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soaps-mohawk · 22 days

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 20: The New Normal

Summary: Your pack settles into a routine as you learn to adapt to the shifting relationships between all of you.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz

Word Count:

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, threesome, BDSM elements, dry humping, language, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, angst, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, smoking, Gaz being the prettiest boy alive.

A/N: Not much to say about this one. Hope it's worth a two week wait...

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A yelp leaves your lips as your feet leave the ground, your body hitting the floor rather ungracefully. You roll from the force of the impact, stopping flat on your back. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch the breath that was forced from your lungs from your impact with the floor.

“You left yourself too open again.”

“Well how was I supposed to know which way you were moving?” You say, slowly pushing yourself back up to sit as you catch your breath.

“You can’t, that’s why you have to keep yourself guarded at all times. Anyone you’re fighting will do worse than that as soon as your guard is down.”

You stare at Simon’s shoes as he stops a foot away from you. The laces are pulled to the exact same tension on both sides, double knotted to avoid them coming undone and becoming a tripping hazard. Even the way his crew socks are pulled up over the legs of his sweatpants speaks volumes of how on guard he is. Always ready for a fight, always ready so that nothing can get in his way and put him at risk.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he drops down into a squat in front of you. “How have you been sleeping?”

Your gaze finally leaves his shoes, trailing up his legs to his arms where they rest on his knees. You follow the lines of his tattoos until you reach where his shirt sleeve covers the rest. You work your way up until you reach his mask-covered face, finally meeting his brown eyes. There's a softness to them now you've never noticed before, something you might not have taken notice of now had you not become brave enough to look that deep.

“Better,” You clear your throat, dropping your gaze to the mat. “But still not great.”

This morning had started with you shaking in Johnny's hold, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he whispered soft reassurances in your ear. The nightmares haven't gone away since your confession, nor have they even really lessened, but at least now you aren’t suffering alone when they wake you from your sleep. At least now your pack knows how to best comfort you when your mind insists on silently torturing you.

You still haven’t slept alone since they returned, nor have you spent any great length of time in your room. There’s still a lingering feeling of someone watching, of something staring at you from inside the walls. You’ve checked while they were at training for any cameras you might have missed, but you’ve come up empty handed. Maybe it was just the knowledge that your safe space had been invaded causing that paranoid itching in the back of your mind to linger. None of the guys have complained about you staying with them at night, though perhaps you have your confession about your nightmares to thank for that.

“The nightmares?” Ghost asks, snapping you from your thoughts.

You nod. “Yeah.”

The risk of them finding out about your nightmares has made you less afraid to sleep, but still the fear of what horrible scene your mind will come up with keeps you awake. You pull your knees to your chest, making yourself small as you sit in front of him. He’s just so big, so broad and bulky, truly the ideal specimen of a perfect alpha. He’s the kind of alpha your fellow omegas at the institute would whisper about. Some big, strong protector who would provide for them and keep them safe and satisfied.

If only they could see you now.

Despite the shift in your relationship with Simon, things haven’t changed much. He’s still the quiet, looming figure behind you, posing a silent threat to anyone who might think about approaching you. He still places a hand on your back to steer you, still stands closer behind you than he used to, still looks at you with a softer look in his eyes than you’ve ever seen before. Sometimes you’re tempted to push that boundary first, to lean in and rest your head on his broad chest, feel the muscle under his shirt again. You want to press up against his back while he sleeps and let his warmth seep into your bones. Sometimes when you’re alone and your thoughts begin to run rampant, you think about how you have nothing to fear because Simon would rip the face off anyone who tried anything.

Of course, he has to be here in order to do that.

You won’t have to be alone again. John had promised you that much. He’d fight harder to make sure you’re not alone again. Not, at least, for a while if it can be avoided.

“You’re thinking too much again.” Simon says, pulling you from your thoughts for a second time.

You stare at him, suddenly realizing he’s moved closer to you. You’re not sure when he did, too caught up in your own thoughts to be aware of your surroundings. It’s dangerous, your ability to sink into your mind and get lost there. You know it and they know it. Yet you can’t help it. It’s safer in your head, easier to exist in a place where you’re in control, where you can predict what’s going to happen next.

Simon’s hand wraps around your ankle, tugging you closer to him. You fall flat on your back on the mat, body sliding partially under his. He looms over you, settling his weight across your thighs as his hands come to rest on either side of your head. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, as it usually does when you’re in this position.

“Now, what do you do when someone pins you?” He asks, the sharpness back in his gaze as he stares down at you.

Lay here and don’t move, or at least that’s what you want to do currently. He’s just so big and warm, and the way he makes you feel so small under him has your head spinning. How you wish he’d press his body into yours, let you feel him completely. The scents in the air begin to thicken as you find your head tilting back on instinct, baring your throat to him in submission.

His hand closes around your chin, forcing your gaze back on his. “Focus.” He says, projecting his scent more to try and cover yours. It goes straight to your head, your gaze sharpening just slightly as you stare up at him. The scent of alpha around you has your mind racing in several different directions. You know you should be afraid, but it’s Simon. You know him, you trust him. He’d never hurt you intentionally, but he’s still an alpha.

The strong musky scent has something in the back of your head prickling, your instincts teetering on the edge of safety and danger. You know the alpha over you, but what if it was someone else? That was the point of all of this, right? You won’t be fighting off Simon or John. It will be someone unfamiliar, someone who wants to hurt you.

Simon’s fingers leave your chin, trailing down your neck. Your pulse thrums faster as his fingers near the base of your throat. The scent of alpha is strong in your nose. How easily he could slip his hand around the back of your neck and squeeze, rendering you brainless and under his control.

Your mind goes blank and you move without even thinking. Your fist slams into his side right where he’d taught you to hit. He buckles at the sudden attack and you use his moment of surprise and disorientation to free one of your legs and drive your knee right into his stomach. You push him off of you, scrambling back a couple feet before your mind begins to clear. Simon lays on the mat, almost wheezing as he tries to get the air back into his lungs.

You flounder there for a moment, watching the giant alpha you had just incapacitated. You don’t know where that came from or how you’d managed it. No, that’s not totally true. You know where the fear had come from, but you also know Simon would never do something like that to you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You say, shifting onto your knees in case Simon retaliates, in case he gets angry at you for attacking him. “I don’t know what just happened.”

“The hell are you apologizing for?” He coughs out, pushing himself onto his side. “That was bloody brilliant.”

You blink in surprise, taken aback by his response. “What?”

“That’s what you were supposed to do.” He says, pushing himself the rest of the way up onto his knees. “I asked what you should do if you’re pinned, and you did it.”

You continue to stare at him, not quite sure how to process the sort-of praise from him. He had asked you what you should do if you were pinned, and you had done what you were supposed to do. It hadn’t quite been for the right reasons, but you did do something correctly. You managed to incapacitate him enough to get out from underneath him, and without him going easy on you.

Maybe the training is working after all.

“Do that in a fight, you might just give yourself enough time to run.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. “Good job.”

You continue to stare at him as he passes you, heading to the bench where your belongings sit. You’re still kneeling there on the mat in surprise. You hadn’t expected such genuine praise from him. But why not? He’s doing this to train you, to teach you how to defend yourself against anyone who might want to hurt you. Anyone who’s stupid enough to try something when they’re not here to defend and protect you.

Something that’s already happened.

You’ve finally managed to defend yourself, to apply the things he’s spent weeks teaching you successfully. Why shouldn’t he be proud of you for that?

You’re still getting used to this new side of him, this accepting side, the softness that he’s showing you in his own way. It’s what you wanted, what you’ve been trying to achieve for weeks now, and now that you have it...you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Where does the boundary lie? What if you push too far? Will things go back to the way they were before? Will he shut you out completely?

Hands slip under your arms, lifting you to your feet. You turn, your head tilting back to stare up at Simon. He’s wearing that emotionless mask on his face, or at least that’s what you picture as you stare up at his eyes. It’s the look he carries the most, giving away nothing and effectively hiding what he’s feeling. You wish you could see his face. You’ve tried to draw up images of what he might look like, what he hides under the mask. He can’t be ugly, at least not totally. Johnny had reassured you of that much, but you wish for just a glimpse more than his chin and his lips when he eats.

“You’re thinking too much again.” He says, taking half a step back from you.

“Sorry.” You blink, trying to pull yourself from the depths of your mind once again.

“Come on. Let’s get breakfast.” He says, tilting his head towards the door.

You follow him from the gym, his steps markedly slower compared to how he used to walk. Gone are the days of almost having to run to keep up with him. You could almost swear he takes smaller steps too, instead of his normal long, purposeful strides. It’s almost as if he’s out for a stroll instead of being forced into the task of escorting you to breakfast.

His hand finds your back again as you enter the mess, guiding you through the tables to the line to get food. His palm is warm where it’s pressed against the middle of your back, his fingers splayed, pressing just slightly into your skin through your shirt as an alpha soldier passes just slightly too close to you.

He still won’t fill your tray for you, but you can respect that. It’s a big step, and only done if there’s interest in courting or caretaking. You don’t expect that level of intimacy from him, certainly not right now. Perhaps never.

He’s not your alpha.

He guides you to the table where the others are sitting, and you take your normal spot between John and Kyle. They both shift just slightly closer to you almost subconsciously. Everything is almost a subconscious action now. Simon’s guiding hand on your back, your alpha moving closer to you, the betas keeping you between them whenever you’re with them. It’s a good sign, or at least you think it is. It feels right, a sort of easy flow that has developed between the five of you. One you don’t have to think very hard about.

“How did trainin’ go?” Johnny asks between shoveling bites of eggs into his mouth.

“Fine.” You shrug. “Simon threw me across the mat.”

All eyes at the table turn to him despite your nonchalant tone. It wasn’t the first time it’s ever happened, and you’re sure it won’t be the last.

“She took me down herself afterwards.” Simon says, not bothering to look up from his porridge.

Now all eyes at the table are on you. Your cheeks warm and you slowly start to make yourself smaller under their gazes.

“Had her pinned and she disarmed me enough to get free.” Simon continues, his gaze lifting so he’s staring at you too.

“Christ, what I would pay tae see that.” Johnny says, grinning widely at you.

“So training is paying off then.” John says, patting your back gently.

“Guess so.” You shrug, still feeling a bit bashful under the attention. “Not sure how useful I’d be in a real fight still.”

“Well, your first defense is trying to escape. Running is always the priority, remember?” John says.

You nod. Right. Run first. Like you should have opened the window and ran when that beta knocked on your door. Like you should have run when you noticed your door was open. Like you should have run when someone tried to get into your room.

How disappointed they’d be if they knew how you failed to follow even the most basic instructions. What would have happened if you hadn’t noticed the cameras? Would whoever tried to get into your room that night still have tried to enter? What if the door had been unlocked? What if they had gotten in? What would you have done, then? Try to disarm them enough to run to Dr. Keller?

That is what you were supposed to do.

Instead you had been stupid and froze in your fear and let it all happen, and now you can’t even tell them. It’s too late, it’s been too long. They’d be too upset if you confessed now instead of if you’d done it right when they returned.

You have to bury it now and hope it stays that way for the rest of time.

John is the one that walks you back to the barracks after breakfast. You don’t remember the last time he walked you to a meal or back from it. Usually he was too busy doing his job, or setting up things, or whatever else it is he does. Walking you back to the barracks was far too menial a task for how busy he is.

You hold his hand as you walk, close enough that his arm brushes your side with every step. You don’t let go of his hand even when he walks you to your door, keeping your fingers laced as you turn to look up at him.

“You gonna be alright on your own?” He asks, staring down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

No. You’re almost tempted to say it, to throw your arms around him and confess, to beg him to keep you close, to stay, to take you with him. Anything so you won’t have to be alone ever again.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you nod. “Yeah.”

For a moment, just a moment you think he doesn't believe you. There’s a second of hesitation, a cold chill running down your spine as your anxiety spikes. What if he knows you’re lying? What if he’s testing how long you’ll keep up the charade? How long you’ll try to keep them in the dark about what happened. He knows something is wrong. He can tell.

Your back meets your door as he crowds you in, releasing your hand so he can press both into the wood on either side of you. Something warm stirs in your stomach as you stare up at him, feeling very small as he looms over you.

He lets out a low rumble in his chest as he leans down. For a moment you’re expecting a kiss, but he moves to the side at the last moment, nudging your chin so it’s tilted up, bearing your throat to him. “What’s got you so worked up, huh?” He murmurs against your neck, his beard prickling the sensitive skin. “Have we been neglecting you for too long?”

Saying yes wouldn’t be a lie. They haven’t really sought you out in that way since their return. The most you’ve gotten in the last almost two weeks was when Johnny slipped his hand into your sleep shorts, and you returned the favor. John and Kyle hadn’t really even tried to initiate anything, treating you more like you’d shatter into a million pieces if they touched you too much.

Maybe a good fuck would solve some of your issues.

It would at least help you forget for a while.

A quiet moan leaves your lips as John sucks on your mark, the imprint of his teeth scarred into your skin. The mark that claims you as his, bonded to him for the rest of your life.

Lust and desire burns hot in your veins and you find yourself cupping his face, tugging him away from your neck so you can kiss him. He lets out a growl against your lips as you kiss him like you want to devour him, your hands sliding to his shoulders to tug him closer to you. His hands drop from the door to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him, his cock hardening through his cargo pants.

You’d let him take you right here, right now, right in the hallway. You don’t care that anyone could walk in at any moment, anyone would be able to see you. It feels almost like it would cleanse the barracks, free you from the fear in your mind. Allowing yourself to be so vulnerable out in the open could wipe away the worry that there’s someone around every corner, someone watching you.

Getting railed by your alpha against the very door that separated you from the room that now held your worst nightmares might just fix you.

But, just like everything else that’s happened recently, you don’t get that chance.

John’s watch begins to beep in your ear, causing him to pull away from you. You let out a quiet whine as you’re forced apart, suddenly feeling chilled from the loss of warmth against you.

