#a prize unlike any other

[thebiggerbear]

A Prize Unlike Any Other

Summary: You may not have gotten the Golden Pumpkin but that’s alright, you got a different prize altogether.

Pairing: Leah x Female!Farmer; Leah x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1829

A/N: This is my first time writing for Stardew Valley and its characters. Hope it's not too bad. This was just a cute idea that popped into my head due to it being Halloween and I wanted to write it quickly. Happy Halloween to everyone who celebrates! 🎃

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: implied sexual content; implied sexual humor; fluff

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

You can also read on AO3

You walked into the town square, completely unprepared for the sight you were about to see. The town had gone all out for Spirit’s Eve. Every single inch was decorated and no stone was left unturned. You had been told by Lewis that Pelican Town took each holiday seriously, and each time the square would be all decked out. But this…this you hadn’t expected. Glancing over, you saw skeletons walking around in a large cage. How festive. You didn’t even want to imagine how Marlon caught them and somehow squeezed them into that box. From experience, they weren’t exactly the easiest monster from the mines to maneuver into acting like a tourist attraction. You were surprised bones weren’t being thrown at the gawking townspeople through the bars.

You scanned the bodies filling the space and your eyes came across the one you were looking for. You quickly made your way over and tapped the villager on the shoulder.

Leah turned around and you could see she was in the middle of eating something. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of you. “Oh, Y/N,” came out garbled before she covered her hand with her mouth, making you snicker. Once she finished chewing, she cleared her throat. “So sorry. I was eating blackberries.”

You shrugged. “It’s fine. So, this is quite the turnout, huh?” You glanced around, noting your neighbors all partaking in the oodles of food and drink that were offered. You rolled your eyes when you heard Shane complaining loudly that there was no more pumpkin ale. That guy should really be keeping his distance from anything with the word ale in it in your opinion.

“You didn’t dress up?”

You turned back to Leah, seeing her eyes roving over you and her brows furrowing. 

“What? Yes, I did,” you insisted.

“Oh yeah, what are you then?” She crossed her arms, challenging you.

“Can’t you tell?” You held out your arms, gesturing to yourself. “I’m a farmer.”

“Wow,” Leah deadpanned. “You really pulled that one off.”

You gave her a smirk. “That I did. Now, are we going through the haunted maze or not?”

She bit her lip. “Um…”

“Yeah, you are.” You grabbed her hand and hurried to the entrance. “Let’s go.”

“But,” she tried to protest. “I don’t think we—”

“Don’t worry, we won’t get lost,” you called back to her.

-- 25 minutes later --

“Okay, I think we’re lost,” you whispered.

“Don’t worry, you said,” Leah teased. “We won’t get lost.”

You knew she was focusing on teasing you so she wouldn’t think about how scared she was. You, on the other hand, weren’t as easily distracted. Dammit, you wanted that Golden Pumpkin and you were determined to get it.

“We’re not. We just have to find a way through. There has to be a secret entrance here somewhere.” You poked at the hedges surrounding you, convinced one would eventually give way to direct you right to your prize. You also swore to yourself that you two wouldn’t end up like Penny or Maru. 

Leah sighed. “There is no way through. Come on, let’s try to backtrack and I’ll buy you some pumpkin ale that I know Jodi is hiding somewhere when we get back to the party.”

“Pumpkin ale isn’t the Golden Pumpkin,” you muttered, poking at another hedge that refused to give way.

She looked forlornly upon you until realization dawned upon her face and a small playful smile started to form upon her lips. “You know, we are out here, lost, all alone. No one but just us two, unable to find a way out.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem,” you grumbled, completely missing her point, and shoving at a hedge that snapped back at you.

Leah rolled her eyes and grabbed your shoulders, turning you around to face her. “Why do you need the Golden Pumpkin when I’m right here?” 

You nearly gulped as you stared into her blue eyes, seeing her smile grow as her meaning began to sink in. “To sell it?” You nearly squeaked out.

She chuckled, pulling you closer and wrapping her arms around your neck. “You can find it and sell it next year. Right now, you should only be focusing on this right here.” She brushed her lips against yours, making your eyes widen slightly. It wasn’t as if you and Leah weren’t already dating but except for that one incredible yet unexpected kiss at the picnic that her ex ended up interrupting, you two hadn’t really been too physical. Sure, you talked on the phone late into the night and she would see you about town and you’d make time to visit, but you both hadn’t really taken advantage of the change in status of your relationship once you’d asked her. You were either too busy with the farm, the town, or both, and she was busy with her sculptures and forays into the woods right outside her doorstep. But now…now you realized just how much time you both had been wasting. You closed your eyes and pulled her in closer, making her gasp in surprise into your mouth, and infused more passion into the kiss.

Once you both broke apart for air, you leaned your forehead against hers, smiling.

“Better than any old Golden Pumpkin, right?” She teased, panting.

“Like you said, who needs the Golden Pumpkin when you’re right here.” She gave you a tender smile and you gently wrapped her braid around your fingertips. “You’re my prize of the night.”

She burst out into laughter and your brows drew together in confusion. “What?”

“You are so cheesy,” she said in between chuckles.

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you frowned and began to pull away, beyond embarrassed, when she stopped you. 

“I love that about you,” she murmured, pecking your lips.

“Really?” Embarrassment immediately forgotten, you pasted the sexiest smirk that you could manage onto your face and wrapped your arms around her waist. “Because there’s definitely more where that came from.”

She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “Well, I definitely won’t be saying no to that,” she whispered.

“Good,” you whispered back before kissing her again.

-- 1 hour later --

You both exited the maze after trying to find the exit for nearly twenty minutes. You both brushed yourselves off, straightened your hair as best you could, and exchanged secret smiles as you made your way back to the festival.

Jodi was kind enough to hand pumpkin ale over to you and Leah when you arrived. You gave her a nod of thanks. “Did you two manage to find the Golden Pumpkin?”

You could see a slight tint of pink in Leah’s cheeks as she answered the older woman. “No, but we’re going to try again next year.” You discreetly ran your finger along the back of her hand and the pink tinge grew.

“That’s too bad. No one else seems to have found it either. Oh well, like you said, there’s always next year.” Jodi tried to put a positive spin on it.

Just then Alex and Sam appeared, taking the proffered cups of pumpkin ale. “How about you boys? Did either of you find the Golden Pumpkin?”

“No, I only got as far as the graveyard,” Sam mumbled, unhappy that he hadn’t gotten the prize.

“That’s farther than I got,” Alex stated. “Though, the maze was a lot spookier this year.”

“How so?” Jodi asked.

“Well, for one, the screams.”

“They have screaming sound effects every year,” Leah pointed out.

“Yeah, but this was different. They sounded…a lot closer.”

“Oh, and the hedges started shaking and moving on their own a couple of times,” Sam added.

Leah’s eyes widened but she refused to make eye contact with anyone. You could see the tell-tale red creeping into her face, though. 

“And the moaning… The sounds they added this year were sick,” Alex excitedly proclaimed.

Leah snuck a glance over at you, horrified, but you just gave her a wicked smirk. “Yeah, this maze was really something this year,” you agreed. “And you guys still didn’t manage to find the Golden Pumpkin, huh?”

Alex sighed. “No.” Sam shook his head.

“I found it,” you muttered under your breath right before taking a sip of your ale. No one heard you but Leah who was coughing on her drink a little and then shooting surreptitious daggers at you.

“But you just wait, we’ll get it next year,” Sam promised. 

“Yeah,” Alex agreed.

“I’m sure you will, dear,” Jodi encouraged. The boys moved away, talking about their plan for next year and a possible team-up. Jodi made her way towards Caroline for presumably some more chit chat involving the townspeople. Only you and Leah were left and the latter was almost as red as a tomato.

“You’re on your own next year,” she hissed.

You wrapped a soothing arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, smirking right at her. “We won’t need to come to the festival next year. I’ll just find the Golden Pumpkin again, at home, with you.” 

She gave you a half-hearted shove, glaring at you. “You’re incorrigible, Y/N.”

You laughed and kissed her warm cheek. “And that’s why you love me. Besides,” She turned to look at you, still cross with you but starting to soften slightly. “Babe, I told you. You’re my prize.”

She rolled her eyes but you could see the hint of a smile she was fighting really hard not to let happen. It was happening, though; her embarrassment was decreasing and she was starting to forgive you. “Like I said, you’re cheesy.”

“And you’re beautiful,” you whispered, running a tender hand over her hair and noting the slight dewiness of her skin from your earlier escapade. She glanced over at you and the smile you’d been waiting for finally shone through. 

She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours. “I love you,” she whispered back to you.

Your affectionate smile melted into a devious smirk. “Enough for us to go back into the maze and scare more people?” You playfully waggled an eyebrow.

You didn’t know that her eyes could roll that far back into her head (actually, you did know now) and she shook her head, grabbing your hand and leading you to the edge of town. “No, but enough that we can go back to my place and we can continue to scare Marnie and her cows for a little while until you have to return to the farm.” Her wicked smirk melted your heart but also made it pound ten times harder at the same time. Ever since you saw this woman, you’d been under her spell and tonight was no different.

Villagers called out a good night to you as you passed and all you could do was offer up a dazed wave as your blue-eyed red-headed siren led you deeper into the dark woods that even the light of the full moon wouldn’t dare enter.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[gravegoer]

MORE SEVIKA X SIREN I BEG

I hear your call [P2] ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ

HALF OF MY INBOX IS SIREN READER !! dw, i got you guys. ( also i got a lot of love in my inbox. !! thank you so much for the support. youre so sweet , im looking at 🍃 anon ily ) summary: sevika saves your scales.

masterlist , part 1 2.1k words part 3

The night after you met Sevika, you followed her ship, even throughout the darkness. The celebratory crew could be heard on the deck, along with the clanking of glasses and music.

Although this wasn't what you were interested in, you were interested in a certain captain. You assumed she didn't bother with the celebration and got bored swimming alongside the ship.

Eventually, it had come to a stop in the late night, now sitting in the dock of a well-populated island. You eyed the people that stepped off, and your gaze landed on Sevika.

She was hard to miss, her large stature and intricate outfit stood out amongst the crew, ultimately declaring herself captain. There was a sort of swagger in her walk, perhaps from booze or maybe exaustion.

Whatever the case, you were interested.

You couldn't get too close to land, deciding to lurk around the harbor instead. You ducked under the water upon hearing any movement or voices. Being this close to population was no place for a siren, especially such as yourself.

