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vroomvro0mferrari · 1 month ago

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LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 4

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 4.1K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuation, cursing and my lack of golf knowledge

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Part 5

Y/N groaned when she woke up, her head already throbbing with a pounding headache.

“Good morning!” Lando said cheerfully from beside her.

“Shut up,” she muttered, pulling the comforter over her face to block him out.

Lando laughed at her. “Sounds like you had a good time last night.”

“No, I didn’t. Because you guys had to pull me away before the fun could start.”

She buried her head deeper into the pillow and sighed. “I’m comfortable,” she said, her voice muffled.

“Okay, well, I’m going down for breakfast. Don’t stay in bed too long or you’ll miss it. There’s water and aspirin on the bedside table.”

Y/N hummed in response, drifting asleep again before Lando had even left the room for breakfast. When he reached the hotel restaurant, he spotted Max already sitting at a table, scrolling through his phone as he waited. Lando slid into the seat across from him.

“Good morning,” Lando said.

“Hey, morning,” Max responded, looking up from his phone at the new voice.

They got their breakfast and talked about their plans for the day. At the lack of female presence, they decided on something they would enjoy very much, but the girls maybe a little less; golfing. Max heard there was a good course nearby, and wanted to try it out, and Lando was not about to protest.

“Where’s P?” Lando asked after a while.

“You’ve only noticed now that she’s not here?” Lando rolled his eyes. “She’s sleeping in. She had quite a bit to drink last night. Not as much as my sister, though. Speaking of her, how’s she?”

“She’s okay, I think. Definitely hungover and very tired.”

Max laughed. “Didn’t expect anything different, to be honest.”

“You were pretty touchy last night, weren’t you?” He continued.

“What?” Lando asked, surprised at the direct and unexpected question.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you when you were guiding her out of the club; you were all over her. And P told me you couldn’t keep your hands off her yesterday while you two were alone. The day before that too, apparently, she was holding your hand, you said? And the arm on her chair at dinner?”

Lando was in shock. Usually, Max didn’t notice anything that happened between him and Y/N, but this time he had seen, or heard about, whatever was going on between the two. Of course, Pietra had something to do with it, Max was too thick to realise it himself. Although he had touched her more than usual, maybe he wasn’t as subtle as he thought.

“Uhm—”

“You like her don’t you?”

Lando nearly choked on his tea at the blunt question, landing himself in a choking fit. “Uh, yeah, I suppose you could say that. Look, I don’t want—”

“It’s okay, man. I trust you, You’ve got my blessing. I think you’ll be good for each other, you’ll just have to convince her of it first,” Max said, laughing at the image forming in his head.

Lando blinked in disbelief, not really believing he got Max’s permission. It wouldn’t make a difference, but it was good to know their friendship wouldn’t be ruined. “Thanks, man,” he said, before joining in his laughter. “Convincing her though,” he breathed in sharply, “yeah, that’s going to be tough.”

– – – – –

Y/N shot up in bed when she heard the door of her room close loudly, rubbing her eyes tiredly at the abrupt end to her sleep.

“You awake?” Lando asked.

She hummed, moving herself into a more comfortable sitting position as she watched Lando enter the room. “What’s that?” she asked, hinting at the covered plate in his hands.

“I brought you some food, you missed breakfast.”

“Oh, thanks,” she mumbled, accepting the plate from him.

“You didn’t drink your water yet?”

“Hm?”

“The water? On the bedside table?” He clarified.

“Oh, I didn’t see it, I fell asleep again.”

“Don’t forget to take the aspirin. We’re going out in a bit,” he told her as he walked around the room.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked before biting into one of the strawberries.

“Golfing,” Lando answered from the bathroom. He could hear her groan of annoyance through the wall.

“That’s what you get when you miss breakfast; the men get to decide.”

Y/N scoffed. “Very daring, calling yourself a man.”

“Excuse me?” Lando said in fake offence.

“You heard me.”

“Now, don’t forget who brought you breakfast, water and aspirin. I can’t believe I went through all that trouble, and this is the thanks I get,” Lando said, shaking his head in disappointment.

Y/N shrugged, a small, satisfied grin on her face when they made eye contact. She got up from the bed not much later. “I’m going to shower,” she announced, quickly grabbing her stuff before disappearing into the bathroom.

She took her time in the shower, giving Lando a moment to get changed into his so-called ‘golf clothes’ before she returned. Her jaw was slack in surprise when she saw him; if these were golf clothes then she needed to go golfing more often. He looked good; the tank top he was wearing showed off the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders, making him look stronger than usual, hotter. She quickly banished that thought from her mind – she couldn’t be thinking things like that, it was extremely inappropriate of her; he was her brother’s best friend.

Y/N scolded herself when she realised she’d been staring at him. She brushed a hand along her hair, as if checking there were no loose strands from her ponytail, and straightened her skirt in an attempt to distract herself. She walked towards Lando, who was busy on his phone as he leant against the armrest of the couch. He looked up at her when she stopped in front of him, eyes slowly raking over her body while she put her wallet inside her purse.

“You ready to go?” He asked, clearing his throat.

“Um…” She looked around the room, checking if she had forgotten something. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Lando got up from the couch at her answer, grabbing his bag of clubs from the closet – of course, he would have his own golf clubs, and travel with them – before opening the door. He stopped when Y/N followed after him with only her purse. “Aren’t you bringing your clubs?” He asked her.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You think I’d carry them myself? They’re already there, of course,” she said sarcastically, before clarifying, “I don’t have clubs, Lando. I never golf.”

“Oh. Okay, then. Let’s go,” he concluded, before walking towards the elevator, where, coincidentally, Pietra and Max were already waiting. Y/N was surprised to find out her brother had taken his own clubs, too.

The group headed out in the rental car, Lando driving as he didn’t seem able to give up control over any vehicle he could drive himself, while the girls sat in the back. They were summing up all the things they’d rather be doing instead of golfing until Max snapped, telling them to leave if they wanted to do something else. The girls smiled in success, but stopped pestering him, they wanted to stay; Pietra wanted to spend some time with her boyfriend and Y/N was convinced by the opportunity to drive golf carts, plus she didn’t feel like spending the day alone.

When they arrived, the boys got everything set up, including two carts and clubs for the girls. Y/N claimed a set of keys as soon as Max showed them. “I’m driving,” she exclaimed before rushing to one of the carts and promptly placing herself in the driver’s seat. She watched with a grin as Max sighed and loaded her rented clubs into the cart.

He walked up to where she was sitting. “P and I are gonna share a cart, so you’ll have to convince Lando to let you drive.”

Y/N pouted. “Lando again? We already spent all of yesterday together, and he’ll never let me drive,” she complained.

“Don’t mope,” Max told her off before walking to the other cart and driving off with Pietra.

Y/N sighed when Lando joined her, holding his hand out for the keys. “I’m driving,” she protested his unspoken question, “you already drove here.”

“Y/N,” Lando scolded her, but she ignored him, pushing him away.

“It’s your time to be a passenger princess,” she told him as he walked around to the other side. He sighed when he sat down, already fearing for his life. “Be sure to hold onto something,” Y/N said before pressing her foot down. Her words increased his fear tenfold as he grappled for something to hold onto, eventually settling for the edge of the roof.

“Now, which way do we have to go?” Y/N asked.

“Dear Lord, slow down,” Lando said, panicking at her unsafe driving style. He desperately wanted a seatbelt right now.

“Tell me where the first hole is, then I’ll slow down,” Y/N said with a grin.

“Why are you driving full speed if you don’t even know where to go?” He asked in confusion. Y/N nearly giggled at the stressed look on his face, and his unnecessarily strong grip on the cart.

“If you don’t tell me where to go I’ll just keep driving in circles until we’re out of petrol.”

“Y/N!” He yelled, when she took a rather sharp turn.

“Lando!” She yelled back, taking another turn so they were actually driving in circles.