John lets out a quiet sigh, leaning his forehead against yours. “I have to go.”

You wish he didn’t. You’re half tempted to beg him to stay, to fuck his job, his duties. You want him to stay, to give all his attention to you, just for a few hours. You want him to erase the fear and the anxiety and fix you.

“We’ll continue this later.” There’s a promise to his tone that he’s not done with you, a guarantee that you will get to continue this once the day is over, when he can go back to being your alpha instead of a captain. He leans in, kissing you once more. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You nod, watching him walk out of the barracks, the door closing softly behind him. You lean against your door for a few moments longer before letting out a breath. There’s still warmth swirling in your stomach, your underwear sticking to your damp folds. An idea pops into your head. You don’t want to go into your room, you don’t want to be in there alone right now.

Instead you head for Price’s room, unbuttoning your pants as you close the door behind you. You strip out of your pants before you climb onto the bed, making yourself comfortable. You’re going to give him a little present, a little something in revenge for leaving you high and dry, a little something to help him look forward to tonight.

Screaming. It’s all you can hear. It makes your ears ring and your head throb. Hands cling to you, nails biting into your skin. Something’s pulling on you, trying to rip you away. You’re stuck in a brutal tug of war. It hurts, but no one can hear you over the screaming. Tears are sliding down your cheeks, blazing a trail along your skin. You shouldn’t be crying, you shouldn’t be upset.

He hates it when you cry.

Alphas don’t cry.

You’re not an alpha.

You’ve committed the worst sin in his eyes, denying him the perfect pack. You’re a stain on his perfect ledger, a mistake that never should have happened.

He’s going to make sure you’re wiped from memory, from history, just as he wants.

“You can’t take her from me!” Your mother’s voice is frantic, her nails biting into your arm as she tries to pull you back into the safety of your arms.

“She’s no daughter of mine.” Your father’s fingers dig painfully into your other arm, trying to pull you away from your mother, away from your life. He’s going to throw you out like you’re nothing more than trash.

The screaming gets louder as you’re yanked from your mother’s hold, and you’re not sure if it’s her screams or your own piercing your ears.

“We have to ensure the success of this program.” The voice has changed. It’s not the cruel hands of your father holding you anymore. “It’s imperative to the future of militaries around the world.”

“No!” You scream, kicking, fighting, lashing out, but the hands won’t let go. They’re like a vice around you, like a constrictor slowly getting tighter and tighter.

“All you have to do is be a good omega,” A hand slips around the back of your neck, your skin burning from the touch. The warning is screaming in your head, louder than the screams of protest spilling from your lips. “And do exactly as you’re told.”

The fingers dig into your neck, your mind flashing for a second before it goes blank.

“No!”

You move before you’re even fully awake, sitting up straight in bed. Your hands close around the back of your neck as you curl into yourself, taking a defensive, protective position. You can still feel the cold hand on your skin, the fingers biting into the sensitive spots on your neck. You’re crying, tears and snot dripping down your face as you press it against your knees.

“No!” Another terrified cry leaves your lips as hands meet your skin, not cold or clammy, but warm and gentle. Your half asleep brain is stuck in your nightmare and can't rationalize the difference, not while you're perceiving everything as a threat.

“Easy, easy.” A voice says, speaking quietly, calmly. You recognize that voice. It’s not one from your dreams. Arms slowly wind around you, pulling you against a warm chest. “I’ve got you. It was just a dream.”

Your breaths are rapid and shaky as you slowly begin to come back to your senses. It was just a dream. You’re awake now. You know that voice.

“Alpha?” You whimper, desperately seeking the confirmation that it’s really him, that you’re really awake and free from your nightmare.

“I’m here.” He says, clutching you tightly against his chest. “Need you to breathe for me.” He pushes your head against his chest so you can feel his breaths.

You’re still crying, your breaths catching in your chest almost painfully as you attempt to follow your alpha’s deep, steady breaths. His arms are still tight around you, pinning you against his chest. His beard tickles your forehead as he leans his chin against your head. He’s projecting his scent, the smell of earth and petrichor mixed with the musk of alpha seeping into your brain.

“Good girl.” He praises you as you begin to relax, your joins unlocking from their stiffened positions, your muscles slowly loosening from how contracted they had been in your defensive position. You could have slipped into distress easily in that position, the level of fear higher than you’ve felt in a long time.

He loosens his hold on you just slightly as you begin to unravel yourself as you calm down. Your hands are still clamped around the back of your neck, your fingers trembling from how stiffly they’re held against your most vulnerable spot.

“Keep relaxing.” He says quietly, his lips brushing your hairline. “I’ve got you.”

He continues to speak to you quietly, letting you work yourself out of your tense, defensive position. You slowly begin to slide your hands away from your neck as your mind begins to clear and you realize there’s no threat to you, nothing waiting just outside your line of vision to attack. Your alpha has you, you’re safe with him, well protected.

The tears continue to fall, however, as you think back on your nightmare. It had felt so real, maybe because in a way it had been real. You had been pulled from your mother, from your home to the institute, then from the institute to the CIA, from the CIA to here and straight into General Shepherd's lap.

“Promise me,” You gasp out, your voice hoarse from crying. “Tell me you’ll never scruff me.”

“Never.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promise I’ll never scruff you.”

You press your face into his chest, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief. He could always go back on his word, he could change his mind, decide you needed to be scruffed. You know it’s foolish, having those kinds of thoughts. He’s never once gone back on his word, never once proved himself untrustworthy to you.

“I need to know if you've ever been scruffed before.” He asks, the authority slipping into his voice.

A frown pulls at your brows. You can’t remember if you’ve ever been scruffed before. Was it possible you had, but had been made to forget? Everything you’ve learned about scruffing says you would know, even if you don’t remember what happened after. It’s a very distinct feeling returning to your mind afterwards. It’s just something you’d know.

“No? I-I don’t think so?” You say. “At least I can’t remember, but I think it’s one of those things that you would know if it happened.”

“I’ve seen it happen, and I’ve seen the aftermath. You would know if it had ever happened to you.”

His words bring a shred of relief to your worried mind. You don’t want to know, you don’t want to ask how he knows, why he knows. It’s not likely he would have been able to tell you anyway. Just another secret, just another thing kept in the dark. You knew from early on they’d have their secrets, things they wouldn’t ever be able to tell you. You just never expected to have one of your own.

You curl up closer against his chest, pushing the thoughts and the guilt hanging over your head away in favor of soaking up the calming presence of your alpha. For a moment, just a moment, you can imagine everything will be alright. What’s in the past will stay there and nothing will come back to haunt you. You can just move on, and pretend like nothing happened.

You know it’s not true, but for just a moment, you can pretend that it is.

He hates it.

He hates the way he feels.

The subtle change to his heart rate, the way his insides feel like they’re fluttering, twisting. The disappointment eating him when his existence is ignored entirely in favor of those who were brave enough to open up, to allow you in.

Why is he disappointed? He’s done nothing but brush you off, keep you desperately at arms length despite your attempts to wiggle in through the slowly widening cracks in his resolve. Cracks that were formed by your very insertion into their lives. They were happy, they were fine. Then you came along and fucked everything up.

The worst part?

He likes it.

He wanted to hate you. For so long he fought that desire in him to be near an omega again, to be close enough to smell your sickeningly sweet scent. He tried to hate you, tried to ignore you, push you away from the walls he’s spent decades building up. Walls that threatened to crumble thanks to your very existence.

He’s not sure when the change happened. It was gradual, a shift in his hatred that became fascination that quickly morphed into something more. Something forbidden. Maybe it was when you submitted to him during training, or maybe it was after your first time with Johnny when his beta had looked far too pleased, and shared the intimate details of what you had done to him far too easily. Johnny’s need to yap had won out and his beta’s words had caused a stirring in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time.

A stirring he’d been able to ignore for so long.

For a moment, just a moment there had been fleeting curiosity. Would you try to take control with him? What if he let you do it? How long could you keep it up before you tired out and your true nature took over?

He stuffed those thoughts into the far recesses of his mind, refusing to allow them forward. He’s not getting soft, he’s not going to allow you any closer to his already cracking walls.

He tells himself that, at least until they leave. Until he sees the effect you have on his pack. The ripples in the bonds, the changes that happen almost as soon as the ramp of the plane shuts, separating you from them for the first time since your arrival.

He’s a good soldier. He can pretend nothing’s wrong, force the feelings into the back of his mind better than anyone. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

It had hurt when you ignored him on your return, throwing yourself into Price’s arms desperately and clinging to him like he might disappear. The betas had sandwiched you between them, letting you cling to them desperately as you trembled and cried. It was pathetic, but not quite as pathetic as the bitterness and the sting of disappointment in his chest.

He tried not to let himself feel it, tried to bury himself in his paperwork, tried to keep the feelings at bay, at least until Johnny had knocked on his door, mattress in tow telling him to get a blanket and head for Price’s room.

It was Kyle’s idea. Had to be. Kyle is the most nurturing of the four of them, and judging by the state of you, he must have done it because he thought it would help.

By the time he grew the balls to enter the makeshift nest, the betas had already sandwiched you between them, your form almost smothered completely under Johnny. Price had laid himself out on Kyle’s other side, and the space for him was made up of mostly Johnny’s mattress. It had to have been a deliberate move, meant for his own comfort. Sweet Johnny and his beta senses. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done. It had just happened naturally.

It’s at Johnny’s pestering insistence that he climbs into the nest finally, laying stiffly on the mattress behind his beta. It’s been a long time since he’s been in a nest. He doesn't sleep, not much anyway, but neither does Price. Both of them are too awake, too aware, too alert. The betas sleep peacefully and so do you, probably the most sleep you’ve gotten since your heat.

The warmth in the room gets unbearable fast, the blankets quickly kicked to the end of the mattresses, along with his own sweatshirt. It’s like a sauna, and for a moment he considers opening the window, but he’s too afraid to move, too afraid to disturb the nest.

It’s when Johnny gets up to go to the bathroom that you finally move, the first time in hours. You roll into the space he had vacated, lips slightly parted as you breathe in and out easily. Johnny, the bastard, takes your empty spot, trapping you between them. He turns his back to you in hopes you stay as still as you had before, which works for a while. At least, until he feels something press up against his back. He goes still, every muscle tensing as you bury your face between his shoulder blades. He should turn over, push you away. He should nudge you back towards Johnny, let you seek out his warmth instead. Yet, he can’t bring himself to move.

He shouldn’t like it. He can’t. He can’t allow you in, he can’t let you past his rapidly crumbling walls. Yet, he does like it. He wants to feel you pressed against him, he wants to see that hidden part of you that had brought his beta to his knees so easily.

He’s supposed to be keeping his distance, and yet, here you are, forcing your way in again. It almost feels like a silent apology for yesterday, your subconscious picking up on his disappointment, and so now it’s offering him this moment in hopes he’ll forgive you.

It’s working.

A quiet breath leaves your lips as you listen to the steady beating beneath your ear. The scent of coconut and saltwater floats in the air, taking your mind far away, back to a different time when things were simpler. Kyle’s calloused fingers trail across your arm, drawing absentminded patterns across your skin. You press your face against his warm skin, your hand splaying across his stomach. You can feel the ridges of his muscles, the way they flex with every breath.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, his lips brushing your forehead as he speaks.

“Just thinking about when we used to go to the beach when I was younger. Back when my dad was stationed in North Carolina for a few months.”

“You like the beach?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah. There’s just something calming about it. I don’t mind the sand and I like the sound of the waves hitting the shore.”

“We could go to the beach.” He says, making you tilt your head up just slightly. “When the weather’s nicer, closer to summer. Take a few days off, go on a vacation.”

“You could do that?” You ask, pushing yourself up on your elbow so you can see him fully.

He smiles at you, his hand dropping to your back. “We do get to go on leave every so often, barring nothing urgent happens while we’re away. I’ll talk to Price about it. We can start making some plans, if you want.”

You stare down at him, the softness in his gaze, the slight upward tilt of his lips. He might as well have just promised you the world with how he’s looking at you. Tears burn at the back of your eyes as you stare at him. You don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve such kindness, such care after lying to them. You can trust Kyle. He’d be the least angry, at least towards you, if you confessed right now. It would be so easy, but you’re not sure you could stand watching the love and happiness fade from his eyes as you confessed to your stupidity, your deception.

“What is it?” He asks, his brows furrowing. Of course he’d pick up on the shift of your emotions, the sudden anxiety twisting in your stomach. “We don’t have to go to the beach. We could do something else, or nothing at all.”

“It’s not that.” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just...I don’t deserve you. All of you. You’re too good to me.”

“Oh, love, that’s not true.” He says, gently cupping your cheek. “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re too good for us. The things we’ve seen, the things we’ve done. We’re not good people, and yet we were blessed with an absolute angel.”

Tears gather in your eyes for a different reason now. You certainly don’t feel like an angel. You’re too broken and you’ve lied and made stupid mistakes. “I’m hardly an angel.”

“Well, in comparison to us, you are.” He gently presses against your back, drawing you closer to his face. “Our angel, our sweet little omega.”

A shiver runs down your spine from the way your status sounds from his lips. His hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you down so your forehead is pressed against his. You can feel his breath on your lips, your tongue darting out to wet your own in anticipation.

He tastes like mint toothpaste, his tongue immediately pushing past the seam of your lips. His kiss steals your breath away, his hand tangling in your hair to keep you in place as he licks into your mouth. Your hand settles on his chest for balance, feeling his heart racing under your palm.

You shift over him, throwing a leg across his hips as you settle against his chest. His hand releases your hair, tracing a line down your spine to your hips. The shirt of his you had changed into before crawling into bed with him has ridden up, revealing the lacy panties you're sporting underneath. He groans against your lips as his fingers trace over the lace before slipping underneath, tugging them lightly.

You pull away from his lips, staring down at him. “I’m gonna need more pairs of these at this rate.”

“We’ll have to take a trip and pick up more.” He grins, snapping the waistband against your skin.

