s up with the sudden change?”

He shifted a bit, grin fading. “Well…Batman died. He was facing Darkseid and got hit. After the chaos died down, Nightwing took up the mantle and made Batman’s son the new Robin, to help him grieve or something.”

“I don’t know where to start with that.” Phantom adjusted his hood, briefly revealing tan skin underneath. “You sound like you didn’t have a say in it. Wasn’t Robin yours?”

Something bitter worked its way up through Tim’s chest. “It was a borrowed title anyway. I only took it up to help Batman, so it makes sense that I was dismissed—”

“No.”

“—after huh?”

Phantom strode up to him, poking a finger at his knee. “You love being Robin. You don’t have to justify losing your identity. It could’ve been taken in the name of world peace for all I care, that doesn’t make it any less shitty. You just lost someone super important to you, and your connection to them was taken because someone thought your grief was less important. I don’t care who the current one is, you are just as much Batman’s son.”

Tim couldn’t help the small sob that escaped. Or when it doubled, and tears started burning at his eyes. He rubbed at them in an attempt to stop them before they could make his mask go hot and sticky, but was startled out of it by a soft weight being thrown over him. He looked up to see Phantom leaning over him, securing the hood of his cloak over Tim’s own head.

“You looked like you needed some comfort. It’s weighted.” Phantom shrugged.

“...thanks.” Tim pulled it closer, more than happy to latch onto yet another new focus. “How do you move so easily in this? It feels like I’m being hugged by gravity.”

Phantom chuckled, and it was at that moment Tim suddenly realized the other was floating in the air over him. Since when has he been able to fly?

“I use intangibility a lot, but it’s not my only power. It felt like overkill to use more than that in my heists. So I didn’t.”

Tim groaned, “You were going easy on me this whole time?”

“Oh, definitely not. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but intangibility is arguably the most pain in the ass thing to counter. I’m being annoying on purpose.”

Phantom grinned, and Tim couldn’t help but analyze the full sight of him. Everything from his teeth to his ears was pointed, a sharp contrast to the wispy white hair that flowed smoothly in a nonexistent breeze. The most attention grabbing was a glowing green mark resembling a gash across his chest, roughly in the place where a hero would wear their logo. The sight of it made Tim’s own chest ache.

“I don’t think Batman is dead.” He said suddenly.

“What makes you say that?” Phantom asked, reclining on empty air.

It wasn’t denial, not calling him insane or lost in grief. For the first time since his fight with Dick, Tim felt as though he could breathe again. “I know it sounds crazy, there’s no proof—”

“Woah woah woah,” Phantom reached forward, gently pulling Tim’s hands away from where he had started pulling at his hair. “Slow down. Walk me through your thought process.”

“It just…it doesn’t feel right. Not that I can’t believe it if he died, but this specifically doesn’t feel right. I’d feel it if Br-Batman was dead…there was a whole cloning facility where Batman’s body was found.”

That seemed to spark interest in Phantom’s eyes. “You think the body was a clone?”

“Why would someone as powerful and precise as Darkseid drop everything and kill someone he was in the process of cloning? Why was he even trying to clone Batman specifically? We’re missing something, and I think Darkseid is using everyone’s grief to cover his plan.”

Phantom propped his chin on his hand, deep in thought. “Darkseid…I’ve heard that name before. Does he have something to do with time or space?”

Tim practically sagged in relief. “He can travel freely through both, and has a host of other abilities that give Superman a run for his money.”

He snapped his fingers, “Ah, that Darkseid! Yeah, if he wanted Bats dead there wouldn’t be a body left. I’d bet my collection he’s lost in time somewhere.”

“Thank you!” Tim gestured wildly, “You’re officially the first person to hear me out. Like, is it really so hard to believe?”

“No probs, Detect-o. It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard, by far.”

“Exactly,” Tim huffed, leaning back and sighing. “Now I just have to convince the Justice League so they can go back in time and grab him.”

“Why not just get him yourself?”

Tim glanced over to where Phantom hung in the sky. “Unless you’re also hiding time powers in there, we kinda need the League to get to him. Plus I don’t even know when in time he is.”

“Lucky for you, I know a guy,” Phantom grinned. “The Master of Time messaged me this mornin’, something about stopping Batman from breaking the time space continuum. It’s why I’m back in Gotham so soon.”

“You…know the Master of Time.”

“Yep!” He popped the p.

“And they messaged you.”

Phantom hummed, “You can imagine how it went when I tried to confront Batman a couple hours ago. The new Robin’s a menace, if I was any slower you’d have to deal with a Phantom shish kebab.”

Tim winced. It was never fun to be on the wrong end of Damian’s katana. Still, he focused back on the insanity at hand. “So you’re saying you can just go back and rescue Batman right now?”

“Now that I know what’s happening, yeah. Clocky probably already has a portal ready for me. Batman will be back before you can say ‘Gotham’!”

It was inconceivable. To think, the living nightmare of the past weeks would be over, just like that. His brain was screaming at him that this was some sort of cruel setup, that there was no way Phantom was telling the truth. There had to be a catch somewhere, some kind of punchline in the sick comedy that was the life of Tim Drake.

But his heart, the part of him that just wanted his dad back won out.

“What’s stopping you? You’re not usually one to wait for a window of opportunity.”

Phantom rubbed the back of his neck. “No, but I distinctly remember waiting for a certain vigilante. I was wondering if…you’d like to come with?”

Tim’s jaw dropped. “You’re inviting me, a vigilante who has attempted to arrest you dozens of times…to travel back in time to save Batman, another vigilante who has tried to put you under arrest.”

“Emphasis on tried,” Phantom joked, before turning serious. “I mean it—it’s your family. Besides, it could be fun. You come with me on a time heist, instead of sitting back here worrying your pretty head off with all the ways things could go wrong. And you get to tell everyone else ‘I told ya so’ when you save Batman on your own.”

He tried to work his mind through what Phantom was offering. To be able to fix things, maybe not go back to the way they used to be (Damian might actually kill him if he ever wore Robin again) but to have Bruce back. It wasn’t even a question.

No matter how smart Tim was, how he tried to plan things in advance the way Bruce did, he never stopped being the lonely kid who would sneak out at night to shadow his heroes. When Phantom reached out to offer a hand, Tim didn’t hesitate.

“You’re wrong, though.”

Phantom blinked, firmly gripping Tim’s hand without hurting him. “About what?”

“I wouldn’t be saving Batman on my own. We’d be doing it together.”

A fanged grin matched his own, blinding him to the swirling green portal that formed around them. Before Tim could so much as wonder if he maybe should’ve messaged someone about what he was setting off to do, they were already gone.

— - —

This was supposed to be a oneshot, but it got a bit long so I decided to split it up.

I really love this au, but I noticed that everyone has a tendency to hone in on the angst so much that the characters behind it get a bit lost in the process. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I wanted to try my hand at writing the misunderstandings without making either of them at fault.

(Insert rant about how the whole point of soulmates is that this person is a match for you, so even if you fundamentally are not good for each other you still get where the other person is coming from. There's so much more angst potential in not being able to hate someone no matter what they do to hurt you, but I digress.)

But yeah, let the boys heal and be happy! Also this is the closest I've gotten to actually writing romance and that's not saying much XD

Here's the design I drew for Phantom Thief!Danny. Feel free to drop an ask, I'd love to ramble more about this :D

#dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc art #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #brain dead #rejected soulmate au #danny x tim #i wrote this instead of studying for my midterm that's tomorrow #remember me fondly #my art #my fic

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pierregazly · 9 months

Text

tolerate it ꨄ lewis hamilton

lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: age gap (no specific age, just mentioned), angst, no hea

this is just me projecting my sadness with this song onto one of the drivers, lewis being the best option. there's a chance i may do a part 2 to this eventually, but im pretty content with how it ended for now. i hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t always like this.

There was a time when you didn’t wake up, clenching your eyes closed in the hopes that it would magically change the outcome once they opened.

There was a time when you would wake up, Lewis nuzzling his chin into the space where your neck and shoulders collided, peppering the skin with little kisses in the hopes it would wake you from your slumber.

There was a time when you didn’t have to hold your breath, when your eyes didn’t have to adjust to the lack of light in the room, just to get a small glimpse of the man you loved curled up next to you.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when it had all changed. Maybe it was at the beginning of the season, maybe it was before that. You couldn’t really be too sure.

Now, you were lucky to catch a glimpse of him in the morning, lucky to even get the chance to move your eyes across his ink-coloured skin beside you. You were lucky to even get a kiss goodbye in the morning before he left, the sun barely up when he was leaving to go to training, or the factory, or God knows where.

The words between the both of you were minimal nowadays, it was more like living with a roommate you saw occasionally instead of a lover that you were supposed to be sharing a life with.

There was a time when Lewis would giggle as he read the words of his books to you in whatever animated voice he could come up with. There was a time when the art he created was a joint effort between the two of you; now, it felt like all he did was tolerate you.

It was evident neither you, nor Lewis, wanted to touch on the topic. Both of you tiptoed around each other, not wanting to open the door that would push the storm in.

There isn’t much time spent at the paddock anymore, your career becoming the main focus of your priorities. You still welcomed Lewis home after every Grand Prix, his favourite dinner’s packaged in the fridge, the linens cleaned, and his clothes prepped.

A battle hero’s welcome, one could call it.

He always politely thanked you, a gentle kiss to your forehead before he made his way to the office for the remainder of the night. There was a time when he would debrief with you after every race, watching highlight videos on the television while he explained what he did wrong, what he did right, where he could improve and where he got a little too cocky. Now he just did it alone, the door of his office tightly closed, no sound emitting from the room.

Sugarcoating it to your friends and family was difficult. They understood Lewis’ career took center stage, but they couldn’t understand why he was never around when they came to your shared apartment, why it felt like his presence wasn’t even prominent in the home at all.

There was no way to explain it, without sounding naïve, without sounding like you were just letting a relationship that was drowning, pull you down with it.

Everyone suggested different reasons. The season wasn’t going in the way Lewis had hoped. Maybe his age is finally getting to him. Maybe he’s considering retirement and it’s bothering him. Maybe the age difference between the two of you is too much now.

Maybe he’s fallen out of love.

You knew the last one was a significant possibility. Lewis was a private person, but he showed his heart on his shoulder, especially at the beginning. Large declarations of love, obnoxious presents, at first, he wanted you to know that he was in love with you, constantly.

There isn’t a time in the last four months that you can remember where Lewis demonstrated his love for you, quick ‘love you’s’ before the door slammed behind him, a random heart in the middle of the night when he’s halfway across the world; even those had slowly stopped.

Nowadays he would hum silently when you told him you loved him, he would send a heart back if you sent one to him. He didn’t initiate anything, it just simply felt like he was tolerating it when you expressed your love for him.

It wasn’t hard to remember the times when Lewis would tell you how much he loved you, how he would show it.

He would curl up behind you in bed, the unmade sheets wrapped lazily around the two of you as he groaned into your neck, his hands resting around your middle as he eagerly cuddled up to you.

You could always feel him mumbling words into your neck, but he would never tell you what he was saying. Lewis would just smile and press a tiny kiss to your lips, the kiss heating up as time went on, your bodies moving in sync as he demonstrated his love for you in every way he knew how.

You weren’t a self-conscious person, you knew you had plenty to offer when it came to your relationship, and when it came to life in itself. You knew your love should be celebrated, celebrated in the way that Lewis used to celebrate it, the way he used to giggle as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, gently swaying to the music coming from his phone as you cooked together.

You tried to push the negative thoughts away, the thoughts of leaving, of packing up your bags and leaving in the middle of the weekend while he was away. You considered it, time and time again. The suitcases staring at you from the closet, telling you to open them, pack them, and leave.

Every weekend the temptation grew stronger and stronger. The urge to walk away, to preserve your dignity, sat heavy on your shoulders.

Every time when you thought you had decided, thought you had made the decision to pull the dagger out and walk away; an invisible force pulled you back. Told you that the season was slowly coming to its end, that the old Lewis would come back to you when the season was up, he was just stressed out and things were hard.

He never talked about his problems with you. He would debrief with you, sure. He would tell you about the problems in the race, but he would never tell you about his internal problems.

It’s how you constantly justified his behaviour, and his actions... or lack thereof.

Your mind always went back to those thoughts when you considered leaving. It always made you think about the fact that he was probably struggling, that he just wasn’t able to talk to you about it and that you leaving would probably make things worse.

It was the invisible but obvious force, that, you knew.

Lewis didn’t know about these thoughts. At least he never showed that he knew. The bags were always tucked away in the back of the closet when he returned home, like they were never sitting in front of the open door. Everything was back in their rightful place, as if the thought of leaving had never crossed your mind.

One of your favourite moments with him happened just before the beginning of the season. You were cuddled up on the couch, the remnants of a ‘Game of Thrones’ episode playing on the television, Lewis’ hand gently creating shapes on the visible skin of your back.