“Okay, okay!” Lando shouted, gripping the edge of the cart for dear life. He frantically scanned the course, his eyes darting between the signs and the other golfers. “That way! Just follow that cart, I think it’s Max!”

Y/N smirked and didn’t slow down quite as quickly as he’d hoped, taking another sharp turn before easing off the gas. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Lando exhaled in relief at the slower pace but his hand kept its strong hold on the side of the cart in fear she’d speed up again when he’d least expect it.

Y/N laughed at the sound. “You need to relax a little more, Lando. I thought you liked driving fast.”

“Only when I’m the one driving,” he muttered, pointing toward another cart in the distance. “Just follow Max and Pietra, and please no more crazy turns.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine, but only because I’m a nice person.”

Y/N continued to follow Max’s cart at a reasonable speed, though she couldn’t resist speeding up for the occasional bump, just to keep things interesting. When they caught up, she glanced over at Lando, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the way he was still tightly gripping his seat. She suppressed a smile at the comedic sight.

“I honestly didn’t expect you to be such a baby,” she teased.

“I’m not a baby, I wasn’t scared, I’m just trying to make sure we don’t flip over. There’s a difference,” Lando told her with a smirk.

“Mhm,” she hummed, clearly amused. She slowed the cart as they approached the first hole where Max was already waiting.

“You two alright?” Max called out with an obvious grin on his face. He knew exactly what kind of chaos Y/N had caused from the look on her face and Lando’s; the fact that she was behind the wheel said enough.

Lando shot him a glare. “Barely survived. Your sister’s a bad driver.”

Y/N scoffed. “Bad? I manoeuvred the cart perfectly at a high speed. If anything, I’m a great driver.”

“You’re a bad driver,” he repeated.

Y/N huffed. “I’m insulted, I will now proceed to pout. You should be glad I livened up your day a little.”

Lando looked at her incredulously before shaking his head with a grin. She had once again surprised him, and kept him on his toes, but he’d never be a passenger to Y/N again. At least, not without a seatbelt and maybe a helmet, too.

Y/N hopped out of the cart with excitement. The short drive had gotten her energy up and she was ready to hit some balls. She picked out a club with the help of Max and lined up for her first swing while he moved on to help Pietra. Lando stood back, watching her with amusement as she put the ball down. She knew she was terrible at golf, but didn’t seem to care, swinging wildly at the ball and completely missing it in the process; it was a sight to behold.

“Need help?” Lando asked, raising an eyebrow.

She huffed, shaking her head before she readjusted her stance. “No. I’ve got this.”

Her second swing wasn’t much better, and Lando couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sure you do.”

She glared at him. “I don’t need your sarcasm right now.”

“Not sarcasm,” he said, stepping closer. “Just offering my expertise.”

Y/N crossed her arms and gave him a sceptical look. “You think you’re some kind of golf expert?”

Lando shrugged casually. “Better than you, clearly.”

She was about to fire back another snappy retort but held it back. She could definitely use some help; she certainly wasn’t an expert – and if Lando offered to provide it, who was she to stop him?

“Alright, fine,” she said with a sigh, stepping back. “Show me how it’s done, then.”

Lando smirked as he stepped closer, his hand sliding down her arm to adjust her grip on the club. The subtle touch sent that familiar tingle coursing through her body, but she did her best to ignore it, focusing on his instructions instead. He positioned her arms and angled the club just right before moving behind her, his chest lightly pressing against her back, his arms covering hers as they practised a swing together. She tried to stay focused on the task at hand, but his closeness was impossible to ignore—it was all too distracting.

“You got it?” he asked her. Y/N hummed in response and he stepped away. She immediately missed his presence, his warm body, as the slight breeze hit her skin, but she refused to let it show.

“Alright, go for it,” Lando said, egging her on.

Y/N swung, this time actually hitting the ball instead of a lump of grass. It moved through the air quite smoothly, not exactly how far and where she’d hoped, but in the right direction. She squinted her eyes, trying to find her ball in the grass, a grin spreading across her face when she spotted it.

“Hey, that wasn’t so bad,” she said excitedly when she stepped away, watching as Max taught Pietra how to golf.

Lando hummed in agreement. “You just needed someone to show you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Lando leant a little closer – so close that she could feel his body warmth radiating off him. “Too late,” he whispered in a low voice, a teasing smile on his face.

Y/N shook her head at the comment, although a small smile slipped onto her face. She watched as her brother helped his girlfriend hit the ball, leant over her as they swung the club together, just like Lando had helped her mere moments ago. The image made her blush; Lando had stood just as close to her before, she had been able to feel his chest against her back and she had enjoyed it. She suddenly realised that he was still standing close—that she could still feel his warmth, and took a quick step away from him, trying to maintain the distance that Lando was so keen to close. She watched as Max and Pietra finished their turns from her new spot, before turning to Lando. “Your turn, golf expert,” she said in a mocking tone.

Lando laughed as he grabbed his golf club and placed his ball on the tee. His playful demeanour faded into focus as he adjusted his stance, a serious expression settling over his face. As much as she wanted to deny it, he looked good: the sunlight kissed his skin just right, hitting his tan in a way that made him glow. Not to mention, the top he was wearing perfectly displayed the strong muscles twisting under his skin as he hit the ball. Y/N was mesmerised as she watched him in action, blatantly staring at him while he stared after his ball. He caught her gazing when he turned back, a cheeky grin spreading on his face, causing her to blush in embarrassment.

“I guess you really are the expert,” she said while they walked back to the cart. Lando grinned at the compliment, but didn’t look up as he placed his club back in the bag, not wanting to show how much her simple sentence affected him.

At some point during the game, Y/N and Pietra had enough, annoyed at how bad they were at the sport and how boring it really was. They decided to just watch from the golf cart as the boys hit their balls, counting down the minutes until they were finished. Every time they drove to the next location Lando tried to steal the keys from Y/N, but so far he hadn’t managed to grab them. She was surprised her reflexes were quicker than those of an F1 driver but was happy about it nonetheless. She enjoyed the look of fear on Lando’s face whenever she took a sharp turn just a little too fast.

When the boys finally finished the game, they quickly returned the rental clubs, and unfortunately, the carts, too. Y/N dramatically bid farewell to her beloved golf cart before handing in the keys at the reception. Lando was very relieved he could drive himself again when they stepped into the rental car, teasingly copying Y/N’s behaviour as he greeted the car excessively, doing everything but kissing the steering wheel while she rolled her eyes at his antics.

The drive back to the hotel was short, but after the long day they’d had, the group settled for a quick dinner at the hotel restaurant before retreating to their rooms. Y/N was yawning as she walked around the room, tired from the day and last night’s bad sleep. After Lando was finished using the bathroom, she quickly changed into her pyjamas and brushed her teeth, ready to go to sleep.

She grabbed a bottle of water on her way to the bed, opening it as she walked – not a good idea since she spilled it all over her pyjamas. She gasped at the cold water and dropped the bottle on the floor, causing an even bigger mess. “Fuck,” she muttered, hastily picking the bottle up before more water spilled and putting it on the desk nearby.

Lando glanced over as she walked back to the bathroom for a towel, his brow raised. “What happened?”

She sighed, looking down at herself, “I just spilled water everywhere. I’m completely drenched.”

Lando smirked, sitting up to look at the situation. “I can help you with that.”

“Don’t even start.” She glared at him. “It’s not funny. I don’t have extra pyjamas.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “You can wear one of my shirts.”

She gave him a look. “Lando, you’re short.”

“How did we get to insulting me?” he said, frowning in feigned offence.

“I mean,” Y/N sighed again, softer this time, “we’re the same height. Your shirt won’t cover enough...”

He grinned. “I’m not seeing the problem here.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do, you already saw my butt once.”

“Exactly, what’s the harm?” He said teasingly before his tone turned more serious. “Look,” he sighed, walking to his suitcase, pulling out a shirt, “it’s either this or sleeping in wet pyjamas. It’s the biggest one I’ve got.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before taking the shirt from him – she didn’t really have another choice. “Fine. Thanks,” She said before heading into the bathroom.