Any fisherman or pirate alike would take take you up and pawn you for a pretty price. So you heeded in your movements. Luckily, you were a skilled enough swimmer that you made little to no sound whilst in the water, barely leaving behind a ripple.

The sun was just now rising, and you assumed Sevika would be looking for a place to stay the night. There was no way you could wait around that long for her to come back. But that doesn't mean you didn't want to.

To your delight, a group of men swarmed to talk on a dock near you, and their conversation was full of exactly what you wanted to hear.

Sevika.

They were pirates looking for a crew, and from the looks of them, quite experienced pirates.

"She's headed to Shank's motel. Shall we give her a visit?"

"This late at night, man. You've got to be spewin' some blige. She'd flog you just at sight."

"Aye. Migh' as well wait till' morn' "

You grew closer to their spot, itching to hear more. Your head nearly bumped against the old wood due to your closeness.

Suddenly, a hand was in your hair, but unlike Sevika's, it was clammy and gross.

You screeched at the intrusion, being pulled out of the water.

A fourth man.

How could you let your guard down so easily?

"Now, what's a stupid lass like you doin' so far out at bay."

You crained your head up to be met with a severely shredded bald man. You clawed at the hand on your scalp and thrashed. The sting threatened to bring tears to your eyes, and you opened your mouth for a song.

The knowing man slammed your face down onto the wood, stopping you in your tracks.

"Fuck. This one be a siren, but the harder the catch, the more the prize is what I say."

Another voice came from your left.

"Knock 'er out, and I'll grab a net."

A blunt thwack was heard before your vision went dark.

..

Sevika had tied her boat to a post before leaving her crew to find a place to eat, preferably not a bar where she knew the rest of her men were headed. Having enough to drink, she sat at a stand selling calaloo and threw a few dabloons on the counter silently, waiting for her meal.

Her mind wasn't on anything except for you. The ruler of the Seven Seas was enamored with a mer-person.

How fitting.

She thought about the way your eyes sparkled when she told you stories, looking at her like no other. How your cold hands were so gentle when you touched her. Your soft lips against hers.

I mean, how much deeper could she fall.

Having been so engrossed in thought, she barely noticed the whispers around her. Barely. She, of course, was the talk of the town.

She intimidated people just by taking a seat next to them, so casual yet making everyone at the stand turn to glance at her. It wasn't often that Sevika bothered with mundane tasks such as eating anywhere but a bar, and nobody really saw her face anywhere except for wanted posters.

Although it was a picaroon town, and there was no way anyone there would bother to turn her in or snitch, she still pushed her plate away and got up to fend off the prying eyes. (Picaroon means pirate)

Her buckled boots thudded against the dirt road, now on the way to the nearest inn. She was almost desperate for a nights sleep without rocking on the mad waters.

Upon entering, a large man stomped past her, eager to get somewhere, she was just about to grab him and slam him into the nearest counter before her attention was interrupted.

"Them chowder-headed fools caught themselves a real jem, aye?"

"Heard theys' puttin' 'er up for auction"

That was never a pretty thing to hear. It either meant low-life pirates snagged themselves an expensive treasure, or worse, a living treasure. But it wasn't rare that a fisher or pirate just so happened to find a large, human-like fish in their net and put her on the market, so Sevika paid it no mind.

She did linger on the fact that it might be the one person on her mind at the moment but quickly shook away those thoughts. You were smart, quick. Theres no way any man would have you that easily.

When she approached the counter for a key, the shop-keep laughed, "What? You want a room? I think you ought to pay the stands a visit, its the first auction in a week."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at his words, her head dipping into her previous thoughts again.

I guess it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

So she drug her tired and heavy legs right back across town for the sliver of a chance that it might be you.

..

You awoke with a harsh throbbing in your head, feeling cold and dried up. Through blurry vision, you could make out the steel bars, closing you in. And a loud voice,

"Another bid for 300 dabloons !"

Fuck. It's what you've been dreading all your life. You got caught due to your lack of awareness and clumsiness. Inwardly cursing at yourself, you grabbed at the bars and shook violently.

"Look, she's awake. How do we feel about upping the price now that we can see her pretty eyes."

The man stuck his fingers in your enclosure and tilted your chin up. At that moment, you became aware of the metallic muzzle on your face, keeping your jaw in place. You glared up at him, knowing you'd bite him if you could.

He pulled away when you jerked your head forward, as if making the motion to bite him. He laughed loudly, and another bid came from the crowd.

"500!"

The men yelled and whooped at that. You thunked your head against the bars, the loudness ringing in your ears. You can't believe you got yourself in this mess for a pirate.

It was just hollering and laughing for a while before the man beside you spoke,

"500, Aye? Going once.. going twice.."

"A thousand."

A heavy female voice stood out amongst the rest, sounding angry and tired. Your eyes darted around, looking for the source of the voice, but another shrill voice spoke up.

"1000? Is this woman kidding? 1500."

The men's laughs roared in again, smacking the mans back and slinging booze. A tall figure stepped out of the shadow, cigarillo in hand, and spoke, "Double it."

All went quiet as they eyed Sevika, her arm crossed over her chest as she brought a mechanical hand to her lips to take a drag. She blew the smoke from the side of her mouth, making a taller male cough.

Your eyes widened, and fingers gripped the bars steadier. When you made eyecontact, you could have sworn her eyes went soft for a moment before she looked to your captor.

"Well.. any final bids..?"

He spoke seemingly frightened and pleased with himself all in one moment.

Nobody spoke against Sevika, as a captian never had a bounty over their head for a reason. And her bounty was hefty.

There were no protests as she pushed her way through the crowd, seemingly more violent than usual. She put her cigar out on someone's forehead, the small tiss, standing out against silence.

Her boots clunked as she ascended the stairs and plopped three brown bags atop your cage. You looked up at her, but she wasn't looking back. Her metal hand was grabbing the key from the mans hand and pushing him backward in one motion.

He stumbled, but you looked away to eye Sevikas human hand swiftly unlocking the cage. She held her hand out to you, dark hair shadowed her eyes, and hid her expression from you.

She was who you were here for.

You hesitantly grabbed her calloused hand, and immediately, she lifted you into her arms. Now, looking into the crowd, her menacing expression was highlighted by the dim torches that surround the stands. Her cape was draped over your tail and bare torso, shielding you from the cold, and more importantly the people.

As she was stepping down the stairs, she saw your muzzled mouth, and her expression got a tinge darker. No words needed to be spoken as she balanced you with her human arm and knee, tearing the straps of the muzzle off with a sharp finger.

It was almost instinct to hum a siren song, but before your vocal chords could start, you saw her expression and buried your face in her sturdy torso. It was the look of warning, a warning that you obeyed.

Pirates gawked at the sight of her carrying you past the crowd of people. Nobody dared to reach out and touch you. Some people didn't even dare to look at you. You kept your gaze on Sevika's clenched jaw and torn expression. The angles of her face were more prominent at this angle, you would blush at the sight but your nervousness didn't allow it.

Her grip on your tail was firm, yet gentle, human arm cradling your torso without complaining about the coldness. You weren't one to be drawn to the warmth of a human, but found yourself pressed closer against her body. You now shut your eyes to rid of the feeling of stares and judgement.

As she carried you down the dirt road back to the inn, she spoke in a frustrated tone, "You are the stupidest fish ive ever met."

"And you're the sappiest pirate ive ever met."

..

When Sevika stepped into the inn with you in her arms the keep gawked at you. You were cradled like a baby, weightless in her hold. She kept a stern gaze as he passed her the keys with a room number attached "56".

The people that sat in the inn waiting room averted their eyes, shrinking under Sevika's cold grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed, making you want to reach up and rub the wrinkle between them.

She walked up old rickety stairs, almost bending under your combined weight and turned left down the hall to the room. It was surprisingly quiet, and you were able to hear the woman's ragged breaths. Sevika was obviously worn out and tired from her day, and still came to your rescue.

How heroic.

She effortlessly shifted you to one arm, making sure your head was steady against her shoulder and creaked open the wooden door. Your tail barely brushed against the ground, her height compensating for the length.

"I need—," you spoke, before she cut you off with a grunt.

"Water. I know."

Opening the door to the bathroom, she sighed at the size. It was almost too small to fit her large frame and your long tail.

Dropping you into the tub gently, she turned the knob for cold water. "Want me to sprinkle in salt?"

You genuinely couldn't tell if she was joking, "No, no it's okay," You laughed, humming at the feeling of water on your tail.

"Why did you let yourself get caught," Sevika said, more as a statement than a question.

"I wanted to find you.. and I succeeded.. mission accomplished?"

She shook her head and bent down to accommodate for the space between you. She put a warm hand to your cheek, eyes soft and almost concerned, "Don't go looking for me like that again, danger follows me closely."

You giggled at her seriousness, despite being roughed around and almost being sold as fish food (or worse) you felt somewhat at ease. The woman at your side brought you a strange feeling of comfort, comfort that the sea never brought you.

"I guess ill just have to follow you closer."

i already have ideas for part three.... hehehehehe

again, thank you for the asks they are sweet ! and comment if you want to be on the taglist for part 3 , i do have some other works in my drafts but im saving them for when i finish this series :) but asks are open !!!

@misswynters @haruko--bby @thesecondhandwoman @theirlaliengirl

[mv1simp]

I love your stories so much, please write more dark manipulative Max, maybe something with mindbreak or bimbofication of an innocent reader? It would be fun if she was Toto's daughter and Max so holds it over Toto.

this is for all the dark!Max/toto’s daughter/bimbo/mindbreak reader requests all you freaks have been requesting 😼😼 for the first time i have something for the dark!lando girlies!!

Double Fantasy ♥️

Max Verstappen x Lando’s Fuckbuddy!Reader

I can tell that you think that I’m right for you, I already know that it's not true, but girl I'll lie to you (even though it's wrong)

Recently becoming a media executive for the FIA, you can’t deny that your dream job has given you access to your dream men. Sadly, your top pick, Max Verstappen doesn’t look twice your way - not interested in the daughter of Toto Wolff, who he openly dislikes. But you gladly enjoy your consolation prize of being Lando Norris’s fuckbuddy. You didn’t realise just how far Lando planned on extending your arrangement when he pisses the Dutch champion off one step too far - and now needs to figure out the perfect gift to give Max and make amends.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark! max, dark! Lando, but bimbo!reader is into it lol, have done a twist on the usual innocent! reader, she’s toto’s daughter also, dubcon, blindfold, BDSM, no threesomes sorry I can’t share max with anyone else, WC 5.6k

Multiple heads turn your way as you make your way down the FIA garage, your YSL black and gold heels clicking smoothly on the floor. You can’t hold back the pleased smile on your pink glossed lips at the appreciative glances over your curvy figure. At 22, you’ve landed your dream job as a marketing and media executive for the FIA. Glowing recommendations, a perfect GPA and of course a touch of good old fashioned nepotism via your dad, the Mercedes team principal Toto Wolff, landed you here, dressed in luxury outfits and regularly networking with some of the richest people on the continent. What can you say? You’re a material girl, after all, with a pleasure for the finer things in life.