You bite your lip, pressing yourself up so you’re sitting over his hips. You can feel the growing bulge beneath his shorts as you begin to grind against him. He’s gone commando, your clit catching on his head through the thin fabric. Your hands press into his stomach, feeling the muscles contract as your scent thickens in the air. His hands close around your hips, guiding you as you grind against him. His eyes are hooded as he stares up at you, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.

You stare down into those big brown eyes, getting lost in the depth of them. If you could melt yourself into him, seep under his skin and become one with him, you would. He might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever laid eyes on. He might as well be sculpted from marble, or pulled right from a piece of artwork.

You shift so you’re leaning forward, your clit dragging against his stomach as you continue moving your hips. You grasp his chin, fingers digging into his cheeks. “You’re so fucking pretty, it’s not fair.”

He chuckles, giving you a dazzling, perfect smile. “Thank you, love.” He wraps his arms around you, pushing himself up to sit so you drop into his lap. “But I’m nothing compared to you right now.”

He keeps you grinding against his lap, his hands squeezing your ass as you soak the front of his shorts with every drag of your hips. Your head falls back as you moan, the friction against your clit quickly pushing you towards an orgasm.

“Haven’t even touched you yet and got you all worked up. You could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” He nips playfully at your lips, sliding his hand down further to press against your lace covered pussy.

You let out a whine, releasing your hold around his shoulders long enough to tug off your shirt. He curses quietly as your skin is revealed to him, his hands trailing up your back.

“Fucking hell, love.” He groans, pushing his hips up into you.

“Kyle,” You moan his name, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Need you.”

He curses again, wrapping his arms around your waist for leverage as he flips you over onto your back. He sits up on his knees, trailing his hands down your sides until he reaches the waistband of your panties, trailing his fingers across the lace for a moment.

“You alright?” He asks, checking in with you.

You nod, lifting your feet so they press against his chest. “You gonna take them off already?”

He grins, sliding his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs before tossing them to the floor. He parts your thighs to give himself room as he pulls off his own shorts, his cock springing free from the confining fabric. Your mouth waters as you stare at it, your teeth sinking into your lip in anticipation.

“Fuck,” He breathes as he pushes your thighs further apart, dark eyes glued to your glistening folds.

He slides his hands down your thighs, his thumb ghosting over your clit. Your hips jerk in response, pushing up against his hand. He chuckles, repeating the motion, watching the way your lips part in a moan.

“Always so sensitive.” He smirks, pressing his thumb into the bundle of nerves. “Even after Price fucked you senseless a couple nights ago.”

Your face warms at his words, your stomach fluttering excitedly. Of course they had heard you. You’ve long given up on trying to hide what goes on behind their closed doors. They all know, they already knew from the first night you spent with John.

He had been rather rough that night, fucking you into the mattress so hard the headboard had scraped some of the prison grey paint off the walls. You had asked for it, though, both of you needing the raw, carnal release it had given you.

“Yeah, we all heard that.” Kyle continues, slowly circling your clit with his thumb as he speaks. “Sounded like a couple of animals in there. If you hadn’t been screaming his name over and over, we might have been worried he’d mauled you to death. Simon and I had to keep Johnny occupied so he wasn’t tempted to join you.”

Your pussy flutters at the thought of the three of them together, riled up by you and John. You can almost picture it, Johnny in Simon’s lap, bouncing on his cock while Kyle sucks him off from the front. Or did Johnny submit to both and suck Kyle’s cock while Simon took him from behind? Or was Simon more of a giver and sucked him off while Kyle fucked him? Or did Simon take both of them after making them both suck his cock?

The endless stream of thoughts has your pussy clenching, slick dribbling out of you as your legs start to shake. It’s almost too much with the pressure against your clit, your body heating from the fire ignited in your veins.

“Liked that, didn’t you?” Kyle smirks, removing his hand from your clit to lean down over you. “Maybe next time we’ll squeeze you in right in the middle. Would you like that?”

You nearly cum from his words alone, your hands grasping at his shoulders. “Fuck, Kyle! I need you inside me right now.”

“So impatient.” He tsks, leaning forward to bite at your lips. “Such a needy little omega.”

“Please!” You almost sob, lifting your hips to press against his. “I need you.”

He shushes you, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before sitting back up onto his knees. He shifts slightly closer to you, propping your legs up over his thighs. His hand fists his cock, pumping the hard length a couple times before he drags the head through your folds. You whine impatiently, trying to lift your hips to grind against him but he presses a hand into your stomach, pinning you against the bed.

“Patience.” He scolds you, sending a shiver down your spine.

He drags his head through your folds a couple more times before he finally presses into you, stretching you open. You go lax on the bed, relaxing around him as he rocks his hips into you, sinking in deeper with every movement.

You reach for him as he sinks completely into you, pulling him down so he’s hovering over you. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you softly as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can. His arms slip around your back as he begins grinding against you, his thrusts shallow and soft. It’s so very different from how John had taken you just a couple days ago. Kyle has always been softer, gentler, more passionate than rough and eager.

You moan softly against his lips, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him locked against you. You want to get closer to him, but you’re not sure you can get closer than you already are. Bodies pressed together, his cock inside you, lips pressed to yours as he holds you. There’s a prickling under your skin, an urge to devour him, to keep him here forever. He snaps his hips into you harder, his lips trailing down to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes widening as a gasp leaves your lips. Your fingers dig into Kyle’s side, his head snapping to the side, sensing the disturbance in the room.

“Don’t stop on my account.” John leans against the closed door, a cigar in his hand.

You’re not sure how long he’s been there, how he got in without either of you noticing. Kyle especially, since he was usually so in tune with his surroundings. Pride flashes through you at the thought of him being so lost in you, he can’t focus on anything else. The scent of tobacco washes over you as John takes a long drag from his cigar. He must not have been there long, or maybe you’ve just been so caught up in Kyle’s scent you hadn’t noticed.

Kyle is frozen above you as John pushes off the door, approaching the bed slowly. Kyle shifts above you so he can hold John’s gaze as he stops at the edge of the bed. Excitement swirls in your stomach as you stare up at him in anticipation of what he’s going to do. His hand lifts, dragging down Kyle’s back to his ass.

John delivers a harsh slap to his cheek, Kyle’s hips snapping into yours in response as a moan leaves his lips. “Did I tell you to stop, soldier?”

“No, sir.” Kyle grunts out, starting to rock his hips into yours again.

You watch the change happen almost immediately, the natural shift between them. Kyle’s not in charge anymore, quickly handing over control to John despite the fact he’s the one inside of you. It’s a subtle submission, yet you can sense the changes in them both.

John massages Kyle’s ass for a moment before shifting so he’s closer to you. You stare up at him, lips parted as you whimper quietly. “There’s my pretty girl.” He praises you as he leans down, brushing his thumb over your lips before pushing it into your mouth. You close your lips around his thumb, sucking on it. “Such a good girl, isn’t she?”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle grunts, continuing to thrust into you harder than he had been before.

John takes another drag from his cigar as you moan around his thumb, your hands gripping the sheets as Kyle continues to thrust into you, the head of his cock dragging across that spot inside you from the angle he’s at. Moans slip from Kyle’s lips as you clench around him, his own hands digging into the sheets. Sweat has beaded across his forehead, a droplet sliding down his cheek to his neck, leaving a trail as it slowly drips down his chest. Drool slips out of your mouth around John’s thumb. You want to lick the sweat from his chest. You want to taste him.

John slips his thumb from your lips, dragging it across your chin, smearing saliva all over your skin. “Look at her.” He says, moving so he’s looking over Kyle’s shoulder. “Drooling already and you haven’t even made her cum yet, have you?” His hand slips around the back of Kyle’s neck, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin. “You gonna make her cum like a good boy?”

Kyle lets out a moan, his pace stuttering just slightly. “Yes, sir.” He grits out, picking up the pace as he slams into that spot inside you with every movement.

John takes a step back, continuing to smoke as he watches the two of you. It’s almost too much between Kyle fucking you and John watching. There’s a coil tightening in your stomach, the pleasure intensifying more and more. A fire has started under your skin, your eyes glued to John’s as Kyle pushes you closer and closer to the peak.

You hold John’s gaze as you cum, your back arching in pleasure. Kyle doesn’t stop, continuing to thrust into you as he chases his own high.

John waits until your moans have died down before he moves, stubbing out his cigar on Kyle’s nightstand before he grasps Kyle by the hips, stopping his movements. “Switch places with our girl.” He murmurs into Kyle’s ear, Kyle taking a second to breathe before he wraps his arms around you, flipping you back around so you’re on top again as John kicks off his shoes.

Your hands press into Kyle’s stomach to hold yourself steady, your legs still shaking from your orgasm. John climbs on the bed behind you, his clothed chest pressing against your bare, sweat slicked back.

“Gonna be a good girl and make him cum?” John says quietly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

A shiver runs down your spine as you nod, starting to rock your hips just slightly. John’s hands settle on your waist, helping you move as you begin to bounce on Kyle’s cock. Kyle’s eyes are wide as he watches you and his alpha, John pressing kisses across your shoulders and neck as he helps you fuck his beta. Kyle’s hands grip your thighs, fingers indenting the skin as he holds on for dear life.

“That’s it.” John praises you, shifting your body forward just slightly so Kyle’s cock drags across that spot inside you with your every movement. You clench around him, your thighs tightening around his hips.

“Fuck...” Kyle moans, his own hips bucking up into yours.

“Gonna make him cum?” John asks, his hands abandoning your hips. One snakes around your stomach to rub your clit while the other slips behind you to squeeze Kyle's balls.

Kyle lets out a loud moan, his hips snapping up against yours as your walls clamp tightly around him. You can feel the warm ropes of his release spurting inside you, increasing the pressure as you cum a second time on his cock.

John works you both through your orgasms, your entire body shaking by the time he releases you, pushing you forward against Kyle's chest. You lay there, your cheek pressed against his sweaty skin, ass in the air right in John's face. He watches as Kyle's seed begins to seep out of you, forced out by the aftershocks of your orgasm. He drags his fingers through your folds, gathering Kyle's cum before pushing it back into you. You moan softly from the stretch of his fingers against your sensitive walls, pushing your hips back against his hand.

“Don't want to waste any of that.” John says, nipping at the globe of your ass cheek. “You know Kyle likes to clean you up himself.”

You let out a quiet moan, your pussy fluttering around John’s fingers. You’re about to be in for a very long night.

Taglist:

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@protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai

@redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg

@beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff

@smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60

@evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine

@thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows

@ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce

@darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood

@daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly tf 141 #poly task force 141 #John price x reader #captain John price x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #Johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Simon Riley x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega

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zriasstuff · 2 months

Text

Them watching you get ready <3

Slytherin boys x reader fluff headcanons (warning:delulu asf)

the collage isn’t the best, but at least you have all 6 faces now

It’s date-night, but you seem to be taking quite some time to get ready…

Tom Riddle:

Let’s be honest for a second and admit that if you were taking your sweet sweet time, he’d curse at you because everything has to go according to his schedule (i even doubt that he’d do the whole “date-night” thing, but that’s a separate issue)

He’d turn more impatient by the second and barge into your dorm/bathroom without knocking

Tom would rush you so badly and keep telling you to hurry up while rolling his eyes

While you’re doing your makeup he’d pick up each product with disgust and tell you that you look just fine

When you tell him that you need more time, he tells you that there wouldn’t be a date anymore if you didn’t follow him, besides he’d lecture you on your poor time management

Eventually he drags you out with him and dryly compliments you like “see, i told you you look good” (but innerly he enjoyed that you put in effort and wanted to look good for him, even if it took some time)

Mattheo Riddle:

He wouldn’t rush you when you tell him you need more time, instead he’d take advantage of watching you get ready

When you choose your clothes, he’d encourage you to do a little fashion show for him and he would tell you that you looked perfect in every single one

He would tell you to choose a short and tight dress though, we all know why ;)

During make-up he is totally one of those guys who say “it’s all the same shade”, and in reality it’s like maroon and bright red

As a joke he’d also apply some of the products, but wipe them off immediately because he feels too emasculated

When you ask him if you could do make-up on him some day he’d simply reply “sure, but then i would get to do whatever i want with you”

Draco Malfoy:

When you offer him to watch you get ready, since you still aren’t done, he immediately accepts

Draco totally loves seeing you get ready too because during your relationship he has spoiled you so much that half your closet/vanity is basically from him

Since he grew up close to his mother, he has actually spent a lot of time in his childhood going to barbers/salons/boutiques with her

So from that he has gained excellent taste, even helps you with styling your hair, and helps you pick out accessories

He knows how long this stuff can take, so he just takes the time to make you feel beautiful and confident, showering you with compliments and pecks “you look so good in the things i buy you darling”/“you are always so gorgeous and sexy”

Theodore Nott:

He wouldn’t mind that you were not on time, the date started the second he saw you, so you getting ready was just time that you could spend together too

You are afraid it takes away the surprise factor at first, but it’s not a big deal to him

When you start to change into different outfits, he’s always there to help you undress/unzip the dresses, taking the opportunity to smoothly move his hands down your body

That would just eventually turn into a makeout session though, you just couldn’t resist when he was being that touchy and ravishing too

It takes quite some time for you to actually get ready in the end because he always distracts you in the process, but in the end you would both have had a fun time

Blaise Zabini:

He’d be quite chill and sit on your bed when you tell him to wait, just watching you get ready at your vanity

He would maybe be a little bit annoying—asking you every three seconds if you were ready to go, and he would say “you literally look the same as always, what’s the point of all this”

Eventually he liked watching you more and more though, notice the difference, and carefully pay attention to everything you did

He’d learn to appreciate both your natural and “full-glam” beauty and just observe you with interest

As soon as you were done he’d immediately kiss you (ruining your lip-combo sadly) and his lips would be stained, and he’d be smiling, fascinated by your beauty

Lorenzo Berkshire:

When you tell him to wait outside, he’d respect that at first, but would grow impatient eventually

So, he goes up to you and tells you that he would like to be a part of the process

Opposite to Mattheo, he’d actually be down to you putting make-up on his face for fun (he’s fully convinced that he could pull anyone with or without makeup)

To be honest, he didn’t care much about what you put on because you looked hot in his eyes either way, but he knew the more interested he acted the more appreciative you’d be

Looking at you with puppy-eyes at all times is his specialty, and when you’re finally done he looks at you like you’re an angel fallen from heaven

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 2 months

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DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc au #dpxdc memes #dpxdc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead on main #dead on main ship #alcohol

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honey-milk-depresso · 5 months

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Jason, Tim and Dick with an s/o who’s completely the opposite of them??