She changed quickly, turning around to check in the mirror how much the shirt actually covered. It was good enough. It smelled good too, like Lando, but she would never admit that. Y/N sighed and walked back to the bed.

Lando looked up at the sound. “What now?” He asked teasingly, watching as she walked around. She looked good in his shirt, like she belonged in it. It suited her better than Lando.

“Just, my skin’s cold from the water,” she muttered, not thinking about what she said and what responses it might solicit – she blamed the wine at dinner.

Lando raised his eyebrows in surprise at the admission. “I could help with that too,” he volunteered cheekily.

She shot him a look, clearly flustered at the blunt offer as her mouth hung slightly open in surprise. “Just go to sleep,” she told him, climbing into bed and pulling the covers over herself. Maybe if she was fast enough, he wouldn’t notice the blush creeping up her neck.

Lando lay down next to her, shifting in the bed until he was comfortable. She could hear the bedding rustling and pulled her own comforter further up till the top reached her chin. Previously, the air conditioning hadn’t bothered her much, but now that she was only wearing Lando’s flimsy T-shirt, the cool air suddenly felt much colder.

It didn’t seem to bother Lando as much; he wasn’t tossing or turning like she was. She turned around to see him lying on his side, his back towards her. His bare arm over the duvet made it seem as if the air conditioner wasn’t making him uncomfortably cold, but of course, he was still properly covered up in his pyjamas.

She lay still in the bed for what felt like an hour, unable to fall asleep with the cold air brushing past her, effortlessly penetrating the thin duvet that covered her. She sighed, finally giving in to the intrusive thought that had been racing through her mind for at least half an hour.

“Lando?” She whispered.

No response.

“Are you awake?”

Silence.

She pondered if she should try again. Maybe he was asleep already, she didn’t want to wake him up and disturb his sleep. But then again, she really was desperate – she had been trying to warm herself up for God knows how long, and it wasn’t working. She sighed again.

“Lando?” She tried once more, her voice just barely above a whisper.

“What?” He responds groggily.

“I just wanted to,” she paused, doubting whether it was worth it. “I’m sorry, never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

She bit her lip. How should she approach this? After a moment of hesitation, Y/N asks, “Are you cold?”

Lando turned to face her, even though he could barely make out her face in the dark. What kind of question was that? He was about to fall asleep – did she have to wake him up for this?

“No, I’m fine.”

“Oh. I’m cold.”

“Okay,” he responded confusedly, “What am I supposed to do with that information?”

Y/N hesitated again. She thought her hint was pretty clear, but Lando didn’t get it, or he wanted to hear her say it, she wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know. You’re always offering to warm me up,” she trailed off.

Lando suddenly felt much more awake. Was she asking him to hold her? To keep her warm? He smiled smugly. “Finally taking me up on the offer, hm?”

At the lack of response, he continued. “You want me to hold you?” He asked softly, his voice sincere instead of teasing.

She tensed up at his directness, watching as Lando moved around on the bed to make himself comfortable before stretching his arm out as an invitation. “Come here, then,” he muttered.

Y/N slowly shuffled closer until her body was touching Lando’s, one arm tucked between them, the other tugging the duvet higher before settling on his chest as her head rested on his shoulder. Lando wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer into his warmth. She stiffened at his tight grip.

“You could’ve just asked, you know,” he muttered against her hair.

She could feel his thumb rubbing circles on her waist and her body slowly relaxed against him at the feeling. “You’re so annoying,” she whispered, already feeling herself becoming drowsy.

“Mhm,” Lando hummed, smiling into her hair. “But warm, right?”

“Shut up.”

– – – – –

Part 5

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doromoni · 2 months ago

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Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : One more round of pure fluff before we go back to our regularly scheduled chaos

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 14 | Next >

Y/N. 3 mins

story replies

oscarpiastri finally some quiet time with you, my dear. ILY too so so much

Y/N. sneaking out was a good plan.

oscarpiastri Next time let’s have a vacation just the two of us pls

Y/N. My thoughts exactly, Oscy 🧡

nicolepiastri So that’s where you two went!

Y/N. I’m so sorry for ditching you with the boys Mama P 🥺

nicolepiastri No worries, Darling. You and Oscar deserve some peace and quiet after everything.

Y/N. Thank you Mama P 🫶

mclaren Enjoy the summer! So glad you and Osc are taking a break together 😃

Y/N. Yup. Thanks. You guys too

alexandrasaintmleux close friends

story replies

Y/N. BOo hoo pls tell your boyfriend to grow up. Thank you my sweet 😘

alexandrasaintmleux Charles said that he is mad at you, specifically.

alexandrasaintmleux You took his son away from him.

alexandrasaintmleux swear they are children! they are so weird

Y/N. yeah , dont even get me started Alex. Oh please tell Charles I said to go suck an egg. 🥳

charles_leclerc mon bebe, why must you out me like this?

alexandrasaintmleux as payback for waking me up in the middle of the night .Even Leo was sleeping mon amore 🤡

charles_leclerc They went to Australia without us :((

alexandrasaintmluex To be fair you did say that you and pierre had plans

charles_leclerc but that was canceled

alexandrasaintmluex Y/N and Oscar did not know that mon amore…

charles_leclerc ok… fine 🙄

charles_leclerc 10 mins

story replies

danielricciardo anytime dude! (i’m just here for Leo)

charles_leclerc of course you are🙄

oscarpiastri I told you danny ric would do!

charles_leclerc it would be nicer if my son chose to pick us up the airport 😀

oscar_piastri then ask Leo to drive ☺️

charles_leclerc 1 more sass from you and I’m revoking your adoption papers

oscar_piastri then I’ll ask Nando, Seb or even Kimi to adopt me 🙂‍↕️ It’s ur loss not mine anyways

charles_leclerc I’m hurt?? that hurts!

oscar_piastri ☺️☺️☺️

charles_leclerc Oh btw … Max is with us. He’s coming too

oscarpiastri WHAT

landonorris Are you staying with Oscar?

charles_leclerc Yes, we are. why?

landonorris ah. i see

landonorris I had fun golfing with you and Carlos the other day. Paddle soon with Carlos and Max?

charles_leclerc Oh yeah thanks for that… I’m not really sure if I could go. Alex and I will be spending the rest of the summer together. I could ask Max now if he’s available

landonorris Max is there too?

charles_leclerc He is yeah.

landonorris Oh

oscarpiastri

liked by Y/N. , charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, maxvertappen1, logansargeant, and others

oscarpiastri Australian sun, my pretty girlfriend, and various animals.

tagged Y/N., charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, logansargeant.

Y/N. I’m pretty? 🥺☺️

oscarpiastri the prettiest 🧡

Y/N. marriage when 😊

oscarpiastri u free later?

logansargeant why do i feel like I should be mad??

danielricciardo yeah, where do we fit in into this caption, huh @oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri I dunno what you guys mean 🤷‍♂️

charles_leclerc 🤨🤨🤨

maxverstappen1 P would’ve loved it here

oscarpiastri you should’ve brought her and kelly, mate

Y/N. Yeah! why didnt you huh mr. 3xWDC

maxvertappen1 because someone said that it was an emergency and to meet him at the airport!!

charles_leclerc oops

danielricciardo at least you brought Max and not someone else

maxverstappen1 I am neutral in this 🥹

Y/N. of course you are Judas

maxverstappen1 stapppp

oscarpiastri you know she won’t till you renounce whom shall not be named

maxverstappen1 Oh he’s Voldemort now?