And that included an appreciation of rich, powerful men that you inherited as a result of a strict and emotionless father who preferred to spend his time running a motorsports corporation instead of at home. Daddy issues, one might even say (actually your therapist had said exactly that.) So the Formula One grid, filled to the brim with hot, millionaire drivers who have no issue flirting with the new pretty little toy on the paddock, was the perfect place for a girl like you to work. You definitely had your fun, arriving a few months ago for your first day, dressed in a tight yet full length maxi dress, giving you the perfect blend of sexy and demure that had much of the paddock panting after you.

But you were a girl with a taste for luxury - you weren’t going to settle for any dirty mechanic or plain news reporter. No, what you wanted more than anything, was to get the best of both worlds like your lucky bitch of a stepmom Susie Wolff had done - FIA executive and WAG of the hottest and richest team principal. Even you had to admit, apart from your dad, the rest of the principals were a little bit too far on the balding old men side. But the drivers, you thought wickedly, the drivers were a completely different story. And they knew they were some of the most desired men on the planet, with their fame and status. Their egos were sky high - especially since multiple women would be throwing themselves at them every race weekend or media day. So you had made sure to play the game very, very carefully - unlike the other sultry models on the paddock, or conservative women dressed head to toe in basic team gear, you were the very picture of innocence with your sweet makeup and dark curls, cute girly dresses and heels, all shy giggles one minute and then serious, no nonsense businesswoman the next to keep them on their toes.

A lot of the drivers ate it up, too, flocking to Toto Wolff’s pretty daughter when they’d see you doing the occasional post race interview or brazenly flirting with you at a drivers’ meeting. But the one man who you truly wanted, the 26 year old in the Redbull gear with 3 world champions and a multimillionaire contract to his name, with intense blue eyes and thick thighs and broad shoulders, with a deep voice that sent shivers down your spine one second then flutters in your heart the next when you’d hear him laugh - he was the man who didn’t look twice your way. Despite your attempts to flutter your eyelashes, wearing tight outfits and bend over just so in a certain angle, or pressing your generous tits up against his bulging biceps as your breathlessly whisper Congratulations on the win, Max he wouldn’t even show a flicker of reciprocal interest. You were the daughter of Toto, after all - a principal who he was quite well known in the media for having ongoing disputes with for numerous years. As if Max Verstappen was going to be seduced by the likes of a gold digging daughter who was probably just as two faced as her father.

You’d pouted for weeks, growing bitter with jealousy at seeing Max instead walk around with Kelly, a pretty, tall and slim model who’d apparently outplayed you. But to your delight, you stumbled upon the best consolation prize. With all your pining you hadn’t realized you’d snagged one of the hottest and most desirable drivers on the grid - McLaren’s Lando Norris. Well, snagged was one way to put it - after all, a playboy like him was hard to pin down, especially when he knew how much pull he had over women. But you’d thought about that to, even going so far as saving your virginity like the perfect daddy’s little girl you were. Lando ate it up, twistedly enjoying getting to corrupt the paddock’s pretty princess, the one everyone wanted to get a piece off. So unlike the other women he slept with, the ones kept secret and hidden from the media, you were his favourite toy - one that he paraded around whenever you’d be in the same city. Not quite a girlfriend, of course, he was far too much of a flirt to put such a label on you so soon - more of a friends with benefits, a high maintenance fling, a fuckbuddy, some might call it.

And once you had your manicured hands clinging onto his arms at the races you sure as hell did not plan on letting go. Toto was not overly happy at the news that his eldest daughter was involved with a driver, of course, but had accepted it as Lando was still a good choice compared to many of the other drivers he wanted you to stay well away from - like Mad Max. So you stayed loyal to Lando, not wanting any rumours about you flirting with multiple drivers to impact your dad’s important reputation. You’d only flutter your lashes at Lando, kissing his cheek diligently with your glossed lips, sending the naughty photos of you in expensive lingerie just for him - because the rewards you got as his paddock arm candy were just too good. Always making sure your face was well cut out from any pictures, of course - you would die if they got leaked and your father found out.

But being Lando’s fuckbuddy came with a whole line of luxuries you’d quickly grown accustomed too. Tickets to whatever show you wanted, the finest food at the most expensive restaurant, the papparazzi going crazy at whatever outfit you’d wear when clinging onto Lando’s arm, and of course one of the most coveted men in the world between your legs, teaching you how to come apart on his fingers. That’s right, his fingers, and very rarely his cock, because you needed to secure that diamond ring, after all. And you sure as hell weren’t going to give him wife privileges 24/7 when he hadn’t even made you his official girlfriend yet. So instead you tried to push him to the limits, testing his patience to give up and retire his playboy ways if he finally got to bury his desperate dick inside your heavenly tight pussy again, after having taken your virginity.

Truly, you had outdone yourself, you thought, as every passing race this season Lando got more and more tense as tensions for the World Championships grew, with McLaren finally being able to threaten the Verstappen Red Bull reign for the first time in years. And with each passing race, he couldn’t relieve the tension enough, trying to furiously fuck his way through all number of vogue models but somehow always finding himself back with you, desperately begging to be let in between your soft thighs. And like always, you’d blink innocently and coo that you felt too shy, wasn’t last time enough, you didn’t want to ruin yourself for the man you were going to marry, remember?

And Lando would groan, because as much as he wanted you, he also knew there was no way in hell he was ready to take you to the altar over this. Although it had been getting harder and harder to resist, lately, because although you were truly so talented with your small hands and sweet, drooling mouth, he would endlessly replay the heaven that your pussy had felt like the rare few times you’d let him enter you with his cock.

But as the season went on even you couldn’t calm Lando down, especially after the Zandervoot race. Tensions were at an all time high between him and his normally good friend Max, after Lando stole his home race under him and even sealed the deal by throwing the Dutchman’s simply lovely phrase back at him cockily. Max was well and truly pissed off at Lando then, not even turning upto their weekly Padel games or replying to his texts. Although Lando wanted to win the championship, he also wanted to remain good mates with Max - especially because he knew being on Mad Max’s bad side always ended with the opponent finding themselves crashing into a wall at the next race. So as he pondered just what he could do to get his friend’s forgiveness, a wicked idea came to him, one night when he was out at a Monaco nightclub with you and had run into Max partying with his friends. He’d tried to talk to Max, but had been rudely ignored, so instead Lando stood off the corner, rather crossly glaring at the Dutchman, when he noticed you’d disappeared from his side to tipsily wander to the bar and get another drink.

He was about to go help you when he saw you stumble, maybe take you to the bathroom for a quick sloppy blowjob - but was suprised to see Max appear at your side, his intense blue eyes watching your tinier frame carefully as he rested a large palm over your plump ass to secure you. And Lando watched as you giggled happily, twirling your hair as Max handed over his black Amex to pay for your drink, rewarded with a lingering lip glossed kiss on his cheek from you, before you scampered back over to where Lando was hidden in the shadows. And as you loyally returned to Lando’s arms, whispering that you were going to make him feel so good tonight, he seemed so tense, the Brit found himself ignoring your seductive words entirely to instead focus on how Max’s hungry gaze lingered on your ass as you had strutted away from the tall blonde man. A sinister grin appeared on Lando’s face as he pieced it all together. He’d always thought it was weird that Max chose to completely ignore you, given that he normally was a friendly guy off the track. Turns out his good mate was just trying to avoid getting involved with Toto’s paddock bunny of a daughter, huh?

Turning his attention to you, Lando whispered if you could pretty please try out something new for him tonight, because he was really stressed, okay? He watches you nod eagerly, foolishly thinking your plan to get Lando so desperate for you that he was ready to put a ring on your finger was working. Too bad you had no idea that instead, your fuckbuddy was thinking about how he’d just found the perfect present to gift to his angry rival.

So that’s how you found yourself in a plush hotel bed later that night, all dressed up in a pretty white lace and mesh set and still in your heels, your eyes blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back. You eyes had gone wide with excitement, thighs clenching when Lando had pulled the ropes out, and you’d had to blush and act all innocent when secretly you couldn’t be happier that you were drawing out the dirtier desires in Lando. Because that meant he was falling for you all the more, right?

You had no idea about the private conversation your fuckbuddy had been having with the driver you’d previously desired, just outside the club in a dark alleyway, where Lando had finally cornered Max to apologise. The furious Dutchman had, as expected, been in no mood to hear it - but had stopped in his tracks and turned around when Lando slyly suggested that as he had taken something of his, it was only fair that Max get one of Lando’s precious things in return. Like maybe…you?

At the mention of your name, Max furrows his brows, telling Lando he wasn’t interested in the latest toy on the grid who spread her legs for whichever driver gave her some attention. Oh, Lando all but purred, that’s the catch, mate. She’s basically still a virgin, was one when I met her, only let me fuck her a couple of times, wants to save herself for the one or some shit. But I trained her how to use her holes, and fuck does she know how to suck a guy off with that sweet mouth of hers.

That’d caught Max’s attention, and he smirked to Lando, calling him a fucked up asshole for selling out the girl who was loyal to him like this, who was Toto Wolff’s daughter, no less - a powerful man someone like Lando wouldn’t want to make an enemy off. The Brit shrugged. Toto’s never going to find out. What’s mine is yours, mate. Enjoy. And with that, he tossed his room key to Max.

That night, Lando didn’t feel bad, not even one bit, as he tightly wound the rope around your delicate little wrists, knowing that you loved to act all innocent but secretly kinky shit like this has you dripping. Especially if you were going to be ruined tonight by a man who you secretly still had desires for - and Lando was certain you did, judging from the way he’d seen you look at Max like he was a God you wanted to worship on your knees. Really, he was being a good friend to you both by letting it happen - just this once of course, he wasn’t going to just hand you over to his track rival after putting in so much work to train you to be the perfect sex toy. So he’d left you there all alone in the room, abruptly saying he had an urgent call and would be back.

