#i don't even want to be around it but i can't fucking escape it
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GOJO JERKING OFF WİTH YOUR THOUGHTS
✧ — CONTENT; 18+ ONLY // MDNI — fem! student reader, slightly yandere Gojo reader's age is 18, teacher x student
Fumi: if you don't like teacher x student content, don't read this post, sweetie! <3
his chest heaving with desire as he thought about the delicate body of you. He could already imagine your petite frame beneath him, your small hands trembling as he took your virginity. His cock is getting harder, the veins throbbing with lust as he continued to stroke himself off, his mind consumed by you
"Ugh, I need to be inside you, Y/N-chan, to feel your tight, small pussy wrapped around my cock," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. His breathing ragged, he quickened the pace of his hand on his shaft, the pleasure almost overwhelming as he thought about taking her innocence.
"But I shouldn't think about this, right?" he growled, his hand moving faster, his cock growing harder with each passing second. his cum was oozing out of his cock's tip. "You are my student, and I am your sensei. yet, I can't help but want you more and more with each fucking passing day."
His eyes locked onto the image of you in his mind, your delicate features twisted in pleasure and pain. It only turned him on more, his cock throbbing with the need to be inside you.
"Fuck morals- I want to make you moan, Y/N-chan, to feel your sweet pussy clench around my cock as I thrust into you," he groaned, the words spilling from his lips like a prayer. His cock was hard as steel now, his balls drawing up as he teetered on the edge of climax.
"I don't care what those old geezers or the others will say, I'm going to have you and I'm not going to let anyone but me touch you or even look at you-!''
he growled, the words fueling his pleasure as he pictured your cute moans. His hand moved faster, the pleasure building inside him like a storm.
he wishes you were here right now.
"I'll make you mine, Y/N, even if it's the last thing I do. Whether you want or not." he promised, his voice raw with desire. His cock throbbed in his hand, the pleasure almost unbearable as he thought about fucking you in every way possible
his eyes flickered, his body convulsing as his chest heaved with the force of his orgasm. his hot semen shot out, coating his stomach
his cock throbbing with the intensity of his release. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts of you still dancing in his mind as he rode the wave of pleasure.
"Fuck, I wish it was your tight pussy wrapped around my cock instead of my hand," he groaned, the words thick with lust. His cock softened slightly, but the desire in his eyes remained, burning with intensity and longing
He took a deep breath, and just then the door to his room swung open, his eyes widened in shock when he saw you, damn it! didn't you know you're not supposed to enter someone's room without knocking-!?
''Gojo-Sensei! Yaga-Sensei is calling you, you're late for the meeting again-KYA! I-I'M SO SORRY, SENSEİ- I-I'M LEAVİNG-!''
When you saw him like that, after a short shock, you covered your face with your hands in shame and immediately left the room, you were so embarrassed.
Gojo's surprise was replaced by amusement, a mischievous grin formed on his face and he chuckled under his breath at your hasty escape. God, you were too cute for your own good.
''hehe~''
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojou satoru x reader#jjk gojo#jjk satoru#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu satoru#gojo smut#teacher x student#gojo jjk#gojo imagine#gojo fanfic#yandere gojo#headcanon#jjk x reader#jjk smut#satoru x reader#yandere satoru gojo#satoru smut
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So I don't usually post writing for other fandoms but I was testing ideas for Dead Boy Detectives to try and think about character voices and I may have started a bit of a fic. So thought I'd share :)
Spoilers for season one below, but aside from being a Charles & Edwin focused fic I am still not quite sure what this snippet is going to turn out to be (or what I'm calling it).
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The Cat King puts a binding spell on Edwin.
A binding spell.
Edwin—previously escaped from hell, previously traded between demons, Edwin—and the playful menace can’t have known any of that but oh does it make his blood boil anyway. Charles can see how it winds Edwin up, a tension outside of whatever other reason his friend finds the Cat King unsettling, can see the anxious way Edwin fiddles with the metal when he thinks no one is looking.
How he twists and twists at the band around his wrist.
The chain.
That's what it really is, after all, and Charles does his best not to trip over it. He tries not to tug, doesn’t want to force Edwin to constantly think of that while he’s trying to focus on escaping the trap. It’s not always possible, there are times when Edwin raises his arm to his face, jerky, eyes wild as they lock onto the metal around his wrist. There are times where it creeps into conversation. Charles tries for playful, tries for a teasing calm and doesn’t know if that’s right, waits as Edwin’s haunted eyes find his and can't relax until he watches the glimmer of panic abruptly dissolve.
It's only when Edwin scoffs with his usual dignified affront that Charles can breathe again.
But there remains a shadow in his friends green eyes.
And Charles still doesn’t know its exact shape, doesn’t know for sure what's tormenting his friend—has seen him with dolls, in houses, on cases, has seen unflappable, steady handed Edwin shaking as he turns their heads away—but through it Charles sees the silhouette of a nightmare. There's a part of this he knows enough of to understand. Charles can see a journal rendered useless, a trap sealed all the way, a maze constructed so that no matter how precise a map is it will never, ever matter. An oversight corrected by a monster that’s only saving grace had been it never saw escape as a possibility.
The Cat King’s gift introduces a terrifying what if.
One that replays over and over in Edwin's eyes, whispers every time he looks at it. The creeping, niggling fear that perhaps the second time his captor will be smarter.
And Charles can’t soothe that.
He can’t change it. He can only listen to the tightness in his friends voice, how sometimes it goes high and sharp as if he’s forgotten to breath, as if Edwin has forgotten that he doesn't need to. Charles can only listen and seethe and wish that he knew how to break that fucking binding spell.
He watches Edwin realise he's trapped in one place without the assurance of being able to run.
Even in hell he’d had that.
Even in hell Edwin had at least been able to run.
#dead boy detectives#Charles Rowland#Edwin Payne#edwin x charles#(probably)#might be pre ship#Dead boy detectives spoilers#rria writes#this was not the fic I thought I'd be writing today#but enjoy!
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You're absolutely right, Eric Winter is the Godfather of sexyness🔥
Anyway, I hope you don't mind that I came up with with a The Rookie idea 🤗 hear me out my love hear me out:
Reader is a cop. Tim and her secretly harboring feelings for each other but they would never admit it
Everything was fine until one night when they were out with the others to celebrate and then they had a drunken one night stand
The next day Tim tells her that it was a mistake and they should forget about it. Reader is heartbroken and devastated.
Tim is also sad about the situation but he thinks it's for their best, so he even tries to avoid reader at work and she him
Until one day they have to partner up and go on patrol together
Above this uncomfortable situation reader is also feeling under the weather and feeling ill, but she doesn't want to show weakness towards Tim. So she tries to live trough the day despite her beginning to burn up and feeling weak
They got called to warehouse but it's a trap and they got captured
Tim finally starts to talk to her but notices how pale and sick she looks
He goes in full worried Tim mode
He tries to keep her calm and help her in her sick state
He apologizes for his behavior and they talk about their feelings
Reader is starting worsen, Tim holds her
With a lot of drama, sick reader, worried Tim until they're found
What do you think?
Have a nice day 💕💐
Intoxicated
Tim Bradford x reader
Warnings/Tags: 18+, mdni!, smut, unprotected p i v (wrap it before you tap it!), slight praise kink, hell of a lot angst, fluff
Word count: 4.939
Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! I absolutely loved it and I hope you'll like the way I wrote it! I don't know how, but somehow this ended up in present tense, not past tense. It's like my brain was offline when I started to write and then I was like "what the fuck happened?" or more a German "Hä? Was zur Hölle?"
Anyways, I hope you don't mind!
Not proofread, not at all! It's late and I'm tired as hell, so I'm gonna proofread it in the morning. I just wanted to post it, so you won't have to wait any longer.
Lots of love!
Enjoy!
You can't help the giggle that escapes you, when you try to open your door. Tim giggles along with you, his smile being so much more intoxicating in this moment, than you remember it.
Even though he is just waiting for you to open your door to bid you good night, before he would continue on to his own house, you can't help the exited feeling that's cursing through your veins.
You'd give more than everything to have him stay over. But that is just a fantasy - a very good one, but still.
You are colleagues, nothing more. Good friends, maybe, but that's it.
You're just coming home from a night out with your friends and other colleagues, having had a drink too much.
Tim had to hold you up all the way to your house, or otherwise you would have stumbled and fallen most of the time.
His hands had felt wonderful on your waist, a feeling that would surely burn its way into your brain forever.
When you finally hear the familiar click, you look up at him in triumph. He cocks a brow, huffing a laugh at your proud smile.
Heaving a sigh, you push the door open, turning back around to him. He's still looking at you, his face adorned by a warm smile though his eyes seem darker in the light of your porch's lantern.
The atmosphere prickles like electricity, it's thick - at least it is for you, as you inhale shakily.
He swallows thickly, taking a step closer.
"Are you sure you can take it from here?" he rasps, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Or do you need any help?"
He can't deny that he secretly hopes you would want his help. You had been intoxicating the whole evening, catching his gaze more than once with the way you looked and carried yourself that night.
His fingers feel numb, as the electricity shoots through them, his heart beating unsteadily.
Yours does the same, eyes locked onto his, as you search your mind for an answer.
"Some help would be great." you finally breathe out, watching his adam's apple bob, as he swallows again.
Nodding, he bites his lip, before you walk inside backwards, placing your keys on the dresser beside the door.
Once he crosses the threshold, he pushes the door closed with one hand, gaze still locked on yours.