Requests open until 1 Feb (GMT 8+)! Please read the rules on my pinned post (provided the navi post link to go to rules). Thank you!🩷

Batboys with an s/o completely opposite of them

Dick Grayson

Dick is a very extroverted, active and optimistic individual while you’re very introverted, lazy (let’s all be real here-) and… well, he calls you a realist (because he doesn’t wanna call you a pessimist-).

The two of you have a rather funny dynamic between the two of you: Dick’s always the one dragging you out because you need “sunlight”.

“Come on, s/o! Let’s take a stroll! Gotta get that vitamin D!”

“Dick… it’s 8pm.”

“…” “You get the point, come on now-”

He’s just concern for your health because he loves you and doesn’t want you to just laze at home all the time, you know? And isn’t it nice to take a stroll with your boyfriend?? Come on now-

Dick’s always the one to cheer you up when you’re grumpy or sad (or both), and you’re always there to ground him back to reality when needed and he appreciates that.

Another thing to note is that he actually has poor communication skills when it comes to the relationship, and always feels like he’s a burden to share his problems. You, on the other hand, aren’t afraid to speak your mind and put a lot of trust in him when it comes to communicating challenges within your relationship with Dick and you encouraging him to put trust in you because he will never burden you because you love him honestly makes him admire you, and also fall in love with you even more.

It’ll take some time, not because he doesn’t trust you, it’s just because there’s that lingering thought of not wishing to burden you and also because old habits die hard but… slowly he’ll get there, and that’ll be the one thing you guys can be similar in.

For now, he loves his potato couch cutie (just stroll with him every once in a while at least-) <3

Jason Todd

Has no idea how he even managed to get you, because you’re everything he’s not.

He’s always so emotional, impulsive and jealous, while you’re so calm, rational and trusting in him even when he knows he’s got so much sin in him that he’s not proud of committing, and knows he can’t be forgiven for them at times.

Yet… you never saw that in him. You’ve always thought he’s someone compassionate, loyal and caring, and you love him even at his worse. He’s never thought of himself like that after you told him so sincerely and gently that he almost broke down and cried. You love him so much as much as he loves you it makes him feel so warm and comforted. He just feels so lucky to have you.

He kinda wishes he’s like you, because he’d always think it’s better to be anyone else but you’d tell him otherwise. Besides, it’s always opposites that attract.

He loves you with every fibre of his being, you’re like a second chance given to him. Well, not that he sees you as a way to feel better but he genuinely believes you’re an angel sent to him. Literally. But seriously, he loves you and he’ll try to be a little bit more calmer than let his anger get the best of him. You always can calm him down anyways.

You always told him that his compassion for you touched you, and that his warmth and love is something you’ve never had before from anyone, you make him feel so special, you know that? <3

Tim Drake

Tim’s… all sorts of things. He’s ambivert, more introvert-leaning, but he’s also poor in time management due to his workaholic nature and rather reserved in temperament.

And you were a lot more responsible and better in time management because you ACTUALLY do set limits for yourself than just doing EVERYTHING in one goal. You weren’t a control-freak like him, rather taking things slowly. Just like him, you’re an ambivert but more extrovert-leaning and you had a tendency of getting lost in your emotions, just being more sensitive than him in general.

Every time you try to drag him to bed, shower, eat, just take care of himself he gets a bit pouty every time you do this but he’s touched. You had to open his eyes to let him see that timetables exist, and open up his heart to let him know it’s okay to take a break. Breaks even. He deserves breaks.

Tim is always there to calm you down. You just get so worried for him every time he goes out for patrol because anything could happen to him in Gotham. He reassured you, kissing your forehead softly while you patch him up with a little bit of tears glossing your eyes and tells you he’s okay. He’s never really had people care for him so much to the point they cry which was why when he got a few minor cuts on his arms and torso, he panicked when he saw you cry so much. He makes a mental note to make sure he doesn’t come home too injured, but at the same time you always tell him he shouldn’t hide his pain from you. You just want him safe.

You two just blend well together, and he always feels like he can come to you when he feels troubled. And you can always go to him for comfort.

Bonus: You dragging Tim by his feet to go to bed while his coffee-drunk ass is sighing in defeat and lets you drag him away but smiled tenderly despite being tired. Sigh, fine. He’ll sleep, just for you. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

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rainyrindou · 30 days

Text

—NIGHT LIGHT ⋆.˚ ☾

hanma is a childish grumpy baby when he’s been woken up. 0.5k wc ﾉ fluff ﾉ a little suggestive.

cw: no pronouns used, hanma calls reader doll and baby, brief mentions of a previous blowjob & free use.

“doll…” his low grumble comes from beside you as he shakes your shoulder a bit.

you barely glance in his direction as you scroll on your phone. “yes, shuji?”

“turn the damn light off.”

“huh? there aren’t any lights on.”

he lays there with his eyes still shut a few seconds before he cracks one open and points out the window with a childish grunt.

you stifle a laugh, “…that’s a street lamp.”

“…huh? for what? why is it on?” he’s clearly half asleep, and a little incoherent. you know you’re safe to giggle as much as you want when he’s like this.

“so people can see.”

he pouts, throwing an arm over his eyes, “ugh, it’s like, 3am, nobody needs to see anything right now.”

“actually shu, it’s only midnight. and, if i hadn’t sucked you comatose, I’m sure you would be one of the hooligans out and about at this hour.”

“….close the curtain, doll.”

“no. it’s like a night light, and–

he scoffs, “what do ya need a night light for? dontcha trust me to protect you?”

he wants to bite back and tell you that he doesn’t need a night light, not because he isn’t a little afraid of the dark, but because he feels so safe next to you.

“–and it helps me wake up in the morning when the sun comes through,” you deadpan.

another thing he won’t tell you is how he doesn’t need the sun that streams in through the window every morning; the sight of your sleeping figure beside him is enough.

but it’s midnight, apparently, and he’s not feeling the type of tired where he can be vulnerable tonight, so he keeps that to himself, even though he desperately wants to know if you feel the same way.

“excuses, excuses,” he tsks. he turns his head toward you and lifts his arm from his eyes, barely cracking them open, “if you hate me just say that.”

“shuji, my dearest. i had your cock down my throat 20 minutes ago.”

he full on glares at you, or at least he attempts to; his sleepy, half lidded eyes betray him. you don’t miss the way the corner of his lips twitched up for a moment, though.

in the dim lighting of your bedroom, he paws around in search of your arm, and grabs you tightly when he finds it, causing you to gasp and drop your phone. with a confused yelp, you’re suddenly manhandled on top of him as he buries his head in your neck, muttering a muffled, “relax, baby.”

you sigh, “shuji, you’re insatiable.”

you feel a deep chuckle resonate against your throat, “c’mon, you told me you like being used, yeah? so be my sleep mask for a lil while...” you roll your eyes at him for using your words against you, and at the way his voice trails off as if he’s already falling back asleep. you can’t help but giggle at your needy god of death who whines when you aren’t touching him for even five minutes.

your personal guard dog, the grim reaper of kabukicho— his world would fall apart without you.

he’s never told you that, but you feel it through his actions; through the longing in his touch.

in the morning before he leaves for work, he gives you a tighter hug than usual, and the sweetest, softest kiss. in bed when he grabs at your hands, no matter what position he’s tangled the two of you in, he gently brushes his palm against yours before he squeezes. and now, as his breaths even out and you slowly attempt to shift yourself off him, his arms tighten around your waist with an annoyed huff.

he feels protected by…well, whatever it is about you; he doesn’t know. it’s less like the way he looms over any poor soul that dares to glance at you a second too long, and more like your soul is the solace that his needed all this time. your presence grounds him in a way he hasn’t experienced before; it warms up his heart and makes him soft. it’s the reason he can’t bear to let go of you in the night, and clings to you as long as he can before he goes out into a life that doesn’t treat him with nearly as much warmth.

despite the headache that he is sometimes, he makes you smile. so you settle in on top of him, because he’s given you no other option than to be his anchor in a world where he can only see the light in your presence.

#hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma x reader #hanma x you #hanma fluff #hanma drabble #hanma shuji fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #shuji <3 #venus writes <3 #after four thousand years #this is that drabble i mentioned like idk a month ago or something #i love him sm #dividers by cafekitsune

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

Text

Eat your Young (viking!Konig x fem!Reader)

You weren't afraid when the Vikings came. Your ruler pays them well, and they protect you from enemies far worse - there is nothing to worry about as you, an unmarried maiden, wander into the embrace of one of them. They are on your side. Right? Tags and CWs: Age gap, size difference, Konig is a bit obsessive and a huge perv, mentions of violence, Vikings Are Actually Kinda Nice No For Real, hand jobs, oral sex, naked man/clothed woman, slightly historically inaccurate, jokes about inbreeding Thanks to @angelbabysblog for the idea. I changed quite a lot because I was reading articled about how many of the Slavic cities were actually cool with Vikings and worked with them AO3

The Vikings are here. Your Father never allowed you to meet them before – as an unmarried girl, even if you’re already of age, it would be…scandalous. Not smart. Dumb, really – everyone knows that girls that are messing with the warrior from overseas often end up being taken away. And you couldn’t survive sea travel. The Vikings are here, but it’s not really a problem – you know that there are other countries over the sea, the countries that die and burn every time a ship is sailed in their harbors. You also know that you do not live in a country like that. That sound of Vikings approaching is a good one – that you’ll be protected from the other enemies your country has. You always stole glances, despite what your father has told you – you were a curious thing, always searching for trouble, always interested in everyone outside of your small village. You’re on the border – stuck between sea and great plains, open for any enemy if it weren’t for mercenaries who deemed this place as worthy of their camp. They live here, occupying the territory outside – even build themselves houses, despite every rumor calling them nothing more but overseas barbarians who would tear you down for a flick of a coin.

Well, you always thought you’d have nothing to worry about – you are not made of coins, after all. The Vikings had a leader, the one that stayed in the long house just outskirts of the village – the one that would always visit the elders, discussing the payments and the spoils of war. Father always punished you if any nosy neighbor would see you sneaking out to look at the warriors – but you couldn’t care less. If you are going to end up in a marriage with a fool, you could at least steal a few looks at the real men. Not the ones from your village – they felt more like brothers than anything else. Some of them were – second, third, fourth, just diluted enough to make the babies a bit less disfigured.

But, oh, nothing compared to the vikings. You see them when you run for the lake, far from the shore. They are clean – cleaner than sailors from Byzantine who sometimes stumbled upon the small village by the sea. You think you heard them talking about how cleanliness is a sin – and just how silly it sounded. You think you didn’t like people from this place very much – sailors were often drunk, always handsy and never spared a kind word without an insult…not that you knew their language – but you are smart enough to know that if a man is attempting to grasp your breasts while sneering something through his teeth, it won’t be a love poem.

— What are you doing here?

Ah.

You were spotted. Like a fox in a hunter’s trap – you are standing in the tall water grass, looking at the man through the weeping willow branches. Maybe, if you are lucky enough, he’d think you were a mavka, trying to drown him – some men were foolish enough to fall for the act, sparing you the consequences of your curiosity. You aren’t sure if the Vikings have legends of mavkas – if they even have lakes back where they are from. All travelers are mixed in your head – desserts, great plains, barbarians who would steal your sisters if you’d been blessed with some. Sea beasts who will take you on your ship, away from your father and…ah, it doesn’t sound too bad.

— Can’t you talk?

His voice is rough, and accented. Younger than you thought he would be with a body like this – a seasoned warrior, ginger hair covering his muscular chest and a small trail falling down his…

Viking knows your language. Shouldn’t be surprising – they are working for the elders and your ruler, after all. They get gold from your village, they get food from your village. They get sons – you heard about at least some of the women falling pregnant to the guests overseas. No one dares to say anything against it – but the rumors are still falling. You wonder if it’s as bad as it sounds. — I can talk.

This sounds dumb, but there is no use in hiding. Your intentions weren’t innocent – you are curious and curiosity is what leads to the devil. Or god of death. Or goddess – you are not well-versed in matters of spirit and while half of your village is still worshipping old gods while the other preaches about new, stronger ones, you wonder what kind of beliefs Vikings have. You heard their women can wield magic – and can count. And read. You would love to read, you think. — Gut. Thought I spotted a Margygr.

The word is weird. Rough. You don’t know what that is, but you certainly aren’t one. You take a step forward, not caring that your linen dress is getting drenched in water – not caring about what your father might say after. You would just tell him you wanted to go and drown since he was so adamant on marrying you off to some one-eyed half-wit quarter brother of yours. He wouldn’t be surprised – and you probably wouldn’t be missed. A whore to be, as some older women from your village would say.

— What is that?

He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes looking at you. You notice a piece of cloth in his hands – something that must have been covering his face, you think. He is covered in scars and dirt, blood from some battle is getting washed away into the water of the lake. Gods, you say to yourself – you won’t even be drinking from it again. Although you promised it to yourself a few years ago already, when you spotted a dead deer lying in the water – and it’s not like you held to your promise. Better than seawater, after all. — A…drowned creature. Drowning creature. Your people are calling them… — Oh. Mavka. — Others call it mermaid. Selkie. Mermaid sounds harsh too. Rude. Other languages are rude – still, you would like to know more. Still, you would like to do anything to get out of your village. Learn to read. To write. Maybe hold a baby goat close to your chest and not have it ripped away for the nearest dinner.