The drinks you’d had earlier certainly had their affects on you, making you whine against the tight ropes on your flushed and sensitive skin, almost grateful for the blindfold as you felt overstimulated already. When you finally heard the hotel door reopen, you sighed in relief as your fuckbuddy - soon to be boyfriend, you hoped! - finally came back. In your wildest fantasies you’d never have guessed that instead of Lando locking the door, Max stood in his place - and had taken one look at your tempting, restrained form and realized that the sly Brit had definitely not told you about his plans for tonight. Keeping you blind and tied up while you were tricked into thinking it was your beloved Brit entering you and not your daddy’s enemy, Max Verstappen? It was so dirty that Max got an instant hard on. He’d seen the looks, the touches you gave him too - they were rather hard to miss, after all. But he’d played aloof, not wanting to give into your gold digging ways - but he’d admit that he’s been rather disappointed when he found you’d settled for Lando instead. You’d surprised him with how loyal you remained to the McLaren driver, dutifully remaining by his side and avoiding Max’s intense gaze when it would occasionally flicker over to you. But when the alcohol had loosened your inhibitions tonight, Max had seen the desire in your blown pupils, in your hardened nipples that peaked just at the edge of your dress, and had cockily smirked at the realisation that Lando’s little toy, Toto’s precious daughter - that she was still lusting after him.

And now that this opportunity had presented itself….well, let’s just say that it had Max grinning wickedly as he plotted up all the ways he could walk away with both you and the world championship from Lando this year. That would certainly teach the younger male to mess with what was his, wouldn’t it? And even better, it would put that arrogant prick Toto in his place, keep him from daring to speak out against Max in the media when Redbull trashed Mercedes - because his adored little daughter would be spending the race weekends on her hands and knees for the Dutch world champion, if Max had anything to say about it.

So that’s how Max found himself at the foot of the bed, stripping off his clothes and lazily jerking himself off as he watched you squirm underneath your ropes, pouting as you couldn’t do your usual bit of trailing teasing hands all over Lando and rile him up. Baby? You crooned, tilting your head in the direction you thought he was in. Aren’t you going to-Oh!

You felt his warm, large palms cup your cheek, tracing your glossy, pink lips and you automatically poke your tongue out to circle his finger. Good girl, he sighed, the words making your tummy flutter. He sounded a little different to usual, his voice deeper, lower, but it was hard to think clearly over how much your head was pounding from raw desire, and you liked how he sounded tonight. You were feeling really horny and couldn’t wait for him to finally fuck you too - having had to desperately ride your tiny vibrator after stopping Lando fucking you multiple times this month.

His hands continued their path, trailing over your delicate throat and teasingly encircling it with his large hand, making you gasp - you hadn’t remembered it being quite so large that it wrapped around the whole width of your neck. But maybe your senses were more attuned now since you were blindfolded? It felt really good.

You promptly forgot to think about that any longer when those large hands moved downwards, roughly palming your bouncy tits and making you giggle from his attention. He teased and squeezed them, tugging down on the lace to free them in the open air, twisting on your hardened cute nipples. You squealed from the abuse to your overly sensitive areolas, distracted, and didn’t notice when your hands ended up being untied - only to be guided to a very large and hard cock.

Baby, you’d giggled, it’s been so long that you’re even bigger than I remembered. He swore under his breath as you diligently jerked him off with your two small hands barely wrapping around his length, spitting on it cutely to ease the glide. And then he’s rubbing his leaking cock all over your tits, slapping them with it and chuckling darkly as they jiggled, all wet from his precum. Before you know it, you were drooling and suckling all over his cock, sweetly moaning how good he tasted, even more than last time. Suckling his balls and then licking all the way the very tip, just like he’d taught you, placing messy lip gloss stained kisses down the wet shaft before sucking them clean off. You made sure to pay extra attention to the thick veins that ran underneath his length, even the new ones you hadn’t felt before, because he’d told you it drove men wild.

And when he grabbed your pretty curls, you let your mouth go lax so he could pump his full length furiously down your inviting throat, groaning how much of a good girl you were, maybe your full time job should be sucking his cock instead of trotting about the paddock. You moaned excitedly at the idea, and when he cums, all thick and creamy, you obediently swallow it all up.

Look, daddy, you say rather sluttily, dropping your mouth wide open, tongue out as you showed him how well you’d drank all his cum. Fuck, that’s so dirty, calling me and your father the same name, huh? Should’ve known you’d be into kinky shit like this.

You scrunch your brows cutely in confusion, not sure what he meant by that because you’d called him daddy many times before. But you don’t get to ponder too long because you suddenly hear the sound of a camera click and can see the flash go off through the blindfold. Your tummy lurches, because Nooo, baby, no photos, please, what if my dad sees-

Your pleas are ignored as you’re being lifted by two broad arms and tossed onto the bed, your hands dragged up and over your head as your wrists are tied to the headboard. You’re whining, asking him what he was doing, this was too much, you wanted to see him now, to touch him, but again you don’t get an answer.

Instead, you feel his thick fingers hooking around the sides of your soaked panties and sliding them off, lewd strings of your wetness clinging to the lace as it’s pulled away. Then you hear him deeply exhale a fucking hell, making you blush as strong hands grasp your ankles and push them far apart so your intimate parts are exposed for his hungry gaze.

That’s all the warning you get before there’s a foreign sensation of his warm breath blowing on your puffy folds, making you gasp, and before a broad tongue licks a stripe clean up your pink slit. You squeal in suprise, again stupidly babbling and asking what he was doing, because normally Lando didn’t like going down on you, finding it too much effort for a quick stress relieving fuck - he much preferred having you suck him off instead.

But the mouth currently lapping at your folds seems to have realized just how unfamiliar this pleasure seems to be for your sensitive cunny, because he buries his face right in, licking and slurping up all your dripping wetness. You thrash against your restrains, incoherently moaning because it feels so good baby, mmmh, why didn’t he do this more?

He laughs huskily, still buried inside your folds, and the deep vibrations make you almost cum right then and there. Your whole body is burning up with need now and you’re begging for him to put the condom on and slide in it, daddy, please, you needed it so bad-

You both moan as he finally sinks home, your creamy pussy gushing around him as it welcomes him in. You feel breathless at the size of him, because again he’s bigger and thicker than you remembered - not even just his cock, but his whole body, his bulging biceps and broad chest being able to hold you down with ease. You let him know it, too, whining that he’s so strong, it was really hot, had he been working out more?

That made him laugh again, lips grinning right by your ear, as he tilts your hips up to meet his and starts fucking your gushing pussy roughly. Through your euphoric daze, you feel familiar butterflies swirl in your stomach at the deep laugh, the accent sounding so different from Lando’s but still familiar to you for some reason - yet you still couldn’t quite place it. It was impossible to focus with the way he was thrusting into you, his hands pressing your hips down into the mattress in a bruising grip, making your tits bounce with each pump, your breath come out in soft pants as you gasped for air. You’re about to cum, you can feel it, the intensity building up-

And then, finally, he takes off your blindfold. Your brown eyes take a second to adjust to the bright lights - and then you widen them in pure shock as you realize just who’s wide cock was splitting you open.

You scream as Max grins wickedly down at you, pulling back to leave just his leaking tip inside your tight cunny, before slamming back in and, setting a bed breaking pace and drowning out your panicked wails with the loud banging of the headboard against the walls. You’re doing so good for me, schatje he croons, his voice sickly sweet but his actions pure evil as he grabs your dirty panties and meanly shoves them past your plush lips. Grabbing your soft thighs, he tosses them over his shoulder as he bullies his cock into you even deeper from this angle, repeatedly hitting your poor cervix. Tears pool in your brown doe eyes as you look at where he enters you, horrified as you see he’s making you take his cock raw - something Lando and you never did despite how hot it sounded as a baby outside of marriage would be too much for both of your families. You cry and wail and scream, tears streaming down your face at the embarrasing and degrading treatment you’re experiencing. Really, it’s such wicked and sinful behaviour and you should hate Max so much for this, hate Lando for leaving you all tied up and alone and defenceless against his evil and twisted rival to take advantage of you like this, to bully your practically virgin cunny with each deep thrust from his massive cock.

So why are you rapidly reaching your orgasm even faster than before?

Max has apparently learnt the signs of your pliant body underneath him far too quickly, because he slides his thick cock out of your swollen cunny and instead rests it just on top of your folds. Almost lovingly wiping your tears away with a flick of his thumb, he demands that you beg for it, for his cock to split you in half, to cum inside you, for him, Max, to be the only man you ever let inside your sweet pussy from now on.

You frantically shake your head, your muffled no no nos an obvious contrast to what you secretly wanted, as you’re simultaneously bucking your hips up against his hard length, drenching it in new slick. He smirks, leaning down so your foreheads meet and sweetly kissing up your tears. Despite the depravity of the situation, you’re finding yourself blushing from the unexpected gesture. Schatje, he whispers darkly, sending shivers up your spine because you’d always gotten jealous hearing him call other women that, you’re making this so much harder on yourself. It’s going to be so fun to watch you fall apart for me.

With that, he agonisingly tortures you, dragging just his tip through your folds again and again, slapping your throbbing clit with his head, biting and sucking on your sensitive nipples that leaves you arching your back into his talented mouth. You’re struggling to make sense of what’s going on, of trying to keep coherent. All that hard work and patience to try and lure Lando in was gone the very second your pussy had welcomed Max into it, because you knew Lando would never take you back if he found out about this. Your desperate brain reasons that then, it shouldn’t matter, right? It was too late for you and Lando. And now, you had Max Verstappen using your pretty body however he wanted, making you fulfill all his twisted desires. If you showed him how good you could be for him, be the perfect little pet for all his frustrations to be let out at, maybe he’d keep you around…permanently?

Max didn’t miss the dazed look that had overtaken your wide doe eyes as your whines quietened down. Guess all his teasing had finally melted that scheming brain of yours. Yanking your panties out of your mouth, he asked you if you were ready to behave and ask him nicely.

You nod obediently, looking at him with heart eyes as you confess that his cock felt so good, so addictive, you don’t think you could ever go back to Lando after being stretched open so wide, and could he pretty please fuck you hard and good?

Max growls at your submissive words. You’re offering yourself up to me so sweetly, baby. How can I say no?