Y/N. 🫡 Youre the one who said it sir.

user1 where is Mark?

oscarpiastri He’s too old and got tired

markwebber Oi!

danielricciardo where is the lie tho?

user2 Not them teaming over Mark 🙂‍↕️

user3 LESTAPPEN is in Australia!!!

user4 I am going feral over them all being together!

user5 its just a sleep over for millionaires, nothing big 😀

You added Max, Charles , and Alexandra to Timtams and Ranch*

Notification: Max sent a message to Timtams and Ranch

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

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elsiewritesss · 4 months ago

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can you do a smut abt riding vinnie?

omg i have the PERFECT one that i wrote before i started this account.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Golfing with Vinnie

pairing: bf! vinnie x gf! reader

warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap that thang), fingering, riding, public sex

Y/N sat on the passenger seat of the golf cart, book in hand as the slight breeze softly blew through her slightly wavy hair. It wasn’t unusual for the girl to join her boyfriend and his friends on one of their many golfing days.

Y/N heard the group of boys laughing, turning her head seeing the four of them laugh as the small white ball misses the hole and rolls past it.

Vinnie turned his head, making eye contact with his girlfriend before smiling and sending her a wave. Y/N smiled back before returning her attention back to her book as she crossed her legs, the white material of her small skirt falling over her thighs.

Vinnie gazed over at his girlfriend engrossed in her book, eyeing the way her skirt rested higher on her thighs as her legs were crossed. Her baby pink top fitted her just right, hugging every curve of her which drove him crazy.

“Yo Vin, you’re up.” Reggie broke the boy from his train of thoughts as Vinnie turned his head and walked towards his ball with his golf club in hand.

Y/N glanced up from her book and watched as Vinnie set his stance next to his ball. The way he rolled his shoulders back as his arms flexed made her unintentionally clench her thighs together. She loved his arms. The way they always felt tight and secure around her, the way his muscles flexed whenever they moved, the tattoos scattered across, they’ve always been her favorite part of him.

“What’s going on in that head of yours pretty girl?” Y/N’s head snapped up fully, meeting the deep brown eyes of Vinnie, a slight smirk resting on his face as he placed his golf clubs in the back of the cart.

“Hm? Oh nothing.” Y/N shook her head as Vinnie nodded his head slowly not believing her.

“Mhm, okay.” He replied, sitting in the driver seat of the golf cart as his right hand found its home on Y/N’s thigh as he began to drive to the next hole following behind the other boys.

Y/N sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth lightly as she looked down at Vinnie’s hand placement. Vinnie seemed to notice her gaze and smirked to himself, slowly inching his hand further up her thigh.

“Vin,” Y/N spoke softly, knowing what he was doing as she wrapped her petite hand around his wrist.

“What baby?” Vinnie asked, playing innocent as his hand went further up, this time slightly going under her skirt as his fingertips ghosted over the inner part of her thigh, making goosebumps arise on her skin.

Y/N was quick to grab his hand and move it back to its original spot while placing hers on top of his. Vinnie let out a chuckle as Y/N shook her head while glaring at him.

“You’re evil.” She said as Vinnie came to a stop behind the boys in front of them.

“Yeah but you love me.” Vinnie responded while hopping out of the driver seat and leaning over to plant a kiss on her lips before grabbing his clubs from the back.

The girl simply shook her head as she clenched her legs again as she felt the bottom of her stomach get that warm feeling as the goosebumps on her skin began to fade. Leave it to Vinnie to make her horny in the middle of public.

Y/N opened her book again, trying to occupy her mind in order to not focus on the aching feeling in between her legs of needing some type of friction. If they were home, Vinnie wouldn’t have wasted time solving that issue for his girl. With this golfing game, it would be at least another hour and a half until they were done.

Y/N let out a sigh mixed with a light whine as she slammed her book shut and set it down on her lap as she placed her head in her hands.

Vinnie saw Y/N slam her book shut as she put her head in her hands. At first he was confused by the actions, until he saw the way she clenched and unclenched her thighs together. He bit back a smile as he ditched his club and walked over to the cart.

“You okay baby?” He asked as Y/N looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as her lips turned downward into a pout.

“No.” She spoke, crossing her arms over her chest as she uncrossed her legs and turned towards him slightly.

Vinnie simply smiled at the sight, loving the effect he has on her even from such a small touch.

“Need me to make it better?” He asked as his smile turned into a smirk. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. Surely he can’t be serious. No way in hell are they going to fuck in front of his friends.

“You’re joking. We’re not having sex here, so no you can’t make it better.” Vinnie’s eyebrows shot up at her tone, taking it as a dare. He slid into the driver seat, and looked at her.

“Watch me.” Y/N’s eyes widened as she glanced back at the other boys who turned to look at the two.

“I’ll be back guys! Y/N has to go to the bathroom!” Vinnie hollered as they gave a thumbs up in return, resuming their attention back to the game as Vinnie started driving off away from the hole.

Y/N sat in silence as she tried to process this. Vinnie took a right turn once they were far enough, leading them behind some trees that blocked them from another one of the holes, which currently no one was at.

Vinnie stopped the golf cart and placed it in park, not wasting any time as he put his right hand at the back of Y/N’s head and brought her closer before smashing his lips against hers.

Y/N jumped slightly at the quick action, placing her hands on his shoulders as her lips responded to the action, feeling arousal throughout her whole body. Vinnie’s hand traveled down until it rested on her hip, squeezing slightly as she inched closer to him.

Y/N pulled back slightly, disconnecting their lips as she shook her head, tossing one of her legs around his as she arranged herself on his lap before wrapping her hands around his neck as she connected their lips again.

Vinnie wasted no time as he placed his hands on her thighs and traveled them up until his hands were covered by her skirt. Y/N groaned against his lips as his hands touched the waistband of her lacy underwear, feeling herself get more wet at the feeling of his hands being close to what she needed. She moved her hips back and forth, trying to get some sort of friction as she traveled her hands down his chest.

Vinnie moaned as Y/N grinded against him, stopping her movements by gripping her hips as her hands tried to undo his belt frantically. Vinnie pulled apart, looking at her swollen lips as her eyes locked with his, lust filling them.

“Patience baby.” Vinnie spoke lightly, making her lips tilt downwards as the whine escaped. That’s his girl, bratty and inpatient until she gets what she needs. Vinnie freed his left hand, planting a small but firm smack to her ass as she jumped and slightly squealed at the action.

“Lose the pout or we’ll go back to the guys.” He told her as her lips pressed together and the pout disappeared. Y/N felt her heartbeat in her ears as she waited for him to do something, anything to help relieve the aching feeling in between her legs. The feeling that he caused himself.

Vinnie leaned forward, attaching his lips to her jawline as she sucked in a breath. Vinnie’s hand reached her inner thighs where they were earlier when he first made her feel this way.

“Vin,” Y/N lightly moaned out as she moved one of her hands up to the back of his head, lightly tugging at the small curls as he placed open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

Vinnie detached his lips from her neck as his thumb brushed over her clit through her underwear, making her gasp at the feeling.

“Alright you need to be quiet if we’re going to do this. We’re still in public okay?” Vinnie spoke, his eyes never leaving her face as she opened her eyes to look at him.

“Mhm.” Y/N nodded her head rapidly as Vinnie added more pressure to her clit, making her move her hips around. Vinnie took this as an opportunity to move her underwear to the side, running his fingers along her slit as she tossed her head back letting out a breathy moan.

“Damn baby, so wet for me.” Vinnie said, his voice laced with lust as Y/N let out another moan at his choice of words. One thing she picked up with dating him is he has a way of words during sex that made her head spin.

Y/N gasped as she felt him ease two fingers into her, curling and instantly hitting that sweet spot inside her. He knew her body and knew what she liked in order to get the reactions he wanted.

“Shit Vinnie.” She breathed out as she gripped his shoulders to steady herself. Vinnie worked his fingers in and out of her, gaining a steady pace as he pressed his thumb to her clit for added pleasure.

“Oh my god,” Y/N moaned out as her thighs clenched around his thighs as she felt her climax becoming more present.

“That’s it baby.” Vinnie softly spoke as he felt her clench around his fingers, a sign that told him she was close as he removed his fingers, earning him a loud gasp and a glare.