“Do you ever feel like you’re too old, or like... too wise for me? Like someone closer to your age would be better?”

You felt him huff against your neck, a small laugh falling from his lips before he pressed a kiss to the spot his lips were before shaking his head.

“Are you calling me old, my love?”

Immediately shaking your head with a tiny laugh, you slapped his chest with a gleam in your eyes. “You know what I meant, Lew...”

Rolling you over, he leaned over you as he pushed a lock of his own unruly hair behind his ear. “I rarely think about the fact you’re younger than me. It doesn’t affect the way in which I love you, half the time I forget that you’re younger than me. I definitely don’t think I’m wiser, that’s for sure. It’s pretty obvious who has all the wisdom between the two of us.”

The night ended with you below him, the sheets rustling, as if all the love he had for you could be encaptured in the way his eyes connected with yours. You had never felt that kind of raw love before, had never felt like everything you had done had led to that exact moment.

Trying to convince yourself that everything happening now was all in your mind was easy. The comments that your friends made, that maybe he didn’t love you anymore; was easy enough to ignore when you considered the fact that he did still reply to your messages, that he still came home every Sunday, that he still sometimes pressed a kiss to your forehead before leaving in the morning.

But then sometimes you let your mind reel, and reel, and reel. Lewis was there, but was he really there?

The conversation almost happened, after Spa. Lewis was exhausted coming into your shared apartment, his bags dropping down at the front door. You were wrapped up in one of his Mercedes sweaters, his racing number engraved on the sleeves; even if he was there physically and not mentally, you had still made him your everything, you had made him your mural, had dedicated the sky to him.

The pictures on the walls still showed a love between the two of you that wasn’t obvious anymore. The picture of you wrapped around him after the end of the 2020 season. The pictures of the both of you cuddled around each other at his family Christmas, the collage of his nephews wrapped in your arms. There were hundreds of photos that showed how life used to be.

Your mind came back to the present when Lewis crossed the path in front of you.

Like always, he went to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, the exhaustion prevalent on his face. As he was walking towards his office, you felt the words bubble out of your mouth before you could control them.

“Did you want to watch this with me? I feel like we haven’t really spent much time together lately.”

The words stopped him in his tracks, you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as his body turned in your direction. It felt like his face was mocking you with its fake sympathy as he gently shook his head, his curls moving with the direction.

“I’m just too tired. I have to go watch highlights in my office. Maybe later.”

It was always ‘maybe later’, or ‘maybe tomorrow’, or ‘I’m sorry we can’t celebrate our anniversary this year, I just don’t have time this weekend, maybe next weekend’.

It felt like you were begging him for a spot in his life, like you were an inconvenience that he didn’t want to put the effort into anymore. By now, you weren’t even begging for a line in the story, but a line in the footnotes of his life. A minuscule part, something that he couldn’t even try to give you.

Lewis made it clear he felt bad after he bailed on your anniversary. He spent hundreds of dollars on you, basically begging you for forgiveness and emphasizing things would be different soon, he promised.

He was right, things were different. Not in a good way. Maybe that was the point when things really started going downhill. It was still hard to pinpoint it.

Making yourself scarce when Lewis was home was easy. Your friends were always looking for you to go for lunch, or dinner, or out for drinks. Spending your time at work was always an easy escape, allowing the never-ending flow of work to occupy your thoughts as you went above and beyond.

If Lewis noticed that you were avoiding him, avoiding your home; he didn’t say anything. He never said anything.

Spending the weekends at home was therapeutic, your arms wrapped in another one of Lewis’ oversized sweaters. The smell of his cologne wafting up your noise as you pressed the sleeve to your face, the unshed tears refusing to leave your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not again.

You knew you would cry, again. You always let the tears fall when you scrolled back up in your conversation with Lewis to when things first started, when he was animated, when he overshared, when he sent you photos of George, of Mick, when he forwarded you along videos of Roscoe when Roscoe was away with him.

Back when your love was celebrated, when it didn’t feel like Lewis was just tolerating it, tolerating you, tolerating your love.

Jealousy reared its ugly head every weekend as well. Whenever you saw an Instagram story, or a twitter post, whenever you saw that Lewis was out with his friends, or his team, or his crew. You knew it wasn’t fair to be jealous, that it wasn’t fair to compare yourself to the people that Lewis spent 5/7 days a week with, that it was hard for him to say ‘no’ to them.

It didn’t change how much it hurt, how much it made your heart ache to know that you truly were something that could be put on the backburner. He was always out building other worlds, but where were you?

Where were you every time he was out with his friends after a race? Where were you every time he was celebrating a win, or celebrating a pole in qualifying? Where were you every time he went live on Instagram?

Where was his love for you when you sat looking at the suitcases in the closet, again?

Gone.

It was time to accept the truth, that his love for you was gone. That he didn’t celebrate his love for you like he once did, that he didn’t celebrate you, like he once did.

He tolerated it, and he tolerated you. Tolerating something and celebrating it were too obviously different things. It had never been more evident.

The bags didn’t stare at you anymore as they laid open on the bedroom floor, your clothes finding themselves folded and inside each of them, your portion of the closet emptying out as the bags grew heavier and heavier. The bags under your eyes growing darker alongside them.

You couldn’t leave without saying anything to him, couldn’t allow him to come home to an empty home. It was obvious he didn’t deserve an explanation, and you didn’t plan on giving him one. But he deserved a goodbye.

It was clear the presence of the suitcases registered in Lewis’ mind the moment his eyes found them as the front door closed. He immediately looked at you, the most emotion you’d seen in months shining in his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

The shake in his hands was visible as he asked the question, his own bags falling gently beside your own as he stared at you.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t beg for a place in your life anymore, Lew. I’m sorry.”

The resignation was evident in his eyes, but there was no fight in them as he sat on the couch opposite you. It almost hurt to know that he wasn’t going to argue, wasn’t going to ask you to stay, to not break free and leave the both of you in ruins. It almost hurt, but you knew it would be the case.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t try to stop you as you went towards your bags, he didn’t look up from his ink-stained hands as the click of the lock sounded. He didn’t try to say anything more as the suitcases rolled out the door.

You didn’t see the tears gather in his eyes and then fall down his cheeks as the door closed behind you, the longing on his face as he debated with himself internally if he should run after you. Beg you to stay. It was so plain to see now, you were younger, and wiser, and he didn’t deserve you anymore.

Lewis knew the truth. You deserved someone who would celebrate you, celebrate your love. Not someone who could only tolerate it when their own life was falling apart. He didn’t deserve you, not anymore.

i really hope you guys liked this!! im really not too sure if i'll make a part 2, but if there's a lot of demand for one i will. thank you for all the love. also i read this like 4 times so if there's any mistakes im sorry lol

tag list

@iloveyou3000morgan @leclercdream @myescapefromthislife

(if you're interested in being added to my taglist for all my works please reach out! i didnt tag anyone who only requested to be tagged for specific parts of my other work!

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fic #taylor swift trope #formula 1 #f1 #lewis hamilton x female reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 imagine

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reallyromealone · 1 year

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Hey hey hows ya day, can I get a smutty fic of Alpha Jing Yuan going into a rut so Omega reader helps out, for some bit of spice can I get biting, choking/throat grabbing, and some spanking perhaps, please and thank you for the delicious meal🙏 (If tumblr doesn't send this again it's because they're racist🤬👊)

How dare tumblr smh

Jing Yuan x male reader omegaverse

Nsfw - biting - knots - light choking - nsfw - smut

🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷

(name) felt hands move across his body as he slept, grunting as lips move down his chest before biting down on his hip "ah!" (Name)s eyes snapped open to see glowing golden eyes that belonged to his alpha "already..?" (Name) looked at the feral alpha who locked eyes with him.

(Name) was pulled closer as the Alpha grinded his erect cock, fangs on full display and (name) whined and pulled the Alpha close, Jing Yuan biting his neck, rumbles escaping his throat while he gripped the base of the omegas neck, pressing only slightly.

(Name) whined, submitting to his mate who rumbled happily before flipping him to mount him, pleased at (name) submission while leaving bite marks on his shoulder and neck; everyone needed to know who (name) belonged to.

When Jing prodded his ass with his cock, (name) shivered in pleasure as Jing slapped ass, pleased at the ripple and proceeded to grope and gently slap his ass as his cock rubbed against the others hole, slick and pre-cum mixing together before Jing pushed in with a growl, (name) whining as he was practically split apart by the other and came right there.

Climaxing didn't stop the Alpha though, the white haired man slowly bottoming out before pulling out and slamming back in, long hard thrusts as he kissed (name)s neck in a subconscious way to make his mate relax more and was pleased at (name) melting into his touch as he let out little chirps, knowing Jing wouldn't react much to words but rather Omegan sounds.

(Name) was laying down as Jing rolled his hips into the the other, breathy moans and low grunts filled the air with the smell of sex heavy "oh!" (Name) tightened up as Jing hit his prostate and the feral alpha was silent before grabbing his neck and lifting him up so he was sitting in jings lap and cock deeper than it had been prior "f-fuck..." (Name) whined as Jing held his throat in his large hand, wordlessly pistoning his hips to get more of those sounds from his mate, eyes glowing in the darkness as (name)s let moans tumble out of his mouth, the constant movement making them come out shaky and uneven.

"Fill me with pups!" (Name) cried as Jings thighs met (name)s ass, the two absolutely ravenous as (name) moved his hands to tug at the others hair, trying desperately to keep up with the harsh but pleasuring thrusts and the soft pressure against his throat.

Even when feral the white haired alpha was considerate about how much he hurt him.

"Oh! To much!" (Name) whined at a particularly harsh thrust and Jings lizard brain processed the words before continuing those harsh and fast thrusts, watching moan after moan tumble out.

"Fuck!"

"Oh god oh god!"

"Mm!"

"Alpha!"

(Name)s tongue was falling out as he moved slightly to kiss Jing, the feral alpha understanding that much as they kissed, little nips here and there as Jing Jackhammered into him, cum and slick mixing together as the alphas knot formed, slowly catching against the rim and Jing have a particular hard thrust as the knot finally caught and the white haired man came deep within his mate, biting his scent gland and locking them together, (name) loved the sensation of when his mate but his gland.

It made him feel light headed.

(Name) was covered with cum and filled with it as Jing kissed him, his alpha trying to soothe his mate "thank you alpha, we gotta get liquid into you when your knot dies down" (name) said gently kissing the Alpha who looked confused but liked the sound of his mates voice as he lifted him up, knot still in the Omega and walked to the grand nest that took up a portion of the room, expensive silks and and such weaved together "thank you alpha" (name) knew saying things like this were the equivalent to calling (name) pretty words during his heat so he made sure he told his feral mate how much of a strong alpha he was during this.

It was proven to give confidence post heat.

When the knot died down (name) shakily stood up and tried to leave but the Alpha held him close "alpha we need food"

The word food made it through and Jing pushed his mate in the nest and wandered out, clicking the door shut.

(Name) should have known he wouldn't get to go out himself.

Thankfully (name) kept a first aid kit near his nest and cleaned up any wounds hissing slightly, best to get it done before his alpha got back.

Jing was a deeply overprotective alpha during his ruts.

(Name) just hoped he could survive his mate at full libido.

#omega male reader #omegaverse #jing yuan x male reader #jing yuan x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #male reader #x male reader #smut

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idkfitememate · 2 months

Text

Got bored, got too many brainrots and obsessions rn and wrote this “super fast” just to prove a point *AHEM*

(Also you kinda have a “set” look in the beginning, but that’ll change! It’s for stories sake I’m sorry-)

((Also also, I’m so sorry guys… you start off as a Texan I’m so sorry-)) [Fun fact I have a slight southern accent and it’s wild when I hear it-]

Yes this is the Adam/Eve!Reader x Obey Me. It has been rotting my mind for months I’m not sorry-

The Garden of Eden.

Never was it, nor its human counterparts spoken of in a negative light in the Celestial Realm.

Talk of trees that grew above the clouds and lakes so crystalline that you could see every grain of sand under the perfectly glowing sunlight flew out of Angel’s mouths, some even admitting small amounts of jealousy at how finely those mortals were living.

It interested Lilith.

Youngest of seven siblings and one of the Seven Heavenly Virtues - that Virtue being Patience - she was of high status and importance among those lucky enough to live under their Father’s light and guidance.

She wanted to know more than what those baseless rumors and tales could offer her, so one night, beneath the many star like moons of her home, she flew down beneath the clouds but above the stony bridge that would have snatched her away, down into the depths of the Devil’s Realm.

Her wings, as pure as a dove, flapped endlessly to carry her over gorgeous mountain ranges and wide plains of golden grass, over the bluest of oceans, to find this fabled Garden.

And finally? She came upon it.

Landing gracefully on the emerald green grass, she took in the sight. She supposed this Garden truly was what one would get if you took a piece of The Celestial Realm and placed it in the Human Realm.