He unties your aching wrists, running his soothing palms over the rope marked skin, bending down to give you a passionate, open mouthed kiss. You greedily slurp at his intruding tongue, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure as he lines himself up at your entrance before easily sinking into the wet folds. This time, he doesn’t stop his wicked thrusts, not when you’re squirting on his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head, not when a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock from your cum, not when you’re tangling your hands in his hair and whining that it’s too much, you’re going to pass out.

He only stops once he’s tensing above you, one hand squeezing your neck and the other gripping the headboard as he drains his entire load into your tight cunny desperately clenching around him. Yours is truly the sweetest pussy he’s ever fucked. He’s never letting you go. He cums so much that it spurts out past your pussy lips, all over your soft thighs.

After a while, when he’s done whispering praises into your ears, your gooey brain soaking it all up, he slides out of you, admiring how his cum leaks out of your cunny that had treated him very well tonight. He places a gentle kiss to your temple and lets you doze off for a bit. It takes you a while longer to come to your senses, and when you sit up, you gulp down the glass of cold water that has been placed on the bedside table. You see Max spread out on an armchair across the room, shirtless and in some grey sweats, smirking at something on his phone - but he looks up when he hears you and lets his gaze drift down your marked up body. You flush under his intense ice blue eyes, heart fluttering at finally getting attention from the richest and fastest driver on the grid.

He beckons you over, calling you his pretty schatje, and in your blissed out state you obediently crawl over to him on your hands and knees, settling in between his spread legs and resting your head against his large thigh. And when he tells you that you looked so cute crawling for him, maybe next time he’ll get you a leash and collar with his name on it, hmm? you bite your lip and shyly nod, telling him of course, you’d do whatever daddy wanted.

He grins darkly, pleased with your submissive response, knowing you’re completely his. Forget Toto, forget Lando, the only man you’d ever be loyal to from now on was him. So you eagerly open your juicy lips wide at his command, drooling all over his cock to clean up the sticky mess your pussy walls had left behind. And when he points his phone at you, hitting record, you glassily stare straight at the camera, letting it capture how you hollowed your cheeks and licked up the creamy ring coating the base of Max’s cock. Gonna send this to your father if he keeps lying about how I’ve going to sign a Mercedes contract next year, Max teases meanly. Or to Lando if he tries to overtake me on the track again. You whine at him, brown doe eyes distressed, and start deepthroating him even faster to please him more, hoping if you did he wouldn’t show your daddy or ex fuckbuddy how much of a slut you were for the champion driver.

Being on your knees and obediently blowing Maxie was a position you became very familiar with. Because like he had wanted, every race weekend you would break your FIA contract clause of remaining unbiased and be dressed in a skimpy little outfit in Redbull colours, your lush tits pushed against Max’s thick biceps as you clung onto him through his paddock walk. Max couldn’t resist smirking at the Mercedes garage where Toto would glare, arms crossed, at the sight of his well accomplished daughter following the reckless Redbull champion around like a lost bunny. Placing a possessive large palm across your ass as he guided you into his private jet, giving it a good squeeze, Max made sure the paparazzi caught a good pic of that, too, for your father to see later when he opened Twitter.

And Lando, who knew how much Max despised sharing his toys, skulked from his seat when he saw you entering Max’s plane for the ride back to Monaco. He’d make sure to never make the mistake of flying in the Verstappen jet again, he thought as he moodily shoved his headphones over his ears to drown out the filthy sounds and desperate moans you let out as Max fucked you raw on the other side of the cabin divider. You’d never let Lando fuck you in such a public place or so often, no matter how often he’d begged you.

Fuck it, might as well make the most of it, the Brit thought once he stopped moping and realised his music wasn’t going to block out the obscene squelches as his rival continued to greedily bounce your creamy pussy on his thick cock. Shoving his hand down his pants, Lando slowly started jerking himself off, smirking when he sees one of Max’s air hostesses blush and bite her lip when he catches her looking. Apparently he hadn’t learnt his lesson of keeping his hands off what belonged to the Dutchman after all, because soon he’s thrusting into the hostess’s willing mouth with the same rapid pace that Max is fucking you with.

Your father had always said birds of a feather flocked together, after all.

—————————————————————————

A/N: POST FIC CLARITY HIT HARD IN THIS ONE AHHHHHH 😳😳 hope this satisfies the dark max hoes (yall are so real for that)😼😼 as usual let me know what you think and send in more requests!

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: smut build up, porn with a plot, making out, cursing, frat party, art being stupid, happy ending dw, two parts because I cannot condense my writing for the life of me

word count: 4.0k

masterlist

“Swimmers…”

You curled your fingers around the rough end of the diving board, unconsciously holding your breath as you readied for the starting noise. The pool glinted below you, reflecting light from the glaring sun above that sparkled like the blue glitter polish on your toenails. But you ignored it, blocking out anything that wasn’t the signal as you lowered your neck.

“Take your marks…”

There it was. You tensed as the official hovered her finger over the mic button. She was about to send you off and there could be no hesitation once she did. Any second now.

“GO!”

You were already under as the crowd started cheering. Two laps,100 meters, that’s all that it took and you had already conquered a quarter of the length by the time you came up for your breakout strokes. You cut through the smooth pool surface leaving white water waves in your wake. You tried not to let your gaze stray anywhere away from the tiled black line at the bottom of the pool as you felt the competition slipping behind you.

As the wall comes into view at the other end of the 50 meter pool, you take your first breath of the race and pause your strokes for only a second to perform a nearly perfect flip turn. You only have one more length back before it’s over and you can claim the medal that is rightfully yours as you come up from your last breakout. Arms pulling and legs kicking almost frantically, you’re almost there, so close you can sense the touch pad waiting for you at the end. You zoom past the flags and…

“I can’t believe I lost by less than two tenths of a second!” you groan, taking a swig from the Heineken one of your teammates had handed you when you arrived earlier. More than 12 hours had passed since your race and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your unexpected loss. It had plagued you still as you had made your way to the party a random fraternity had thrown, though your team considered it a celebration after the Stanford swim team took home another champion title. It was small in comparison to the larger meets you had won in the past, but it was a reason to stay out past the curfew your coach imposed on you. And any reason to stay out was good enough for you.

“You’re not actually upset about that, are you?” Chloe asked, one of your teammates who competed in the endurance free events. While you would consider yourself close to nearly every girl who swam with you, Chloe was more of an instant best friend.

You shake your head as she sips on her own beer. Unlike you, she had opted for a brand with a higher alcohol percentage as she was unafraid of hangover ridicule that inevitably awaited her at your next morning practice.

“Of course not. You know me, winning is only a plus. I just can’t believe I got so close to the record!”

It was true. You didn’t so much mind losing the first place prize to the opposing team in such an insignificant meet. What really had you grinding your teeth was the fact that you had only been a half of a second away from the official Stanford record. You weren’t sure where you lost that time in your race, whether it was one of your two breaths or if you needed to dive further out, but you were set on remedying every part of your race until the problem was solved. Your next meet was only a week away and unlike this one, it would be a much bigger deal.

“You got that girl,” Chloe assured you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Half a second ain’t nothing for you.”

“I hope so. I’m not missing any more practices until I get it.”

Your conversation was disrupted as the room suddenly erupted in cheers, people gathering around the entrance as newcomers entered. You turned your head towards the noise, searching for whoever could elicit such a response.

You caught sight of him right away, a man you had never seen before though immediately prayed you’d never lose sight of. He was tall, his head covered in light blonde curls that were well trimmed to not hang over his hooded eyes. He was attractive, no doubt, but there was more to him than looks. There had to be. Anybody had to be more than attractive to get applause in a place like Stanford, especially within the frat parties.

“Who is that?” you nudged Chloe in his direction. She was normally more up to date than you on the campus celebrities as she didn’t get swallowed up by her swimming commitments as often as you. Chloe nearly choked on her drink as she saw him, turning back to you with a befuddled expression.

“You don’t know Art Donaldson? He’s like the most promising tennis student to ever play here.”

You furrowed a brow, staring at Chloe as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

“Do I look like I watch fucking tennis?” you gestures to your hoodie that clearly bore the words ‘Stanford Swimming and Diving’.

“Let me put it this way,” Chloe started, unoffended as always. “He’s already won the Junior US Open in the doubles category. He got second in the singles and at the rate he almost qualified for the real thing.”

“What’s stopping him?” You asked, looking back in the direction of the man who had now settled on the dance floor with a drink. You sensed a catch in Chloe’s explanation.

“That.”

Chloe pointed to the only television in the house that was conveniently showing a rerun of one of the man’s, Art’s, matches which from the date you could tell happened the same time as your meet. He was amazing, more skilled than any of the few players you had ever watched before, but even you, someone who knew nothing about tennis, could tell that he was playing like something was holding him back. Every ball out of his reach skirted to the fence behind him until he eventually lost. You couldn’t understand how a Junior US Open champion could miss shots that were arguably hard, but reasonable for a professional. There had to be more to it than what lay on the surface and as a swimmer you couldn’t stop the urge to dive in deeper.

“Oh no,” Chloe smirked. She knew you too well to miss when you were after something you wanted. And you weren’t sure by which mystical force you were being pulled, but you started to gravitate away from her. “You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna do a walk around.” you promised, standing from your couch seat beside her, though you were both certain she wouldn’t see you again until practice the next day.

“Good luck.”

You were careful not to approach him directly, instead jumping into a conversation with a couple of your teammates who happened to be chatting in his vicinity. After several minutes of receiving congratulations for your attempt at the record, the group surrounding Art had finally dispersed leaving him alone with his drink on the floor. Lucky for you, by the time he was without a crowd to bypass, your group had moved on to much more nonsensical topics. It was then, by chance or fate as you believed, that he just so happened to bump into you, forcing your drink out of your hand and his attention onto you.

The glass of your Heiniken sank to the group, shattering into a million dazzling pieces of green glass, but you were able to block it out with the focus of a swimmer as you felt his stare on you.

Through the flashing lights you were able to make out the shape of his face better, mapping out sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones. You decided then you preferred this Art, the one who smiled at you anxiously over his moving body on the tennis channel and by the slight intrigue on his face, you could tell he felt similarly.

“I’m so sorry,” he professed, looking down at the mess of glass behind you before his blue eyes again met yours “You okay?” He had to shout over the loud music, guilt evidently rushing through him as if he had shoved you to the ground rather than accidentally causing you to drop your nearly empty bottle.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Art, right?”

Art nodded, leaning in closer to you so that he could hear you over the blaring club music.

“Do I know you?” he asked, in awe that you knew his name as if it wasn’t being broadcasted all over the Stanford sport program.