— I’m not…that.

— I can see.

He laughs and you steal a peak at his manhood. You should be ashamed, really – if your dear mother was alive, she’d beat you up for being so immodest. If your dear mother was alive, you wouldn’t be allowed to sneak out like that – but she isn’t, so you stare at the man who can crush your skull in one hand. You stare at the trail of ginger hair going down his waist. The muscles flexing and the scars on his hips, glossy from cold lake water.

Hm.

Is it supposed to be this big?

He coughs and you peek to look at him again. Coughing isn’t good – he can be sick. Contangenous. There is a sickness coming around from sailor to sailor – you wonder if vikings have it too. You don’t want to get sick – but it would surely keep you out of marriage for a long while. Maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you could be buried like a pretty maiden. White dress and mourning relatives. That would teach them how to send you off to marry some dumb cousin you never knew before. Or knew too well. — You shouldn’t come here, Schatzen.

— Why?

— My men won’t be as nice as I am when they see a maiden in the lake.

You smile, tilting your head to the side. There are rumors – you can’t invite foreign mercenaries into your country without them taking their toll on the locals. Some people like them, some people are scared of them. Some are going out of the ordeal pregnant and some are not returning at all. But, you can run. But, this is your lake. You like it here – the quiet, the tranquility. You think that if your father proceed with calling you an old bride who should be married as soon as possible, you could just run away and live here. Fish is nice and there are berries when it’s not too cold. — Where are your men?

You never saw Vikings in battle. Never saw a group of them up close – you’d like to, of course. There are warriors in your village, but their best shot is wolves and deer. Not other men – you think you’d like to see war sometimes. Maybe, all the boys of age would die and you won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You would be nice as a local witch – or a local healer. Old hag sounds nice too. — Around. Waiting for the order. — What order?

You ask so many questions, König thinks. Pretty thing – smart, too. You aren’t afraid of him, even though you have to be. Most women would be screaming and crying if they saw someone like him in the lake next to them. Not Viking women of course – but people from around here are soft. Cherished. Coddled. You also seem soft, too soft, too gentle – a woman living in a small village on the shore without a husband shouldn’t be this careless. König knows you’re just lucky that the ruler of your country is kind enough to pay the overseas mercenaries instead of suffering the pillaging. Not all of people are this lucky.

If he won’t get a promised weight in gold this village won’t be lucky either.

König looks at your sweet face, at the way your eyes constantly dart to his crotch. Curious little thing you are – he isn’t sure if he is that happy that the payments have been consistent up to this point. That he can’t just screw this all over and demand a payment in other ways. That pillaging this village and taking all of its women isn’t really an option while they get their gold from here. Your long linen dress clings to your skin - you’re shaking, he notices. From cold, probably, dumb lady who is too curious for her own good. Hm. He has furs not far from here. He can…

— We’re protecting the shore. The border, too. You smile, nodding. And here he thought the locals knew why the foreigners were here – but he can’t expect too much, he guesses. At least it seems like you haven’t heard of most of his accomplishments. The rivers of blood would be enough to fill this whole lake three times. Or, maybe, you heard – and didn’t care, brave and fearless little thing. König likes the sound of that.

— Are you cold?

You ask him, to his surprise. Your gaze is switching from his face – he is open, cheeks flushed from the cold and a maiden right next to him, and he can’t even find it in himself to cover his scarred mug – to his cock. It’s standing proudly, heavy, balls hanging low as if asking to be held in your soft palms. König isn’t embarrassed – but he is surprised that your body, showing only a little bit in that dress of yours, is already enough to make him this bothered. This ready to give up the supposed protection of this village and take what’s his. — You can warm me.

You tilt your head to the side, mimicking his action from earlier. Curious bird – he could keep you at his ship. Tied up to the post, ready for anyone to use you. You’re strong, and resilient. Should survive the long way home – and he is getting quite ready to find someone at last. If the ruler of your little kingdom won’t be as stingy as the previous one, König can walk away with a sack of gold hanging on his shoulder. Enough for him and for him men. Surely enough to sway you. — How?

— Do you have a husband?

He knows, you probably don’t. A husband wouldn’t allow his wife to run around and flirt with other men – and if König was yours, he surely would keep you locked in like the treasure you are. There is too many men ready to take what doesn’t belong to them.

— No. And I won’t.

— Why? — Soon I will be too old to be a bride anyway. Not that I want it. He laughs at that. Surely, little bird, it wouldn’t be your choice. If the luck is on his side, it wouldn’t even be the choice of your father. — Touch me, Schatzen. You want it, ja?

He says this with more awkwardness than before. Swaying women by his side isn’t his strong suit – and even with his strength, not many of them would just throw themselves at him. Being a mercenary leader might bring him money but with the whole team consisting of equally strong and handsome men, the broody leader usually isn’t the first choice. He gets his fill eventually – but not the one that would make his heart flutter. With you, however… Your hands are traveling down his abs. Caressing every bit of skin you see – sending goosebumps down his navel and straight to his hard and leaking cock. He wonders if you’ve done this before – but your actions are the one of an explorer, not a professional. YOu grab his cock with both hands almost as if strangling him, and König lets go with a choked moan.

You retrieve your hands, nervous. Good girl. Eager, pretty. Such a shame this village usually pays its tolls. — Are you hurt?

— Nein, it’s…go on. You proceed to touch him, the softness of your touches is making him groan from pleasure. This is something else – you’re something else. Having the power to bring a seasoned warrior to his knees – god, how much he liked the way you looked at him. Eager and curious, always going down to touch his cock some more. You press your palm together, making s steady rhythm – using the pre-cum from his cockhead like a lube.

König relishes in the feeling – he might be one of the strongest soldiers, but it was the first time he felt victorious. With your hand pumping his cock up and down, the pleasure settling in his stomach and threatening to burst, he felt like a king. No, the king. Gods, you were beautiful. Worthy of throwing this village into the fire for. Worthy risking the payment. Your mouth is warm on his manhood – he didn’t expect you to be this active, to wrap your lips around the bulging head and bop your head just a bit. Up and down. Tongue swirling, as if tasting him. Making him sweat that you will decide to take a bite out of it, just to satisfy your curiosity. To his peace, you didn’t. He came shortly after you decided to put your mouth on him – when your tongue started to swirl around and collect the bitter taste of his pre-cum. When your curiosity about foreign warriors bathing in your lake finally made you do something about it – and he would feel bad about pressing a hand in your hair and forcing you to choke on his length, your nails digging small red paths in his pale thighs. You choke and squirm and cry and this is the sweetest sound he ever heard – so when he finally drags you away from his cock, smiling as you wipe your mouth and whimper. Squirm again, some more. The light in your faded a little as he pushed one calloused finger into his mouth and pushed your lips apart. Poor thing, he thinks. — You did good, little bird.

His seed tastes weird on the tongue. You wince, but swallow – it’s what good brides should do, you think. Somehow, looking at this warrior, you don’t feel so bad about being considered a bride. Maybe…no. You stalled here for long enough – you saw the Viking. You touched him. Tasted him. Father is probably looking for you.

You don’t even bother to say goodbye as you come out of the water – but König stops you right on the edge of the lake, firm hand on your shoulder. Squeezing. Touching. Feeling.

— I…I apologize, maiden. I lost control.

His voice is hesitant. You don’t like how unsure he sounds. It made you feel unsure too. Weird. Uncertain and meek.

— Are you going to leave soon?

He stops mumbling, looking into your eyes. This is settled – he is not leaving you here. You must return to your family, say your goodbyes. Maybe enjoy a few weeks of peace before his troupe finally gets a clearing on killing whatever enemies grouped at the border – and he will take you no matter the payment your ruler can give him. Nothing will be worth more than you.

— Yes. Yes, I will. You turn away, almost running. He didn’t stop you this time – you need to get as much freedom in your lungs as you can. He will take you eventually and, well…you best enjoy freedom as much as you could before this.

When your village will burn along with all the cousins, half-triple brothers, and elders, you’ll find out why most countries fear the Vikings. When you will be hauled to the wooden ship over a giant’s shoulder, with his hand sitting firmly on your ass and his other palm preventing you from screaming, you’d know why taking the attention of overseas mercenaries is a bad idea. When your ruler would refuse to pay the warriors for their service and force them to just take everything by force, you’d know why making payments on time is so important.

When König would finally make you his wife, you’d understand why you should have drowned in that lake instead.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #call of duty #cod x you #konig x you #konig cod #cod konig #yandere x you #yandere x reader

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yandere-3-sagau · 1 year

Note

Can I request SAGAU with reader coming into Teyvat but being very hush hush about it and they get a job at Wangshu inn or something but one day they end up cutting themselves and boom golden blood? Sorry if this is too specific

Don’t apologize, I love this idea!

I have so many ideas for this one ranging from crack to angst hskakdk

Let’s say that all the documents about the creator have vague descriptions so they aren’t too sure about your appearance. The only key signs of being the creator are golden blood and crystal like tears.

I hope you like it! I think this may be my first request ^.^

—

Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 1

Your arrival to Teyvat is sudden. One second you had fallen asleep at your desk after a long night. The next second you lift your head and you’re in a completely new environment.

Surrounded by greens and vegetables you note you’re on some sort of farm. You warily get off the ground, dusting off the dirt from your clothes. You look around hoping to figure out where and how you had ended up in this unfamiliar place.

However, what catches your eyes in the dimly lit farm, is a little glowing blue figure floating wispily.

A seelie?

Your heart drops and your eyes squint through the dark taking in more of your surroundings. Your eyes finally land on a large statue in the distance.

Your thoughts are confirmed as you drop to your knees, eyes locked on a Geo Statue of the Seven.

You’ve read the stories, you know what happens.

“Hello? Who is out there?” a shaky voice calls out. You want to get up and run but the shock kept you in place.

An old man makes his way over, holding a lantern over you. The light illuminates your worry-stricken face. Thoughts run wild in your head as the old man helps you into his home.

Not wanting to risk being chased by all these powerful characters thinking you’re an imposter, while also afraid of being confined by obsessive acolytes, you think it’s best that your arrival to Teyvat is kept a secret.

The farmer that found you, a widowed man with no offspring, decides to take you in. To avoid feeling like a burden, you help out the old man in anyway you can, starting with farming. As if the land is trying to show their love for you, the vegetables you plant grow absurdly quick. They grow larger than the farmer had ever seen before. Vegetables farmed by your hand come out with the perfect texture and consistency. To the farmer, you’re like an angel descended from the skies.

It isn’t long before the old farmer’s business booms with the best vegetables in the market. However, he’s become too old and it’s become too difficult for him to transport all of these vegetables from his isolated little home to the shops down in Liyue Harbor.

You volunteer to do it for him. It’s the least you could do in return for him letting you stay rent free. Despite your willingness, you still can’t fight the anxiousness that comes with traveling in Teyvat.

The first time you enter Liyue Harbor, your hands are so sweaty you nearly drop the boxes of vegetables you are holding. Staying the whole day to sell vegetables in Liyue Harbor means that you are exposed. But when you finally came across your favorite characters, you realize you worried for nothing.

You first meet the Traveler and Paimon. The exchange is simple. They buy a few of your vegetables then leave to Wanmin restaurant to use the stove to cook some meals.

Then you meet Xiao. One day, a group of Hilichurl’s almost attack you while you are transporting goods to Liyue Harbor. He quickly wipes them out while you hide behind the cart you are pushing. Xiao simply looks at you for no more than 5 seconds before disappearing.

After that, the worry of your face being recognized begins to fade. If it weren’t for your oddly golden blood, you would have forgotten that you’re the creator.

You become accustomed to living life in Teyvat. It is peaceful. No exams or deadlines. Such simple tasks done day by day. You spend one day farming and the next transporting vegetables. You sit at your little shop selling items before heading home and helping out the old man. It’s not super easy but it’s a lot less stressful than your life before.

Everyday you get to bask in the sunlight and enjoy fresh air while you admire the scenery you had only ever seen through a screen. You are content and happy.

Until one day you accidentally make the smallest mistake.

Xiangling is a regular of yours. Your vegetables are by far the best she’s ever had and you quickly become her source of ingredients for her dishes. She speaks so highly of you that Zhongli, one of the characters you fear most, decides to drop by your little shop.

His presence is intimidating with his golden eyes peering down at you and his tall stature towering over your little stall.

Despite his slightly domineering presence, his voice is as smooth and soothing as you remember it to be and you’re able to calm down enough to treat him like any of your other customers. You’ve already met many characters and none of them were able to recognize you. How could he be any different?

Except he’s not like the others.

He’s nearly 6000 years old. He’s seen things others haven’t and most importantly, he’s worshipped the existence of the creator far longer than any of the Liyue Citizens have been alive.

From the very beginning, he sensed that there was something different about you. Something familiar and oddly inviting. The former Geo Archon thought he knew everyone residing in Liyue but it’s his first time coming across you.

His eyes can’t help but follow your every move as you wrap up his box of vegetables. You finally finish tying up his box with some sturdy rope and grab a knife to cut off the long ends. Just as you’re cutting the rope, your hand slips.

The sharp knife slices shallowly into your opposite hand. Zhongli is only barely able to catch a glimpse of gold before you drop to the floor.

It isn’t the pain that’s brought you to your knees but the fear. You crouch over your hands, covering the wound as best as you can hoping with all your being that he hasn’t seen anything.

Both you and Zhongli can feel your hearts beating faster than ever before.

“Are you alright?”

The former Geo Archon attempts to walk over to the other side of the stall, when he hears the Traveler call his name. His attention wavers and it gives you just enough time to wipe your blood away and stuff the handkerchief into your pocket.

Zhongli glances at you amidst his conversation just to see you finish covering your wound with a bandage. Any trace of blood is gone and the wound is completely covered.

He walks away from the Traveler to speak with you. The geo archon’s eyes never once leave your hand as he stands in front of you.