Your breathing becomes shallow, heart pumping in your throat, as you anticipate his next moves.
Would he really just help you, so you'd be tucked in bed safely, before he left? Or would he help you in the most delicious way, the one you secretly yearn for?
Once the door clicks shut, he closes the distance, his hands grabbing your neck, as he pulls you closer. His lips meet yours like a starved man, not sweet, but hungrily and demanding.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach, his sudden boldness leaving you dizzy.
Your hands interlock behind his neck, one of them brushing though his hair, as you tug him even closer.
His tongue brushes over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You give in more than willingly, sighing into his mouth, as his hands find your waist.
His touch almost burns you, the intensity of his kisses soon leaving you breathless. It's a sensation you're sure you'll never forget.
He pushes you against the wall behind you, hands wandering further down, before they grab your thighs, letting you know that he wants you to jump.
And so you do.
As he walks you towards your bedroom, you can't help but sigh dreamily.
This is all you had silently wished for.
Even though you are drunk, you suddenly feel sober again.
As he lies you down on your bed, his lips leave yours, sucking on your neck instead. You moan as he finds that sweet spot that has your toes curling, causing him to suck even harsher.
His hard-on presses against your thigh, giving you a hint of what is beneath the jeans - it was a lot.
He grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, before discarding of it on the floor. His lips greedily trace every inch of skin he exposed, kissing his way down the valley of your breasts, fingers fumbling for the clip of your bra.
Once he opens it, he lets it join your shirt on the floor, one of his hands grabbing a breast, kneading it. It makes you moan, arching your back into him.
It doesn't take him long to move further downwards, getting rid of your pants and underwear, after removing his shirt. He tugs you closer to the edge of the bed with his arms wrapped around your thighs, breath ghosting over your heat.
You are a whimpering mess under him, only growing louder, as his mouth attaches to your clit, sucking and licking, his hands firmly holding you in place.
Your sounds spur him on, his name on your lips; hips frantically rolling against the bed frame in search for some friction. He hums at the taste of you, the sound vibrating through your cunt, eliciting another string of moans to fall from your lips.
He alternates between licking and sucking, tongue circling your entrance, before he slowly pushes a finger inside. He curls it just right, hitting that spongy spot that has his name cried into the night.
In a matter of minutes he has you coming on his tongue and fingers, riding you through your first orgasm of the night, as you continue to whimper his name like a mantra. He takes everything you give him, greedily lapping at you.
Panting, you try to calm your racing heart, as he pulls off his pants, before joining you on the bed again. His lips entangle with yours, as he aligns his cock with your entrance.
You can taste yourself on his lips, his tongue licking into your mouth. When he pushes inside it causes you both to groan, and he hisses as you grip him so tightly.
Falling into a steady rhythm, your legs wrap around his waist, granting him even deeper access. You can't help but gaze down at where you both are connected, moaning at the sight.
His lips find yours again, before they brush down your throat, kissing and sucking, stars appearing behind your closed eyelids, as your head tilts back.
You moan loudly, when he hits that sweet spot, cock softlt kissing it. He does it again and again, hitting it so good.
"You're so tight." he grits out and you whimper in return. "Takin' me so good."
His words send shivers down your spine and you clench down on him. He hisses in return, smirking to himself. "You're doing so good for me, gripping me so deliciously." he praises, drawing a strangled moan from you.
"I'm close, Tim!" you breathe out, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. His meet yours and he nods. "Me too, baby." His lips graze your cheek, brushing up to the shell of your ear. "Come for me." he demands, hips snapping against yours. "Come all over my cock for me."
You cry out his name, following his demand as you come hard, squeezing him and he follows, stilling balls deep inside you, as he paints your walls with his cum.
You pant, shivering as he fills you up, his cum slowly oozing back out of you.
You swallow, heart pounding violently against your ribs. Tim slips out of you and you shudder at the sudden emptiness.
Sitting up, you watch as he collects his clothes, putting them back on. Suddenly it's awkward as you're sitting there, unsure of what you should do.
Scrambling for your own clothes you mimic his actions, until you're standing in front of each other, fully dressed again.
He seems hesitant, not sure what to do or say either.
"I'm gonna head home." he then says, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "See you tomorrow."
You just nod, eyes following as he walks to the front door, eyes meeting yours for a split second, before he leaves.
You feel like shit.
Used, that somehow sums it up.
Swallowing, you pick up the things that had fallen off the table, returning them to their places, before heading to the shower.
Trying to forget the gnawing feeling in your stomach, you scrub at your body, trying to wash him off of you.
His touch, his kisses, his scent.
But it doesn't work.
Not even the saltiness of your tears gets the feeling of his lips off your skin.
When you're lying in bed, wide awake, you try to think of anything other than him.
But nothing works.
_____
When the alarm goes off the next morning, you groan, rolling over to shut it off.
You hadn't slept much, barely able to slip into the darkness without his face behind your closed eyelids.
Getting ready for work, you drag yourself around the house, before gathering your keys and heading to the station.
Somehow it feels strange, everyone seems to stare at you, like they know what you and Tim did last night.
But they don't, and they're not actually staring at you, barely glancing your way as you bid good morning.
Tim is already there, you've seen his truck when you parked. Dread is eating at you, not sure if you want to see him at all.
Walking into roll call, taking a seat at your usual spot, your eyes scan the room. He isn't there yet, but as you realize he'd sit right beside you - like he usually would - your heart picks up its speed.
Panic suddenly floods you, as you consider if you should sit somewhere else.
But as the room slowly fills with people, your chance at another seat reduces more and more. When Tim enters the room, you stiffen.
Missed your chance.
He avoids looking at you, only mumbling a good morning, as he takes a seat beside you. Your arms brush against each other, and you flinch back involuntarily.
His eyes find yours at the motion for the briefest of moments, before they avert. Shrinking into your seat, you bite you lip, arms pressed to your body to avoid another touch.
Suddenly, you regret what you did last night. It seemed to have changed everything - how could it not, right?
What else did you expect?
Sighing quietly, you wait for Grey to begin, so you could concentrate on that instead.
He assigns tasks, before he dismisses you.
Breathing a sigh of relief, you get up hastily, but Tim has the same idea.
You bump into each other like two teenagers on the run, before he takes the lead, walking out of the room in front of you.
"Tim!" you call out after him, before you could stop yourself, flinching internally.
He stops in his tracks, biting his cheek, before he gathers the courage to turn around to you.
"Yeah?" he asks, taking a step closer. You search his eyes for any indication of regret, unfortunately finding it.
He looks pained, like he wants to get away from this conversation as fast as possible.
"Can we talk?" you ask, voice lowered so other colleagues wouldn't hear. His eyes swipe through the room, before he nods once.
You follow him into the empty break room, stopping when he does.
"What do you want to talk about?" he wants to know, like he doesn't already know the answer.
"Last night." you press out, fighting to keep up the eye contact. He nods, biting his cheek again.
"Look, I know we... had sex, but it was a mistake, okay? It won't happen again." he says, all the while keeping a straight face.
Your heart crushes, but you won't let him see it.
You can't.
Not when he had you moan his name so often last night, that you aren't able to think anything else other than Tim.
Not to mention the way he talked to you. Or more like praised you.
A cold shiver runs down your spine, as you gape at him like a fish.
Cheeks flaming up, you look away, jaw ticking as you try to suppress the tears.
His face contorts, pain flashing through his eyes. He hates doing this to you, but he has no other choice.
Thankfully, you didn't see it, as he steels himself, before you look back up at him.
Before you could say anything, someone enters the room, seemingly in search for some bad coffee.
Without another glance, you turn around, leaving him behind to find your rookie, his carefully put up mask crumbling with a pang in his heart.
Finding your rookie - or rather John's, but yours for the day, considering John isn't at the station today - you send her a small smile.
"Celina." you greet her with a nod, motioning for her to walk towards the already prepared war bags, gathering them along with the guns.
She carries them towards the shop, storing them in the back.
"What's up with you?" she asks, sending you a worried glance. Brows furrowing, you get into the shop, buckling up. "Don't know what you're talking about." you give back, starting the engine.
You have been talking to her a lot since she started as a rookie, getting along pretty well.
That she can seemingly read you so well, has you swallowing.
This shift will be a stressful one.
_____
And it is.
You swear at some point Celina's stares have begun to burn holes into your skin.
"What happened?" she asks for what felt like the hundredth time, barely two hours into the shift. "I'm sensing strong discomfort."
Sighing, you grumble her name, though you know she probably won't stop. With Nolan she wouldn't be this forward, but you two had become sort of friends over the past few months.
"Okay, yes something happened." you finally give in with wide eyes, carefully scanning your surroundings, as a sigh leaves your lips.
"With Tim?" she asks, still looking at you, even though you refuse to meet her gaze. "Did you sleep with each other?"
"No!" you respond a little too fast, eyes widening even more, causing her to tilt her head at you with a cocked brow.
"...maybe?"
Her own eyes widen as well, not having expected to be right with her assumption. "Wait what?" she gasps, leaning forward in her seat.
Rolling your eyes, you silently hope for a call, something to get you out if this situation.
And you're prayers are heard.
_____
It has been a week that felt like a whole month.
Tim avoided you whenever he could, and you did the same.
You should have known it would ruin everything.
Waiting for Grey to finish, you squint your eyes. Everything has been blurry since the morning, your body heating up slowly as time passes.
But you didn't want to call in sick, so you pushed through and to work with a sigh to yourself. You aren't one that gets sick fast, so you intended for it not to stop you.