Colorful birds filled the sky with trees of every type surrounding her. Animals she had never seen before lunged around her. Feeling giddy, she began to run with the multiple groups, eventually taking off.

She flew over a lake, lowering herself right above it to gently grace her fingers over the top, ripples feathering out and creating small waves behind her. Fish kept from the water around her in grand arks, and with a giggle she pushed herself higher with a great flap.

Liliths giggles bubbled into loud laughter, as she soared over tree tops with beautifully colored birds, spinning and diving with no one to tell her no.

She felt free.

That was, until she didn’t manage to catch herself in a dive and crashed through the treetops.

She slammed into the grassy floor of the forest, dragging through the dirt as rocks flung out of her way, eventually being stopped by a tree. It took her a moment to really get her bearings, but when she did she was suddenly all too aware of her surroundings.

It wasn’t nearly as bright here as it was out there.

The shadows of the trees were long and bird song was suddenly silenced. The winds picked up and branches shook harshly, leaves being pulled from their trees.

She could barely make out the sun, clouds blocking its path, and the lack of other creatures was deafening.

Something was watching her. Not unlike the gazes of her elders when she made a small mistake on a document or once again had a day where she stole her closet brothers away to just have fun.

Its gaze was attached to her back, and she curled into herself. She was wrong, this gaze was worse.

It wasn’t scrutinizing her, it was observing her. Watching her movements. Taking her in.

She felt something she couldn’t identify. She hadn’t felt it before. Something crossed of anxiety and that feeling when someone was angry with her.

She was… scared?

That word flew through her mind. She heard it scarcely with fellow Angels. It wasn’t something usually felt in her home, as it’s wasn’t truly necessary. They were supposed to be happy in the Celestial Realm, and fear was not positive, it was a negative, something Demons would usually deal with.

So why was she…

A branch snapped in the background, echoing through the empty forest around her. She jolted upright, grabbing her knees and wrapping her arms around them.

Her breath grew heavy as she began to look around wildly, her wings puffing up as she curled into herself tighter. Her knees to her chest, she instead took her arms from her legs and wrapped them around her head.

“Whoever is there… please…”

Her voice was weak. She shook in the breeze, the delicate flowing fabrics of her gown dancing wildly in the wind with her hair. Her sniffed, trying hard to hold the tears that had suddenly formed in her eyes at bay.

“Please…”

Suddenly, she heard footsteps, fast and steady, rushing towards her. Her head shot up as they grew closer, fight or flight kicking in immediately. She jumped up, arms cradling her chest.

“W-wait!-“

Deciding against talking, she ran.

She hadn’t thought she’d have to fight, so she saw no need in bringing her holy weapon. Her bare feet pounded against the earth. Wildly thrashing through branches, leaves and sticks got stuck in her hair, scratching her face, ichor slipping from the wounds. She pushed through the forest, looking for a space to take off. She heard the footsteps growing closer and faster, nearing her with animosity.

Finally she burst from the forest line and down a hill, tumbling down and landing on her wing awkwardly, causing a dull pain to scream through the joint. White feathers flew as she fell, small screams falling from her throat. She finally rolled to a stop, tears and ichor mixing on the ground. Her shaken sobs making her body shiver on the ground.

She turned and laid eyes on mask, painted with gold and black accents.

Long flowing golden hair trailed behind them as they walked towards the fallen Angel. A tight black top clung to their chest, sleeveless and cut off right below the pecks. A pure white sash wrapped around their shoulder and down onto their waist, a bow on their thigh tying it together. Large, black flowing pants with golden accents ended at their ankles where their feet were wrapped in bandages. Armor clung to their arms - black with golden trimmings - one arm having slimmer armor that ended at the wrist, revealing an archer’s glove, the other arm ending in a gauntlet with sharpened claws for fingers. A small amount of the same armor rested on their waist, held together with a golden chain. A white scarf that flowed behind them covered the bottom part of the white mask with golden inlays that hid their face from Lilith.

What brought it all together were the feathers that attached to one side of their mask. A large golden one, two pure white ones on either side of it, and a small row of black feathers behind them.

A bow rested on their back, large and black in color with golden accents, made of the same metals that made the armors that covered their skin. A long sword rested on their back as well, under the bow. A circular shield rested atop the bow, though from the angle she lay at, Lilith could not see the design on its front. The sheath was beautifully decorated with golds. A quiver rested on their hip, filled to the brim with arrows begging to be used, surrounded in smaller bags and satchels. And finally, in their hand, was a large and imposing spear. Long and thin, yet it looked to be made of a strong metal, one light enough to glide through air if thrown.

They slowly and antagonizingly made their way towards the fallen Angelic girl, who in a last ditch effort shot a weak burst of light from her palm. It was hot, but if not hot enough to injure then it would be bright, to blind. Though unfortunately, the person just smacked it away with their spear.

They made it in front of the still downed Lilith, who was preparing to prey to The Father for safety, before they crouched down and kneeled before her. They both stared - Lilith assumed they were anyway - at each other for a moment. Then, the clawed hand came to their mask, and slowly pulled it above their head.

Lilith’s eyes widened.

“A genuine Angel..? Here..? Well, I do apologize for our horrid meeting. Hadit been in my hands I’d’ve had you land safely into m’ arms, pretty lady. Now, what can this a-humble human do for a graceful lil’ thing such as yourself? Father got any new messages f’ me?”

Soft (e/c) eyes stared back into Lilith’s with a soft smile as well. A hand was offered to her as well, which she took. The spear in hand was safely placed on their back as they pulled her up gently, their un-clawed hand gently wrapped around her waist.

“Oh! Where are my manners! S’cuse me, but I’m The First. Eh, heard from the last Angel that visited that ya’ll might call me Adam? Or Eve? Couldn’t really tell. You can pick though, pretty lady. Speakn’ of, what’s your name dove?”

They gave her a toothy grin as she stared wide-eyed at them. They were… Adam… and Eve? Looking at their body they looked neither feminine nor masculine, a perfect mix of the two. As did their face.

“L-Lilith…” “Well nice to meet you, Lilith! As I said, Adam or Eve I don’t mind neither, course you could come up with somethin’ of yer own!”

Lilith continued to stare at the human-you as you walked her through the forest she just ran through. Taking her through a small yet visible path into a small clearing, sat in the center was a small little hut of wood with a high standing brick chimney.

“Oh! Darn, yer wing! Ah, my apologies Lilith, I assume this happened when ya took that real big tumble down the way? Now, I ain’t ever heal no Angel wing before, but I’d be a fool not to try for you, dove.” Their hand brushed over her wing gently, smoothing down some feathers. Lilith looked at them, taking in their features once more. They looked… young.

“How long have you been here..? Alone..?” The looked at her with widened eyes, before turning back to the hut.

Silent with a thoughtful look on their face, they opened the polished, wooden door and showed Lilith inside first, closing the door behind them. With a flick of their wrist, a flame enveloped their hand, and with another, shot out of their grip, startling the Angel.

It flew to different corners of the house, bouncing off walls and other surfaces until they found their placement in various lamps around the room, bathing the small house in a warm glow.

“How did you… you spoke no words-“ “Yeah, been doin’ things of that sort for as long as I can remember. Didn’t mean to startle you. But to answer your other question… I don’t know, truly. Been left with my thoughts for ‘bout as long as I’ve been alive, not countin’ the few Angels that may come down with a message from The Father anyway.”

They sat her down in a small chair, and she really took in her surroundings.

It was all one room really, only a wall separating what she assumed was the kitchen from the living/bedroom. The kitchen had the bare minimum, a wood fire stove and a couple small chests and cabinets. In the living room was the base of the chimney, a fire having been lit inside it with a large pot rested against it. In front of it were two wooden chairs, each draped with thick woolen blankets. Behind the chairs was a bed that took up a large corner of the home, pressed to the wall next to the door. A small window rested above it, as well as a shelf with small pots containing various flowers of different sizes, shapes and colors. Beside the small kitchen area was a small circular table - where she was sat now - with four chairs surrounding it. It sat in the corner opposite to the bed, with a window beside it as well and a potted flower in the center.

It was small, but cozy. As she looked around, Lilith barely noticed as the human, who had placed their weapons at the foot of the bed and mask on a hook next to it, took a look at her wing, gently flexing it and feeling up the joint to get a better feeling for the injury.

“S’nothin’ too bad. Pulled a muscle, might be a sprain. I’d say stay off it for a bit, maybe ‘bout a… week?” Lilith looked at them incredulously.

“A WEEK!?! I NEED TO BE BACK BY TONIGHT!!! I can’t stay here… I need… I can’t-“ She kept up from the chair, causing it to clatter against the floor. She flinched as it fell but the human simply stared.

“Is there anything you can do?? I need to leave, this was a on a whim trip and no one knows I’m here-“ “No one knows?” They interrupted.

“Well now dove, ain’t that a bit irresponsible of you?” Lilith sighed with a grimace.

“Well… yeah. BUT I WAS CURIOUS!! I couldn’t help myself! I just had to see the Garden of Eden. It sounded to pretty a magical and and… oh isn’t there anything? I’m not the greatest at healing magic, my brothers usually take care of all my cuts and scrapes…” The human smiled at her while gently rubbing her back.

“Now don’tcha worry your pretty lil’ head dove, ya interrupted me ‘fore I could say that’d be if I couldn’t heal it, which I can. So you just sit back down an’ led me work my magic, alright?” They picked back up the chair she had knocked over and sat her back down.

“Plus, a week ain’t that bad compared to what it woulda been f’ me. I’da been outta commission for at least a month. But with y’all’s fancy Angel bodies, healing is all quick like. Notice here? Ya face scratches are all gone dove.” Lilith gently placed a hand on her face, noticing the dull throb of any of the scratches she sustained in the chase were gone.

“I-I guess I never noticed, considering we don’t regularly get hurt in The Celestial Realm…” She mused. The human chuckled.

“Heh, wouldn’t expect y’all too. Anyway, gonna have this wing fixed up faster than double-struck lightning.” The Angel looked that them.

“What?” “Eh?”

They both stared before the human chuckled.

“Don’t mind me, let’s just get this here wing fixed up. I’m gonna count to three, and then you’re gonna hold ya breath, alright?” She was confused, but Lilith nodded.

“Alrighty, one…” She closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Two…” She felt the humans hands wrap around the injury.

“THREE!” A loud *SNAP* sounded through the room, and her eyes shot open. Before she could scream or anything of the sort, a cooling sensation flowed through her wing, the dull pain she felt washing away. She sighed in relief and leaned into the touch of the human. She couldn’t see it, but a sweet smile crossed their face.

“Thank you… so much…” “It’s no problem, dove. My fault you even got hurt in the first place. Again, my apologies f’ that.” Lilith huffed.

“No, it’s my fault for even getting in this situation in the first place, I shouldn’t have left without permission. Maybe I would’ve known where your dwelling was and could have made a safer landing.” That human chuckled and gently pulled her up.

“Now now, don’t go gettin’ your knickers in a twist over this, alright? Here, we both take blame.” “No no, I did more harm in the long run-“

They placed their hands on her shoulders, mindful of the claws on their single gauntlet.

“Nope. Not hearin’ you out ‘bout this. Anyway, you best be getting outta here now dove. Wouldn’t want’cha getting in no kinda trouble just cause you came down and visited this mortal. Come one now, let me show you out.”

A arm wrapped around her waist, gently leading her back to the front and out the house into the small clearing.

“Next time ya come ‘round here, make sure ya got some kinda permission, alright?” They asked. Lilith blushed as she looked back, an embarrassed chuckle following.

“I will. Promise.” The human smiled back.

“Alright then. Now then, it’s time f’ you to swap spit an’ hit the road.” The Angel looked back, aghast.

“It’s time for us to WHAT?!” She screamed, leading the human the lift their hands in surrender and laugh.

“Sorry, I just meant it’s time for you to leave, dove.” Lilith sighed and chuckled with them.

“Alright, thank you again! I will visit, I hope you know that!” They nodded and she smiled.

With a final smile, she leapt into the air, wingbeats echoing through the landscape. As she cut through the sky, she took a glance back and noticed them enthusiastically waving her off with a big silly grin, causing her to grin.

Yeah, she’d be back.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

Belphegor had begun to notice Lilith’s absences were increasing.

It wasn’t odd for the youngest of the seven to go missing on one of her little adventures, but for them to be happening so often?

And on top of that, she seemed happier. Now, don’t get him wrong, Belphegor loved seeing his sister so happy, but the thing was he couldn’t tell what exactly was making her so happy.

Also she called him “as pretty a peach”??? Whatever that means??? What even was a peach???

Anyway, he was determined to find out what it was, especially since last night she came home THREE HOURS after dinner all giddy and stuff.

Today was the triplets day off and with Beel out for the moment and her in her room, Belphegor figured this would be the best time for questioning.