“Not yet,” you laughed, pointing to the screen where you had just seen him, watching as a wave of embarrassment washed over him as they replayed the portion of the match where he lost it all, unbeknownst to you. “I was watching your game. You’re really good.”

“You play?”

“Not tennis.” you gestured to the logo on your hoodie, hoping the disco lighting wasn’t enough to distort the clear waves of the swimming logo. 

“Oh wow,” he marveled. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team.”

“What can I say? My sport’s not quite as popular as yours.” you shrugged, shooting him a smile.

“We’ve really gotta get you another drink.” Art pointed out as he took a swig of his own beer.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just have to take care of this first.”

You turned around to the glass mess that waited for you only to find that your teammates had already handled it in the time you had spent getting introduced to Art, leaving the two of you plenty of time to get acquainted, mess free. You caught sight of them across the room sitting next to Chloe, smirking at you as you looked their way. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

Art had his arm offered out to you when you turned back to him, a guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get separated on the floor as you headed into the kitchen. It’s there that the seconds fade into elongated hours as you get to know more about each other. You told Art all about your life on the team and why swimming was your calling out of all sports while he spilled to you every tennis affiliated memory from his childhood where you learned he attended a special boarding school for the sport. You made note of his humility as he never once mentioned his success on the Junior US Open and the high level he can play.

You finish the soda Art had gotten for you as the music in the main room increases in volume, forcing you to crane your neck in order to talk in his ear, leaning in so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s not much taller than you, but it’s enough to make a difference.

“I can’t hear anything with this music,” you admitted, speaking at a timbre that’s loud enough to be audible to Art without bursting his eardrums. “Do you wanna move somewhere else?”

You knew Art was joining you when he looked at you with consideration. But it was impossible for you to know exactly what he was thinking, staying ignorant to the fact that he supposed after losing his match and an evening with Tashi due to another scheduled Patrick reappearance, what did he have left to lose? He wouldn’t normally do this, but you look like the perfect contender for a brand new game.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he nodded towards the stairs to your left, accepting your invitation. “It won’t be as loud up there.”

And so you both made your way up the frat house staircase, passing by closed door after closed door until you finally found a vacant bedroom. While you don’t know who lives there, it was tidy enough for you to neglect caring as you followed Art inside and shut the door behind you. 

“I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.” Art stated as he took a seat on the bed in the center of the room, leaving a space for you beside him..

“Oh, I didn’t say.” you chuckled in realization as you sat beside him, your name falling from your lips as you met the lumpy mattress.

“And this is your reward party?” he wondered, a thought you can’t help smiling at as you shake your head.

“Definitely not,” you took another swig from your bottle. “I don’t think there’s any real reason behind this besides to fuel college memories. If anything, they’d be celebrating you. You’re like famous right?”

Art’s gaze moves to the shag carpet below as he shakes his head of blonde curls, disappointment shrouding his face.

“Not quite,” he disagreed, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, but my match today wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I lost.”

He stated it like it was obvious which only confuses you as a swimmer. All the work and dedication he must put into his sport all to think there was no yield. You couldn’t imagine basing your pride off of winning and winning alone when there were so many other components to competing.

“So?”

He’s startled by your nonchalance towards losing, something so foreign to him it isn’t even a refreshing take.

“So?” he repeated. “So I failed today. I let my team down. I let Tashi down.”

Tashi. You’ve definitely heard that name before. Though you don’t know much about the inner workers of tennis, everyone and their mother in the state of California knows who Tashi Duncan is. She’s the most famous person on campus, in and out of the tennis world. You didn’t know her personally, only ever seeing her when walking between classes. You also knew she had a boyfriend who didn’t attend Stanford from seeing them eating together. There had always been something off about her and now, with Art beside you in full self-deprecation mode, you figured you were about to find out exactly what it was.

“Is that who you were looking at?” you asked, piecing together that she must’ve been in attendance at his match. He immediately tensed at the mention, surprised you caught the simple detail. “I saw during your match. You looked like you were distracted.”

“It wasn’t just her,” he shook his head. “One of my oldest friends just flew for the weekend. He was there with her.” he paused. “They both saw me fail.”

“I’m sure they were both proud of you.” you assured, but Art was quick to set you straight as his friends didn’t operate the same way yours did.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m nothing if I don’t win.”

“Well it’s okay, you can just try again next time.”

“It doesn’t work like that. That’s not what tennis is about.”

You sensed a planted ideology in his evaluation, causing you to probe further.

“Really? So tennis isn’t just hitting balls with rackets over and over?”

“It’s more than that,” he informed you, taking no offense from your lack of knowledge. “It’s a relationship. It’s about the fight between two people. The back and forth until someone comes out on top. And even then the winning, it’s not nearly as important as the match. I didn’t just lose today, I let the crowd down. And my opponent won without the intensity of a good match. All because of me.”

You quieted as he explained, placing a careful hand on his shoulder as he finished. You felt for him, absorbing his sorrows like a therapeutic sponge, but it didn’t take a tennis expert to understand that bullshit behind his dogma. It sounded more like a manipulation technique than anything, all stemming from the same source.

“Did Tashi tell you that?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if your statement was any more outrageous than the lies he had been fed.

“It’s the truth.” he answered.

You weren’t sure how to get across to him, if it was even possible to crash through the wall of his beliefs in the first place, but you knew you had to try. It wasn’t right for him to harbor such disappointment over a match that did nothing to disprove his skill at his sport.

“Okay,” your voice softened as you thought of a way to challenge his theories. “Let’s change the subject. How about I tell you how swimming works?”

“Isn’t it more of the same?” he sighed, still overcomplicating his loss.

“Actually it’s very different.” you corrected.

“What do you mean?” Art asked, looking at you with the utmost intrigue.

“What if I told you that even the losers in swimming end up winning?”

Incredulous of the possibility, Art waited for further explanation.

“See like tennis, we have the players and of course only one person in each race can come out on top, but it’s not about beating the other players. Once you’re out there, it’s just you and the water. That’s the only relationship. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is, beside you, behind you, that’s not what’s not important. All that matters is how well you swim and if you lost a few seconds on the time board. Everything else is lost to the waves. And if your time is the fastest well, that’s just one big fucking bonus.”

Art sat with your words, unable to reply as he processes the possibility of winning as a loser. It’s almost too hard to imagine. You leaned closer to him, breath catching as his eyes moved down to your lips and one of his hands gently gripped your thigh.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, your faces so close now that your nose nudged his own.

“I didn’t win today either,” you whisper to him. “But my team screamed when I touched that wall. And do you know why?”

He waited for you to explain, eyes fluttering close for only a second as you laid a palm on his shirt, feeling the hard muscle that lay beneath. Your hands trailed to his sleeves, settling his bare skin a blaze as you take in his equally sturdy biceps.

“I almost beat a school record today. First time in 30 years if I had done it.”

“There’s no records like that in tennis.” he countered, but there was uncertainty in his tone. As if he was waiting for you to further back this new perspective. As if he was really starting to believe it.

“Then maybe you should take a page out of my book. Leave tennis in the past for now and focus on what’s here, in the present…” your lips brush over his before you mutter, “... focus on me.”

You're not entirely sure who initiated it, but before either of you could get out another word, his lips were on yours. You dove head first into the kiss, his lips melting against yours as you swipe your tongue out to catch the lingering taste of cheap beer at the edge of his parted mouth. It’s all so soft, like two cracked dolls who want nothing more than to break for the other until the intensity reaches its peak and you could feel microscopic beads of sweat forming at your brow.

Art pulled you in closer, gentle hands moving to your waist as the faint vocals of California Gurls played distantly in the background. His fingers curled into your sides, worming their way under the hem of your hoodie as they gave way to underlying desire, sparking every inch of your skin that they came into contact with.

You sighed as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Pausing the kiss, he tipped his head back to jerk ever so lightly on your lip before allowing it to snap back into place and at once you crashed back into mouth, kissing him with a fervor you don’t remember ever feeling this intensely. Every movement, every change in the pace all worsened the heat igniting within you.

You tugged on the blonde roots of his curls that rest closest to his neck and soon enough you felt Art’s needy fingers claw at the waist back of your black athletic shorts. Though you're in desperate need of relief from the growing pool of desire at your core, you knew it was time to pull back. Art didn’t let you go so easy, his lips chasing after yours once you’ve broken the kiss, but it’s no use. You knew you couldn’t do this, at least not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Art whispered against your lips, automatically assuming that it was his own fault rather than an independent decision of your own. It was certainly too intimate for a man you’d only just met, but you have to cup his cheek to keep from breaking as his own hands part from your skin.

You told him some form of the truth, that you didn’t think the timing was right. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you were dying to sneak another taste of his lips in and give him everything he’s ever wanted right there and then. But you couldn’t. Not when you know that it’s just another match. A distraction from Tashi. Especially not when you know that it didn’t have to be.

“We can’t do this here.”

Art face fell at your words, but he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“Then let’s go back to my place.” he offered, hoping it was just the atmosphere of the party that alarmed you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“No, not tonight.” you frowned apologetically. “Not while you’re playing tennis.”

He stared at you in utter confusion as you stood up from your place beside him, dusting off your clothes as if you hadn’t been enjoying him all along. He didn’t understand the reasons behind your sudden switch, but he’s willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“You want me to quit.” he suggested as if it’s a solution both of you are comfortable with. You turned back to him disturbed, shaking your head wildly at the proposal.

“Of course not, Art, you know that’s not what I mean,” you began, gathering an explanation that you hope will convey your reasons without making him feel like a complete piece of shit. “I don’t know what Tashi told you, but to me it sounds like she expects a winner. She’s programmed you into believing the player doesn’t matter without a title.”

You stepped an inch in his direction, close enough that you can see even the smallest details of his face, but not enough for him to touch you again.

“…but she’s forgetting that without the player, winner or loser, there is no title. Without a foundation, there is no relationship between you and the other player. And nobody can succeed if they’re scared of failure.” you explained further. You knew your words resonated with Art as his gaze turned to the stained carpet of the bedroom, but he had to pass the ball back.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t know Tashi.” he fired back, and you knew it’s only the tennis talking.

“You know I’m right.”

Art was silent, only proving your point. You knew you had to leave, but you had to promise him a second meeting, for him and for yourself. You wouldn’t be blocked from a happy ending by wrong timing.

“Come to my meet next weekend,” you invited him. “It’s the biggest one of the year. You should see how other sports operate.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

You almost smiled at the confirmation that his frustration wasn’t directed towards you.