"Bradford, you're with Y/L/N today." Grey's voice rips you out of your thoughts, gaze snapping up. If he sees the look of disbelief and panic on your face, he doesn't show it.
Or he simply doesn't care as your watch commander.
Standing, your eyes hesitantly meet Tim's, who's across the room. You had switched seats with another colleague, so you wouldn't be sitting beside Tim anymore.
Sighing, you follow him, as he leaves the room, heading for the shop.
When you both stop behind it, his brows furrow. "Where are the war bags?" he wants to know, and your brows furrow as well. "Thought you'd get them." you mumble, avoiding eye contact.
He groans, the sound making you feel worse, before he leaves, going to gather the things you need.
Fumbling with your body cam nervously, you wait for him in the shop, glancing into the side mirror, when the doors slide back open. He stores the bags and guns in the back, before getting into the drivers seat.
You don't talk, as he leaves the garage, driving out onto the bustling streets of Los Angeles.
Sighing to yourself, you adjust in your seat, back aching. His eyes drift over to you for a brief moment, taking in your appereance.
You are looking uncomfortable, but not only from the current situation. There are bags under your eyes, indicating that you didn't get enough sleep. The slightest bit of sweat makes your forehead glisten, and he wonders if you're feeling ill.
But he holds his tongue, not saying anything.
Your heart races, only adding to the uncomfortable feeling creeping into your bones. It isn't only Tim's presence, but whatever you might have caught, as well.
Coughing quietly, you lean forward in your seat; inhaling deeply, when you can breathe again. Yesterday you were feeling good, so why are you getting so sick now?
Tim's eyes wander back to you, brows furrowing, before he looks back out of the window.
The silence is deafening, tension palpable. Your tongue feels like lead, your feelings making it hard to speak.
"Can we stop to get more water?" you ask hoarsely, not daring to look his way. He nods, the crease between his brows deepening, as does his worry for you.
He can't deny that he's worried, not sure what you are going through that has you looking so pale. He's sure it's not only his presence, though.
When he parks, he motions for you to stay in the car, getting out, before you can protest. Huffing, you lean back in your seat, silently grateful that you don't have to go yourself.
Eyes closing, you breathe in deeply, trying to relax and lessen some of the pain in your back. But, when the door opens and Tim gets back into the shop, all relaxation goes out of the window.
"Are you okay?" he wants to know, handing you two bottles of water. You nod, taking them without really looking at him, shivering as his hand brushes yours.
"I'm fine." you assure him, trying to sound stronger than you actually feel.
His teeth grit, but he doesn't push further - he doesn't have the right to, not when he's possibly responsible for how you're feeling.
With a nod, he buckles up, starting the engine and driving south, when the radio comes to life.
"We have a reported dispute, possibly armed, at a warehouse, 5601 Pico Boulevard. Do you copy?" "Dispute, possibly armed, at 5601 Pico Boulevard." Tim speaks into the radio. "Copy, we're on it."
You rub your temples, clearing your throat, as you try to clear your head as well, shaking off the uneasy feeling.
The drive is quiet, except for the sirens, adrenaline pushing through your veins, alleviating some of the pain and aching. When you arrive, you draw your gun, hopping out of the shop and quietly following Tim.
Heading inside carefully, you start to clear the place, brows furrowing at how quiet it is.
How odd.
That is, until something heavy hits your head, and al you suddenly see is black.
With a groan you startle awake, sight blurry, as you try to make out your whereabouts. The air smells dusty and bad, brows furrowing. Pain shoots through your head, and you groan again.
What happened?
Blinking, you try to clear your vision, slowly making out another silhouette. "Tim?" you breathe out, once you're able to make him out in the light above.
He grumbles something, before his eyes meet yours.
"Hey," he brings over his split lips, blood already drying. "You're awake, thank god." You try to swallow the dryness in your throat away, but it makes you cough.
You feel feverish, body aching until the bones. You swallow again, in desperate need for some water. Sweat trickles down your neck and forehead, hair sticking to your skin.
You feel like shit.
"I'm not feeling good, Tim." you mumble, head lolling to the side. "Hey, stay awake!" Tim demands, causing your eyes to snap back to him.
He's bound to a chair, diagonally sitting beside you. Eyes widening, you realize you've been captured.
"Either they hit you real hard, or somethings up with you." he speaks, trying to analyze you from his position. "Either way, you're not looking good."
You huff, anger bubbling up beside the sick feeling in your stomach, vision lightly turning, but you try to keep it together. "As if you care."
He looks genuinely taken aback, forgetting he's being held captured for a moment. "Why wouldn't I?" he wants to know, leaning forward as best as he can.
"Because you refuse to even look at me." you retort, looking away, trying to inspect your surroundings. It's dark, except for the lamp dangling above you. "Because you refuse to engage with me no matter how."
You hear him swallow, as he licks his lips.
"That's not true." he mutters, inhaling shakily. Your gaze snaps to his, disbelief painted on your face. He holds your gaze, his own hardening slightly. "I do care. I care enough to end things before you can regret them."
You laugh dryly, anger seeping through.
"And what's with fucking me?" you ask, biting your cheek. "What about that?"
He flinches, swallowing again, as his gaze wavers. "We were drunk." he plays it off, shaking his head with a frown. "We weren't that drunk." you give back, leaning further back in the chair.
It's quiet for a while, your body growing hotter, the more time passes. You cough, groaning at the sick feeling that's making your stomach turn like a washing machine.
"You're sick." Tim realizes, eyes widening and you chuckle coldly. "No shit, Sherlock."
Someone chuckles behind you, causing you to jump in your chair, the wood scraping over the floor angrily. Heart racing, you try to catch your breath, head turning to watch the man come up in front of you.
"Well, that's the wonders of our chemical knowledge." he speaks, his accent thick. It sounds Italian, you think, as your brows furrow, same as Tim's.
"A bit of this, a bit of that, and you have a potent poison that makes you feverish, nauseous and sick."
Breath fastening, you swallow thickly, glancing at Tim. He fumes in his seat, eyes shooting daggers at your captor, who seems unfazed by it.
Panic grips at you with its iron claws, shivers running down your spine.
"Don't worry, it's nothing too serious." the man explains, grimacing. "Wouldn't want a dead cop on me, no. It'll wear off, but it gives me the perfect opportunity to tell you-" He cuts himself off, a sick grin splitting his lips, revealing pearly white teeth.
"Whups, maybe it is deadly. Should have read the description better, I guess."
Tim leaps forward, only held back by the thick ropes around his wrists. Fire spits from his eyes, and something tells you he'd kill the guy, if he wasn't restricted.
You try to focus, failing as you begin to hyperventilate.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.
You hear the man laugh heartily, like he just heard the best joke on earth. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can only partly make out the mans frame slowly stepping back into the dark, eventually slamming a door behind him somewhere down the warehouse.
Tim yells after him, tugging on the binds, the chair scraping over the floor with the sheer force of his tugs.
When the tears start to fall, you hear a crack, followed by a grunt.
Tim has managed to tip the chair over, bringing enough force with him to break a part of it, using it to free himself.
"Hold on Y/N." he says, working on the rope with the wood. "I'm here with you."
You sob, dread eating you alive. You were gonna die, and you didn't even have a chance to really live your life.
Another grunt, and he has himself freed.
Making his way over, he starts to untie the ropes around your wrists, but the fever burning your whole body blocks it out. When he's kneeling in front of you, his hand softly connecting with your forehead, you flinch at how cold he feels.
"Fuck." he mumbles, knowing that your skin was way too hot.
He helps you down from the chair onto the cold floor, fishing for his phone, that was clipped to his body, where your captor didn't find it.
He dialed the station, calling for an ambulance.
Breathing heavily, your tears run down your cheeks in cold tracks. When he ended the call, he brings you into his arms, embracing you in a hug.
"I'm so sorry." he mumbles into your hair, his breath cooling your burning skin. "I'm so sorry."
You sob, choking on your tears.
"Don't be." you whisper, hands fisting his shirt. "It's not your fault." But he shakes his head, something cool hitting your skin - a tear.
"I shouldn't have distanced myself from you." he spoke, tugging you even closer. "I'm such an idiot. I'm so sorry."
Shaking your head, you rested your forehead on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "You didn't want to be near me after what happened, I don't blame you." you tell him, swallowing, but he shook his head frantically.
"That's not true."
Your brows furrow, lips trembling. "What do you mean?" you rasp out, coughing once. "I mean that I didn't want to distance myself." he explains, a shaky hand brushing through your sweaty hair. "You have no clue how badly I wanted to be near you. But I didn't want to ruin what we have, I didn't want to face the possibility that you'd regret what we did. So I tried to give you space, telling myself, that it was the right thing to do."
A sob racks through your body, shaking him with you.
"But I don't regret it." you tell him, more tears falling. "I don't, because I love you."
It's now or never.
He stiffens, before he's the one shaking you now, with a sob of his own.
You were in his arms, dying, and you just told him what he was wishing to hear from you for god knows how long.
But you were dying.
"I love you, Tim." you tell him again, lifting your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder, nose brushing his pulse point. "And I don't regret it, not for a second."
He breathes out shakily, holding you against him. "I love you too, Y/N." he rasps out, smiling despite the situation you were in. You breathe a sigh of relief, and it let's you see a light at the end of the tunnel, if even for just a moment.
Black splotches obscure your vision, the world around you slowly fading. But you don't care anymore, not when you were held by the man you so deeply loved.