Knocking on her door and waiting for the muted ‘come in’, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“Yeah, Belphie?” Lilith was sat on her bed on her stomach, legs swinging above her. Her head was resting in her palm as her other hand held a letter.

“I just had a question, nothing serious. May I sit?” Belphegor asked from the door. He pointed beside the laid down girl who giggled.

“Yep! Go right ahead.” She said, rolling over and sitting up. Belphegor sat by her feet and looked at his sister.

“My question is… what’s been making you so happy lately?” A sour look crossed the man’s face as Lilith only stared… Before bursting out into laughter over his expression.

“PFFFT- WHAT KINDA QUESTION IS THAT BELPHIE???” She laughed. Belphegor coughed into his fist to hide his now embarrassed expression, causing Lilith’s laughter to only grow in volume.

“W-Well I only ask because you’ve been so... so… Giddy! Lately! Like your head has been in the clouds!!” Belphegor defended, Lilith’s laughter quieted.

“Well for one, aren’t our head technically always in the clouds?” Belphegor stared at her as she grinned. With a chuckled, she continued.

“Besides, it’s nothing super important. I just maybe… kinda… might think I’m in love?” Belphegor did a double take.

“You might be… what?” “Okay head me out Belphie-“ Belphegor shook his head in shock. His little sister? In love? With who? What were they like? Likes and dislikes? How old? So on and so forth. Questions ran through his mind a mile a minute.

“Before you ask ANY questions, they’re younger than me, super nice and take my wants into consideration, cares for nature, and is just the sweetest person I’ve met. They even cook and clean and can sew and even crochet! Isn’t that just amazing…” Lilith immediately looked away from her brother, clutching the letter she was holding to her chest.

Belphegor figured the letter might be from the person in question, so in a moment of selfishness - to which he knew he would pray about later - , grabbed the letter from her, causing a gasp from his sister.

She immediately complained, pushing at her brother to get it back, but he stood up and held her back with one arm, reading the letter aloud.

“- Don’t worry about the bruise, it isn’t nothing to worry about. Anyway, those Celestial flowers you brought me are doing wonderfully. You were right, all they needed was a bit more sunlight than the regular flower, like a sunflower. Might show you the sunflower field I found the other day if you want. Don’t feel rushed to come back down, however. And please say thank you to Yael for making the trip to and fro. Glory to The Father, may he smile upon us. Goodbye, my dove.

- A.E.”

Belphegor looked at his sister who was flushed in embarrassment. She had given up fighting in the middle of his reading the end of the letter, and was sitting on her heels on her bed.

“A.E.? What kind of name is that? And why are they acting as though they don’t live here? “Those Celestial flowers you brought me are doing wonderfully.”? That’s not something someone who is here would say, Lilith. Just who is this?” Belphegor looked to his sister whose blush had disappeared by then.

She sighed as she looked to her brother, gaze clouded for a moment before huffing again.

“If I tell you… promise to not tell anyone?” Lilith’s voice was uncannily soft compared to her usual loud and outgoing self. A little uneasy with her sudden change in tone, Belphegor nodded.

Lilith hesitated and opened her mouth, then shut it, then thrust her hand into her brother’s chest, pinkie out turned.

“Pinkie promise?” Lilith’s eyes held… worry? Fear? Belphegor couldn’t read it well but whatever it was it immediately sent signals off in his head.

“Yeah… yeah of course.” Belphegor held out his hand with pinky extended, wrapping it around hers.

“I may have… gone to the Garden?.. And talked to a…” she hesitated, “human..?” Belphegor looked to his sister with now widened eyes.

“You went to… the Garden? Like, THE Garden? Of… Eden? Where the… humans live?” Belphegor spoke their name like a taboo, which made Lilith cringe.

He knew why, humans were still relatively new and were more or less a hot topic. Either you never spoke a word or they were all you could talk about. They were something of a passion project, as was rumored. Something that was aloud to have varied results, and more importantly:

To make mistakes.

The was the supposed “beauty” of what would soon be humanity.

Or so Belphegor was told, anyway.

He never got it, as the Virtue of Diligence, it was literally ingrained in his being to always be alert to any mistakes and correct them as quickly as possible, to ensure everything ran smoothly. Sure, sometimes a mistake could prove to be beneficial, but more often than not, that was untrue.

So how an entire race could be conceived from the idea of mistakes propelling them was… Belphegor just couldn’t understand.

So to hear his sister, LITTLE sister mind you, had gone down and… interacted with those things?? He was a little upset but… her eyes.

Lilith’s eyes shined with a wonder he hadn’t seen in them in a while, life finally growing bland after their millions of years of existence. She had something new, and it clearly brought her happiness. Who was he to take that from her.

In the grand scheme of things it didn’t affect her work to much, and Father had never explicitly told them to stay away…

“Does this human seem to have any intentions of hurting you?-“ “NO!”

Lilith raised her eyes and flinched back in indignation at the words, looking offended, a hand landed on her chest.

“They would never! I’m impressed you’d even say such a thing!” Chuckles rung from her as she began to kick her legs slightly, covering her mouth with a hand. Belphegor smiled.

This may not have been his favorite predicament, but she was happy. Perhaps he could give these humans a chance.

…

This would be his first time making a “mistake”.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

Years went by and Lilith’s visits to you didn’t stop.

Nearly every weekend was spent with you, sharing stories and otherwise. You’d taught her a few tricks of your trade as well, such as sewing and wood carving.

All was well.

Of course, until it wasn’t.

Yael, the Angel you and Lilith had trusted to take your messages to and from each other, had “crumbled under the pressure” and told a higher up. Who told someone higher than them, who told someone higher than them and well…

You hadn’t seen or heard from Lilith is weeks.

You were getting worried, but you had no way of getting to the Celestial Realm to check on her. So you waited.

And waited…

And… waited…

Lilith, meanwhile, was trying her hardest to convince the others to allow her back down into the Garden.

she had been forbidden, Angels weren’t meant to meddle in the affairs of mortals unless explicitly instructed too, after all. The Realm was still figuring out the logistics of Guardians, so no one Angel - without permission - was allowed down there.

Lilith begged and cried and sobbed, doing everything in her power to convince them that she deserved to go back down. That nothing had truly changed or happened. That’s she hadn’t fully interfered with the mortals.

All it took was an image of your now sullen face staring at the sky awaiting her return for the council to agree that she would never again be allowed to see you again.

She had exposed you too much.

You’d most likely not move on for years.

And she sobbed.

Her brothers had never seen her cry like this.

She fell to her knees and sobbed and pleaded with the council to reconsider, to give her another chance;

To at least allow her to say goodbye.

All requests were denied.

And her brothers were forced to watch her fall into something they had only heard from Demons, a “Depression”.

No longer did she go on spontaneous adventures, nor did she make jokes or try anything new.

It was simply work, eat, sleep, and staring longingly at the gifts you had given her.

Her colors dulled as time went on, and she slowly lost her glow.

Lucifer just couldn’t take it.

He tried to reason with the council. Asking them time and time again.

Always getting denied.

He only got more desperate as days past and she got duller and duller…

And finally he snapped.

Lucifer didn’t know how it happened. Once second he was asking peacefully.

The next he was chocking someone.

He let go after regaining control of his body, breathing heavily and palms shaking. After which a shouting match broke out.

And soon after that meeting, things only got worse.

Chocking turned to punching, punching turned to full on fighting, and fighting turned to the first angelic death by angelic hands in history.

Then the declaration of war.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

The days seemed to pass like a blur to you.

From days filled with planing of what new thing you could introduce to Lilith and where you could take her, now filled with the monotony of what like was before.

Farming, hunting, animal watching.

Barely did you touch your loom or carving tools, only when you needed a new utensil or blanket.

You hated it.

You missed her smile, and her laugh.

You sighed as you polished off another deer skull, taking a hammer and smashing it across a rock. Picking up the pieces, you take them to a small plot of land and begin to bury them beneath the tilled dirt.

though your eyes immediately met those of a dove, and you smiled.

“I’ll wait as long as you need, dove.”

It fluttered softly onto your upturned hand, cooing softly at you. Your eyes softened and you ran your free hand through the feathers on its head.

“As long as you need.”

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

Years passed without much thought.

You remained oblivious to the war raging on above you.

Angels blood was technically on your hands and you couldn’t be the wiser.

Masses fell into their graves, simply because you needed to morn.

And now here you were, staring into the sky in shock as you watched the body of the woman you loved streaked across it, obviously mortally wounded.

You cried, and with a yelp, leapt into action, rushing behind her as she fell.

Your weapons discarded, you ran through rivers, jumped over rocks and basically glided through fields, all to catch her.

You barely noticed when you left The Garden.

Rocks dug into the skin of your feet but that was the least of your worries as you screamed her name, begging the Father to wake you from this awful nightmare.

Your arms raised high to catch her, begging her to please land in your grasp, barely paying attention to the cliff before you-

You fell.

You had never fallen from such a hight before.

Your long hair billowed through the wind with your clothes as you watched through tears as she hit the earth.

Then you hit a cliff.

A *SNAP* rang through the air as you landed on your back, head over the edge, perfectly positioned to see her and her… brother?

Two other men came as your breathing shallowed, a conversation you were too far away to hear taking place before you, before the man with the leathery wings performed some kind of spell, and her body ignited in a flame.

Your vision grew blurry as blood seeped from your mouth, coughs mixed with crimson bubbles escaping your lips as she disappeared. Her brother - who you realized was Lucifer, though his color pallet was much different than what she described - kneeled before the men.

With what little strength you had left, you clasped your hands together.

‘My Father who art above, please heed this prayer. Let be me reborn and find my love once more. Let us continue to be the star crossed lovers we believed ourselves to be. Please Father… and if one must be punished let it be me, for I had forsaken her from your land when my mortal lips met hers. Allow me this repentance and… let me… see… her once… mo…r…’

Your thoughts were silenced as you slipped away.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

You hated that prick in the sky.

You had given Him your everything, pledged yourself to Him.

You thought He was merciful, well apparently not.

Hundreds of thousands of fucking years.

You’ve had to watch her descendants live their lives, always finding a way to bump into them.

If this was His idea of a cosmic joke, then you wanted to bash your fucking skull in.

I mean, you’ve tried but he made you immortal on top of everything.

You had been reborn, as you asked, then to find that she’d been reborn as a human too. Great! You even had all your memories so you assumed she had her and…

…

…And then you were getting invited to her wedding as her ‘best friend’.

Never did you ever think you could’ve experienced a pain like that, like your soul shattering and being crumbled into dust but there you were. Watching her get wed off.

And have children.

And die.

You grew numb after a while, because why wouldn’t you. Seeing them grow became a past time, seeing where they ended up and then how many people attended their funerals.

Morbid game but it helped pass the time.

You got to watch as humans evolved and took over the planet, eventually coming to a point where they might destroy it if they aren’t careful.

You’ve watched technology grow and tack over and magic users be forced into hiding.

You’ve watched kingdoms rise and fall, nations grow and shrink, the belief of Angels and Devils become lesser and lesser.

You remember when Solomon, the big bitch of magic users and demon pact collector extraordinaire, was born. That was fun.

You remember when The King of the Devildom went to sleep, that was also neat, though you’re pretty sure that happened just a while before you died… time was a blur.

And naturally, you remembered when the brothers officially became “The Demon Brothers.”

You never forgot.

When out with “friends” - they were more people you surrounded yourself with to numb the pain of life - you just said you had Hyperthymesia, which led to more questions and other shit you couldn’t be bothered with.

The Father only know how many times you’ve gone through Highschool and Collage for the hell of it, there was shit else to do and at this point you were a hidden billionaire with how long you lived, plus it was nice to stay up to date on current affairs.

You had cut and dyed your hair same near every color under the sun at the this point, now at (h/c) for the time being.

One of the shittiest parts, however, was your morals.

The Father must’ve thought he was the funniest fucker in reality because he basically singed the Seven Virtues onto your soul, the on top of that made you the living example of the Seven Sins.

You couldn’t do shit without feeling torn apart.

Couldn’t spend large amount of money on yourself without feeling the need to give it away, but when you did you just wanted more money.

Never got a good nights sleep anymore because part of your brain would want to stay up to make sure nothing bad happened.

Couldn’t gouge yourself on a mountain of food without wanting to hurl halfway through because it “was enough”.

So life was shit in every way.

And then, the fucking cherry on top?

When a friend - who you knew full well was a decadent of her - got a letters from the Devildom about some “exchange program”. They tossed it because they thought it was a scam, which was fair.

You only read it out of curiosity, and when you say your jaw dropped? I mean it fucking dropped.

You knew all about Diavolo’s little “re-connection” thing, had since he announced it really, but to see it actually coming to light was… an experience you weren’t expecting.

Honestly you didn’t want them to go.

This descendent, MC was their name - such a weird fucking name - was one of your favorites. They were a chaotic little shit and you lived for it. Unless you had to pull them from a problem they caused. Then you didn’t.