“Relax, relax.” He told her as her eyes began to narrow into daggers at the denial of her orgasm. Vinnie reached his hands in between them, undoing his belt as he slightly lifted her onto her knees to give him the ability to pull his pants down just enough so he is able to free his dick, guiding Y/N’s hips so she’s hovering over him.

“Remember, gotta be good and be quiet. Got it?” Vinnie asked, boring his eyes into hers as she nodded her head, a quiet “Yes” leaving her lips as she reached in between them and gripped his hard member, lining herself up before she began to sink down on his length.

Vinnie closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the back of the seat. Surely they had been gone long enough his friends probably knew what they were doing, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck baby,” Vinnie moaned out as he felt her inch her way down until her thighs were flush with his again.

Y/N moaned as she began to grind her hips forward, her eyes squeezing shut as she latched onto her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming out her boyfriend’s name.

“God Y/N, you’re..doing so good baby.” Y/N felt the warmth rush to her cheeks at Vinnie’s choice of words. She began to lift her hips up slowly before sinking back down, creating a steady bounce as Vinnie helped guide her hips.

“F-fuck Vinnie!” Y/N let out a high pitch moan, feeling herself clench and unclench around Vinnie as she felt her orgasm pooling back into her lower stomach.

“Yes Y/N…taking me so well.” Vinnie breathed out as her name danced off his tongue continuously as he felt himself chasing his own orgasm.

“I-I’m…close.” Y/N whined as she felt a slight stinging pain on the inside of her thighs from being in this position for too long, but the pain didn’t matter given the intense pleasure she was feeling.

“Come on baby…make a mess on my cock.” Vinnie spoke, his breathing uneven as he felt Y/N clench around him, squeezing him as her orgasm crashed into her, slowing down her movements as she felt her legs tingle. Vinnie gripped onto her hips and began to thrust up into her, the girl steadying herself by holding onto his shoulders as she felt overstimulated.

“Vinnie!” She squealed, trying to lean backwards without falling off him as she squirmed.

“You can take it. Come on sweet girl.” Vinnie spoke, keeping his grip firm as he held her still while he continued to thrust up into her as he felt his orgasm nearing.

Y/N felt her head spin as Vinnie kept his thrusts steady, feeling him twitch against her gummy walls as he reached his own orgasm, her name spilling out of his mouth mixed with profanities as she felt his thrusts slow to a stop.

Y/N let her head fall forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder above his heart as the two of them caught their breath, chests rising and falling in sync as their breathing evened out.

Vinnie leaned his head against Y/N’s planting a few small kisses into her hair as he felt her chest rising and falling in a steady pace. Vinnie reached over to Y/N’s small purse sitting next to her book and grabbed the small travel pack of tissues she always carried with her.

“Here baby, let’s clean you up.” Vinnie spoke softly, placing his hands on her waist as he sat her upright, and eased her off his lap.

Y/N whined at the feeling of Vinnie lifting her off him, the feeling sending a shock of overstimulation through her.

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He cooed, reaching in between her legs with a tissue wiping up the milky white substance leaking out of her before fixing her underwear and skirt back around her. He then cleaned himself up and fixed his pants before hopping out of the golf cart and to the trash can a few feet away to discard the, now sticky, tissue.

“You okay love?” Vinnie asked once he got back on the golf cart, putting the golf cart into drive as he began to leave their secret spot and head back the way they came, hoping his friends were still around.

“Yeah.” Y/N responded, scooting closer to Vinnie as she wrapped her arms around his right one. She knew they wouldn’t be able to do their post-sex ritual of cuddling and watching a movie due to their location, but being close to her boyfriend was just enough for her.

They pulled up to the group of guys as they just finished playing the last hole.

“Hey fuckbirds!” Josh called out waving over-dramatically as Vinnie held up his middle finger in return.

“Bathroom my ass.” Reggie spoke as he brought Vinnie’s golf clubs over to the back of the cart.

“Shut it, Reginald.” Y/N mumbled, snuggling closer to Vinnie’s side as Reggie’s face scrunched up.

“Hey now I give them props they didn’t get caught.” Jett spoke up, shrugging his shoulders as Vinnie chuckled to himself.

“Okay okay. We get it. Can we leave now?” He spoke, eying the three other boys as Y/N nodded her head.

“Yeah. Maybe next time, fuck beforehand so we can finish the game.” Reggie spoke and Y/N sat up.

“I will beat your ass.” She spoke, eying the younger boy as Vinnie let out a laugh, planting a kiss to the top of her head.

#vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker x reader #vhacker #vinnie hacker imagines #vinniehacker #vinnie hacker smut

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rieamena · 4 months ago

Note

What if.

What if Billy got abducted and held for ransom, only for the boss of the operation to freak out when they see his face

Why is the boss freaking out? Because Billy is that one guy they weren't supposed to abduct, the boss asked their underlings to take literally anyone else besides Billy

Yet there he sits, injured and tied.

Boss: The one guy! The one guy I told you to stay away from, and he's the one you bring to me?! How did you manage that?!

Underling: Well, first we beat him up-

Boss: Oh my god we're so dead. Maybe, if we take him back, Y/N won't be so-

The door flies off its hinges. It's Y/N

The guy who abducted him? Already begging for their life

Y/N: If you touch him again, I'll turn your fuckin spine into a golf club, okay? Okay. Good talk :)

Billy gets so many kisses after that, and Y/N, too

adrenaline—

the dimly lit room was suffused with tension as the boss paced back and forth, a scowl etched deep into his face. his underlings stood nervously, heads bowed, acutely aware of the gravity of their mistake.

"you idiots," the boss growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. "the one guy! the one guy i told you to stay away from, and he's the one you bring to me?! how did you manage that?! i told you to bring me the white haired one!"

one of the underlings, shuffling his feet nervously, dared to speak up. "well, first we beat him up..."

"and boss...! there are two white haired ones..." another underling mentioned, voice shaking from fear

"oh my god, we're so dead," the boss muttered, rubbing his temples in frustration. "maybe, if we take him back, she won't be so-"

the heavy door flew off its hinges with a crash, interrupting the boss mid-sentence. standing in the doorway, gleaming ominously in the low light, was [name]—your presence exuded an aura of controlled fury

the underlings recoiled instinctively, their bravado evaporating in an instant. the two who had spoken earlier, began to stutter apologies, already trembling at the sight of you

"give him here." you ordered, your voice deceptively calm

the underlings scrambled to comply, hastily untying billy and practically throwing him towards you. he stumbled slightly, scuffs evident on his metal frame, but relief flooded his eyes when he saw you

"[name]…" he breathed, reaching out for you.

you caught him in a tight embrace, relief and worry mingling in your heart. "are you okay?" you asked, pulling back slightly to check him over

"i'm okay now," billy said softly, his voice tinged with gratitude. "thanks to you."

the boss, now a quivering mess in the corner, dared not move. "p-please," he stammered, "we didn't mean to-"

"you should've thought of that before," you said coldly, grabbing one of billy's guns. you aimed at the boss, the gun switching between his heart, shoulder, leg, and head. "eenie, meenie, miney, moe."

the gun ricoheted in your hand as the bullet left the chamber. your gaze flickered towards him groveling on the floor clutching his leg, before returning to billy. "let's get out of here."

billy nodded, leaning into your touch as you led him out of the room, away from the chaos. outside, in the safety of the night, you held him close, pressing gentle kisses to his metal cheek

"you scared me," you admitted softly, your heart still racing with adrenaline

"i'm sorry," billy murmured, his arms wrapping around you and his face peppering kisses to yours. "but i'm here now. and thanks to you, my starlight knight, everything's going to be okay."

the underlings are so silly i love them

billy kid taglist

@pedrosimp137 @mary-moongood @linx-nyx @lemonboy011 @eisblume77

@amaryllisenvy @megan017 @astral-spacepumpkin @corrupted-tale @inkycap

@thurstonw @plapsha @lavenderthewolf @kurakusun @miymiymiy

@sweetadonisbutbetter @cobraaah @mochiitoby @clickingchip @bardivislak

@h3r6c00k13 @cozi-cofee @apestegui-y @luvuyuuji @theitdoitnobody

@fersitaam @cathrnxxo @monkepawbz @fl1ghtl3ssdrag0n @dabislilbaby

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kotton-kandy953 · 4 months ago

Text

━ 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙳

➛ various!yandere!male oneshots x fem!reader

title page┆word count: 2k┆warnings: cursing, description of a dead body, HEAVY blood/gore depictions, implied torture, manipulation, murder

FRIGID ━ boyfriend ! shoto todoroki x fem ! reader

⤷ 𝕿𝕳𝕰

bloodied teenager cut his pretty, Heterochromic eyes at the red mess he had made below himself. He lifted his hand, wiping the blood off his bottom lip with his thumb.