"Hey, hey." you heard him say, his face coming into view, as he pats your cheek. "Stay with me, Y/N." You nod, trying to follow his demand, but it gets harder each passing second.
You hear sirens in the distance, shouting, as Tim rocks you in his arms, after pulling you back into them.
As your world slowly turns black, you can't help but smile.
He loves you.
_____
A strange sound wakes you, it's steady rhythm calling you back into consciousness. Bright light blinds you, as you try to open your eyes, making you groan in discomfort.
Somethings beside you shuffles, a chair being moved closer.
"Hey." you hear him say, before your vision slowly clears and his handsome features come into view. Sighing dreamily, you try to sit up and he helps you, moving the bed up so you can sit more comfortably.
He holds out a glass to you, moving it to your dry lips so you could take a few much needed sips.
"How are you feeling?" he wants to know, putting the glass back on the table beside him. "Like shit." you mumble, sighing again. He nods, biting his cheek. "But at least I'm alive, right?"
He huffs, elbows coming to rest on the bed. "They arrested the man, Damiano- I don't know what, and he's in custody right now." he tells you, hands wiping over his face.
You nod, relieved. "That's good." you say, sending Tim a small smile. He nods, barely registering. "He almost killed you." he mutters, frustration and anger clear as day on his face. "We barely managed to get here in time, to give you an antidote."
Carefully taking his hand, you give it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm alive." you remind him, and his gaze turns to you. "But-" "I'm. Alive."
He halts, swallowing, before he nods slightly.
It's silent for a moment, as you tug him closer. "Please tell me I didn't dream." you tell him, trying to avert his attention. He huffs, a small smile gracing his lips. "No, you didn't." he assures you.
Your smile widens, tears burning in your eyes.
"Can you say it again?" you ask him, sitting more upright. He chuckles, leaning more towards you. "I love you." he says, and you chuckle in glee. "Again."
He huffs playfully, scooting closer, so his face was inches from yours.
"I love you."
Pushing forward, your lips graze his. "I love you, too." you say, before he closes the small gap, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss, a silent promise.
He'd never distance himself from you again.
Not now, not ever.
He simply couldn't.
Tag List
@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm @augustvandyne
@rookietrek @dhunhdchrih @nachofriess @dtftheavengers
#the rookie#the rookie imagine#the rookie x reader#the rookie x u#tim bradford#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x you#tim bradford imagine#imagine#tim bradford smut#multi
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Day five of Hideduo/FitPac Kiss Week – Desperate/Dramatic Kiss & 2b2t/Fuga AU
[ ao3 link here ] [ fic below cut! ]
Pac would say he's lived through pretty unusual things.
But this has got to be the craziest.
One minute he's in the middle of the sea, escaping from a maximum security prison with Mike and Guaxinim, one leg less and with a stab in his shoulder. The next, he's falling from the boat and into the deep, blue sea, and everything goes black.
And now, he's here, in the land he's learned is called 2b2t. A world full of anarchy, and where only the strong can survive.
Pac is a survivor. He's survived the streets, he's survived prison, he's survived criminals and a cannibal. But this? This is something different.
He doesn't know how to get out. If he even can get out.
Until he comes across a man with an arm less and with a distrust of others. And with him, maybe, just maybe, he can make it out alive.
That was a month ago, and Pac would like to say he's gotten to know Fit quite well. At least, as well as you can get to know a guy with trust issues and who always carries around an axe and is ready to kill. But Pac is an optimist by nature, and he'll take any chance of survival that he can get.
Even if the guy seems to be a bit of an asshole.
Fit and him have been wandering around the land for the past weeks. The older was traveling to one of his bases hundreds of thousands of blocks away, and Pac didn't want to be alone so he decided to tag along. He has to admit, it has been... fun, traveling with Fit. They've gone to war, they've fought for their lives, and they've had their fair share of laughs. Pac is actually looking forward to arriving at their destination.
And if he caught a few feelings toward Fit? Well, that's his own business, isn't it?
"I think we'll stop here." The American says, inspecting the cave he's found. It's a bit small, and the roof is low, but there's no spawners and there's an entrance facing the ocean, which would make it easier to fish. Pac likes it.
They place their belongings on the floor, and they both go about their separate businesses. Pac prepares the sleeping bags while Fit hunts for some fish. It's nice, it's quiet, it's domestic.
Hours pass by and the pair are sitting inside the cave, a fireplace between them. Fit has a journal in his hand, documenting the day's journey while Pac is busy cooking the fish filets. It's not his best meal, but he can't really complain.
"Hey Fit?" The Brazilian asks, quickly giving a glance to the other. Once the older hums, Pac continues. "Do you have any dreams?"
Fit looks at him. "Dreams?"
Pac nods. "Yeah. Like, you know, dreams you want to accomplish." He says, flipping the fish on its side. "What you might want to do once you leave this place."
"Leave this place?" The other says, and there's a tone Pac doesn't know how to decipher. Fit chuckles, but there's no humor in his voice. "You think there's a way to leave this place? You're crazy."
The Brazilian hums. "There's got to be, right?" Pac says, and he's trying to be optimistic but the words come out a bit more bitter than intended. He sighs, running a hand over his hair. "I mean, if I ended up here, then it means there has to be a way to leave."
"Pac, there is no exit." Fit says, and his voice is tired, resigned. Pac knows Fit's lived here for longer than he has, but the younger doesn't want to give up. He can't. "Trust me. There's no way to leave."
And Pac rolls his eyes, because he is getting tired of this. "And how do you know?"
"I've tried to find a way to leave." The American says, putting the journal down. His voice is steady, but the way his hands shake is the only thing that gives his emotions away. "There is no way. You better start getting used to the idea of being here forever."
The male groans. "That's all you say!" He exclaims, and his tone is loud, angry. "Why don't you stop being so fucking pessimistic for once and just hope? You can't keep being a coward and not doing anything."
"Oh, I'm a coward?" Fit scoffs, and he puts the journal away, his attention now fully on Pac. "Tell me, you've lived in this world for a month. And I've lived here for years. I've seen people die and never come back. I've seen the cruelty of man and I've seen the evilness in humans."
"And yeah, maybe I'm a coward." The American continues, and his voice is hard, his eyes cold. Pac can't look away. "But at least I'm alive. And I won't let some newbie tell me what I should and shouldn't do."
Pac is speechless. The younger can't find the words, and he can't form any coherent sentences. His mouth keeps opening and closing, and there's a lump in his throat that won't go away.
He is mad. At Fit, at 2b2t, at this situation. He is so angry, he feels his blood boiling under his skin and he's about to burst. He wants to yell, scream, break things and curse this stupid server.
He wants to go home.
"Fuck you." He spits, and his words are poison, his voice is venom. His face is twisted with anger, and Pac is sure his eyes are red. He wants to hurt Fit, wants him to understand how Pac is feeling, how he wants to get out of this place, how he can't be stuck here for the rest of his life.
How he is afraid.
"You're a coward, a fucking coward." Pac is screaming now, his face is red. "There HAS to be a way back, why won't you believe me, caralho ?!"
He's pacing the cave, running his hand through his hair. Pac's heart is beating fast, and he is breathing harshly. He feels like a caged animal. He feels like a stranger in his own skin.
Fit snarls. "Shut the fuck up, do you want us to get found?!"
"Oh, I don't give a shit!" Pac screams, his voice hoarse. He turns to the other, his face red with fury and his eyes shiny with tears. "You've given up, you're just a coward. I will find a way to leave this shithole." He says, and his voice is broken. "I'm not staying here."
Fit stares at him, and his eyes are full of hurt, his face twisted with pain. "Fine." He spits out. "Be my fucking guest. Get yourself killed for all I care."
And Pac wants to scream, wants to yell, but the words are stuck in his throat and his mind is a mess and his chest is aching. "Fine." He repeats, and his voice is a whisper, a shadow. He doesn't have the strength to scream. "I will."
Pac packs his belongings and leaves the cave. He doesn't look back. He wanders through the beach for a few hours, before settling down in a crevice on the side of a hill. His stomach grumbled, but he ignores it. He doesn't have the motivation to cook anything. He doesn't have the motivation for anything.
The Brazilian falls asleep to the sound of the waves and the cold night wind. His last thoughts are of Fit, and how he wishes things could have gone differently.
He wakes up to the sound of fighting outside the crevice. There's a sword, and an axe, and the sound of wood being destroyed and rocks breaking. Pac feels his heart beat faster as he looks around, his hands searching for his weapons. He picks his sword, before slowly peeking over the edge of the crevice.
And then, he sees him. Fit is standing there, and his short hair is wild and his face is full of dirt. There's blood splattered over his shirt, and his axe is dripping with it. The American is panting, standing over a body, and there's a wild look in his eyes, and for a moment Pac is enthralled.
Then, Fit spots him, and the male is climbing up the crevice, and Pac can see the relief in his eyes and the way his shoulders slump. "You're okay." He says, relieved. Fit's voice is soft, and it makes Pac's heart clench.
"Of course I'm okay." He says, and there's still a hint of anger in his voice. The American sighs, and Pac can feel the exhaustion rolling off of him.
The male starts walking towards him. "Pac, I-"
"Fit!" The Brazilian tries to warn, but it's too late. “Watch out!”
The sound of a slash is heard, and the other is falling down, and his eyes are wide and his face is pale. There is a person behind him, holding a diamond axe and his eyes are gleaming with murder. He is about to give the killing blow when Pac pushes him, sending him tumbling to the floor.