“I have practice,” you shrugged. “- and so do you. You can see me again at my meet and in the meantime, just think about what I said. And know that you’re more than a loser, Art.”

You left without another word, shutting the door while silently cursing yourself for not taking the opportunity while you had it. It was very possible that you would never see the tennis star again, that every spark you felt with him in your first hour of knowing him was entirely one sided. You prayed it wasn’t true, that he had shown some feelings in return, but only time would tell. In exactly one week, you would be certain.

part two out now!!!

[please-destroy]

A Place To Be

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

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You’d been training for this your whole life. 

It had taken effort, determination and skill to become one of the best Shield agents. It was a long journey but you were starting to be proud of the person you’d become. 

You hadn’t ever thought about one day becoming an Avenger, it didn’t seem like something that could be possible. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing when you were called to Fury’s office. Your mouth hung open as he explained that the request to join had come from a member of the team itself. 

Fury had gone on to outline your new training regime and the changes that this promotion would involve. Every detail, from moving to the Avengers Tower to training with Captain America felt like a dream.

You lay that night, your final night in the Shield Residential Quarters, and stared up at the familiar grey ceiling. It was hard to sleep, the events of the day had already felt like a perfect dream. You thought about the request to join. You felt confident it must have been Clint Barton. 

You’d trained in the presence of both Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton before and you’d naturally excelled at target practice, especially from long distances. It seemed like the sort of thing he’d notice.

.

Moving into the Avengers Tower was daunting. Carrying a rucksack with your most prized possession, you gazed around at the bright modern interiors. 

You’d disembarked from a Quinjet on the roof, before being directed through the building by the AI system. Standing there in a communal living room, expecting  your arrival were the other Avengers. 

You were surprised by the openness of the team to a new recruit. Each person greeted you with real warmth when they met you for the first time.

Natasha’s enthusiasm was the most muted. From the beginning, you noticed a carefulness whenever she addressed you. She gave you a small wave in greeting, instead of the hug or handshake offered by the others. She held back quietly as the team asked you questions and welcomed you to the building. 

You worried self consciously that she could tell just how excited you were to meet her properly. It was impossible to work at a place like Shield without admiring or envying the legend of the Black Widow from afar. Even small details from her missions spread like wildfire around that organisation. You’d heard every impressive rumour about Natasha Romanoff. 

Your paths had barely crossed during her time at Shield, but Natasha had always been unforgettable. 

You remembered the first time she’d smiled at you. It was during one of the target practice sessions that you’d excelled at. Clint had whooped loudly when you’d made an unlikely shot. The loud celebratory noise should have been what you remembered most from that session. But instead, it was Natasha’s pleased smile, arms crossed from where she stood quietly by the door. 

She’d looked beautiful. It had struck you then, and it still struck you now. 

Secretly, more than any other worry you had about Natasha’s quiet behaviour. You were afraid that maybe, despite your best efforts, she could tell you had a crush.

.

Your first in-the-field mission as part of the Avengers was an opportunity to shadow Natasha through an intel gathering assignment. 

You obediently hurried to the briefing room, following an announcement from the building’s AI that an Avengers meeting had been called. You sat in the chair next to Tony, and did your best to focus as the mission was outlined. 

You tried not to look too pleased as the realisation dawned on you that it was a mission for you to join. You were keen for an opportunity to prove yourself as part of the team.

.

Natasha approached you as soon as the meeting was done. You gave her a small smile.

‘I thought wearing necklaces was against Shield protocol.’ Natasha told you bluntly. The smile dropped from your face.

‘Yes. But this is the Avengers. (Y/N)’s playing in the big leagues now.’ Tony reminded her, brushing past the pair of you to exit the room.

‘I’ll keep it tucked under my clothes.’ You tried to assure her, hand reaching automatically to touch the silver charm around your neck. Natasha’s eyes were drawn to the movement. Your throat tightened at her attention.

‘It was from someone who cares about me.’ You added quietly, unable to help being a little defensive.

Natasha’s eyes glanced briefly back to your face. She looked thoughtful.

‘Lucky you.’ She murmured after a moment. You stood dumbly, watching her leave and feeling entirely off balance from the encounter.

.

Your first mission as an Avenger was a shitshow right from the start. 

Unexpected threats, incorrect mission information and a thunderstorm. 

You felt out of your depth from the very beginning. Soon enough, the fatigue of relentless combat began to wear you down even further. 

Natasha led you through the mission with ruthless efficiency. She undoubtedly kept you alive that day. She calmly refused offers of back-up over the comms. Her assuredness was almost undermined by the bullets ripping through the air above your heads. 

She was the best fighter you’d ever seen up close. She moved with a fluidity that reminded you of dance choreography. She never seemed to hesitate, moving from one action into the next. 

You did exactly what you were told; you trusted her instincts more than you trusted yourself.

.

The only time you felt at all useful was at the end of the mission, when you drove the car back to the pick up point.

Natasha had successfully retrieved the information but at the cost of a knife wound to the thigh.

She was dressing the wound herself, using the first aid kit found in the car’s glove compartment. You watched her carefully from the corner of your eye. Despite your worry about her injury and your own poor performance during the mission; you took a moment to marvel at how impressive Natasha had been to watch. She made being brave look easy.

It was only when Natasha’s leg seemed completely bandaged that you felt confident enough to talk. You reminded her quietly about the painkillers that she hadn’t yet touched.

Natasha refused, waving her red-stained hand back at you tiredly. You pressed your lips together, trying to think of a way to change her mind. You fiddled with your necklace absentmindedly, one hand on the wheel. 

‘You need them more.’  Natasha told you, glancing obviously at your own swollen wrist. 

You felt sudden unexpected heat burn your cheeks. Your wrist injury had come from an embarrassing trip and fall. Natasha’s leg wound had come from highly skilled hand to hand combat. Embarrassment flooded you as you realised how incompetent you must seem to her.

You took the painkillers silently and didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. 

.

For the rest of the day following that mission, you were dreading hearing Natasha’s report about your performance. It kept you up that night, like the stress of an upcoming exam result. You knew it couldn’t be good. Natasha clearly thought that you couldn’t even handle a swollen wrist.

You couldn’t have been more surprised when Steve’s hand rested kindly on your shoulder the next afternoon.

‘Sounds like you survived quite the mission.’ He told you simply. ‘Nat said you coped really well, all things considered. Just need a bit more practice with heavy fire scenarios.’

You only nodded in response, startled by the feedback. You wondered if that was what Natasha had really told him. You felt a growing certainty in the pit of your stomach that Steve had censored her report to be kind. 

You imagined Natasha asking Clint why he’d wanted you to join the team. You couldn’t get the image out of your head. It felt too plausible.

.

The next time you saw Natasha was in the communal kitchen area. She hesitated when she looked at you. You felt embarrassed when she glanced down at your now bandaged wrist. The silence between you lengthened uncomfortably. 

After that, you were purposefully quieter around Natasha, a weird kind of shame filling you whenever you caught her eye.

Natasha reflected your energy perfectly back. You often made elevator journeys together in that tense silence that always seemed to linger between you. You’d start to play with your necklace awkwardly and Natasha’s eyes would follow the movement.

Then, you’d think back to her chastisement about wearing it before that first mission and embarrassment would flood you again. 

.

Soon enough, life at the Avengers Tower began to settle into something like routine. The living quarters and regular team practice were effective in helping you get to know your teammates. You began to consider the other Avengers as some of your closest friends. 

As winter approached, you started to take on occasional planned missions with different individual members of the team. You didn’t get assigned again to Natasha. You tried not to think about why.

Though Natasha never avoided you, her carefully neutral tone told you that the awkwardness of your first mission together had not been overcome. 

.

The others definitely noticed the tension between the pair of you. It stood out against your comfortable dynamics of the rest of the group.

Soon, you started to notice their schemes to get the pair of you closer. 

Tony kept trying to encourage Natasha to give you flying lessons in the Quinjet. Every week Steve suggested that you partner up together for some additional training exercise. 

You never said no and neither did she. You never followed up on the suggested plans either. You let them float away, schedules becoming full at the last minute.

.

By the time December rolled around, you’d barely shared a handful of sentences with Natasha and every single one of them had been work-related.

So, when Tony held out an upturned Iron Man helmet filled with folded pieces of paper and told you to pick out your Secret Santa name, there was only one Avenger that you didn’t want to get.

‘This says Natasha.’ You eyed the paper suspiciously, wondering if it was bad luck or another sneaky scheme by the rest of the team to encourage the pair of you to make friends. ‘Do all the other papers say Natasha too?’

Tony snorted. ‘Please. If I was going to cheat at Secret Santa, then all the names in there would be mine.’ He snatched the helmet back before you could see for yourself and hurried away along the corridor.

You never got a definitive answer about the cheating. 

.

You did get a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Bruce when you asked him quietly for gift ideas for Natasha. 

You were trying not to let the upcoming Secret Santa ruin the holidays for you. But the prospect of buying Natasha a present was beyond intimidating.

Bruce’s first story didn’t help you at all. He told you about the birthday party that the team had planned for Natasha the year before. Clint had loudly protested the idea from the start. He’d argued it was pointless, given that no-one even knew her correct birthday. 

Still, the plan had gone ahead with the surprise party scheduled for an upcoming Saturday. Tony had sourced several extravagant presents on behalf of the team. 

You perked up at this part of Bruce’s story, hoping to get some inspiration for Secret Santa. 

Bruce mentioned the full range of brand new Stark industries tech that had been procured as presents and your hope flattened out. He hadn’t been kidding about extravagant.

Natasha must have gotten wind of the team’s intentions. She disappeared without a trace on the Friday night before the party. She reappeared back in the Tower on the following Monday morning, as if she’d never left.

Within an hour of her return, all the expensive waiting wrapped presents with her name on them had disappeared from the Tower. 

Tony still made occasional comments about it under his breath, but no one had ever addressed it directly with her. When Natasha didn’t want to talk about something, it was hard to bring it up.

Your nervousness shifted now into a feeling of dread. You felt frustrated at the practical stranger that you’d only ever wanted to like you. You were certain now that Natasha was going to hate whatever you bought her.

.

After the ominous story from Bruce, you spent the next few evenings alone in your room, scrolling endlessly through online lists for gift ideas. 

It was during one of these evenings that Natasha burst into your room unexpectedly.

Her eyes scanned the space, finding you instantly. She didn’t move closer.