But soon you got involved with their shit and completely forgot.

And there you were when they got sucked to hell, hand in hand…

… Also handcuffed but we don’t talk about that-

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

“AW FUCK-“

“SHITTY TITTES AUGH-“

Both you and MC gripped each other, them screaming and you gritting your teeth with arms around them to protect them.

It took a second for them to stop and you to finally look up.

Before you was a judges seat with eight seats, five of which were filled. Though, a man stood beside the tallest standing seat.

Wait…

Orange, blond, strawberry blond, ravenette, red head - literally, and deep blue to teal?

Oh fuck-

The man in the tallest seat began to speak.

“Welcome to the Devildom MC… and friend?”

Diavolo looked down at the two of you, MC looking confused and you well… you looked uncomfortable but not unknowing.

“We can deal with that in a moment but, pardon my abrupt introduction. Feeling a bit shocked, I’m sure? Well that’s understandable, you’ve only just arrived, after all.”

MC looked around at the men confused and obviously scared while you just sighed with a hand pressed to your forehead. MC tried to stand only to trip back when the cuffs holding you both together. You noticed some of the brothers staring at you two, but you looked away. Diavolo seemed to ignore you both, however.

“As a human, it will probably take a little while for you to adjust to things here in the Devildom.”

“What the fuck is a Devildom-“ MC was cut off by a glare from Lucifer.

“Haha! Calm yourself Lucifer they were just asking a question! Now, before we introduce ourselves, who are you?”

You glanced over at the male and glanced at everyone else. Tugging on your shirt and running your hand through your hair, you finally met Diavolo’s eyes again.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

“Now I call you dove, you ain’t got any kinda name f’ me?”

You both were sat on a cliff you had just recently found overlooking your home with a great view of the sky and sun, which was setting at the moment. She was sat beside you, head on your shoulder with you both in the grass. A small wind blew through, making your hair wave like a sea of gold. She ran a hand through your hair, you humming at the feeling.

Your easygoing grin made Lilith’s heart melt, but she focused up back on your question after a moment, humming.

“Well… I want it to mean something.” “Dove means somethin’!” Lilith giggled.

“Oh yeah, and what would that be?” “Well you’re an Angel… n’ doves are connected ta Angels n’ stuff…” you groaned after, shoving your face in your hands, causing the Angels laughter to grow.

“Don’t laugh at me! It was cute how you reacted when I first called ya it!” Lilith continued to laugh, you whining and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling close and placing her head on your chest. Then, you grabbed her face in a huff. You forced her to stare at you as she bit her tongue with blush on her cheeks.

Finally you both broke out into laughter, her falling onto you. You both fell back into the grass giggling. She laid on top of you and you both breathed and took the moment in.

“… I think I have an idea.”

You glanced at her. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you pulled her up and rested your head on top of her hers. She nuzzled into your neck.

“Idea for what, dove?” “A nickname.”

You smiled and looked down at her, causing her to look up.

“Well then get on with it, I’m excited as a cow to a good wooden post.” “A what… to a what?” “Heh, nothin’ dove.”

She smiled and snuggled into you.

“I think you deserve your own name. Not what they call you up there. Something like…”

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

You stared Diavolo in the eyes, and smiled somberly.

“…(y/n).”

WOOO FINALLY I FUCKING FINISHED IT WOOOOOOO-

This has been sitting in my drafts for fucking months :)

Yes this will be getting a part two this is for me I’m the target audience-

My fucking hands man… they hurt-

Please god tell me someone appreciates this-

… is this my longest fic?-

#Obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me lilith #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me x reader #x reader #x gn reader #x yn #x gn y/n #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x gn!reader #Adam/Eve!Reader

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bleubrri · 2 years

Text

۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ᴀᴅʀᴇɴᴀʟɪɴᴇ — ʜᴀɴᴍᴀ sʜᴜᴊɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

༄ؘ ˑ contains: f1 driver!shuji , pit crew manager!reader , endless petnames ( doll / angel / pretty girl / sweetheart etc ) , black coded!fem!sub!reader , vaginal fingering , squirting , cunnilingus , a lil pussy job , v brief mention of anal , jerkin’ off , dacryphilia + overstim if you squint , shuji tuckin’ your cum away for safe keeping<3

༄ؘ ˑ wc: 4k

༄ؘ ˑ a/n: belated bday piece for hanma🤸🏾not proof read as per ͡(ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ु

“piece of fucking shit—” the sound of his helmet slamming into the tarmac has hanma’s useless excuse for a pit crew flinching under the racers rage. he’d practically leaped out of his car in his blaze of fury, sweat-sticky bangs clinging to his skin as he beelined into the pits. his attempts at trying to stay remotely calm (every one of that brainless psychologists tricks—count down from 10, five things you can see, four things you can hear or whatever the fuck) are crushed into dust when he catches sight of the crew manager, cigarette bobbing between his lips as he attempts to flirt with a runner 2 decades his junior. and hanma sees red, yanks him back by the collar so harshly that he almost goes spinning onto the track (maybe it’d to him good to take a few laps, shuji’s engine revving behind him just to keep him on his toes—).

“what the fuck?!”

“you’re fired.” hanma spits, tone laced with vitriol.

“what?” he says incredulously, “look, you can’t blame me for not winning. shoddy drivin’ ain’t gonna make up for lost time—“ hanma pulls back his fist, since apparently this idiot has a death wish. kisaki let’s him get one punch in, the satisfying crunch of a broken nose echoing before he catches him by the crook of his elbow. his manager takes in the scene, glancing at the runner who’s still hovering, wide eyed and uncertain (probably a damn apprentice they look so young) and grunting out, “leave.”

“you.” he gestures to his short-tempered racer, “walk it off.”

“whatever.” hanma sniffs, casting a final death-glare to the ex pit crew chief and kicking up shards of rubber as he saunters off.

kisaki ignores the outrage that gets spewed at him when he instructs the crew manager to pack his shit. he’s nursing an electromagnetic headache by the time he slinks into his office, wrapping his knuckles against the desk and calling for his assistant. thick lensed glasses and blue eyes peek from behind the door. “sir?”

“call her.” he says, massaging his temple and contemplating if it’s too early to retire.

nervous eyes dart around the room. “I— sir, she doesn’t—“

“call her.” he repeats with a finality that has his assistant shuddering and slinking towards the phone.

ten.

the smell of burning rubber, astringent and sharp, singes your nostrils and coats the back of your tongue.

nine.

“get ready people! in and out, let’s get this playboy back out there.” your quip earns you a few chuckles as your crew assembles into the positions you’ve calculated to optimise the switch.

eight. seven. six.

maybe you can leech an extra bonus off of that eerily stoic manager for your efforts. the last thing you expected was your college friend calling you in the middle of a well deserved vacation, big wet eyes and pleading tone dripping through the screen in desperate need of a favour. you’d agreed—you supposed you owed it to him for endlessly mooching notes off of him in countless late night study sessions. and your crew were good sports about it (it only took the promise of hosting at your house for new years and supplying booze for upwards of 40 people). one race, you’d said. just to tide them over until they found someone permanent for the grand prix.

five. four.

the plan is solid. everyone, everything’s in place. a flash of colour veers round the bend and your grip on your clipboard tightens.

three.

you can almost see your crew’s fingertips twitching with anticipation.

two.

oh this’ll be a breeze. fun even. maybe you can be on the train home by tomorrow morning; knock out a couple chapters of that book you’ve been meaning to finish. cook some dinner, indulge in that chardonnay gifted from the neighbour.

one.

just one more race.

hanma hasn’t been the first racer to leave the pits in a while. he’s almost always the first one in, having to overcompensate in the laps following half assed pit stops by crews that can barely change a fucking tire. so it’s by instinct alone that he’s preparing his usual schpiel of mumblings. c’mon, come on let’s fucking go—

but his words never get the chance to form. he’s barely eased off the gas—barely blinked before he’s burning rubber and shooting back onto the track.

adrenaline is pounding in his ears, and he vaguely registers the screams of the crowd and frantic commentary from the hosts: i don’t think we’ve seen a pit stop like that in a hot second, ted! no you’re absolutely right, josh, especially not from hanma’s corner! word on the street is he’s looking for a fresh new team ahead of the world grand prix—has the infamous racer finally found his match?

he’s giddy with the rush of an impending win flooding his veins, a smile that’s almost ditzy pulling at his lips until he can feel his gums pressing against his molars. a quick glance in his rears reveals a gaggle of black jumpsuits surrounding a figure dressed in red, the stickers from his sponsors adorning your back and torso.

and when his car gains speed and his knuckles whiten beneath his gloves as he approaches the finish line, hanma decides that he has to have you.

“he’s not here! winner’s lounge is further down!” you shout from around the pencil wedged between your teeth. the pits are deserted, with everyone having retreated to the press corner and vip lounge for drinks after an admittedly impressive win. you figured you’d make the most of the peace and quiet and edit a few designs in the seclusion of the garage, the shutters half shut for some privacy and hanma’s car acting as your only company.

and yet the pair of feet visible through the gap in the bottom of the shutters are suddenly sliding underneath. “hey! he’s not here, dude. it’s crew only, you’re not even supposed to be he—oh.”

you’ve only really seen snippets of him—blurry paparazzi shots of him in dark shades and a hoodie slung over his tall figure—but the riot of black and blonde, the stark characters of sin and punishment, it’s all very telling.

“did you.. need something?”

“jus’ addin’ to the collection.” he says, producing his medal that was shoved into a pocket and dropping it into a tray of similar awards. it’s ridiculous really—a little trinket tray full of medals that people spend their entire careers in pursuit of. and yet here he is, 6 foot gorgeous and acting like he couldn’t care less. you resist the urge to rake over his lean form in the tight jumpsuit that he still wears, suddenly very aware of your own jumpsuit: zipped to your waist with arms bare in nothing but a sports bra (and not even one of your cute ones). you frown at the figures and measurements on the papers in front of you. would it be weird to cover up? or weirder if you don’t? surely he’ll leave in a second anywa—

“watcha doin’?” his chin is practically resting on your shoulder as he leans over you, peering at your post-it scribbles and months long blueprints. he smells good. something spicy and masculine that makes you want to turn your head and press your nose to his pulse. apparently he’s enjoying the way his proximity is affecting you, gold-flecked eyes locking with yours as you stutter out a response.

“ah, just going over some plans. nothing exciting really.”

long fingers graze over the paper obscuring your design. “didn’t know pit crew managers designed engines.” he watches you wring your hands together on your lap, suddenly sheepish.

“it’s just for fun, really. might not be one forever..” you mumble.

“you design formula 1 engines for fun?”

“i guess so.”

“MIT?” he asks as if he can’t already tell and you nod.

the hum that rumbles in his chest jumps over your skin and burns goosebumps in its wake. “clever little thing, aren’t you?”

there’s a desert in your mouth. your saliva has to be a fucking mirage because you’re definitely swallowing sand.

“i—“

“pretty too.” he says, tugging on a particularly curly loop of your hair. (it’s short, maybe as short as his, because there’s only so much shampoo a person can go broke from trying to get the smell of gasoline out of hair that grazes your mid-back).

“thanks.” you croak out uncertainly.

“i want you.” he deadpans and you can feel the harsh crunch of grains between your teeth, saharan dust clogging your throat by the mouthful.

“you—what?” you aren’t sure whether hanma’s smile should make you feel excited or uneasy. still, you try not to noticeably clench your thighs together.

“in paris.”

“p-paris?”

he raises a knowing brow as he smirks at your adorable squirming. “i want you there, in paris. for the first race. and every race after that.”

at that, you frown and your answer comes at a speed that surprises you both. “no.” and then, more softly, “i’m… supposed to be on vacation.” you mumble.

he clicks his tongue, dissatisfied. “c’mon sweetheart. it took me one race to figure out you’re the best of the best—you’ve gotta know that by now. and i—“ he starts, lifting your chin from where it’s tucked into your chest, “want the best.”

you step up from your seat a little too fast and slam your pencil down a little too harshly, running a hand over your hair and sighing, “you don’t need me, hanma. you won with a six lap lead today, i think you’ll be fine.” hanma sighs dramatically, walking backwards into the centre of the garage. the distance both calms your nerves and makes you crave something you can’t quite place.

punishment is extended to you, lustrous eyes daring you to deny him. “c’mere.” his hands are slightly warm. palms a little calloused and knuckles sharp when he laces your fingers together and pulls you deeper into the garage, right in front of where his car is parked. admittedly, it’s fucking gorgeous up close—the fleeting glimpses on the speedway don’t do it anywhere near justice. hanma takes advantage of your stunned silence and slots in right behind you, sporting a wicked grin unbeknownst to you when his palms land on your shoulders and he feels you immediately tense under his touch.