"Fit!" He yells again, watching as the person who's been his only friend for a while, his one constant, starts to slowly close their eyes. " Fit! Fit, no!"
The Brazilian turned to the person in front of him, who's slowly approaching him with their diamond axe held up high. He could see their grin through the holes of their mask, and he felt so angry. It felt like he was reaching his breaking point, all the bad luck from the past few days coming together to finally ruin him.
"Filho da puta!" He yelled, crouching as the other figure swung their axe. The diamond sword in his hands felt heavy, but he didn't have time to think about that. He had a fight to win. "I’m going to kill you! I'm going to kill you!"
With every word, he swung his sword, hoping that he would manage to at least do some damage to the person who ruined everything. They blocked all his hits, however, and before he knew it, they'd knocked the diamond sword out of his hands and had him pinned against the wall of the building he was standing in front of.
He struggled as the other person watched, and Pac could see amusement on their face. He glared at them, his fists clenched as he tried to find a way to escape.
"Let me go!" He yelled, struggling harder against their grip. "Let me go, resto de aborto! "
The person huffed, and Pac wanted nothing more than to punch them in the face. "Not gonna happen, mate."
He continued struggling, and it seemed like the person was starting to get tired of it. Pac's eyes flickered to the axe that was still being held by his neck, and he swallowed as he felt the sharp edge of it prick at his skin.
"Now, now, calm down, or I might end up hurting you." The person said, and their voice sent shivers down Pac's spine. Their tone was very amused, almost like they were enjoying his pain. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?"
Pac glared at them, before grinning. "You wouldn't want to mess with me." He said, trying to keep his voice steady.
The other person snorted. "Sure, whatever you say, mate." They said, and Pac could hear the sarcasm in their voice.
"I mean, I did escape prison, didn't I?" He continued, trying to keep their attention off the fact that he'd managed to wiggle his left hand out of their grip. He could see the person's eyebrows raise. "And I don't think you'd want to mess with me, I know how to use a sword, you know?"
"So?" The other person asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you gonna do, stab me with it? I don't think you'd manage, I'm stronger than you."
Pac hummed. "Maybe." He said, before kicking the person with his prosthetic leg. He saw their eyes widen as they flew backwards, and he took that chance to grab the axe out of their hands. "But I'm smarter."
"You son of a-" They cut themselves off, glaring at him. "Fine, if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get."
Grinning, Pac rolled his arm. "Come at me."
The two started running at each other, their hands stretched out. Just as they were about to meet in the middle, Pac turned and grabbed Fit's diamond sword from the ground, and swung it. The person, however, wasn't as lucky, and Pac ended up stabbing them in the shoulder. They let out a cry of pain, and Pac grinned, pulling the sword out.
"How about that?" He asked, and the person growled.
"I'll kill you!" They yelled, running at him again.
This time, though, Pac was prepared. He swung his sword, cutting the person across their torso. They staggered back, their face twisted in anger.
"You little bitch." They snarled, and Pac rolled his eyes.
"Whatever you say." He said, watching as the person stood back up and ran towards him. He was able to dodge their attack, and they let out a frustrated noise as they ran past him. Pac swung the axe and hit the person across their stomach, making them cry out in pain and collapse against the ground.
Pac walked towards them. "A tip for you: always tie your victims first." He raised the axe, before slamming it down, killing the person immediatly.
Breathing heavily, he let go of the handle. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and his head was pounding. His heart clenched at the realization.
"Fit!" He yelled, rushing to where the body of the veteran laid on the floor. He dropped to his knees, and pulled him into his arms. He placed a hand over the gaping wound on his chest, trying his best to stop the bleeding. "Fit, Fitch - I need you to wake up."
The man groaned, and Pac's heart skipped a beat. He pulled the male closer to him, trying to ignore the blood that was staining his clothes. His hand went to the bag the other was wearing, pulling out one of the healing potions Fit had inside.
"Hey, Fit." He whispered, uncorking the potion. "Come on, open your mouth, you need to drink this."
Fit's eyes opened, and the man looked at him blearily. "Pac?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's me." He replied, putting the potion to the other's lips. "Come on, Fit, you gotta drink this."
The veteran opened his mouth, and Pac helped him drink the potion. Once the other had finished, he threw the empty bottle to the side, and wrapped his arms around the male, pulling him close. He ignored the blood, and focused on the sound of the male breathing.
"Hey, Fit," he whispered, closing his eyes as he let his beating heart calm down. "Don't ever do that again, okay? Not here, not now, not ever."
Fit chuckled. "I'll do my best." He said, and Pac's heart ached. "I'm... I'm sorry for earlier. For saying those things to you, it was..."
"Hey, it's alright," Pac replied, looking down at the other. "I was being an ass, too."
Fit cackled. "That you were, that you were." He sighed, and Pac pulled him closer. "I guess, you're right. About being a bit of a coward, that is."
"Me? Right? Who would've thought you'd admit I was right." The Brazilian teased.
The other smacked his arm, and Pac laughed. "Shut up, you idiot." He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. "I have a lot of things I regret, but I don't want to regret one more thing."
"Like what?" Pac asked, running a hand through the other's hair.
"This."
And suddenly, their lips were touching.
The kiss was messy, and awkward, and Pac felt like his entire body was burning, but he loved it. The kiss was everything he'd dreamed of, and more. When they pulled away, Fit had the dopiest smile on his face, and Pac felt himself mirroring the expression.
"Woah." Fit said, hazel eyes wide.
Pac laughed. "Yeah, woah." He agreed.
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#can i be so fucking honest right now#being like the only one in my friend group who doesn't do or even want to try drugs is so fucking isolating#i don't even want to be around it but i can't fucking escape it#they're constantly getting high before or while we hang out and i'm so tired#like we planned to hang out this past weekend and of course i get there and one of them is high and all they wanted to do was sit and#quietly watch always sunny#like. thanks. i barely get to see you guys and the one night in like 3 months i do we don't even get to talk really. cool#and then their parents and parents' friends were smoking in the living room all night as well#and nobody thought to fucking warn me about this even though they know about my shit fuck brain#and then like. the other times when i've made plans with someone and they've bailed because they wanna go drink and get high#thanks i'm glad i'm so fucking boring to you#i don't get to go to a lot of get togethers anymore because they're full of drunk and/or high people#and i'm just. tired.#sick of my shitty fucking brain that doesn't let me chill#sick of feeling like i'm bringing people down and stopping them from having fun#because i don't want to spoil their fun. i want them to be happy#i just. idk. sometimes i really feel like they don't want to invite me out specifically because of this#like i miss out on so much because i have big anxiety about drugs#it's tiring and i'm tired and sad and angry at myself and. idk#today's been. a day i guess
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What if the Pale King locked himself away in the Dream Realm to recreate what he did to the Hollow Knight? After the Vessel leaked and he realized that it most likely had capability enough to suffer, but far far too late to even hope to do anything to fix it. He was beyond the point of no return, there was nothing he could do to undo the Sealing. And even if he could, there were no other options that he could think of of what to do about the Blazing Light.
He had no choice but to keep the Vessel sealed. No choice but to watch his kingdom crumble. There was nothing he could do.
Nothing, but to seal himself away in a self-imposed punishment in the exact same way he imparted onto his only (known) living child.
A weak attempt to impose the same agony onto himself as he forced onto them.
And should the people of his kingdom stop worshiping him and forget he exists, dwindling his power and life to a pathetic end?
Well...
Perhaps that might've been for the best.
#hollow knight#Pale King#Potential Headcanon#Thinkin about this soggy worm again#I don't actually think this is the case I just think it's an interesting concept#Though perhaps not entirely out of the realm of possibility from what we know of PK's character#PK locked his most shameful memory behind the Path of Pain and the Entirety of the Dream White Palace could be an extension of that#in a sort of ''No one's allowed in but also HE'S not allowing himself to leave either'' way#The Sealing was meant to be permanent and eternal so I don't think PK made a 'back door' in case things went wrong either#Back doors are weak points and a potential escape route is something you don't want when dealing with the Radiance#So even if PK WANTED to get Hollow out of there I don't think he was actually ABLE to do so#Presuming he didn't know about the Dream Nail#Which had to of been fucking AGONY for him#''Oh shit my Vessel-child is actually alive and I just put a pissed off god inside of them aND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT FUCK FUCK FUCK'#*chucks depression meds at PK* Boi get off ur ass and at least try to do smth don't just wait around till u die ffs
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We all know that S3 is gonna be about the Second Coming-slash-Final Judgement blah blah blah blah blah but what i NEED is for Jesus to radiate so much little sibling energy™. I need them and Crowley to be a chaotic-sibling-bestie duo ok??? It's one of the only ways i can heal
#good omens#crowley#i need jesus to be a very chill dude (gn. they could be a little girl for we know) who pops out of the silver plane and surrounded by CIA#angel bodyguards and then they see Crowley and just fucking runs up to him to choke-bear hug hybrid him the way only little clingy sibs do#and then the angel operatives freak out#jesus: GASPS!!! HI BESTIEE🥰🥰🥰!!! how are ya doin?#crowley: what#angel mafia: !!!! AKDSKSDHASDJKL#and then crowley proceeds to kidnap him and then babysit him. they go to the barbie premier and the Eras tour and the bahamas and just went#around the world. leaving chaos in their wake. we're talking about confusion bafflement and maybe a whole ton of buffets being suddenly#replaced with fish and bread that could feed 6000 people. and then they fuck over governments without even trying and giving the poor the#queers the conspiracy theorists and all of the marginalized peeps everything they WANT#and where was aziraphale in all of this? stuck on heaven's top floor just seething that he can't go out cause the metatron locked him in.#the metatron angel-proofed the whole building just so aziraphale cannot leave. they're in lockdown and everyone is panicking. Aziraphale#the pedantic loophole-obsessed bastard that he is. was like "If they fucking angel-proofed superheaven then I'm gonna escape the good old-#fashioned human way. He then demolishes the glass with his bare fists. everyone screams and he walks out of heaven wearing#his tartan and shades because cool bamf angels don't look at the chaos they unleashed.