“Is your wound alright?”

You nod waving your hand a little.

“Just a small wound,” you say, hoping he’d accept your answer and move on.

But he isn’t satisfied.

“Are you sure? It look like it hurt. It’s important to put some cream on it so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Of course! I’m a lot stronger than you think.” You smile before repeating his total. The Traveler ends up paying for the vegetables and the two leave, but not without Zhongli glancing a few more times at you.

When his figure completely fades, your smile drops.

It seems you’ve stayed a bit too long in Liyue.

Shaky hands clumsily pack up your stall as you race to close up the shop early and quickly head home before the Geo Archon decides to return.

While you rush, you don’t notice the small white handkerchief falling out of your pocket nor do you realize that the small piece of cloth would be the sole cause of the upcoming chaos that erupts throughout the nations of Teyvat.

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elaci · 4 days

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You spur Art onto a rougher persona in the bedroom, and in turn make Patrick a very jealous man.

cw; voyeurism, f receiving oral, public sex.

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

Art Donaldson is good with his tongue.

He speaks well, calls you nice things and praises your every action. You’ve learnt over the past month that he’s glad to have someone to coo over, someone who isn’t there to correct him but rather be connected to him— you sit and watch his games in supportive adoration rather than in scrutiny. He isn’t afraid to fuck up, isn’t afraid of your loss of attention, isn’t afraid of you. He thanks you for your companionship with his tongue; whether it's a sweet word rolled off the length of it, or a deep kiss in which he traverses your mouth with it, or a solid few hours spent lapping at your pussy like a thirst-driven man.

You thank him for his tongue with a memento to keep, a photo or three of his devotion to you. He keeps them in his bedside drawer, all titled differently, all of depraved things that should never see the light lest he wants to lose any chance at publicity.

Though some of the photos are sweet. There’s one in particular pinned to a posterboard in his dorm room, one you let him take of you after he had taken you out for food one night, your face messy with dinner and your grin wide at Art’s proposal of ice-cream for dessert. It’s a blurred photo, but he’s getting better at capturing you in the right light, he enjoys it, even. Some days you’ll return from class to find a new pack of film on your bed, Art almost more eager than you to fall subject to your artform.

He takes care of you, he’s sweet beyond belief. You aren’t dating, you don’t think so at least, but he treats you like his girlfriend— holds your hand as you walk through campus, holds your hand as you cum on his dick, holds your hand as you cuddle after the fact. He loves your hands, how they fit in his, and he loves your eyes too, and your voice and your ass and your—

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning, we can go eat before your match.”

Patrick’s voice is a little static through Art’s phone, especially with it being on loudspeaker. Art struggles to hear his friend through the phone that sits on his bedside table, he blames the shitty service he gets from his dorm room, but the fact that you’re sitting on his cock and biting at his ear might also be the cause of his hard hearing.

“Sorrywhatwasthat?” Art manages, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to focus on Patrick’s voice rather than the roll of your hips atop his and the feel of your hands on his chest and your tongue trailing across his jawline.

“I’m in Stanford tomorrow. For your match. Are you okay?” There’s a tone that laces his voice even through the static, Art can hear the growing smile on his lips.

“Yeah. Sorry, uh,” Art has to use both hands to hold you down on his cock to stop your incessant bouncing so he can think for a moment. “Shitty service.”

You frown against his neck, where you kiss languidly, and lean up a little to whisper lowly into his ear, “I want you to cum on my tits and take a photo.”

“Fuck,” Art bites his tongue only after the words spilt from his lips.

There’s silence, and then a sudden burst of laughter from the phone. “Are you jerking off right now?”

“No.”

“You are. You’re jerking off, I could fucking hear you.”

You grin, but Art cups a hand over your mouth before a word falls from your lips. He clears his throat and blinks a few times. “I’m not jerking off, Patrick, I’m just tired. I’ve been training all day.”

“It’s lunchtime, Art.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Art says, giving you a look as you dart your tongue out to lick the palm of his hand that covers your mouth. You try and roll your hips some more, find some friction you desperately need with Art’s cock, but all it does is make his grip on you tighten. With you still, he's able to focus on Patricks words and muster up something that resembles a conversation. "What time will you get here?"

"Early," you can hear Patrick shuffling around through the phone. "Do you know if Tashi's busy? We could meet for breakfast, make it a double date."

Art catches the furrow of your eyebrows and uncovers your mouth to lean forward and give you a kiss in lieu of the distraction your tongue is offering. You almost let yourself get lost in the kiss, you almost let your mind empty, but Patrick’s words ring in your ears and within a moment you’re turning your head and plucking Art’s phone from the bedside table.

“You’re dating Tashi Duncan?” You speak into the phone, very suddenly making your presence known. Art tries to grab at his phone, but you hold it away from him and frown at his attempts.

“You didn’t tell her?” Patrick speaks to Art rather than you, and you can imagine the dumbstruck look on his face.

Art takes a moment to look between you and his phone, silently debating whether he should try and reach for it again, but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he shrugs, sweat sticks his hair to his forehead— “It never came up. She’s been away for like… two weeks now.”

“Wow,” you and Patrick say in unison, though Patrick adds a ‘hi, by the way’ on to the end for good measure.

“Hi, Zweig,” you speak into the phone.

“Are you mad? Tashi is fine with me seeing other people if that’s—”

You cut him off with a laugh as Art's hands wrap around you and roam over the expanse of your back. “I’m not mad,” you say. “More like jealous: Tashi Duncan is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. I’d kill someone to know what she tastes like. God, the photos I could take…”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. You wonder if Patrick is blushing pink like Art is right now, lips curled into an almost relieved smile. You wonder what runs through their heads, whether they too are imagining the sight; Tashi Duncan in front of your lens, something angelic.

“Wait, are you two fucking right now?”

Art chokes out a laugh, forehead falling to rest on your shoulder as you grin, despite Patrick’s inability to see it. You had almost gotten so used to the feeling of cockwarming Art that it felt natural, like chasing a climax is unnecessary when you feel so full and whole just sitting on his cock.

“Yes, and I was close to finishing before you called, so thanks for that.”

You’re about to click Arts phone off and return to business when you hear a shuffle from the other end of the line, and then Patrick speaks. “Leave the phone on.”

A moment of contemplation, Arts eyes meeting yours. He shrugs, unopposed to letting his best friend listen in on your intimacies— the ball is in your court.

“No,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “You’re in time out, you should have told me about Tashi— bye!”

“Hey wait don’t—”

The line dies and Art’s phone is thrown haphazardly onto the bedside table. He smiles when you turn back to him, those pretty lips of his curled upwards in amusement at your ways.

“You’re evil,” he smiles into the kiss he gives you, sweet as always. “He’s probably rock hard and hating life.”

“Hope so,” you joke, leaning into Art and rolling your hips again, relighting the burning need in both of your chests. Art groans as you hold onto his shoulders, slide up on his cock and then push your weight back down. Your movements are halted, however, by Art’s hands on your waist.

“Wait,” his words are breathless. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Tashi. I didn’t want you to—”

“I’m not mad,” you roll your hips. "It's not like you're the one dating her, and I'd assume you aren't thinking about her rather than me right now—" you pause. "Unless you are doing that. Is that why you're apologi—”

“Jesus Christ no,” Art chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “It's just.... we had something last year, me and Patrick... with Tashi. Now it's just them."

"Oh," you raise your brows in curiosity. "Lucky you. So you have a habit of fucking the same girl then?"

Art rolls his eyes, catching on to your teasing tone. "We didn't fuck," he assures you. "We just... made out. We had a match the next day, Tashi gave her number to the winner."

You nod and hum quietly, biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing out loud. You can hear Art's stuttered laugh exhaling through his nose and almost break into laughter at the thought of his face losing a match with stakes like those. "I'm sorry," you cover your mouth with your hand to try and stifle your laughter. "I'm not laughing at you I just, that must have been the worst fucking day of your life."

Art laughs even harder than you do. "Don't rub it in, I'm over it."

"So you aren't in love with Tashi Duncan?"

Art shakes his head. He pauses, his laughter subsiding. "...No."

"She's hot, Art. Hot like the sun," you sing Tashi's praises. "Who wouldn't be infatuated? How could you resist her? She's sexy."

Art swallows, his grip on you tightens. There it is, that warmth in your chest, that tightening in your stomach. Art tries to hide his face, press a kiss to your shoulder, but you card your fingers through his hair and pull his gaze back to meet yours. "You're too sweet on me, Art. I'm hurt," you tease, watching as his eyes flit from yours to your lips, to your tits and rolling hips. You test the waters; "do you think Patrick is this sweet on Tashi?"

"What?" Art's eyebrows furrow, but you can feel his cock twitch inside of you at the image forming in his head.

"Patrick isn't a sweetheart," you shake your head. "I'd know. I think he fucks Tashi how he fucked me; mean. Mean and selfish. And I think she's worse in return."

Art bites back a moan, lets you start moving up and down on his cock again, closes his eyes, relishes in the thought. It makes him ache, that image in his mind, but he can see it so clearly: Patricks pace, the possessive grip he has, that way he groans when he's breathless and nearing the edge. Fuck, he can hear it, he can hear her, he can hear you.

"Do you think he fucks better knowing he has what you don't?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, your hips moving quicker. “That you lost?"

"Shh," Art whispers desperately. He starts to rock his hips up into you, "just shut up."

You grin, "you like this, don’t you? This jealousy. You like knowing that if you got the chance, you'd change her mind— I've never seen you like this."

"Well I am—" Art mumbles, pressing wet kisses to your throat, to your collarbone, "—with you, not her, not him."

"Are you with me?" you breathe, arching your back as Art continues to grind into you. "Where are you in that pretty head of yours? Here, or with them?"

He looks up, eyes hooded, and his expression is unreadable. It's like he's searching your eyes for the answer you want him to give you.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Art. You don’t have to pretend to only have eyes for me, Patrick fucks good and Tashi probably fucks better.”

"Fuck you," his words are sudden, less angry than desperate. He's wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you onto your back in just a second flat, pushing himself deep into you as presses your body into his innerspring mattress. He pushes forward and his thrusts are harsh, powerful and unforgiving. You gasp at the change of pace, but don't protest. You want this: the burning passion, the anger, the newfound pulsing in your cunt as Art drills into you. The heat of him is intoxicating, and it feels almost foreign at this pace. Like a new sensation and a forbidden thrill: it fills your whole body, every single vein, every single cell, every single inch of skin until there's nothing left behind but Art. His name on your lips and his sweat on your skin, his body heavy atop you. All encompassing, all consuming.

You're not sure if it's him or you who comes first, but Art is ordering his name from your lips like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth, to reality. He fucks you senseless, near bruises your cervix with the way his hips snap into yours even through your shared orgasms. Still, though, through the heavy-weighted feelings and sinful fantasies you share, Art takes your hand in his and holds it tight as you come undone. He may be acting like Patrick, but he's far from.

He stays seated deep inside of you once the waves of ecstasy wash away from the two of you, his chest heaving against your own. He doesn't move his hand from yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the side of your knuckles as he catches his breath.

"God, Art," you mutter, running a finger down his spine with your free hand. "I need to poke at your jealous side more often."

Art snorts, briefly into your eyes. "You want me to think of other people as I fuck you? Cuck."

"Cuck?" you parrot, smirking. You tilt your head towards him and lick your lips with interest before kissing him. The kiss is fleeting and chaste, yet still somehow filled with everything you've felt since he pulled your legs around his waist and buried his throbbing cock into you. "I'm not the cuck," you breathe against his lips. "Patrick is."

"What do you mean?" Art presses an unknowing kiss to the corner of your lips. You laugh breathily as he slides out of you gently, allowing your thighs to fall off from his hips. You hold his gaze still, the ghost of mischief pulling at the corners of your lips, and Art slowly puts the pieces together in his head. His eyes snap to his phone on the bedside table, screen still lit; ONGOING CALL.

"You hung up though?" Art scrambles to grab his phone and hold it to his ear. He's met with songs of Patrick's laughter, along with the sound of rustling clothes as he moves. "Patrick? Seriously? Did you jerk off to that?"

"What makes you think that?" Patrick replies through the phone, voice breathy and husky, the low timbre sending shivers down Art's spine despite his embarrassment. "I'm not a perv."

Art has to bite his lip to stop laughter from breaking out of his chest. "You absolutely are a fucking perv."

"Sorry, what was that? I thought I heard you say 'Patrick, I just came to the thought of fucking my girl as good as you fuck yours', my mistake."

"I took him off speaker," you loll your head to the side, watching him for any signs of genuine anger. Besides the pink tint to his cheeks, something tells you that he's enjoying this, maybe the fact that his cock is already growing hard again. You can feel a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips when Art gives you a look of hushed approval.

"Goodbye Patrick," he speaks sternly into the phone, and then hangs up before his friend can beg to bear witness to round two. Art sighs, looks at you for a moment and then grins, "you're evil."

You shrug, biting your lip to try and contain yourself. You push some of your hair from your face and watch Art turn to rummage around next to the bed. You wonder for a moment if he's actually mad, if you've crossed a line you didn't know existed, but a sudden flash cures your racing mind. Art is smiling, your camera in hand as he looks at the image he had just taken.

"Hey that's my good camera," you huff as he tosses your Canon onto the mattress next to you.

"I know," Art grunts a little as he lowers himself to his knees between your legs. "I want him to know I've tasted more of you, and you can't email Polaroids.”

"But—"

Art bites the inside of your thigh, hard. "Shut up and take your photos, baby.”

SIX YEARS LATER

"I'm sorry, but we've decided to go with Rikki. We saw the shots she took for the Donaldsons’ wedding and just fell in love; have you seen them? Such a photogenic couple, we're hoping Rikki will capture us half as well."

You don't realise there's a sour look on your face until the couple standing in front of you both frown. Their faces match each other, but not in a cute married-couple sense: they look like siblings. The same nose, the same boring eyes and shit-smearing obsession with the fucking Donaldson's and their stupid fucking destination wedding shoot you've flicked through thirty times in the last two days.