His hands were clad in black gloves.

To not leave fingerprint evidence, maybe?

His chest rose and fell rapidly. Deep, heavy breaths escaping his lungs, the only thing keeping his tired figure going is pure adrenaline.

And the thought of his beautiful girlfriend.

Even so, the boy still felt burning hatred for the pathetic being by his feet.

With a sigh, he pulled back his hood and wiped the sweat off his forehead. His short, half white and half red hair being revealed.

He ran a hand through it, getting the two-toned locks out of his face only for them to fall back in place.

The half-and-half boy thought it was all over until the body below him began to squirm and writhe in agony.

His gaze quickly jolted to their direction, clenching his teeth in frustration.

"P- please! Spare me!!..." The person lying at the teen's feet called. The teen only stared dead at them, his eyes void with all human feelings and emotion.

He wasn't thinking straight, all he could think of was how much this person made his girlfriend happy. How they made her smile.

How they managed to comfort her when she was sad or angry.

How he wished he was the only one allowed to do that.

The more those thoughts rushed back and forth in his head, the more he lost control.

It was sending him straight over the edge.

He subconsciously clenched his left fist, smoke emanating from it.

He could care less about their pathetic pleads for mercy. About their cries as he makes their blood paint the ground red.

"...please... j- just let me go!" They shouted, choking and gargling on their own blood in their mouth. Tears streamed down their bruised face, along with blood rolling down their nose.

The boy rolled his eyes at his pleading victim. He could've sworn he had already tortured and beaten them enough for them to be bleeding out on the ground, dead — or dying, at the least.

They should've died of blood loss minutes ago, he thought with his stoic expression still present.

His face was unfazed and uninterested in their desperate weeping and begging for mercy.

Their face was bruised and broken, as if they were beaten up over and over again.

Not saying that's not what has been happening for the past few hours.

Their body was weak and it even hurt for them to breathe, but the boy could care less.

Sighing his eyes, the teenage boy finally spoke, "Shut up."

He lifted his right foot and kicked the person's stomach. They jerked in pain and coughed up more blood, knowing that they couldn't fight back against him.

The boy had the power to kill them right then and there. He could have even killed them from the start.

But he didn't.

He's going as slow as possible on purpose.

He wanted them to suffer.

To suffer for all the moments they've spent with Y/n.

To suffer for all the moments they made Shoto resent them even more.

"You've lost too much blood and you're probably in indescribable pain," The boy reached down beside their body, grabbing a large golf club he had set down not too long ago.

"You're not going to live much longer."

The boy activated his quirk on his left side, slowly heating up the metal golf club, making it flush a soft shade of red.

He lifted it up above his head with a death grip, his eyes locked on the person below him.

"So I might as well put an end to your suffering already."

• • •

You placed your phone back down onto your bed after it went back to voicemail.

What the hell, Shoto!?

It has been two, no, almost three hours since you last heard from your boyfriend Shoto Todoroki.

He had promised to arrive at your home by 2pm but now it's almost five.

"What the fuck could he possibly be doing!?" You sat down on your bed while scrolling through your contacts list until you found his.

"And why couldn't he just text me sooner to let me know that he'd be late!?"

You angrily read at the texts you spammed him only a few minutes ago. He had left you on delivered for hours which isn't very common for him.

Calm down, clam down... You took a deep breath, he probably just misplaced his phone!

Your attempts at calming yourself down worked for a little, before you started thinking of the worst possible scenarios.

But there have been many disappearances lately... you placed your phone in your jacket pocket, and everyone that's been going missing has had some sort of relation to me...

You felt your heart pounding against your chest, But that doesn't mean Shoto was kidnapped!

You slowly stood up and walked towards your bedroom door.

He would never let himself get kidnapped...

...Right?

You swung your bedroom door open and ran to your front door. You called out to your parents that you were leaving, but you left before they could even uttered a response.

I have to get to Shoto's house as fast as I can!

• • •

Shoto grunts as he swings the red, hot, golf club down onto their already bloodied and broken body. More blood splatters on his face and black hoodie as he repeats this heinous action in cold blood a few more times.

Finally, he lifts the club and rests it on his shoulder.

"Shit..." He muttered quietly to himself, "...I must've lost track of time."

He kept his cold expression as he licked the splattered blood off his lips.

The persons face, or what was left of said person, was mangled and beaten far beyond recognition. It was just a disgusting , gory, mess.

He dropped the heated golf club onto the ground, causing it to clang loudly against the cement floor of the basement. The large club fell right beside the mutilated corpse beside his feet.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Shoto used his ice power to regulate the temperature of his body.

After doing so, he kneeled down beside the body and grabbed their wrist. He was checking for a pulse or any other signs of life.

nothing.

Finding out that they were gone, a very soft smile, crazy, appears on the boys face.

He dropped their broken wrist and stood up, his slight smile growing wider.

Once standing upright, the heterochromic eyed boy coldly stared down at the crimson mess he had made beneath his shoes.

His eyes were dark, full of resentment and zero remorse for the heinous act he had just committed.

More blood than one could ever imagine coming from another human oozed around the corpse. Shoto slowly took a few steps back to avoid staining his shoes further.

Shoto's smile softly faded as he wiped the blood off his face, only smearing it further. He slowly took his gloves off and threw them on top of the bludgeoned dead body.

He walked over to a stack of boxes and grabbed his phone, examining each and every text and call notification he received from you.

Y/n is still waiting for me at her house... he thought as he read the texts you sent.

"She's probably worried sick..." he mutters to himself, "...This took way longer than anticipated."

The heterochromic eyed male turned around and placed his phone is his pocket, preparing to leave the basement.

He glanced up at the stairs, and what he saw made him freeze in surprise.

"Sh- Shoto..." said a trembling and crying female voice. He took a step back, almost tumbling on his own two feet.

"Y/n..."

You were about to run up to your boyfriend and hug him, but what you had saw shook you to your core.

Blood.

It was everywhere.

Crimson blood was all on the floors and your boyfriend's pretty face.

And on the dead body lying only a few feet away from him.

You placed your hands on your mouth, the strong, disgusting, stench of blood made you feel dizzy.

Shoto put on his normal, neutral expression but you could tell there was an emotion he was masking behind it.

What was that masked emotion, exactly?

You didn't know.

But what you did know was that your seemingly loving boyfriend has turned into a cold-blooded monster.

You ran to the bottom of the stairs, keeping a distance between you and your bloodied boyfriend.

Tears streaked down your (s/c) face, you couldn't ever believe that he would do such things as this.

You choked back sobs as he reached his hand out to you.

"Y/n..." He begged, "Y/n, listen to me..."

Shoto started to slowly take a few steps towards you. Before he got any closer you backed away out of pure fear.

Your hands fell limp at your sides. "Wh- Why the hell should I listen to you!?" You shouted at him with clenched fists.

He relaxed his expression once more and shoved his hands back in his pockets.

He tilts his head and asks, "What are you—"

You stomped your foot to the ground, "-You know exactly what I'm talking about, dammit!!"

You paused, biting your lip as tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks.

"You went on hiatus for three goddamn hours and when I finally find you... yo- you're..." you trailed off.