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Nervous giggles
Even more nervous giggles
There are so many professional paintings here, so many technically advanced, highly impressive works, and I'm just like [slaps some crayons down] y- yeehaw,,
I'm keeping the Escape Motions site Exciting. keeping it Interesting and Ridiculously Colorful
#pikaposts#alo(e) art#someone commented on False Moon telling me they love my style bc it's 'very cheery!'#it's still so baffling to me that expressing my horrors is always interpreted as whimsical joyful fun#i like to say that's neat! that's it's so nice i can make good things from the bad! but i also#can't help but feel like i just speak a different language from everyone else and i'll never be able to translate well enough#to be properly understood. but i mean! it shouldn't Really matter. if i Really wanted to get my point across i could try to paint more like#munch. everyone understands the scream. a gaping mouth and a blood-red sky doesn't leave much room for contentment let alone joy.#my jellyfish painting is about the wonders of the ocean and False Moon doesn't seem that different! so idk why i'm always surprised#but aNYWAY.#i'm just bein a silly goose. the real point here is that the contest i entered is now in the judging phase and the results will#be posted May 10th... i'm gonna be running around in circles until then#i definitely don't Think i'll win but holy shit it'd be wild if i did. the prizes are art tablets i could never dream of affording#but even if i don't win i get a discount on all Escape Motions stuff in the future! so it'll be easier for me to upgrade to#Rebelle 6 <3 it has CLIPPING LAYERS and i want it so damn bad. the lack of clipping layers is my only issue w rebelle 5#bc i'm indecisive and especially when drawing characters i often do my lineart in brightly colored sections#of course that's not the only better thing abt rebelle 6-- it's got some other SUPER cool stuff#it's so fucking nice to be able to paint digitally and still have all the texture. hell yeah hell yeah#...sweet din i like to infodump when it comes to art huh. it IS one of the Most Important Things to me so i suppose that makes sense#tldr; painting. yippee!! [insert confetti cannon emoji here bc i'm on desktop rn]
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Has anything in particular happened or just the usual crap?
The usual like I'm just so tired of seeing the same fucking discourse happening every day like I literally despise these people
#ask#i have absolutely no tolerance these days for people who shit on olivia or make snide comments about her#like you're literally pathetic sorry#the CONSTANT crusade against her and the glee with which people latch onto things to make her seem incompetent or immoral or whatever#IT'S SO EXHAUSTING#THEY'VE BEEN DATING FOR A YEAR AND A HALF#GET THE FUCK OVER IT#SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE AS LONG AS HE WANTS HER AROUND#STOP FUCKING PROJECTING THAT HE CAN'T STAND HER OR IS MISERABLE WITH HER JUST BC YOU DON'T LIKE HER AND HATE SEEING THEM TOGETHER#and then literally don't even get me started on larries i literally need them all to blink off the face of the earth TONIGHT#im normally able to just laugh at how stupid they are but sometimes it really REALLY annoys me like right now#mostly bc im stressed about other things so my tolerance for bullshit is very very very low at the moment#i literally just want to come here to escape and have fun and i have to be continually assaulted by takes i do not want to fucking see#i just want a happy fun fandom experience!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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god i am fucking pathetic
#the irony of this after posting happily about things that make me happy earlier today does not escape me.#it's just#i want someone to do things with because doing things alone is scary and lonely#“do it scared do it alone” i know people will say but you can't tell me it's not easier with someone there.#and i have literally nobody#of my 2 local friends: one hasn't spoken to me in about 6 months and idk what even happened#the other has left the fucking country living all my wildest dreams and also being fucking stupid about it#my brother is around but always does things with his boyfriend now even things that he had promised me to do togethe4#which is his right and he's allowed but fuck if it doesnt make me feel like chopped liver#and social shit happening at bars and breweries and stuff makes me so anxious because#i really don't drink much anymore and i don't like it#i'm so fucking lonely and pathetic#i have one person and he's halfway acrosd the world#anna dot txt#i guesd for tagging if i don't delete this
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not to doomer post. but. american politics is like here's a conservative warmonger who wants to burn you alive personally and here's a different conservative warmonger who definitely wouldn't stop someone from burning you alive BUT who might raise the minimum wage by $0.30/hour for you, but only like eight years from now (so re-elect me please!! >w<). yes one of them has to be president they are the only two options we'll let you have. no neither of them will stop the government from killing you or anyone else, but at least one will say "it's kind of bad to kill people :( someone should really do something about that..." while giving the people-killers $20,000,000,000,000 to keep doing it then saying they can't afford to help you at all, but oh shucks, maybe next cycle, if you vote for me again! and also everyone will pretend as though they are extremely different political entities covering two highly polarized ends of the political spectrum despite nearly identical policy views obscured by their slightly different ways of addressing their target audiences, many of whom are also conservative warmongers. and also if you don't vote or vote third party the other guy will win and you will watch as they burn everyone you love alive in the same way they've burned so many strangers so you kind of feel like you have to vote for the other warmonger because even though they both have blood on their hands you'll take a handshake over an uppercut. even if you can still see the bodies piling up behind them. even if you can only save like five people you know and not the thousands of people who are dying in the other room. because you believe the difference between 30,000 and 30,005 is still worth it even though no one needed to die in the first place and no one seems to agree with you. you have to keep living in this world every day. if anything changes it will take decades and it will never be enough. if this takes a toll on you good fucking luck surviving off the generosity of the warmonger state that claims to serve you. happy voting!!
#like. yeah i'll take the raised minimum wage. i guess. but jesus christ#yes you are doing slightly good things sometimes almost. can you stop killing people though. please. that is a higher priority#like this is my first prezzy election season since i turned voting age right and like. what the fuck am i supposed to do now#what am i supposed to do with this. it took me 5 fucking months to pick a dead cockroach off my floor how am i supposed to fix this.#how am i meant to be a person and go on living while knowing i am doing nothing and cannot do anything and won't do anything#i need to fight i need to get up but i am stuck. im always stuck. i pray yknow. i don't know what else to do#how can people think about buying houses and getting promotions in this world. how are they not feeling likr their chest is caving in every#time they falter in their complex self-distraction. how am i supposed to do anything when all i can think about is helping and my body won't#let me. i cant do anything i cant but i have to but i cant. im supposed to and im a bad person if i dont and i cant live like that.#and if i am too upset about that i am punished for it by the people around me and ignored by those in power if not punished as well.#i love the world. i love people. you motherfuckers are killing everything and im not stopping you and you're getting in the way of me loving#the life i was built to love and i can't understand why you think it's even thinkable to do what you're doing. or what im doing.#i just want to look at clovers and paint and be good to my neighbors but you won't stop fucking murdering people in front of me#and i can't fucking do anything. i cant take care of the people i love i can't carry my own weight i can't take care of myself i can't move#and im supposed to fucking file taxes? to fund mass slaughter? on the off chance it might go to welfare or something. god.#i hate it here i hate it here america is a fucking nightmare it is hell i can't stand it but if i leave im just running and saving myself#whch is selfsh and cruel and so i would never be able to escape the feeling and i would always be in american hell because it' a part of me#but if i stay i cannot do anything because my body is filled with smoke and broken glass and im supposed to fucking get my drivers license#so i can buy groceries or get a job so i can keep myself on life support watching everything get worse and worse around me#and knowing that nothing has ever been good here and ive been lied to forever and im still being lied to#and i am in hell.#and me dying won't fix it and me living won't fix it ans both are too painful to even consider.#i am drowning i am drowning i am drowning i am drowning and my skin is on fire im on fire and i want to have children. but i can't imagine#doing that to someone. oh my god. and to raise them and watch them come to understand what this place ive brought them to is#that ive raised them in a slaughterhouse and to feebly try to show them the clovers and the ducks and the baby shoes and teach them to love#when maybe that love of the world is a distraction. or maybe i use it as one. i think of the blood as an obstacle to love and joy but maybe#i would not love the world so much if i was not so constantly desperately scared and ashamed of living in it#and i am a very lucky person. my life is cushy and i want to rip my skin off because what does that matter when it doesnt let me help people#god help me. but help the rest of them first. but i am helped first anyway and i hate it. i dont. i cant. god.#nyarla dni
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retired pornstar!Ghost who can't seem to ever keep his hands to himself whenever you're around, even when about to film.
f!reader, 18+ smut. unedited.
If you're standing at a table making coffee, he'll sneak up from behind and wrap his arms around you, his chin resting on the crown of your head.
Hi, Ghost.
G'mornin', love.
If you're walking out of Price's office with a script in hand, he's by your side in mere moments, throwing an arm over your shoulder.
"New script?"
"You should know, you're my co-star. Again."
"Lucky me, pet."
He's leading you toward his office, perches you on his desk and cups his hand over your core.
"Gonna let me eat this pretty pussy?"
"I dunno, Ghost. Gonna fuck me here too?" you smirk at him.