"So I drove an hour to get fired," you say, rather than ask.

The wife, who wears a frilly top with so many sequins stuck onto the hem that they're starting to fall off in patches, nods. "Oh honey," she pouts. "Don't be sad! You aren't even a wedding photographer, are you? You wouldn't understand how exciting these things can be!" She grabs her fiancé by the elbow. "Right, darling?"

Her fiancé replies in a grunt of agreement, though you doubt he had much say (or interest) in who takes the photos as long as they can get the right angles to slim him down a bit. You try not to roll your eyes, fingers drumming on the café table that separates you and the soon-to-be-weds.

"So have you seen them?" The woman looks giddy, smiling at you from across the table.

"Seen what?" You ask, watching as she pulls her phone from her pocket and starts tapping on its screen.

"The Donaldson's wedding photos, John and I are huge tennis fans, I don't know if you know of them? Gorgeous couple, If I were a few years younger I'd be fishing to be their third!" She lets out a loud cackle at her own statement and slides her phone across the table for you to see, there on her screen, a gorgeous wide shot of the wedding party. In the middle, surrounded by groomsmen and bridesmaids you've never seen before, Tashi and Art kiss. Husband and wife, till death or retirement do they part.

You look up from the photo to look into the woman's eyes. "Never heard of them," you shrug. "Should I have?"

"I'm telling you, dear," she swoons. "Tennis players are something else."

God forbid you show her something else these tennis players have featured in.

Your phone rings before you can let your tongue get you in trouble, and though you thank god for the interruption, you’re less enthused when you see who’s calling. Still, a way out is a way out, you’re apologising for ‘simply having to take this’ and ducking out of the café, camera bag in tow, in less than a minute.

The outside air is good for your lungs and sullen skin— you take a moment to breathe before sliding the answer button over on your phone and holding it to your ear. You don’t say a word, and instead wait for the poor excuse that could warrant calling you.

“Look, I didn’t mean what I said in the email, shit still just stings, alright? I was second favourite to Art for a long time back then.”

Patrick Zweig gets straight to the point, always has, and you aren’t sure if you like that about him. A ‘hey, how are you? I miss you,’ isn’t the worst thing to hear when you’ve just lost a job and been reminded of your college woes.

“I told you not to call me,” you say, glancing back into the café to see the couple packing up to leave. “I was with clients.”

“Right, sorry,” Patrick says, though he sounds more rushed than apologetic. “How’d that go?”

You almost laugh. “They’re laying me off in favour of Rikki Leanne.”

“Who?”

“She was Art and Tashi’s wedding photographer, they saw the photos and ‘fell in love’—absolutely had to go with her, or something.”

There’s a pause, Patrick probably hadn’t expected you to speak so lax about Art and Tashi after all this time. Though if he’s surprised, or upset, he doesn’t show it in his voice— “so you’re free for a job then?”

“What?”

“I’m wanting some photos taken, you can stay here if you want, I can pay you in dinner and good booze.”

You frown and parrot a line from an email he sent the other day. The first one had been normal, though of course laden with cocky callbacks to the days you’d photograph him in exchange for an orgasm or three, but as you talked back and forth the emails had moved from reconnecting to remembering the fallout between the four of you. “Sometimes I wonder if you did what you did because you thought taking tennis from us would level the playing field.”

Your words are cold, though they were his first— you speak verbatim from an email he sent at four in the morning, littered with typos and missing words.

“I’m an idiot, I know,” Patrick says. “I didn’t mean it. Well actually yes I did, at the time— but I’m trying to make up for it now, okay? Look, I’m sorry if I made you feel guilty for what happ—“

“I didn’t do it, Patrick. I’ve told you, I told Art, I told Tashi— it wasn’t me.” Your voice catches and you swallow. “It happened, but it wasn’t me and I won’t take the blame for it.”

“Okay, okay.” He breathes out, and his tone softens a little. “Just… tell me you’ll come and see me.”

“I can’t, Patrick, it’s been six years.”

“Yeah but—”

You shake your head and interrupt. “No, listen, I’m busy. I’ve got work, a life, I’ve changed too much for you to even think about trying to get me back in your bed.”

Patrick laughs. “I never said anything about fucking you, I think that’s more on your mind than mine… maybe you haven’t changed that much.”

A smile plays on your lips despite yourself. “Maybe not,” you admit.

There’s a rustle on the other end, and then a sigh. “Come see me,” his tone is softer this time. “Please.”

You hesitate. “I… Alright, fine, I will.”

“Cool, cool, good, I’ll text you my address,” there’s a moment of silence, long enough for the words to start to sink in and the idea to become solid. “Hey,” he adds on, “it’ll be fun.”

No ‘I missed you’, no ‘I’m sorry’, nothing. Just fun. That’s all you’ll ever know from Patrick Zweig— fun, you guess. Still, though, despite the growing pit in your chest, there’s something pulling you to oblige. A fresh start, maybe, or a glimpse back to when life was exciting.

“Alright,” you reply, falling right back into the same circuit that ate your college experience. “It’ll be fun.”

SIX YEARS EARLIER

Four prints sit side-by-side on a table in the photography lab in front of you. You like the shots, all of Art, your newest muse, on the tennis courts. You wonder if sports photography is your new niche, or you just enjoy capturing the beauty of Art Donaldson doing what he loves. Though no matter how nice the photos came out, they’re still the reason you’re missing breakfast with Art and Patrick.

You’d have liked to be stuck between them at a breakfast table.

You remain alone, however, with photographs for company and a dull ache in your thighs from Arts second and third turn at you the day before, you spent the late afternoon sleeping off your exhaustion in his arms and missed your chance at finishing your photos then. The lab is cold and you regret wearing a short skirt, the fluorescent lights hanging overhead do nothing to warm you as you pick up and examine each image carefully, checking for blemishes or smudges you might have missed before printing them out. The clock above the door reads nine twenty-four, Art's game starts at ten, so you need to hurry and finish up if you want to find Patrick and a seat before it begins.

You're just reaching for a peg, ready to pin up your first photo, when you notice a movement at the edge of your vision. At the sound of footsteps behind you, you spin around quickly— just to find yourself pinned to the steel table where your photographs sit. Two strong arms and an all-too-familiar smile keep you in place; you can't help but stare, mouth parted while those sinful eyes of his bore into yours. Patrick Zweig.

"Jesus, I didn't hear you," you breathe out, your cheeks hot. You try to move back— away from him— only to bump into the tables' edge with your lower back. The photos of Art shift as the table rattles. "Where's Art?" You glance down at the hand Patrick places on your hip, riding your shirt up enough to rub circles onto the skin of your torso.

"Do you care?" Patrick leans down, presses his lips to your ear, sending shivers across your neck and through your body. "You should," he adds huskily. "He won't forgive me."

You exhale something similar to soft laughter, unable to fight against the way he pulls your hips forward, into his. "Forgive you for what?"

"Getting you alone, you're his. He lets me play with you on his terms, right? I fucked you facing him, I came twice listening to him ruin you, then a third time to those fucking photos; lights camera action, really?”

You laugh, "he came up with that, and I'm not his anything. If he wants to own me, he can ask first. Plus, he's probably fucked you too, right?"

Patrick shakes his head, and thumbs the hem of your skirt, traipsing his fingers up your bite-and-bruise ridden legs.

"Well then he wants to," you laugh, and then near scream as suddenly, Patrick dips down and grabs the back of your thighs to lift you up onto the photography lab table. Your head nearly hits a light and the cold stainless steel jars against your bare thighs, skirt hiked up around your waist and panties promptly pushed to the side. You kick your legs in protest, but the hold Patrick has on you keeps you from putting any distance between him and you. Patrick stands between your parted thighs, your feet dangling freely off the table— one of his hands on your thigh, the other on the tabletop. He takes one of your photos between his fingers, one of Art hitting a ball, and clicks his tongue at the sight.

"I forgot you take normal photos, too. I bet that shot isn't going to sell as well as your others would." His thumb caresses your skin, stroking over the bitemarks along your inner thighs until the pressure becomes near unbearable. You share a breath, his face moving in close to yours as you rebut.

"Lucky for both of you, I take those pictures for pleasure, not business."

"You don't have any shame," he says, smirking. A finger traces over another bruise that was just visible under your skirt. "You really deserve to suffer, but you told Art yesterday that I'm not sweet."

"You aren't," you scoff, "I think you're an asshole."

The corners of his lips quirk up at that. "And yet here you are."

"I never said I didn't like it," you tease, and press your lips together when his fingers swipe through the folds of your exposed pussy; from entrance to clit and back again.

"I can be sweet," Patrick insists, dipping two fingers further into your heat and watching you take a lip between your teeth in response. "As sweet as you taste."

His words make you smile. "Patrick, you're this close to letting me fuck myself on your fingers and you haven't even kissed me yet: you're not sweet."

He looks momentarily discomfited by your honesty, then shrugs. "Okay, maybe I'm not, open your mouth."

You oblige, and Patrick pulls his fingers from between your legs. Your hips buck up at the loss of contact, which makes Patrick laugh as he takes the back of your neck in one hand and presses his two fingers, slick with your lust, against your tongue. You wrap your lips around the length of his fingers and suck, tasting yourself on him, and for a moment wondering whether you’d taste the same licked from the length of his cock instead.

Patrick slides his fingers from your mouth and uses that hand to cup the side of your face, his fingers wet against your cheek; you make a face in turn. He stops, though, and opts to hold your face for a moment. His voice is unusually soft when he speaks, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I don’t want you to think I’m only interested in sex with you,” he says, words a door to that soul of his you’ve never seen.

“Aren’t you?”

Patrick Zweig shakes his head, unable to find the words to convey a simple ‘no’. Instead, your question is answered with a slow and tender kiss to your lips, a sweetness to the way his mouth melts against yours. Like you’re the sun, or the water in which he strides under the sun for a drink of, or the holy ground on which he walks.

He kisses you like Art does, who had spent the day prior kissing you how Patrick normally would. They melt into each other, personas shifted in an attempt to fulfil your aches and yearnings. You wonder if they realise that two is, in fact, better than one.

“I don’t want you to be Art,” you speak against his lips. “You can play sweet all you want, Art can play rough, I like the switch, but you play better together than apart.”

Patrick bites at your bottom lip. “Are we talking about tennis?”

You laugh in response, take Patrick’s wrist and redirect it back between your heated thighs. “I’m never talking about tennis.”

It’s like his knees bend at your very words. Patrick is dipping his head down between your legs instantaneously, spurred on by the hand you snake into his curls. One of his fingers slips deep into your cunt, and you almost scream. Almost. It takes effort not to curse Patrick out for his pace when the next finger pushes into you— slowly and purposefully.

He latches hips lips around your clit in apology, though, tongue teasing the sensitive nerves as he pumps his fingers into you, a rhythm forming in tandem with the ministrations of his mouth. He’s good at it, you wonder how often he goes down on Tashi, probably not nearly enough for how reverently that girl should be worshipped by tongue and touch. And yet, you find yourself growing more aroused despite the thought of him pleasing anyone but you.

It’s then, when he’s working inside you, fingers pressing at your swollen walls, that you finally lose your composure. You grip the edge of the table, knuckles tense as your hips move faster, bucking against Patrick’s mouth, desperate for more of him. He looks up at you, pretty eyes locked onto yours as his tongue moves in circles around your clit. His long fingers curl upwards inside of you, stroking your wet walls with a practiced ease. You reach down to brush his hair away from his forehead before grabbing fistfuls of it and urging him closer— you can feel him smiling against your clit as he complies. With each stroke, with every sound his lips make, you feel more and more undone. You’re close. So close.

“God,” you breathe. “Please—”

You fall silent when a wave of intense pleasure surges throughout your entire body when Patrick quickens his pace even more. Your vision gets blurry, and soon tears spring into your eyes— they pool in your lashes, stain your cheeks as they fall— and you’re lost, consumed by him and every tormenting movement he makes. Patrick’s thrusts become harsher as you begin shaking, and you cry out, the last part of your restraint leaving you as you come against Patrick’s mouth. A shudder runs throughout your whole body when his fingers leave you and you watch him bring them to his own mouth to clean off like it’s nothing but an afterthought.

Patrick stands, his hands on either side of you now, and leans down to capture your lips in his. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, licking at your lips until you open for him, welcoming his entry and savouring the sensations running rampant through your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, you fall victim to his faux sweetness once more, until he’s pulling down his shorts and pumping his hard length with his hand. His kisses leave your mouth and travel down the expanse of your neck, biting and sucking and swirling his tongue over the marks left behind by his best friend.

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes against your skin. His voice sounds so breathless, so wrecked, that it sends a shiver down your spine. Maybe you would have given in, let him fuck you regardless, but when your eyes open, they catch sight of the clock above the door— 9;57.

“Fuck,” you scramble to push at Patrick’s shoulder, “Arts game, it starts in three minutes.”

He groans. “Shit,” you can tell he’s debating missing it entirely, making up some stupid excuse Art won’t believe so he can fuck you here and now. You shake your head before he can vocalise said idea, and he groans again. “Okay, okay.”

He’s taking a step back, pulling his shorts up and tucking his boner into his waistband as he watches you push yourself, albeit shakily, onto your feet.

“You gonna make it?” he asks, a wicked smirk gracing his features.

“Shut up,” you flatten out your skirt and give him a stern look. “Get moving.”

He doesn’t reply, simply gives a mocking bow, and turns on his heels towards the door to the lab. You take an extra moment to wipe down the lab table you just came on, because you aren’t a heathen, and follow Patrick with weak legs.

You’re taking your seats under the bleating sun as Art steps onto the court. He scans the audience for you, and smiles widely when he lays eyes on you, sitting in the back row of seats far enough from anyone else to consider yourselves alone. You don’t have your camera with you, as far as Art can tell, but he chalks it up to you wanting to enjoy the match and shrugs, stretching a few times and testing the racket in his hand.