"Just let me explain..." He took a step closer and you took a step back once more. You both repeated this until your back hit the wall behind yourself.

You mentally cursed yourself for not retreating up the stairs and calling for help

He reached his hand out to caress your face, you flinched at the feeling of his red-stained hand against your soft skin. He stared deep into your (e/c) eyes, his filled with pure love and adoration for you.

The way he touched and looked at you made you feel sick to your stomach. How could someone brutally murdered another human being and still manage to act as if nothing happened.

How psychotic could a person be to do that!?

"I wouldn't kill somebody without a proper reason, Y/n." He said quietly, almost a whisper.

You brought up your trembling hand and took his off your face. The more he touched you the more disgusted you felt.

"Then... then why?" You muttered, "Then why did you do it...?"

Shoto Todoroki takes note of your expression and body language.

You were deathly afraid of the boy— no, the monster standing in front of you.

He didn't want to make it worse by telling the truth. That he killed an innocent person out of pure jealousy and love for her.

That would make him sound crazy.

So he lied.

He lied to you about everything.

He sighs quietly, "The many unexplained disappearances... the one who mangles their face beyond recognition... was them."

He silently gestures to the mutilated corpse behind him.

You look beyond Shoto's shoulder, your petrified eyes rested on the brutal murder scene. You tried your hardest to resist the urge to throw up right there.

You fixed your gaze in his mismatched irises. "B- but you still murdered them without proof of them being behind this!"

He reassuringly placed a hand on your shoulder, "I do have proof, Y/n."

He glanced behind himself, "They even tried kidnapping me, Y/n."

His eyes locked with yours, "You have to believe me."

You looked him in the eyes, they were sincere and full of love. And there was no visible sign of him being dishonest.

I should trust him.

Shoto would never lie to me...

...Right?

Back to Title Page?

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youandtom2 · 1 year ago

Note

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

#ngl the ending was a little rushed #cos this was way longer than i wanted it to be #oh well #enjoy!#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #golfer!tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x y/n #anon asks

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gayforanthonyjcrowley · 5 months ago

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So, I have this writing idea, but I might need some help from you guys.

I have this idea where Crowley and Aziraphale go on abc dates, but I need some ideas. This is the list I have so far:

A: alpha Centauri, amusement park, arcade, aquarium, …

B: baking, boat ride, botanical garden, berry picking, backyard camping, bowling, …

C: cooking, circus, concert, craft night, chocolate fondue, …

D: dinner order, drag show, drive-in movie, …

E: eventing, eating escargo, Everest, estate sales, escape room ( no miracles ), enchilada date, elephant back riding, Easter egg hunt, Eden garden, …

F: fishing, filharmony, fruit picking, firework show, …

G: gaming, getting matching tattoos, goat yoga, …

H: hair tutorial remaking, hiking, horseback riding, historical museum, …

I: ice cream, ice skating, ikea shopping, …

J: jazz club, jogging, jacuzzi, jigsaw puzzle, …

K: kayaking, Karaoke, …

L: live music, Lego building, …

M: movie night, museum, mini golf, magic show, …

N: national park, Nintendo game night, …

O: oven baked cookies, opera, open mic night, origami class, …

P: pancakes, planetarium, pottery, painting, picnic, …

Q: Queen concert, quiz night ( triple date ), …

R: roller skating, Ritz, …

S: swimming, sushi, stargazing, …

T: tour with the Bentley, thrifting, trampoline park, train ride, …

U: ugly sweater party ( triple date ), …

V: vintage car rally, vinyl record shopping, vineyard experience, volunteering, Venice trip, Venus, …

W: wildlife sanctuary, wine tasting, waltz lesson, …

X: Xylophone concert, Xylophone lessons, Xerox, X-Rays, Xbox gaming, xtreme sports, xylophone, …

Y: yacht ride, YouTube marathon, yoga, …

Z: zurich mini break, zero-proof cocktail making class, Zumba class, Z A Rob Zombie concert, zen garden, zoo, …

So let me know if you have another fun idea! I’ll post a poll on my tumblr, so you guys can decide what they are going to do on their date! ( If no one votes, I’ll choose myself, but I hope I’ll get at least some votes )

I’ll be posting this story on my AO3 account, same as my tumblr, GayForAnthonyJCrowley.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ao3

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psalm22-6 · 9 months ago

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The Exhibitors Herald, June 1926

The first of the deluxe presentations was at the Forrest theatre, Philadelphia, Thursday evening. The audience was composed largely of members of the Advertising Clubs of the World, which was holding an international convention in the Quaker City, and the members of the Poor Richard Club. There were also present a large turnout of society, official and judicial life of Philadelphia. The other audience, which included Mrs. Coolidge, members of the diplomatic corps and Washington newspapermen, as guests of the National Press club, viewed the picture at a special screening Friday night at Poli’s theatre in Washington. General W. W. Atterbury; Senator-elect [and notorious political boss] Wm. S. Vare; Senator [and law professor] George W. Pepper; Lieut. Commander Geo. B. Wilson, U. S. Navy [not to be confused with the character from the Great Gatsby] ; Mrs. Barclay Warburton [civil rights supporter and journalist] ; Major Norman MacLeod; E. T. Stottsbury; Paul Thompson; Alexander Van Rensselaer; Mrs. Charlemagne Tower; Dr. H. J. Tily [department story owner, mason] ; Mr. and Mrs. Theodore W. Reath; Frank Smith; Mr. and Mrs. Jos. N. Snellenburg [merchant in clothing trade] ; Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Block; Mr. and Mrs. Jules E. Mastbaum [movie theater and department store magnates] ; George Nitsche [possibly an affiliate of U. Penn]; Josiah H. Penniman [Provost of U. Penn] ; J. Willis Martin [a judge]; H. S. McDevitt; John J. Monaghan. Judge Buffington, of Pittsburgh; Thos Finletter [could be one of a a number of lawyers with this name]; Mr. and Mrs. A. L. Einstein; Maurice Paillard, French consul; Robt. Von Moschzisker [justice of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania]; Mayor W. Freeland Kendrick; Geo. H. Elliott, director of public safety; Chas. B. Hall, president of City Council; Dr. Charles Hart; Rev. Wm. H. Fineschriber; Chas Fox, district attorney [could be a coincidence but Charles Fox III and IV are both currently lawyers in Pennsylvania]; John Fisler, president Manufacturers Club [golf afficianado]; Albert M. Greenfield [real estate broker and developer]; Jos. P. Gaffney; Mr. and Mrs. Ellis Gimbel [department store owner]; Daniel Gimbel [brother and co-owner along with Ellis]; J. D. Lit; Richard Gimbel [son of Ellis Gimble]; Benedict Gimbel [brother of Ellis and Daniel]; Colonel Robert Glendinning [banker]; Benjamin Golder [member of the Pennsylvania State House of Representatives], Agnew T. Dice [President of Reading Railroad]. Dr. Leon Elmaleh [founder of the Levantine Jews Society of Philadelphia]; H. Gilbert Cassidy [a judge]; Utley E. Crane [author of Business Law for Business Men]; Cyrus H. K. Curtis [magazine publisher]; Chas. S. Caldwell; G. W. Cole; Hampton L. Carson [lawyer, professor, state Attorney general]; A. Lincoln Acker [Philidelphia port collector]; Max Aron [lawyer]; Eugene C. Bonniwell [a judge]; Chas. L. Brown; Edward Groome; Chas. L. Bartlett; Edward Bok [editor of the Ladies Home Journal]; Mr. and Mrs. Geo. H. Lorimer [editor of the Saturday Evening Post]; Edw. Bacon; Chas. Curtis Harrison [a judge]; Samuel S. Eels, Rev. J. J. O’Hara [future Archbishop of Philadelphia], and Bishop Thos. J. Garland, D. D. [Episcopalian bishop]

There were a bunch of Universal employees in attendance too but that's less interesting to me. Let's see who went to the Washington show