"Whatever you want from me," he breathes.
You stumble out hours later with swollen lips, love bites mottled over your neck and collarbone, and his warm spend trickling down your legs because Ghost pocketed your knickers.
The day of, he's texting you if you'd like a ride to the studio.
Sure thing. Get me in 15.
Yes ma'am.
He doesn't ask for your address, and you don't question why he knows where you live either. Ghost, forever the gentleman, opens the passenger door for you, and gently helps you get in. The entire drive over, his hand rested on your bare thigh, his small finger occasionally grazing your clothed cunt. By the time you arrive, your knickers are damp with your arousal.
"Somethin' wrong, love?"
You snort at his feigned innocence. "Cute. Is mercilessly teasing me fun to you?"
"Sorry 'bout tha.'" Ghost doesn't sound all that apologetic.
He brings you in tight, wrapping his arm around you firmly.
"Lemme make it up t'you in my dressin' room", he purrs.
You click your tongue. "Price'll have your head if he catches me in there, especially when we're about to make a vid."
"Be sure to keep quiet, then. Would absolutely hate to get caught."
With his smart fingers and expert tongue, you're brought to peak 3 times.
Price rolls his eyes when he spots you both walking in at the same time 15 minutes before the shoot.
"Always cheek by jowl, eh Simon?"
His piercing eyes cut to Price's. "Not a crime, last I checked."
Price lifts his hands up, palms outward in mock surrender. "Easy, Ghost. Only teasin'." He turns away, gesturing the crew to get in their places.
Ghost taps your chin with his pointer finger, drawing your attention. "Showtime, baby."
The wolfish grin on your face mirrors his.
"Showtime," you echo.
Ghost turns sex into art. He moves with discipline; every languid roll of his hips deliberate. Like a skilled painter, he transformed you into a living masterpiece, using each drag of his cock as a brush stroke on the canvas of your very being.
It's otherworldly.
He watches your face intently as he changes the angle, bites his bottom lip when he changes the pace, grunting into your ear as your walls begin to flutter— the telltale sign of 'his favorite part', as he loves to say.
"Gonna come f'me? Lemme hear that sweet, little voice of yours, pet." Almost as if following his command, you're digging your nails into his biceps, and closing your eyes in bliss as you climax. A loud, drawn-out moan escapes your lips as your cunt rhythmically pulses around Ghost's heavy length. Your soft thighs quiver around his broad waist as he works you through the aftershocks with slow, firm thrusts.
"Look at tha'. Came when I told ya to, like a good girl." Your mind is blank from your orgasm, tongue too heavy and thick in your mouth for you to even try to articulate a response.
"Creamed all over my cock, can ya hear it?" Hard not to when the wet sounds of your pussy squelching every time he bottoms out fills the room.
"You're so fuckin' tight. Cunt's squeezin' me like it doesn't want me to pull out."
His filthy words send a jolt straight to your throbbing core. "Felt tha'. What, you got a breedin' kink?"
Another jolt, so sharp it almost hurts.
"Want me to fill ya with my come? Is tha' it?" His husky voice dripping with desire. With want.
yes. yesyesyessss—
"Tell me you want me. Fuck, tell me you want me to come in you." The words fall from your spit-slick lips like a faucet.
"Come in me, oh my god, come in me. Fill my pussy up."
His thrusts lose some of their rhythm, but still not sloppy enough like when he's on the very brink.
Ghost's jaw in clenched, as if digging his heels in to hold off his climax. Well, that's simply unacceptable.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, giving him a slight tug to have his lips hover over yours.
"I want you come in me, Simon."
The change is instantaneous. His eyes widen a fraction before stealing your very breath with a searing kiss and fucks you. He puts his weight behind each snap of his hips. The tip of his cock pressing into the plug of your womb, making your eyes prickle with tears.
It's too much, he's too much, you think you've gone and bitten off more than you can chew with him when he mercifully stills with a groan you swallow— cock twitching as it pains your insides white.
He breaks away, gasping for air, sweat that beaded on his forehead dripping onto your heated skin.
Cut.
DaVinci and his muse.
Later, when he threads his fingers into your damp hair, you ask him why he doesn't record with others.
"'Cause I don't want to."
Oh?
"Besides, you and I have fantastic chemistry, dont'cha think?" He tugs on a lock of hair. "The fans love seeing us together, just as much as I love seeing my cock disappear into your sweet pussy."
He chuckles when he takes in your flustered expression. "Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear, then."
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#cod mwii#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley x you#ghost smut#simon ghost riley x f reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader
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homestuck is being too good rn
#at the part where doc scratch hits slick with the scrapbook and scatters the pictures everywhere#and you can start clicking through them to check in on several different ongoing moments/conversations#EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM IS RUINING ME RN#i correctly predicted vriska's just death it seems. her and the dead john from the first timeline like. showing eachother around. and#even though this version of him never befriended her. he wants to go again. and she introduces herself for real this time#MAN i love vriska a lot i don't know why so many people h8 her. not like she's the only one who murdered smh#another conversation that's wrecking me? davesprite and jadesprite. MAN. the sword. the fucking yellow blood and missing wing.#davesprite makes me insane on a good day and WAH. WAH. everythings ending and he and jade are both irreversably different#and he might be dying again but right now they just wanna both be there together#and the one that fucking#ruined me the most. enough that i started furiously writing character analysis in my notesapp#rose and dave. i noticed too late that things were happening on the top of the page and had to go back a bunch.#saw dave and jade's fight with jack noir#saw him die#The fact that he knew he would.#the fact that he did it because he was supposed to#the freaking. whole character thing with dave where he doesn't want to be a hero and doesn't think he can be. the broken swords.#the dream he was telling rose about where he's stuck dying over and over and over until he flies into the sun and it isn't sacrifice#it's escape.#so rose decides that he can't be allowed to die like that so she goes herself. knocks him out. and dave is still#hashing his words around what he wants to say like always#but he's clearly upset. and he even says. 'i don't want you to die'#because they had agreed that dave would be the one to do it (or so he thought). and dave so strongly believes that this isn't sacrifice.#that it's meaningless and will grant them nothing. he tells rose her death with be pointless. he believed his own would be too#but rose knows better#MAN#why the hell is homestuck so good under all this oughts-era internet bullshit. why in the same conversation there's repeated mention of#fucking#penis and penis adjacents. as well as whoppers. and hot moms. and then there's a fucking 'that's all i fucking do is break swords'#that just reads so Hopeless. UGH
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ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! (𝒮𝒞𝒜𝑅𝒜𝑀𝒪𝒰𝒞𝐻𝐸)
scaramouche x f!reader . 18+ content. ⟆ nsfw + unprotected sex/raw sex. breaking in. scummy scaramouche.somnophilia. mentions of past non-con (this fic is consensual though !). breeding kink. dirty talk. mention of having children. creampie. ⟆ mdom + fsub ⟆ not proofread ! ૮꒰ྀི ៸៸៸៸ ก꒱ྀི১
finally writing for scara ! this fic took me soo much effort to write because i've been having major writers block aaah ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !
The shattered shards of glass on the ground scattered as his body made its way in, stepping through the window and landing gracefully. The moonlight shone on the floor of the bedroom he entered, the figure on the bed sleeping soundly as the breeze from the broken window blew their hair slightly. His gaze was fixated on you, the smile that was on his face nothing more than sinister. He approached the bed slowly, making his way around it until he stopped by your side, his eyes examining your form as you laid under the blanket.
The man bent down until his lips were at your ear, "Oh (Y/N)~" he cooed softly. "Wake up, sleepy head." He whispered, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. Your face scrunched up as his fingers brushed against your skin, your eyes fluttering open slightly before closing again. Scaramouche frowned at your lack of reaction, his hand going under the covers and sliding down to your hips. "Oh, (Y/N).. Thats no fun.." He pouted, his fingers hooking on the hem of your shorts. "Don't you wanna show me some love, baby? Didn't you miss me?" He asked as his fingers slipped into your shorts, his fingers rubbing on the thin fabric of your panties. A soft noise escaped you, your thighs moving together to push his hand away. "Hm.." Scaramouche thought for a moment, his fingers stopping their actions as he looked down at you. "Why are you always so mean to me, huh? Everytime i try to fuck you, you push me away or start screaming for help." He complained. "I just wanted to give you my love.. Is that too much to ask for?" He sighed, his fingers going back to stroking the front of your panties. "You can't even appreciate my affection, darling. That really hurts my feelings." Scaramouche puffed his cheeks slightly, his fingers slipping under your panties and touching the soft skin of your cunt.
"But that doesn't matter." He hummed, his fingers tracing along your slit and rubbing against your clit. You squirmed slightly, letting out a small whine. "You're gonna give me the attention I want, whether you like it or not." Scaramouche declared, his free hand ripping the blanket off of you and throwing it across the room. "So don't even try to get away from me." He hissed, his fingers teasing your entrance as he climbed on top of you. Your body flinched when his hands grabbed at your thighs, pushing them apart as he situated himself between them. He let out a low groan, his hips rutting against yours, "Shit, baby." He breathed, his clothed cock pressing against your pussy. You turned your head, your eyes slowly opening as his movements got rougher. "Scara..?" You called out tiredly, his movements stopping immediately as he looked down at you with wide eyes. "Ah, fuck." Scaramouche muttered.