You sit, uncomfortably needy, on the hot plastic chair as Patrick readjusts himself endlessly besides you. It makes you smile, the constant shuffling to find a position that soothes the strain of his hard cock against his shorts, though his face is contorted and you almost feel bad. He had been sweet, after all.

Art serves, a tall ginger playing against him that you really don’t pay attention to. You’re secluded, and everyone in the crowd has eyes glued on your Art Donaldson. You watch heads turn with each hit of the ball, and as Art scores his first point, your hand reaches down to palm Patrick through the thin fabric of his shorts.

Patrick’s head snaps to yours. He’s never one to shy away from a public endeavour or two, but anyone could turn their head to find your hand slipping past his waistband and toying inside of his pants.

“The fuck are you doing?” he near hisses as you squeeze at his cock.

“Shut up,” you cross one leg over the other and settle into your seat, circling your thumb over his aching tip before stroking him down to the base. “Just watch Art’s game, be a good friend.”

Who is Patrick to argue? He has to bring a hand to his mouth, act as if he’s dutifully interested in the match at hand as he bites down on his own skin, revelling in the languid pace you stroke him at. It’s ruinous, what you’re doing to him, and the fact that with each hit of the ball Art whines in a way much akin to what he heard over the phone last night, doesn’t help much at all.

With each point Art takes, you speed up. Patrick hopes the sun is enough to justify the sweat beading at his forehead, though he’s not so concerned when the feeling of your hand, wet now with his precum, is so tight around his cock that he can’t think straight. He bucks his hips up a little, coughing to hide a strangled moan as he watches his best friend on the court.

Art plays well as always, lean and flexible and at home on the court. Patrick thinks he can see it, that look of adoration in his eyes as he plays, as he scores again— one more to win the game. You speed up again, and lean over just enough to speak lowly into his ear. You whisper obscenities only just loud enough for him to pick up on, filth spills from your lips and goes straight to his pulsing cock. The audience collectively readies themselves for celebration as Art hits the ball with such force his opponent misses it by a long shot.

Everyone cheers, Art raises his arms in celebration and revels in his win. His eyes lock back onto yours, sporting the widest grin that you can’t help but return tenfold— though his eyes drift a little to the left, and he’s met with the stomach-tightening sweet sight of Patrick Zweig cumming in his fucking pants.

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

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punkpandapatrixk · 1 month

Text

💓The Greatest Romance of Your Life! ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

You know you’re destined to be with your Soulmate; deep in your Soul you know there’s something beautiful already written in the stars for you and your Divine Lover★

What’s the story? What’s the drama? How will they pursue you? Aaaah! This One who will love you completely and sweetly and only! ♥︎

SONG: ohhh! by Chara

A WHOLE DREAMY VIBE: The Best of Piero Piccioni

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – That Handsome Gentle Soul

VIBE: Emily in Paris (just S1!)

your options? – 2 of Pentacles

Oh! You’re such a tease and you have many admirers, I can tell XD By the time events in your Life are leading you to a union with your Destined One, you will have quite a bit of options, and actually, you’re weighing at least two people in this scenario. Under normal circumstances, you’d consider yourself a person of traditional values. You always think to yourself that you’re a simple and straightforward person with very ‘normal’ desires.

You want the house, the security and stability, and all those ‘normal things’ that come with a marriage. It’s all understandably expected. You’ve always thought to yourself, ‘I want what is normally expected.’ People have rules in society and it is best to keep to what’s already within the guidelines. You’ll be ruminating these values and gains a lot during this time of your Life.

No matter your actual age at this time, psychologically speaking, you’d want to choose the person who seems more stable and wealthier. It sounds like such a no-brainer; but you’re finding yourself ruminating this shit to no end. And you’d wish things could be a lot simpler; after all, aren’t you simple? Oh, as it turns out, you’re really not all that simple—especially since meeting this other fucker who’s lighted up your horizon~

decisions, decisions, decisions – 10 of Cups Rx

In the beginning, you may not immediately realise that this person we’re talking about is your Destined One. By that time in your Life, you could’ve forgotten all about this reading hahah And you’d be so preoccupied with Life’s more pragmatic duties. By this time, half of you could either be in your late 20s or early 30s, being asked endlessly why you’re not married yet; another half of you could be in your early 50s and simply wanting things to settle and get ‘normal’ in your Life.

The thing is, your Higher Self has arranged for you to meet a Soulmate, a Divine Lover who will actually show you how not normal you are if you were honest with yourself LMAO This person on the outside is actually what you are on the inside if you let yourself be. This Destined One is unorthodox, they are weird in a way that suits your tastes and they somehow align with your values! You’re crazy attracted to this about them, but at some point, you will pull away from them because you’re afraid!

You’re afraid this person will pull you away from everything that’s normal and expected of you. But are you really the type of person who regards a matrimony that highly? Seriously? If you’re honest? This person will show you that they, too, don’t particularly care about the expectations of a marriage. They will show you that they care more about the love and romance and all those sweet feelings that come with being actually in love with someone you adore. No riches in the world can substitute the happiness of holding someone you love in your arms~ With this person, you understand that <3

your True Love?! – 5 of Wands Rx

The biggest reason you will pull away from your Destined One is that you’re afraid of fucking things up with this wonderful person who seems like such a grand prize. Rather than facing the reality of losing this person’s favour out of your own fucking things up, you’d rather never be with them in the first place. And that’s such a sad thing because your Destined One would never think of such things about you!

Out of all the options you could be having at this phase of your Life, you will recognise that your one and only true love is somebody who doesn’t make you feel pressured towards making a decision. I’m getting that your Destined One is very gentle and peaceful, and they’re really understanding of the kinds of negative thoughts that often encircle your mind. If anything, your Destined One will want to erase those scary thoughts from your mind. They want to put you at ease~

They’re not weak or shy though. If anything, your Destined Person is quite shameless and they will want to win you over LMAO But they won’t be forceful or pushy. They’re respectful of your boundaries. They will only continue to come forward with Love, and Love, and just Love—they do worry about you tho ;P So, occasionally you will be able to see their ‘cute side’ when they scold you because they’ve been worried sick!

FIRST KISS🔻💛

feelings pouring sweet~ – Red Magus (Edward Kelly)

the meaning of it all? – Priestess of Beauty

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Ahhh, You Know You Like Being Swallowed Whole~ ;P

VIBE: Green Snake (1993)

your options? – 5 of Swords Rx

At first glance, it feels to me you won’t be dealing with too many options during this time of your Life where you’re being led to a union with your Destined One; but it isn’t because you don’t have many eyes vying for your hand in marriage, nooo far from it; you, just already know who you’re gonna allow to make a move on you ;P You just already know who you want to be with! ★ And it seems to me you’re the one who’s gonna do the pursuing ;P

If you’re a feminine aenergy attracted to a masculine aenergy, you’re going to lead them on. Basically, from the moment you fell for your Destined One, they’re already in the palm of your hand. I reckon you’re the one who’s gonna recognise who your Destined Person is, and it’s all because you’re a highly spiritual entity. And honestly, you’ve been through quite a lot of shit and you’ve experienced quite a bit how other people’s negative resonance brought down your protective barriers in the past.

You don’t want to entertain low-vibing suitors anymore. You can’t stand the idea of your Life being turned upside down ugly by people whose hearts are UGLY AF. You’ve got no time for any of that. You want your Destined Person and you’ll do anything in your power to make this person fall in love with you <3 I sense a majority of you choosing this pile actually identify as a masculine aenergy attracted to a feminine aenergy regardless of your gender, which makes a lot of sense XD

decisions, decisions, decisions – Knight of Swords

In the past, you’ve dealt with people who are all over you because you’re attractive as fuck. Maybe they wanted your money, status, whatever. You’re a grand prize, you know. People would be so lucky to call you their own. And you got fucking pissed with being seen as a trophy boyfriend/girlfriend—as if you haven’t got your own personality or other achievements. How about your heart and dreams and Love, right? And you know that most people don’t value you for these things. They value you for the things that, to you, don’t matter at all!

By the time the Universe is arranging for you to be in a divine union with your spiritual Soulmate, you’ll have been single for quite a significant time. You’ve shielded yourself from cheap romances. Are you a sigma? LOL You’re honestly not even that interested in people to begin with. Most of the time, you like your own company and keep to yourself a lot. You’ll have been elusive for a number of years before you meet your Destined Person by chance~ This could be a work/professional setting but you’ll still feel like it’s a destined chance meeting hahah

The moment you catch a glimpse of your Destined Person, you feel something electrifying and know immediately this person is special—different from the rest and that you need to figure them out. Perhaps by your second or third meeting, something in you has made it clear to your conscious mind that this is The One. If you’re the masculine in this situation, it’s pretty obvious you’re going to charm them so that they open their heart to you ♡ If you’re a feminine in this situation, you’re going to tease them a lot until they know it’s perfectly alright for them as a masculine to charm you LMAO

your True Love?! – 7 of Cups

So it’s interesting to see a card of a plethora of choices after all that’s said and done. As mentioned before, you’re an attractive high-quality person who’s lusted over by many undeserving asses, and I’m getting mostly this vibe, that when you’re about to make it official with your Destined Person, there’s gonna come a negative force to try and ruin your chances. For many of you this could be anything, really, but for some of you this could be an ex, or basically someone you used to be quite close to, coming back into your Life in the hopes of winning you over. Or worse—even if they know they can’t win you over, they’re still gonna come over to taunt your Destined Person out of jealousy! OMG

If this ‘trying force’ doesn’t come from your end, this could also come from your Destined Person’s end. After all, your Destined Person is ALSO popular and a lot of people are gonna hate on you for being so close to them hahah So, you and your one True Love are gonna be viewed as that power couple and before you come together there will be forces that try and separate you. It's very likely there is a time you become quite distant from each other because of all these negative intents from your environment.

You’ve got people lining up to become your spouse and each one of them could become uncontrollably jealous when you proclaim a relationship with your Destined One XD Oh, you heartbreaker~ And in the case of an ex, or a very close ex-friend who used to harbour feelings and hopes for you, this person could well break your Destined Person’s heart and make them cry. They might even try and do something very evil to your Destined Person just to hurt YOU! This, is your lesson from the Universe to decide how you’re going to protect the one and only person you say you love~

FIRST KISS🔻💜

feelings pouring sweet~ – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

the meaning of it all? – Priestess of Magick

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – This the One Who’ll Sacrifice Anything for You

VIBE: Titanic (1997)

your options? – Page of Wands Rx

During this time when the Universe is arranging for you to be with your Destined Person, very strange and complex situations are happening in your Life. First, it’s possible you’re already steady/engaged/married to someone else, and this is why it seems you’re not dealing with a variety of romantic options. Two, it could just be that you’re totally NOT opening yourself up to the prospect of a relationship or even a marriage HAHAH

By this point in your Life, if you have friends or are in the public eye, it’ll have been quite obvious to everybody that you’re not the marrying type. For whatever reason, you’re quite sceptical—even cynical—about this whole notion of a relationship or a matrimony. Either you’re tired or afraid of being bound by a loveless contract. You’ve seen how people switch up and betray their spouses. You’ve heard plenty of cheating couples and broken trusts. Ain’t nobody got time to open up to horrendous crimes like that!

To everybody else, you’re an elusive siren who lives in your own world of make-believe, which annoyingly only makes you even more sought-after. At this point in your Life, you appear to the world as some sort of a rare catch and people will be sneakily trying to woo you, to win you over, because that would make them look cool. Many courageous (or should we say reckless?) warriors will attempt to break your icy castle and die in vain, never realising the whole time you were wishing for a King!☆

decisions, decisions, decisions – 10 of Pentacles

To say that you ‘don’t want to be married’ is actually quite a contrarian thing. Deep in your Soul, you want to have a wholesome, a complete and harmonious relationship with a Kingly character. You want something real that most people don’t even know how to give—because most people are shallow and infantile and so poor in character… These peasants… Sigh, they bore you to death. They disappoint to no end. But then, one day…

By some miraculous encounter you bump into your Destined One. Some miraculous encounter that wouldn’t have happened at all if some curiously specific events did not stack up a certain way. It is by Divine Design that you meet at all on that very day. That very moment you see this person, your heart jump and a voice in you exclaim, ‘Husband??’ or ‘Wife??’

Of course that’s super strange that a voice within you would say that at all. You might find it cringe or think you’ve lost all your marbles completely. ‘I think I’m delusional because I’ve been lonesome for a while…’ But soon after, you really wake up to the realisation that the Universe has sent you a pretty gift in the form of a Human who’s the perfect match for you. This person is THE IDEAL, the moment, the archetype, the everything you’ve ever dreamt a true love—your true love—would be~

your True Love?! – King of Wands

The complete package. This Destined Person, is literally YOU in a different form. They may not be perfect for any other person, but for you, all your fingers fit each other perfectly. Mind you, your Destined Person is very attractive in spite of all their flaws, so it’s not like there isn’t any competition here XP Your Destined Person is definitely somebody who turns heads when they enter a room. Even the parking lot is their runway!

This person commands respect, indeed they exude a very Kingly aenergy. They are charisma personified—very giving, honourable, even sacrificial. Your Destined Person is somebody who truly understands what it means to give back to the community. A true King who gains respect for the service he has given to his people. A King like this is truly loved and revered instead of feared. That’s the kind of aenergy your Destined Person operates with.

You will be very happy with this person. You know that, thus the exclamation upon seeing them! In spite of your apprehensions about marriage, when your King proposes, when they claim you as their Queen (LOL), you simply simply simply curiously intuitively know you’re gonna be taken care of~ And that’s such a nice feeling to have to finally feel safe with someone who truly cares for your wellbeing. Someone whom you know, at all times, will make big sacrifices just to put a smile on your face ♥︎

FIRST KISS🔻🧡

feelings pouring sweet~ – Silver Astrologer (John Dee)

the meaning of it all? – Priestess of Energy

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

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