“you know why i love racing?” his voice is low and gravelly and travelling straight between your legs. and when his head dips and he whispers over the shell of your ear, you release a shaky breath that you didn’t realise was trapped in your lungs. “adrenaline.” he says. “it builds up. every lap of the track, building and building—“ it’s hard to ignore the way his fingers are sliding further up your skin. “until i cross the finish line with those fuckers miles behind me.” calloused pads ghost over your jaw until hanma’s tilting your gaze upwards. dark and blonde strands have fallen over his eyes, and yet you could swear his pupils look blown, thick lashes more prominent under his half lidded study of you. “you ever feel like that?” it’s phrased as a question, but something in his tone assures you that he knows. “tell me what you felt, today, when we won.” when we won. hanma’s laying it on a little thick, but he has a feeling it’ll all be so, so worth it.

“i—i thought you did well. i was.. proud of my team.” you manage to whisper.

“oh c’mon doll,” the corner of his lips is tilted in a knowing smirk and he leans in closer, “‘s just us, you can drop the modesty.” the subtle heat of sin is suddenly gliding over your waist.

“i—“ you can’t fucking speak, his left hand settling over the skin of your stomach and toying with the zip that sits below your navel. “c’mon angel, you can trust me.”

“i felt it.. i felt it too.” you blurt out. “adrenaline—when you turned the corner. w-when you crossed the finish line. felt like i fucking won.” you’re spewing words out between heavy breaths and he rewards you for it, tracing the lace that lines your panties, the seam that connects your inner thigh to your heated cunt, before tensing the fabric against the plush mound of your pussy. he explores your covered folds through the thin barrier, tracing the peaks and valleys he finds while dragging your panties in steady strokes against you, drool-worthy friction scathing across your weeping cunt. pink flashes from between his teeth as hanma runs his tongue over his lips and you get the sudden insatiable urge to suck on it. to chart the course of his mouth until you get lost between his teeth, under his tongue and down his throat.

“i knew it.” he smiles like he’s proud, “only reason i got such a lead was ‘cause you know how to manage those nobodies.”

did he mean your team? “t-they’re not nobod-“

“they’re nothing.” he insists, “but you, angel face,” he continues, wrenching your panties aside and delighting in the sticky mess that he finds there, “oh you’re everything.”

the moan that escapes you when hanma immediately plunges two lithe fingers past the tight rings of your entrance is swallowed into his mouth when he captures your lips with his. he’s got sharp canines that dig into the plush of your lower lip as he parts them at the seam and licks into your mouth. you’re as sweet as he thought you’d be: he laves over your spit-slick tongue like it’s his favourite piece of candy, swears your teeth have to be rocks of sugar with the way his tastebuds light up at the taste of you.

the stretch from his fingers is tapering into a dull throbbing as he glides the pads of his digits along the satiny walls of your cunt, subtly grinding the hardening tent at his crotch against the curve of your ass. one of your hands slinks upwards and slithers around his nape. blunt nails scratch at the shorter hair there, jolts of electricity shooting to the base of his spine and sparking delicious heat in his gut. your fingers can’t seem to decide what they want, torn between tugging at the soft locks of his crown and burying themselves there to push him closer. either way, the feeling has him growling against your mouth and writhing his fingers until he’s knuckle deep inside you and coated in your slick. when he crooks his fingers, angling them to press into the fleshy bundle of nerves at your centre, you whimper beneath him, arching into his touch and clenching around his digits like a fucking diver grasping at a gem on the depths of the seabed.

heated breaths fan over puffy lips as you pull back to come up for air. it proves pointless—any trace of oxygen punched from your chest when hanma cups your entire pussy and grinds the heel of his palm into the throbbing nub of your clit. your head falls limp against his chest, drawn out moans and little sniffles pulling his attention from the feast between your legs. his gaze is met with damp lashes and an almost imperceptible wobble of your lip. somehow the prospect of your tears has his dick twitching with excitement and threatening to burst through his clothes. he fantasises about having you sprawled out beneath him, tasting salt on you lips and feeling wet trails down your cheeks. maybe mascara would stain your cheeks, inky tracks that worsen with each snap of his hips, sheathing his cock further into the gooey depths of your heat. it’s a tangible possibility, one that has him sporting an erection that could shatter glass. “shit—you cryin’ pretty girl?” he mutters before trailing kisses along the length of your jaw.

“ngh! ‘s so—‘s so good, hanma.” you’re mewling, the increasing pace of his fingers thrusting into you twisting your throat until rapid breaths are being puffed from your lips and the coil in your stomach pulls taut.

“shuji.” he says simply, latching onto your neck and sucking a bruise into the column of your throat.

you can feel your arousal dripping down your inner thighs and stringing his fingers together. between the involuntary grinding against his clothed dick and the searing kisses on your skin, you’re trying to move through the fog of desire that’s clouding your brain; a warning of you about to crash over the edge almost making its way off your tongue before hanma’s shuffling forward, spinning you to face him and pushing you down until you’re sprawled out on the thin hood of his car. his fingers slow their ministrations a fraction and yet never leave their rightful place, nestled against your g-spot. there really isn’t a lot of space on the car, though you suppose it doesn’t matter, ogling him with misty heart-eyes as hanma’s towering form slots over you. the forearm of his free hand slams against the glossy paint job right next to your head, his long legs spread wide to give him the perfect leverage to grind his dick into the edge of the car and relentlessly swirl his digits into the mess of your cunt. and when he feels the telltale squeeze of your walls, he practically rips your jumpsuit down your legs to get a flawless view of the rivets of fluid that spew from around his fingers.

“fuck yeah, good fuckin’ girl.” he’s groaning as his body shifts down and retracts his fingers, sucking swollen, leaking flesh into the rapturous heat of his mouth. “thats it,” he drawls, his drawn out words sending vibrations across the sensitive lips of your pussy. “more, c’mon doll, give me more.” your hands fly into his hair as your spine arches under his expert tongue, swirling and licking up the length of your slit, the pointed tip of his nose pressing into your clit with a pressure that pushes more essence from you as he drinks you down for what seems like forever. “hm, you wanna keep this pretty pussy all to yourself? got a feelin’ this cute little clit’s gonna become my good luck charm.” he’s taken to tracing his initials into the perk cluster of nerves with the tip of his tongue, soaked fingers trailing every inch of your exposed flesh as your hips buck and grind, trying to get more and more friction from his face. your skin is puffy and glistening in a sheen of spit and slick under the dimmed lights of the garage. and you’ve got a cute little rim too, one that twitches when his touch ghosts anywhere remotely near it and it has him dying to fuck your ass until you’re screaming for him.

when your thighs mindlessly inch closer together, caging in his head, punishment is quick to slam one back down, his thumb working to spread you further and his head pushing further into your core. with the endorphins of your high mellowing into a pleasurable buzz, you’re suddenly aware of the sensitivity between your legs and the desperate movement of hanma’s hips.

“s-shuji—“ you call, carting your fingers through his hair. the image of him surfacing is a lewd one: wild eyes that drip with desire, slick coating the bottom half of his face with droplets littering everywhere from his collar to his forehead, a sheen of sweat on this hairline that has the hair there sticking together.

you steal his mouth for yourself, moaning at the taste of your release and his sweet breath pairing together along your tongue. the firm grasp of your fingers beginning to squeeze the bulge of his cock has him bucking into your hand and nipping at the flesh of your lip between groans. “shit—“ he breathes, reaching for the zipper of his jumpsuit and stripping down to his boxers in the space of a few hazy blinks. saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of sinewy musculature, dark hairs along the base of his navel stark against the pale expanse of his torso. beauty marks pepper his sleek abs and you get the desire to sink your teeth into the lean muscle of his thighs when they flex under his movements. it gets better when he frees his cock. a pretty thing; thick and long—his length has you clenching around air and worrying for your cervix. his head is flushed a deep crimson that almost looks painful, and you’d kill to have it shoved into the sleeve of your throat. you’re reaching for him, eyeing the throbbing veins that twist along the ridges of his shaft with a lustful gaze, but he pushes you down with one hand and wraps a tight fist around his girth with the other.

“not today, sweetheart.” he says, pumping his length and squeezing below the sensitive head of his cock, thumbing at his slit as a pearly coat of pre spreads along his shaft.

“what?” you’re looking up at him with doe-eyes through wet lashes, a sweet pout on your pretty lips. “you’re not.. you’re not gonna fuck me?” you mumble it like you’re embarrassed, as if you didn’t just squirt into his mouth and hump his face like a bitch in heat. hanma sighs, letting his dick slap against his stomach and pulling you to the edge of the car by the crook of your knees. you yelp, hands landing onto the hood (and the puddle of slick beneath you). he slides your panties down and takes off your jumpsuit from where it’s pooled around your legs, leaving your sex gorgeously exposed. his hand wraps around his erection, delivering a wet slap with the head of his cock directly over your clit. he watches with delight as a few more dewy drops spew from your slit, the way your face contorts in pleasure and a broken moan escapes you. he continues, does it over and over again, occasionally letting his length glide between the drenched lips of your cunt.

“i’ll fuck every pretty little hole you have to offer dollface.” he smiles as he cups your chin, his knees digging into the harsh metal of the cars hood, caging your body beneath him as he frantically strokes himself. “i’ll fuck you in toronto. in cape town, in tokyo.” he lists as his free hand slides down your torso and he begins to draw sticky circles above your slit. “i’ll fuck you in paris, first.”

his digits dip back inside you, his thumb keeping steady pressure on your clit as his other hand twists along his shaft. “for now, let’s give you a real one. yeah?” you want to argue that your first orgasm felt pretty goddamn real, but your answer comes in the form of your eyes slipping back, your hand clutching onto his wrist, unsure if you want to push him away from your oversensitive hole or keep him sheathed there until you physically can’t cum anymore.

“please, please shuji i’m—mmph fuck, fuck—‘m gonna cum.” oh he knows you are. the silky feeling of your cream between his fingers is enough for the frayed rope in his stomach to snap, milky ropes of his seed spurting from his dick and landing across your pretty cunt in a lecherous slew of arousal. curses are grunted from between his lips, his fist tightening round his cock to milk every drop of his cum onto your messy little hole. each sticky glob of his seed dripping onto you has your pussy clenching around air, pulsing with aftershocks and the desperate desire to have shuji’s cum stuffing you full, flooding your cunt until syrupy strings of it leak from your slit and claim you from the inside out.

silently, he tucks himself back into his boxers and slinks your shaky legs into your discarded underwear, the mixture of your cum and his immediately dampening the fabric. hanma grins, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the damp spot that has you shuddering out a whimper. he levels his head with yours, a fucked-out smile gracing your lips that he can’t help but press a kiss against too.

“so.” he says.

“so..?”

“paris.”

you giggle, airy and breathless and entirely too fucking infatuating. faux contemplation is laced in the hum that you sing, locks of his hair between your fingers keeping you tethered here and barely stopping you from floating up into orbit. your heads in the clouds, but shuji’s lips are a whisper away, kiss-puffed and begging you to come back to them. “paris.” you say, and before the last syllable can evaporate into the air, shuji’s mouth is slotting against your own so perfectly that you wonder how you’ll ever be able to kiss anyone but him again.

#: @wh0reforlevi

#hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev smut #tokrev x reader #tokrev smut #tokyo rev smut #hanma smut #hanma shuji smut #hanma x y/n #hanma x you #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers x black!reader

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pumpkinbxtch · 2 days

Text

ᬊ Serenade ᬊ

— LEO VALDEZ X FEM!READER

─────────────•~❉᯽❉~•────────────

☆ radiostar is playing... paloma querida by josé alfredo jiménez!

warnings; language, a pinch of angst with comfort at the end. a/n; I wanted to do this one so much, I finally got to finish it, I hope you like it. The translation of the song is below each verse, as well as the vocabulary at the end.

— You know what? Go to hell!

You slammed the bedroom's door behind you, trying to shut it with a bang, but Leo managed to catch it with his hand to follow you. Although in fact, it wasn't to try to solve the things.

He let out a loud huff when he saw you grabbing your keys and your things.

— Well, actually you’re the one leaving so, why don’t you just go there and give me the address later?

The regret was immediate, but he was just as angry and ignored it. For a second, he feared for everything as you turned back to him with flared nostrils and a frown, your eyes starting to tear up.

— If that's how things are. Good, then I won’t have to come back to this dump. — You threw the keys at his face and left with a door slam that echoed in the apartment.

Within two seconds, Leo was already running down the stairs, shouting your name, but it was too late when he saw your car turning the corner, almost leaving a trail of fire on the pavement. Feeling down, he ran his hands through his curly hair and sighed.

Who started the fight? It was hard to tell, but maybe Leo's response wasn’t the best. Actually, it had been the worst of all their fights, and he saw that reflected in the way you left. You two weren’t the type of couple to fight with sharp words, so this was almost like saying he’d rather see you dead.