His face scrunched up as he started thinking about what to do, his fingers still in your panties. His thoughts were interrupted by your sudden moan, his hips thrusting forward instinctively as you arched your back. "Scara.." You moaned out, your hand reaching down and grabbing his wrist. Scaramouche let out a shaky sigh, his eyes closing as his fingers rubbed your clit slowly. "Shit, I can't stop now." He groaned, his cock throbbing in his pants as he listened to you moaning his name. He pressed his fingers down on your clit, the pleasure causing your hips to buck against him. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, his hips rocking against you as his other hand pushed his pants down. "Don't scream, okay? Don't scream this time, don't call for help.." Scaramouche begged as his cock slid against your slick cunt. "I need it.. I really fucking need it." He grunted, his head dipping down and resting against your shoulder. "I'll be quick, I promise." He mumbled, his fingers pulling your panties aside and gripping his cock. "So please don't ruin this for me.." He breathed as the head of his cock slipped inside you, his hips slowly thrusting forward and letting you take him inch by inch. "Oh.. Oh shit.." He cursed, his cock bottoming out in your tight heat. He panted against your neck, his hand grabbing the front of your shirt and lifting it up. He leaned back, his eyes focused on the soft mounds of your chest as he pulled his hips back. "I-I can't hold back.." Scaramouche choked out, his hips thrusting forward and bottoming out once again. His eyes snapped shut, his cock twitching inside you as he let out a strained groan.
His thrusts were shallow and slow, the man above you shaking with need. He whimpered softly, his fingers pinching your nipple. "Oh fuck, (Y/N).." He whispered, his hips rocking against yours as he tried his best to keep himself composed. His hand trailed down your stomach, his fingers brushing against the slight bump on your lower stomach. "Look, baby.. Can you feel me here?" He panted, his cock throbbing as he pressed down on the bulge. You whined, your hips rocking against his in an attempt to take his cock deeper. "Shit.." Scaramouche gritted his teeth, his hips pulling back and slamming forward, your slick walls clinging to his cock and pulling him deeper. "Oh god, baby.." He moaned, his resolve breaking as he started to desperately rut into you. "I need it.. Oh fuck, I need it.." Scaramouche whined, his hands grabbing the front of your shirt as he slammed his cock into your heat. His moans filled the room, his mouth hanging open as he pounded into you. "F-fuck, I love you, baby." He stuttered, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt tightly, before tearing it down the middle. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, his mouth watering at the sight. "S-so beautiful.." Scaramouche whispered, his hands palming your breasts as his hips moved faster. "I-I love you.." He moaned out, his thrusts getting sloppy as he felt his climax nearing. "I love you, s-so let's have children, o-okay?" Scaramouche suggested, his thumb pressing down on your clit as he fucked into you. "A-and we can get married a-and.." He trailed off, his moans interrupting his train of thought. He leaned down, his hands grabbing your waist as his hips rocked against yours. "Just- Just marry me, okay?" He asked, his fingers digging into your soft skin.
The bed creaked underneath the two of you, his hips snapping forward harshly. Your moans rang through the air, the wet sounds of his cock sliding into your cunt adding to the obscene symphony. You gasped, your back arching off the bed. "Oh shit, shit, shit, shit..fuck!" Scaramouche babbled, his cock throbbing inside you. His movements became erratic, his hips sloppily rocking against yours. He leaned down, his arms wrapping around your waist and hugging you close to his chest. "Please, please, please.." He moaned, "Cumming inside.. cumming..i'm cumming..cum with me..oh, oh.." Scaramouche choked out, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep in your pussy. You let out a loud moan, your walls clenching around his cock as you reached your climax, his cum filling you up as he fucked you through your high. You panted heavily, your body twitching every few seconds. Scaramouche let out a strained groan, his hips grinding against yours slowly. He stayed still, his cock still twitching and throbbing as his cum leaked out of you.
Scaramouche lifted his head slightly, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours. His lips curled up into a lazy smile, his hand reaching up and caressing your cheek. He leaned forward, his lips connecting with yours in a slow kiss. "Mm.." He hummed, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing him access to deepen the kiss. Scaramouche tilted his head, his tongue tangling with yours, the two of you letting out soft moans as his cock throbbed inside you. Scaramouche broke the kiss, his tongue licking along your bottom lip, before pulling away completely. "Did such a good job..took me so well.." Scaramouche purred, his cock slowly sliding out of you, before plunging back in. "Mm..love you." He mumbled, his hips moving in small circles. "I love you so much.."
#୧ ‧₊˚ ☆ athena's creations !#genshin x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#scaramouche imagines#kabukimono imagines#wanderer imagines#kunikuzushi imagines#scaramouche x you#kabukimono x you#wanderer x you#kunikuzushi x you#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#kabukimono x reader#kunikuzushi x reader#wanderer x reader#scaramouche smut#kabukimono smut#kunikuzushi smut#wanderer smut#scaramouche#scara#kunikuzushi#kabukimono#wanderer#scaramouche x y/n#kabukimono x y/n#kunikuzushi x y/n#genshin impact x reader
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Smut/nsfw!
Corruption kink with dilf Miguel O'Hara.
Him getting back from HQ one day, tired and stressed, only to find you waiting for him at his place.
You're dressed in a pretty skirt, shoes off, and a white tank top underneath which he can see your hard nipples. And Jesus, you don't even know. You don't realize how it affects him.
When you see his dispair, you're just about bouncing with the need to aid him.
“Are you okay?” you question, walking up to him. Your pretty eyes look up at him, holding his gaze.
He's not sure what overcomes him, a sudden animalistic urge that has his cock hardening. “I'm okay, princesa,” he replies, voice growing thick.
“Are you sure?” you insist, hugging him around the waist. “Maybe I can help you...”
His huge hand cups your cheek, gently caressing your cheekbone before dragging his thumb over your lower lip, appreciating the way the soft, wet flesh gives to the pressure of his thumb.
He tries not to, but you're just such a good girl, so easy to convince...
“Well...there is one thing you could do...”
You jump at the opportunity. “Yeah? Yes? How?”
He kisses your lips tenderly, softly, teasing your tongue with his until your breath is heavy and you're pressing your body against his.
“Come here,” he says softly, grabbing you by the hips and picking you up. With ease, he carries you to the couch, sitting on it and pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling his hips.
You blush, pretty eyes widening at the position. He's never done anything like this. The most you two have done is cuddle and kiss; he's never even touched you.
Your hands hold onto his shoulders, keeping you steady. He squeezes your hips, his eyes dark as he watches your reaction. He loves to see you blush, the look of surprise and spark of arousal in your gaze.
“You okay, princesa?” he asks, feigning innocence.
You nod, swallowing thickly. He can't wait to teach you to swallow his load after you suck him off.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter, watching him attently.
He runs his nose across your jaw, nuzzling into your neck. “You wanna help me feel better?”
You shudder as his warm breath blows across your collarbone. “Yes,” you say softly.
He grabs your hips, starting to grind you against his thigh. You gasp, eyes widening, nails digging into his shoulders.
“M-Miguel?” Your voice is shaky, uneasy, a little whine escaping your lips.
“For me, yeah?” he says lowly, moving you against him, aching to eat you out, to slide his fingers into you, to fuck you hard and fast until you're dumb from ecstasy.
You nod. “O-okay,” you say, gasping silently as a shock of pleasure rushes up your spine.
You let him lead you, making you ride his thigh. He revels in the sounds you make, the way your slick drips through your panties and smears onto his pants. He wants to lick you, touch you, fuck you.
He contents himself with making you come on his thigh over and over again until you're shaking, eyes wide with shock and dark from satisfaction.
“Atta girl,” he says, voice deeper, thicker. He holds you as you come down from your high and he kisses your forehead.
“Do you feel better?” you ask breathlessly, body sweaty and eyes fluttering shut.
He grins. “Oh, definitely, princesa. I feel much better. But maybe there's one more favor you could do me...”
He waits for an answer even though the keen look in your eyes says it all.
You nod. “Yes.”
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@yagirlheree @sukioyakio @obi-mom-kenobi @celestia80s @manlikemilesmyguy @zaunsin @naniiiii12 @everlastlady @avatar-lover @siidmm @dhollandhs @spikedhe4rt @missing2socks @itzraven101 @miguelspookiebear @mochikomochisoft @sunset-euphoria @kishibeswh0re
*if you want me to add you to my taglist, comment or send me a message <3
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Breaking Point
pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader
summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...
word count: 3.4k
warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking
a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!
You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.
Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.
"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."
You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."
He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."
The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.
He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.
"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."
He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.
A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."
He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.
You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.
***
He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.
Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.
"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."
You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."
Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.
"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.
You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.
"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."
You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.
He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"
You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.
"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."
Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"
"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."
You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."
You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.
"I'll walk you to your car."
He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.
You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.
He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.
He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.
"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."
He doesn't move.
It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.
Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."
Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.
After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.
Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.
"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.
"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."
"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.
You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.
"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"
Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.
Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.
You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."
He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."
You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."
"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.
"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"
His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."
You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."
You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.
***
You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.
He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.
His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.
You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-
The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.
People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.
Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.
When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.
***
You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.
You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.
There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.
"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.
Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."
"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."
He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.
"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.
He shakes his head. "I'm good."
You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.
Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.
"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.
He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."
"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."
He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."
"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."
That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."
"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."
His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"
You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."
His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.
Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.
If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.
Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.
Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.
"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."
It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.
By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.
"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."
He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.
His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.
His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.
He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.
You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.
"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."
Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.
He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.
He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.
The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.
He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.
His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.
He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.
You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.
Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.
Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.
His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.
After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.
You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.
"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."
"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."
You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.
You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.
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