Both showings were under the auspices of Ambassador Henri Beragner of France and Marcel Knecht, French publisher and trade representative. Dr. Ferdnand Heurteur, leader of the orchestra of the Paris Opera House, came to the United States to conduct the orchestras at these two showings. Among the distinguished guests at the Washington showing were: Don Juan Riano, Spanish ambassador; Senor and Senora de Mathieu, Chilan ambassador; Raoul Tilmont, secretary, Belgium embassy; G. H. Thompson, second secretary, British embassy; A. J. Pack, British embassy; Eduardo Racedo and Madame Racedo, first secretary, Argentine embassy; Conrado Traverso, Argentine embassy; Dr. and Senora Velarde, Peruvian ambassador; Dr. and Madame Santiago F. Bedoya, secretary, Peruvian embassy; Senor and Senora Tellez, Mexican ambassador; Senor and Senora Castro, secretary, Mexican embassy; Ambassador de Martino, Italy; Colonel Augusto Villa, miltary attache, Italian embassy; Count and Countess Sommati di Mombello, Italian embassy; Signor Leonardo Vitetti, Italian embassy. Baron and Baroness Ago Maltzan, German embassy; Mr. and Madame Matsuidaira, Japanese embassy; Mr. and Madame Gurgel de Amaral, Brazilian embassy; Senor and Senora de Sanchez Aballi, Cuban embassy; Senor Don Jose T. Baron, secretary, Cuban embassy; Brigadier General Georges A. L. Dumont, military attache, French embassy; Mr. Jules Henry, first secretary, French embassy; Major and Madame Georges Thenault, French embassy; Captain and Madame Willm, French embassy; Mr. A. Konow Bojsen, secretary, Danish legation; Mr. and Madame Marc Peter, Swiss ambassador; Mr. Andor de Hertelendy, Hungarian embassay; Senor and Senora Ricardo Jaimes Freyre, Bolivian embassy. Mr. and Mrs. Timothy A. Smiddy, minister, Irish Free State; Mr. and Madame Simoposilis, Minister from Greece; Mr. and Madame Prochnik, Austrian ambassador; Mr. and Madame Charles L. Seya, Latvian embassy; Mahmoud Samy Pasha and Madame Samy Pasha, Egyptian embassy; Mr. Zdenek Fierlinger, Minister from Czechoslovakia; Mr. Simeon Radeff, Bulgarian embassy; Mr. and Madame Jan Ciechanowski, Polish minister; Senor don Manuel Zavala, Nicaragua embassy, and Mr. and Madame Bostrom, Swedish ambassador.

#les miserables #lm 1925 #fans through the ages #the longest fucking list #losing my mind

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luckyroo59 · 13 days ago

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Subhapruek Golf Club Bangkok.

I say good value for money Fbk post pics n vid with link to 14 day 10 game golf tour Bangkok and China https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1Dwy7HJRNZ/?

Hashtags

#SubhapruekGolfBangkok #GolfBangkok

#2024OctBillGolfTourBkk #2024OctBillBkk

#Bpac #LuckySaidSo #BeHappy

#BillnPhillGolfBkkOct2024 #BangkokTourism

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cherryblossomshadow · 2 months ago

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9 Months Deep Into 2024… Rap Recap 🗓️

Mr. Grande

youtube

9 months deep into 2024. Let’s go back, recap once more

January

Katt (katt williams)

Big Foot (naval station norfolk)

Gypsy press tour (gypsy rose)

Aliens

Amelia washed up on shore (amelia earhart)

February

Taylor and Travis at the game (taylor swift, travis kelce)

Drake made a movie

Snakes on a Plane (2006)

One Oompa Loompa and their newfound fame. “The Unknown” brought Glasgow great pain (Willy’s Chocolate Experience in Glasgow Scotland)

March

Storytime with JLo (jennifer lopez)

No chick-fil-a sauce (no Chick-fil-A sauce girl, gina lynn)

Bridge hit by the boat (Francis Scott Key bridge in Baltimore, Maryland)

Eternal Sunshine (ariana grande)

Cowboy Carter, let’s go (beyonce)

Rep. Nancy Pelosi, D-Calif: Tic Tac Toe (tiktok)

April

New York City is shaken (earthquake)

Case closed on OJ Simpson

New Tay Tay Kim K diss drop (kim Kardashian, thanK you aIMee)

JoJo Siwa inventing gay pop

May

Billie drops (billie eilish)

Nicki locked up before show (nicki minaj)

Baby wanna go to Four Seasons Orlando

Eurovision

Northern Lights

Portal got naughty (new york-dublin portal)

Bleach blonde bad built butch body (jasmine crockett, marjorie taylor greene)

AOC vs Marjorie got wild (alexandria ocasio cortez, marjorie taylor greene)

The met gala had extra questionable style

34, the magic number at the Trump trial (prosecution of donald trump in new york)

Drake got converted to a PDF file (kendrick lamar, kendrick vs drake)

June

Heat waves everywhere like everywhere is Phoenix

Charli and Lorde work it out on the remix (charli xcx, girl so confusing)

Chappell Roan statue (statue of liberty costume, governors ball music festival)

This just in… (justin timberlake, this is going to ruin the tour)

Carpool karaoke with Kim and Putin (kim jong un, vladimir putin)

July

This one’s an EAR full. Where to start?

America becomes an episode of South Park (2024 shooting at a donald trump rally, assassination attempt, thomas matthew crooks)

Simone still GOATed (simone biles, paris Olympics) Joe got covid (joe biden, coronavirus)

Trump got shot, and bro emoted

August

Blake Lively bullied interviewer

Social security no longer secure (2024 national public data breach)

Raygun (2024 Paris Olympics, rachael gunn, raygun_aus, breakdancing)

Mpox (Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, monkeypox)

Very demure (mindful, jools lebron, joolieannie)

Short n’ Sweet (sabrina carpenter)

Bye BRAT summer (charli xcx)

September

Hollywood exposed (p diddy allegations, sean combs)

Climate change grows (hurrican helene)

Submersible is back in the blogs (oceangate, stockton rush)

8 year old goes to target (zoe wilson, tangie)

and bros …

Trump: They're eating the dogs! (presidential debate, abc, donald trump, kamala harris, jd vance, haitian immigrants, Springfield pet-eating hoax)

Baby oil sales go down the drain (p diddy, johnson & johnson)

The world got pranked by the king of mukbang (nikocado avocado, nicholas perry, two steps ahead)

A new iPhone (iPhone 16)

And a new moon came (2024 PT5)

All rise for the new supreme Moo Deng (pygmy hippopotamus, khao kheow open zoo, thailand zoo)

Cleo fights Ice (cleopatra, ice spice, baby storme, y2k tour)

and Mozart's hot again (wolfgang amadeus mozart, leipzig municipal library, Köchel catalogue, Serenate ex C, Ganz kleine Nachtmusik)

Spray tan MAGA man Missed A Gunshot Again (Attempted assassination of Donald Trump in Florida, ryan wesley routh, trump international golf club)

Midwest Princess cussin and shushed him (chappell roan, you shut the fuck up, 2024 vma, mtv video music awards)

SWEAT tour (charli xcx, troye sivan)

Apple war touchin interruption (charli xcx, kelley heyer, apple dance, apple cam)

#i post #i link #i transcribe #video #youtube #mr grande #2024 #9 months deep into 2024 #recap rap #Youtube

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sunsburns · 6 months ago

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good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him.

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis.

Which he didn't.

You let him win.

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together.

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise.

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one.

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right?

Right?

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief.

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker.

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you.

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette.

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips.

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you.

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art.

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back.

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you.

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin.

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past.

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread.

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room.

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too.

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair.

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see.

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you.

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath.

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back.

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head.

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face.

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly.

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you.

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips.

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below.

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes.

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own.

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache.

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction.

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake.

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you."

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips.

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer.

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop.

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger.

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch.

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard.

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man."

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm.

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

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