— I’m- uh que pendejo¹ ! —he exclaimed, throwing himself onto the couch and complaining while rolling around. How would he apologize now? This time, flowers or a card saying "Sorry for being an idiot" wouldn’t cut it, and even if it did, he knew you deserved more.

Then he had an idea, triggered by a memory from his days in that old neighborhood when his mom was still alive. He could remember that place was lively, colorful, and sometimes noisy because people like his mom and him lived there, never letting a place so far from home feel as cold and foreign as it actually was. And there was something moms and grandmas children would do for on their birthdays, big block parties, or even when there were small couple fights: a serenade seemed like the ace up the sleeve to ease the pain and give a heartfelt apology. For Leo, that was fair.

Where would he get mariachis? But that was the least of his worries. He’d done more impossible things than finding a mexican musical group in the middle of the night.

— Hephaestus, help me — he muttered -almost like a prayer- as he put on his green military jacket and grabbed the keys you had thrown at him earlier. The raccoon keychain wearing a Camp Half-Blood shirt left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Before leaving, the candle illuminating the picture of his mom on the shelf next to the TV flickered intensely, catching his attention, and he took that as a response from his dad that was something like: " I Pass, I’ve had enough with my wife," and he honestly understood what he meant. One thing was a fight, another was being cheat repeatedly.

He turned off the lights and fearlessly wandered around to find his grand musical apology.

You were curled up in your bed with a frown and some tears in your eyes. You never thought any of your fights would reach this point, even if Leo's response had been in a joking manner, fighting with him was already too much for your heart. You wondered if this was the beginning of the end, if he was really angry, or if his response was an expression of how tired he was of you.

Were you done? 'cause you had thrown the keys at his face and had no way of getting back into that place.

Your anxiety flooded your body, and a slight tremor in your lip kept asking you to finally release the tears you had held back. Would you go to bed this sad and empty? Even the mattress seemed too big without him by your side.

You turned to switch off your bedside lamp when you heard a small object bounce against your window. You turned around and nervously played with the laces of your hoodie. Was it him? You looked at the clock and could see through your blurry eyes that it was around 2 AM. No way Leo could be here at this hour, maybe it had just been the wind

You turned to reach the switch when the sound repeated, and before you could get up, two more pebbles hit the glass. At the foot of your window, before opening the curtain, you heard a whistle and some trumpets starting to play.

— Amor!

You opened your eyes wide and clumsily pulled out the curtain. What you saw through the glass left you speechless. There were mariachis, about seven of them, and Leo was there with a bouquet of roses, waving his hand at you. When you opened the window, he smiled broadly, though there was a noticeable hint of shame.

— FORGIVE ME, MI AMOR — he shouted, cupping his hand to his mouth to amplify his voice, and you, speechless, kept watching the scene. Your boyfriend turned around and gave some instructions to one of the mariachis, who nodded and started a count of three. The music began, and not only did the singer's voice echo in the street, but so did Leo's.

— Yo no sé lo que valga mi vida. Pero yo, te la vengo a entregar.

( I don’t know what my life is worth, but I’m here to give it to you!)

You smiled. You couldn’t understand much from the distance, but the way he clutched his chest with each word made you tear up.

— yo siento quererte... con todas las fuerzas que el alma me da.

(I feel I love you with all the strength my soul can give...)

Leo impatiently gestured for them to continue while he looked for a way to climb up to your window. Though the vines weren’t entirely safe, he decided to risk it.

— Paloma querida! — he shouted off-key as he walked on the roof, short of breath, and beneath your window, he stood on tiptoe to hand you the roses. You leaned on your stomach to grab the flowers wrapped in red cellophane, and without taking your eyes off him, you smelled them.

He stepped back enough for you to see each other clearly. Again, he placed his hand over his heart and with a sincere smile mouthed, "I’m sorry."

What felt like seconds were actually minutes until the song change brought both of you back to reality. You leaned out to be a bit closer to him, and he jumped up to barely kiss your lips.

— No that, dummy! — you said giggling, nodding towards the group who continued playing with smiles, seeing that the serenade had achieved its goal. — The neighbors, Leo.

Leo raised his eyebrows and pointed to the front of your house, where people in nightgowns peeked from their windows, and some kids were dancing. An elderly couple watched the scene with tender eyes. Apparently, there were no complaints, so everything seemed cool.

He bowed without taking his eyes off you, and opening his hand in the air, let the keys jingle sweetly. You smiled, and he mimicked you.

— I love you.

— Te amo más.³

❉᯽❉

¹ que pendejo: I'm an asshole!

² paloma querida: dear dove; It's the name of the song translated to eng, an expression too or a kind of petname

³ te amo más: I love you more

⁴ amor, amor mio, mi amor: love, love of mine, my love.

#heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo #percy jackson #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo x reader #leo valdez fic #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez imagines #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez blurb #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians

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imaginedanvrs · 3 months

Text

i've been thinking about lovers to enemies with natasha so... enjoy??

warnings: smoking, extreme mental health issues, violence, murder, reader is not okay, implied major character death

“You’re smoking again.” Her voice always had a way of piercing through the background, unable to ever be overshadowed by the endless hustle of the city. You barely spare her a glance as you take another drag, but you know that she’s reluctant to take her observing eyes off of you and onto the collection of bodies across the alley. You’re too far past the point of predictability for her to be sure she won’t join them.

She’s more skilled than you, but you always had an edge that was left unchecked and has now become something she never believed it could. She underestimated you and you can’t blame her. Your old self would have been horrified to witness the ceremonious snap of your sanity.

“Backups on the way,” she informs as she approaches. She keeps her distance, but she wants to see you. The orange glow of your cigarette does nothing to illuminate your features. It’s difficult when the city casts enough shadows to protect you, however it can’t prevent the life that infests it from interfering.

A taxi speeds past the alleyway too suddenly to shine a light on most. Natasha only sees it because you were momentarily looking her way, though it's enough. Enough for her to catch your grey eye, drained of its colour and life since that night you were slashed across the face. You had told her once that it allowed you to see the world more distinctly than ever. That was the first time you turned the blade on your lover, adamant that you were saving her.

“Let me help you,” she offers, cursing herself for being too struck on your face that she hadn’t used the second of light to identify your weapon of the night.

“You don’t know how,” you tell her. Your voice has changed over the years. Maybe it’s the smoke you inflate your lungs with. Or maybe you really are a different person. “Only I know how to help,” you correct her, crushing the cigarette beneath your boot and taking the slim knife from your belt.

“You’re not well, y/n.” This angers you, greatly.

You lunge at her, blade gleaming with the blood of those that now serve as obstacles that lie in the way of doing what you have to. It’s for her own good. “I want to save you,” you tell her as she blocks your repeated strikes but never offers her own. You’ve improved since you used to train together. The ruthlessness you possess makes her anxious that she won’t be able to handle you before the agents arrive. They’ll handle you in the way she can’t bear to. Unfortunately, you don’t make it easy for her.

You dance in a sinister ballet for some time before you take the final leap of the grande show and slam Natasha to the floor. You beam as she struggles beneath you because you’re just so happy to finally be able to do this for her. You can give her the ultimate display of love - setting her soul free.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads with you but your mind has been set for years.

“I love you.” You're pressing the blade into her neck, only restricted by all of the strength Natasha is using to suppress your own. “I’ll see you wherever we end up next. It will be so much nicer,” she recognises this voice. It’s the one that used to come over you when you would hold each other during those unforgiving winters. It’s a voice that promises protection, but the person it embodies doesn’t understand that concept anymore.

You never get to deliver your final act of service to the love of your life. You're interrupted by a blazing heat erupting in your chest and a kind of weakness you haven’t felt in a long time. Instead of throwing you off of her, she coaxes you onto your back and offers words of comfort to your confused features.

You don’t know what’s happening, but you think there’s a chance you’re about to experience what you wanted to provide the redhead your heart had always yearned for. Perhaps it made sense that it would cease for her too.

#black widow #dark!marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #gxg marvel #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff oneshot #nr.hcs

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redcherrykook · 3 days

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𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙯𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙨

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

College Photography Teacher!Jungkook x Student!Reader

27 year old, stupidly handsome asshole teacher Mr. Jeon has absolutely no human decency, he believes your victim complex is what keeps you from ever achieving anything, letting people use you as a bridge. When something unexpected happens, the ice starts to melt as a foreign word called "empathy" enters his egocentric lense. Maybe he will finally manage to teach you a lesson now, since you keep failing his class.

(Mini series)- Episode one!

song recommendation: bloodline- ariana grande

Content: Cold, mean, distant, unprofessional Jungkook, hurt, stubborn reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey dramatic, accident happens, mutually beneficial relationship (emotionally), Jk learns a lot from her, Jk is mean but has a soft spot for reader (eventually), 6 year age gap, Reader is from a struggling background, Jk kind of rescues her, happy ending, angst at first, fluff, smut, comedy/crack, bickering, college setting, brief hospital setting

Warnings: swearing, name-calling,mentions of an accident involving a biker, mentions of hospital, really mean Jungkook, i promise he gets sweet, mentions of trauma and abuse (non detailed), mental health struggles (semi detailed), arguments

Notes: Hey lovelies! This is my first time on tumblr. pls be nice! leave a comment if you like, feel free to go to my ask! to request drabbles of this couple

If you want my playlist to this, lmk!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

A picture speaks more than a thousand words, so do eyes

At least when 26 pairs of them stare at you for being late, again. To be precise, for the 5th time in a row.

"Miss Y/n? what a surprise" Mr. Jeon stares through his glasses, direct and monotone as usual.

Bowing, you try to sit down at your desk that´s next to the door. "What is it this time? Couldn´t find your pens?" A almost routine like greeting from your teacher when you show up to class late. He tries to guess your reasoning each and every time, while increasingly mocking you. Just last week, when you showed up in a stained Shirt, he asked if you had to wash your clothes first before coming to class. You bet he found that hilarious.

On this day, his creativity seemingly died down, while his sarcasm certainly did not. "No sir, simply could not catch the bus. I apologize" you shake your head. Turning back to the Presentation behind him, wordlessly he resumes the lesson.

So likewise, you sit there. Waiting for it to be over. Photography has never been your strong suit but as a performing arts major, you needed this class to pass.

Not that you ever passed his class before, not in your first semester and certainly not in this second one.

"I will hand back your portfolios for the midterm preparations. I´m far too busy to be disappointed with them, although there are a few that gave me nightmares" his steps are small but powerful as he walks around the classroom, head pointed to the floor, his fluffy brown hair making it hard to read his face. It was blank, no one needed to see it to know. With his arms folded across his chest, he stands still.

If any other teacher had joked about having nightmares from awful projects, the class would have bursted into laughter and groans. In mister Jeon´s class, it remains silent, because for him, it´s not a joke.

Grabbing the pile of folders on his desk, he parades around the classroom, silently throwing folders down on the desk of the student it belongs to. Occasionally, a sigh of relief can be heard from your classmates.

When he reaches your desk, he slams the folder down, scoffing with his belittling smirk. It´s rare to see his face outside of his blank expression or unamused scoff, but when it does change, it is never positive.

Failed, repeatedly.

For one, because you prioritized other classes, far more important ones. Staying up until ungodly hours in the night to research for your English literature class and at the same time, trying to recall the notes for your practical music exam took a lot out of you. On second viewing, because your shitty 3 year old camera is barely holding on and you have no sense of stylistic layout or skill for settings and atmospheres. Not in pictures, at least.

Like you said, photography has never been your strong suit.

The bell finally releases you from the horrible strings of mr. Jeons depressing class, that is until his stern voice stops you from actually leaving.

"I have never had a student as careless as you" his scoff is as belittling as his eyes that look down at you. Without having to say it, they tell you how highly he thinks of himself, how lowly he thinks of you. Mr. Jeon has never been nice, too straight forward, never showing understanding for any misdemeanor. Handed the assignment in 5 minutes late? He would not dare grade it, even touch it. If you had worked tirelessly? , too bad. Ignoring the evidence of eyebags and puffy faces, he believes everyone simply lacks discipline.

"You show up late every time, fail every single exam, barely pass any group participation. Do you need this class for credits? I would drop out and take something that doesn´t require thinking, like theater. You have no chance of passing here" The words fall off his tongue naturally, so do the last footsteps of students leaving the class.

"I do not understand sir, why this concerns you at all. You have no consideration or awareness of my circumstances, I would expect some empathy from someone who´s job it is to interact with people" Honesty is not owned by him, for once, you decide to not let people treat you as if you were below them.

Once again, a scoff paints his lips as he steps closer, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly like he is taken by surprise from the sudden change of heart you seemingly underwent. Maybe it is just that no one has ever tried to talk back to him, knowing it leads practically nowhere. You know that as well, but the need to try and scream for the smallest drop of understanding, maybe even reassurance overcomes you with the sudden confrontation.

"Understanding? I think you are the one that needs to understand. Grow up, the world isn´t made to adapt and cradle you" It´s now your turn to scoff, your head shaking with a laugh of disbelief.

"That is exactly what I meant. The way my life is, I am well aware, mr. Jeon, that the world does not give a fuck about its people. Maybe, just maybe you know" you pause, searching his face for reaction as the frustration boils up, begging to be led out. As expected, it reads nothing. "You could try to see things apart from yourself, not everyone lives a life like yours"

"Oh my god, you poor little thing hm? What is it, lost your Phone? Got broken up with? People like you will find anything, anything in order to avert the blame. Its so-" he stops, his eyes darkening, the tattooed hand slips out of his pocket to swipe right through his hair. In a whisper of disgust, he resumes "...pathetic"

As a means to shield yourself from the way he spits out his words, your voice raises.

"Lost my home among other things, that good enough?" The words leave your mouth hurriedly, while wishing to be met with a soft smile. Stupidly enough, you know that´s very far from the reality that will weigh down on you in a matter of seconds. According to him, you are delusional anyways

The secret of yours that you had kept so warmly, so safely deep down in your mind had crept its way out your mouth, betraying you shamelessly. Not as shameless as the blatant lack of sympathy from the male stood in front of you.

" Good enough? Everyone has some shit they went through. You´re simply a loser, a lonely loser who cannot get over themselves. Get some help kid if you can´t do things for yourself but stop expecting people to let everything slide because of your helplessness. This huge victim complex of yours is infuriating. Did you expect me to cry and say oh what a cruel world, you poor little girl, i will let you pass my class?" Relentlessly he rants, with every word the sound of a distant laughter in your mind grows.

Regret.

Every second that passes he manages to give you further proof that you were never to find a spot in people's uselessly stern hearts.

Stammering to leave, the only words you manage to utter are "You´re heartless" mustering the courage to look at him is as far gone as your belief in his existence of ability to care.

Out, you want out of this wall tightening lecture hall that´s suffocating you with the strong hands of his stern voice.

"Good thing I don´t rely on the validation of others. I´m suspending you from this class to save you some work you would not do anyways" he turns sharply, walking back to his desk.

Parallel to him, you storm out of the University. Anywhere, anywhere is better right now.

Clouded by the tears of your resurfacing past you run along the streets. History repeats itself, the cycle of trust and naitivity is your biggest weakness.

Giving a way a piece of you for someone to keep safe, for someone to listen to, to care,

It has never worked before.

Stupid.

On and on unsure at this point if you were running from his words or ones of your own mind. They laugh at you, telling you their "I told you so"

Being powered simply by fear, and really, only fear, is far from enough to keep running, but you can´t stop. You can´t see either. Apparently, neither can the biker that runs into you, knocking you cold to the ground.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"She really did not show up, expected, Good." he mumbles to himself while sorting the material on his desk. The small cubicle like space in the teachers workroom is decorated with photographs of his very own camera. Simple, organized, plain.

"Who did not?" Mrs. Park´s curious voice rings next to him, as his fellow art subject teacher, they share most of their students.

Nosy, he thinks.

"Lee Y/n. I suspended her recently and I-"

"You mean the girl from the accident?" casually she mentions it.

The cut off on the other hand, is sharp and unexpected. Jungkook is shocked for one, because someone interrupted him and two, because of the mention of you in an accident.

"Excuse me, an accident?" mentally cursing at himself for appearing to show interest in the situation, he diverts his attention to the teacher next to him. It must be a misunderstanding.

"Jungkook with all due respect how did you think a girl lying in the hospital for the past three days is going to show up to your class? You and your high expectations" She shakes her head, having completely misjudged the situation. Surprisingly, that is not his priority.

"Three days? How come I have not heard of this? How unreliable" He scoffs, old habits die hard, certainly for Jeon Jungkook.

Mrs. Park hums, reluctantly whispering "Probably because people are.. speculating. She has lots of problems , if you understand what im trying to say" it is subtle, fleeting, but her eyes glance up at him with the raise of an eyebrow

It flashes to Jungkooks as briefly as his coworkers judgemental eyes. His mind goes on to remember his conversation, well, argument with that stupidly helpless student of his.

Three days ago.

Mentally, he shakes his head.

Bullshit.

Even if she tried something, he isn´t to blame.

Right?

"Anyways, I think she is in Incheon hospital now. I might visit her later, she used to be in my literature course" Mrs. Park voice fades out as she stands up to leave.

Doumbfounded he sits there, tied to the chair by the revelation that he might have sent someone to a hospital.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I can not believe I´m driving to the fucking hospital. He curses at himself while punching in the address of Incheon hospital onto his phone. It´s okay Jungkook, you´re doing this for YOUR sanity. Has nothing to do with that idiot. The words keep reassuring him of his selfishness, maybe trying to convince him that what he is feeling is not empathy, no, it is just to soothe his mind.

Why was he anxious in the first place? Not like it would make a change.

And so, 25 minutes of staring blankly at the road commence.

Blankly, because he needed to focus.

Blankly because he was not willing to face the possibilties his thoughts hold at the moment.

When he finally arrives, the huge metal doors welcome him in.

Straight to the receptionist he goes, asking for your room, providing proof of acquaintance with the patient.

What a hassle it was to gather everything, he remembers

And yet it does not stop him from heading up to the second floor.

Having just woken up from your second nap of the day, you audibly groan when the door opens, expecting to see a nurse.

"What the fuck" staring at your asshole photography teacher that is, somehow, in your hospital room.

"Good afternoon to you as well" he replies, as always, far removed from any and all emotion.

"Am I having a nightmare?" Questioning the validity of this surely odd situation, you sit up, combing through your hair. He Sighs, removing his coat and sitting at the chair across from your hospital bed. He would never dare to think he should ask if you even find it tolerable he is there.

He wants to speak to you, so he will.

"No, unfortunately not" Without knowing what to say further, because frankly he does not even know why he came here, he remains silent.

"Did you seriously come here? For what, to tell me to go to school because everyone has accidents and i need to get over myself?" The bitterness of your words match the usual one of his own, tainted ones. However this time, his eyes shift briefly.

Worry.

You think, at least.

"I get it, I was an asshole. Don´t tell me you jumped in front of a biker because of it" the strong, decorated hand of his makes it´s way to rub against his forehead as his voice comes out in a low groan of frustration. No need to sugarcoat, this is all he needed to know from you. Right?

Deciding to use it for a little revenge, you leave his semi question uncommented.

"Came here to apologize? Soothe that non existent conscious of yours, mr. Jeon?" his eyes dart up to meet yours, is it as though he really believes his words may have been the cause.

Regret, maybe. If he is capable of such.

"Fuck seriously? Yes, okay. I came here because" he stops, his tongue pressing the inside of his cheeks as he looks out into the window. The words leave his mouth without him even knowing that prior to hearing it out loud, that is what he felt.

"because I got worried that I made someone try to..." he cannot bring himself to finish that sentence.

"Is that really what people are saying? God that´s awful how am I supposed to go back to College with this being my reputation" small, barely audible you chuckle.

"Ah, no. Well.. partially i guess. I ran out after the hatred you threw at me and unlucky me, your so called cruel world strikes again" At the quoting of his words you make a mockery out of his monotone voice, the absurdity of this conversation still not catching up to you.

"Don´t worry, if that is even possible for you, I will just get over my accident" With an annoyed laugh, Jungkook stands up to stand in front of your hospital bed directly, hands in his slack pockets ever so casually but somehow, dominantly.

"I get it you idiot, I was an awful guy that day, my god give me a break. I came here, all the way here to fucking try and talk to you, give me a chance" his eyes look down at you, bored, plain. His mouth betraying him once more, spilling the unknown truth from his plump pierced lips.

"You sure have a way of asking for things. I want you out quick so, make it fast will you mr, Jeon" your reply makes him tilt his head to the side quickly, muttering a finally under his breath.

"I decided to not suspend you. And I´m deciding that maybe, you should tell me your circumstances. I´m not going to be held accountable if you try some shit"

This is about him, of course.

Just now he's taking an actual look at you, trying to decipher how hurt you really are, he would never bother to ask though.

The bruises on your arms become visibile to him, looking them up and down with tightly pressed eyebrows. They look older, some of them appear fresh.

Is she being hurt? his mind wanders

A snort from you makes him snap out of his thoughts "What? So you can laugh at it?"

He groans in response, "If you stopped being so stubborn and listened to me maybe you would know why. I´m taking your advice god damn it, I´m trying to build understanding" both hands are now running through his longer hair, the frustration of the wall you build up almost making him give up. Deep down, he knows he can´t blame you. The consequences of his own actions are catching up to him slowly, just as the realization of his heart softening ever so slightly does.

Silence fills the room, being the loudest sound to present itself.

"Fine" you roll your eyes at him. Unlike him, you want to show some grace, show him that yeah, it is possible to go through shit and need help. Sometimes people need to be ripped out of their tunnel vision egocentric world to understand their flaws. At the same time, you worry your good heart will once again only lead you too give more than you should be.

"Took you long enough" he remarks snarkily

"Nevermind then"

"Oh my god"

You laugh at his response, making eye contact with him as he laughs too. Small that is, before catching himself doing so. Still, it made a smile try to creep up your lips at the unfamiliar sound.

"That was a first" as if you´d pass up a chance to embarrass him.

"Don´t mention it" returning to his habits as always, the stern teacher voice is perfectly matching his lurking stance. ´´You´re below me´´ practically radiating off of him. What a shame, you had just begun to find him pleasant.

"Okay so, summary: Was admitted into our shitty foster system, got a whole bunch of friendship trauma, had to run away from said foster horror house and am now basically homeless in a women´s shelter. Oh and before you ask, I have a scholarship. I may be poor but I am not a criminal" the hands up in a surrendering pose make up for the awkwardly tense situation after having revealed something so personal to your photography teacher. For the second time. Right now, it´s impossible to tell what he is thinking.

Nodding he starts off his sentence,

"you were right that is a lot. Fuck, now i get why you called me a heartless asshole. Had no idea a twenty-one year old can already live that much shit. I swear, I was convinced you were bullshitting because you just did not care about my class" his rambling turns into muttering when he makes his way back to sit down on the chair, the usually bored eyes of his look softer now, while his words are as insensitive as they have always been.

"You are meaning to tell me that outburst you had on me was because you were pressed i didn´t take your class seriously? I just suck at photography, but i tried" in a subconscious motion your hand clutches your chest melodramatically, a slight smirk tugging on the side of Jungkook´s mouth.

"I know you suck, saw all of those awful collages. I did mean some things I said, someone needs to teach you how to grit your teeth and stand up for yourself, would have taken you seriously much sooner" His deep brown eyes roll with the memory of your conversation, sighing deeply he shakes his head.

Oddly enough, his truthful joke about your inability for photography makes your heart a little warmer. The belittling presence of his turning into a much closer, normal one. While the distance of his emotions is undeniable, the closeness of his growing interest in your life is as well. His mind is occupied with your conversation, unable to focus on his only mission, that is to protect who he is. The mask slips but really, does he still feel like wearing it?

"If that is what you tried to express someone needs to teach you how to empathize and communicate with people, mr. Jeon"

He wants to leave the mask off for just a little longer

"Jungkook" his first name slips out of his lips seamlessly, in the heat of the moment, lost in the fact that for some reason, he wants to understand you. Not in a suggestion, he´s still Jungkook, no is not an option if he set his mind to it. He´s demanding you to adapt to him

"What?"

"Call me Jungkook. We have been far from professional anyways. Calling me mister and all that formal shit makes it weird" his face scrunches up briefly, the embarrassment of acting more like a highschool bully than a teacher is slowly catching up to him.

You can´t help but laugh softly at this whole mess. In a hospital, constantly fighting while simultaneously trauma unpacking with your heartless, maybe not so heartless after all photography teacher who now wants you to call him by his first name.

Cruel world, as he puts it.

"Sure, Jungkook" his name leaves your lips in way so naturally it makes him jump inside.

What the fuck?

"I guess we could learn a lot from each other then, idiot" never failing to remind you of his stance on your personality, the sound echos in the room when his eyes meet yours,

but it is not his eyes that matter in his moment, they have returned to their stern nature long ago,

It is the fact that he softened his voice, as if he was afraid to let you in his mind. As if it was only possible for him to let one small spot of his soften at a time,

While you were just as afraid,

"Yeah. Deal?"

He naturally irritated face showing up to greet you once more

"Seriously? What are you, 12?"

"With the way you're acting i should be asking you that"

Unamused, he manages to mutter out

"Deal"

It's like the nurse had waited for you to be done before entering the room, informing you that visitor time is up and Jungkook needs to leave. Your eyes dart to his as he puts on the coat he had hung up previously, thanking the nurse before shifting his body slightly to hover over your sitting form.

"See you in class then" with that, he leaves you to rethink everything that had happend the past days. More over, he leaves you wondering just how honest he was about the little deal you guys made.

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