‘I have you for Secret Santa.’ Natasha informed you tensely. You fought the annoyance that bubbled up inside you at her stressed tone. You weren’t hard to buy presents for, especially not compared to her.

‘Right.’ You replied, trying to keep your own tone calm.

‘What do you want?’ Natasha asked directly, her eyes focusing intensely on yours. You stared back at her, unable to believe what she’d just asked. You felt like another mission she’d been assigned to.

Something in you snapped, like a release of tension from every silent elevator ride you’d ever shared with her.

‘Just get me whatever you’d like me to have, Natasha.’ You replied harshly. ‘That’s exactly what I want.’

Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. You watched her try to assess your tone and your words. You didn’t like the feeling of it.

You looked away, staring back at the laptop screen and trying to blink away the embarrassing tears of frustration. 

Natasha left then. You shut your laptop and covered your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. You hated that she saw you as such an inconvenience.

Now, you were certain you’d be getting an information pamphlet on Not Being Such A Little Bitch for Christmas.

In the end, you asked Clint for help. He gave you exactly one suggestion and you took it tiredly. A bottle of vodka was about as impersonal as Natasha felt to you these days anyway.

.

The team did the gift exchange on the 23rd of December, before those with holiday plans needed to leave. You certainly didn’t have any plans to head away for. You’d already moved away to work for Shield, and then again for this job. No one you knew even lived on this side of the country. 

You didn’t mind too much, in fact you were beginning to look forward to it. Eating a takeout meal in the Avengers Tower seemed like a novel enough way to spend the holiday.

The present exchange had a warm atmosphere from the start. The tacky plastic Christmas tree that Clint had obviously found in a dollar store seemed more cheerful than the professionally decorated one that lived in the main lobby. 

Your eyes kept flickering over to Natasha as she played with the fake pine needles absentmindedly. Her hair was tied back, not in its typical braid, but in a loose ponytail. It flicked over her shoulder every time she glanced between the little tree and the rest of the team. 

She’d dressed casually for the event, wearing black jeans, a black top and an oversized red hoodie. Her small smile was soft and her shoulders seemed relaxed. It was the first time you’d ever seen her look so unguarded.

You and Natasha were the last to exchange your presents. What you already knew became clear to the team. You’d both gotten each other in the Secret Santa draw. You swapped the gifts carefully. 

‘You first.’ Natasha nodded, something surprisingly tentative in her expression.

Natasha’s gift was small. Not wrapped, it sat in a plain gift bag. There was a small box and a white piece of card. You read the card first. 

‘I knew you’d make a great Avenger. 

Thanks for proving me right. 

Natasha.’

The words were simple, her signature looped itself prettily across the bottom of the card.

Your heart dropped in surprise. Your eyes found Natasha’s and a hot rush of emotion rose up inside you. Natasha gave you her small smile, it looked almost shy. 

She’d had faith in you from the start. She’d been the one to request your transfer into the team. You hadn’t even thought she’d remembered you at Shield. The smile she’d once given you in the training room flashed through your mind.

The heat rushed to your cheeks. You realised how much of her personality had gotten lost in translation. You remembered her offering you painkillers when you were hurt. You’d heard criticism in her kindness. You hadn’t been fair at all.

She nodded once at the box in your lap and you remembered the gift itself. You opened the box hesitantly, aware of the others’ curious stares.

Inside the box was a necklace. Your breathing shallowed out as you processed it. The charm was the same red hourglass that was the insignia of the Black Widow. 

You wiped the unexpected tears from your face. You caught Natasha’s look of anticipation and tried to smile back. Your ‘Thank You’ got lodged in your throat.

Natasha’s smile widened a little. She moved now to open your present. 

The change inside of you was abrupt. Suddenly, the world moved in awful slow motion. You felt hot shame build up inside your throat. 

You watched her pull the bottle out of the badly wrapped packaging. You watched her swallow as she realised what it was. Disappointment flickered briefly over her face before her expression shuttered itself into a neutral one.

You could tell she was aware of the onlookers. Natasha laughed once, dryly.

‘Thanks.’ She said to you, eyes still on the bottle. Her voice rasped. ‘I do like vodka.’

Now, an awkward apology got caught in your throat. Your hand wrapped itself tightly around the velvet necklace box. The room was quiet, you watched Natasha’s shoulders subtly tense.

‘Tony, maybe it’s time to order the takeout.’ Bruce suggested suddenly. All at once, the room around you became busy again. 

Natasha excused herself immediately to put her gift in her room. Her smile seemed honest, but you caught the emptiness behind her eyes when she turned away. 

Your gaze trailed after her until Tony blocked your view abruptly, asking if you wanted any wontons.

.

The urgent call for the Avengers to assemble came before the takeout had even been ordered. 

You were the only one left behind. There was no time to even debate you joining them; the team had left the Tower immediately. The emergency was upstate and two civilians had already been killed. There wasn’t even time to include you on the comms.

You spent the rest of the day waiting worriedly. You watched the news just to have a way to feel connected. 

You kept hold of the jewellery box, your thumb rubbing worried circles against the velvet.

The All Clear update only came through in the evening. You finally called in the takeout order, knowing the whole team would be starving upon their arrival. 

Everyone, except for Clint and Natasha, entered together. Your eyes scanned the elevator worriedly as it opened up on the floor.

‘Clint had to head straight to his folks for Christmas.’ Steve told you quickly, noticing your obvious concern. ‘I guess Natasha went with him.’

Disappointment flooded you. Clint wasn’t due back for a full week. You wondered if Natasha would be away for that long too.

You ate in silence, brooding over your missed chance to even thank her properly. You owed Natasha more than one apology. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket midway through the meal.

You slid it out to see a text from Clint.

‘Gone straight home for Christmas with family. Can you check Tasha got back safe?’

You read the text over again unnecessarily. You slipped the phone back into your pocket and quietly excused yourself from the group.

.

You headed straight to Natasha’s rooms in the Tower, two floors down in the elevator. You tried hesitantly to enter, expecting the door to be locked. But, the handle turned.

Natasha was sitting on the wide windowsill. Her eyes were rimmed red and she was staring out at the skyline of New York. You saw the bottle of vodka balanced between her legs, already half drunk. You felt sick.

She turned at the sound of you. Her long hair hung loose, framing her face. Her smile was too sad to seem genuine. 

The room felt too quiet.

‘I’m sorry.’ You told her immediately, rushing out the words that you’d been wanting to say all day.

‘For what?’ She asked softly. You couldn’t tell from her head tilt if the question was genuine.

‘I should have.’ You began to answer anyway, gesturing over at the vodka bottle. ‘I should have.’ You hesitated, trying to find the right words.

‘That was the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.’ Natasha told you suddenly. 

Disbelief clouded your mind for a moment. You paused in confusion.

‘It’s the only Christmas present I’ve ever had.’ Natasha added quietly, the side of her head resting against the pane of glass.

‘I thought you didn’t like presents.’ You admitted after a moment. Natasha’s eyebrow raised and you could feel her surprise at your words. 

‘Bruce told me about your almost birthday party.’ 

Natasha laughed once then. The laugh was genuine but the tone of it made you feel sick.

‘My mother abandoned me in the street. Why do I need a present for that?’ The hurt in the words stung sharply.

Natasha shut her mouth quickly then and you could tell that she was fighting not to cry. You watched her jaw tense. A tear rolled down her cheek and she rubbed it away. 

Your heart ached sharply. You wondered if anyone really knew Natasha. If everyone made assumptions, like you. 

You walked across the room. You noticed how harshly her hand had touched her cheek, seeing the reddened mark from the contact. 

You noticed her shoulders stiffen slightly at your proximity.

‘I think you’re exceptional.’ You told her softly, sitting along the same windowsill and facing her.

Natasha snorted, her eyes drifted between the view of New York and you.

‘That’s because I can kick your ass.’ She said lightly. You watched her try to crack a smile to relieve the tension. 

You stretched your leg out slowly and nudged hers with it. Natasha’s eyes met yours immediately in response, the half smile frozen on her lips.

‘No.’ You said firmly. ‘It’s because you are so kind.’

Natasha blinked at you in surprise. A frown pulled at the edge of her mouth, her disagreement was immediate.

‘You don’t know that.’ She muttered harshly. ‘I’ve done terrible things.’

Her thumb traced the glass rim of the open vodka bottle as she looked down at it.

‘Where did those birthday presents go then?’ You asked, already having guessed the answer.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

‘Those were ridiculous. Too expensive. Tony went beyond overboard.’ She told you, focusing completely on the vodka bottle now.

‘Someone always needs them more’ You murmured, echoing the words she’d once told you when you’d offered her painkillers. 

Natasha’s look was appraising as it focused back on you. Her eyes widened slightly and you wondered if it was at the accuracy of your memory or your guess.

Her mouth relaxed almost imperceptibly.

‘Not to mention this.’ You continued quietly, opening the small velvet box that you’d been carrying around all day. Your fingers trailed along the necklace chain.

‘I just figured you liked jewellery.’ Natasha muttered and her eyes glanced over to the necklace that you were wearing.

‘It’s perfect.’ You told her as you undid the clasp of the necklace around your neck, removing it and placing it on the window ledge between you. 

Slowly, you took the new necklace out of its box and began to loop it around your neck.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ Natasha told you, looking exhausted and embarrassed all at once. She watched you warily.

You ignored her, finally managing to hook the clasp together. 

Then, you moved to stand behind her.

‘Lift your hair.’ You told her softly. 

Natasha looked up at you, obviously confused. You picked up your old necklace from the window ledge.

‘No.’ She refused as the realisation hit her. 

You stayed steady in your resolve, waiting quietly. 

Natasha’s green eyes studied you, she looked uncertain. After a long moment, she lifted her hair up. 

You looped the necklace around her neck and fastened it carefully. Your fingers brushed her skin and you felt her shiver slightly.

Once you were done, you rested your hand tentatively on her shoulder. Natasha was only wearing her black top now and you could feel the warmth of her through the fabric. 

‘Happy Christmas, from someone who cares about you.’ You told her simply. 

You wished desperately that you had written it on a card like she had. You felt exposed as your words hung for a moment in the air between you. 

Then, Natasha’s hand moved silently to cover your own, holding it still against her shoulder. Your breath caught.

‘You want some?’ Natasha said after a moment, her knee nudging the vodka bottle.

.

That year was the first time you didn’t have any place to be for Christmas. 

So, you found one with Natasha.

[zaynes-nieve]

Zayne Confirmed Lore

Anything confirmed by the developers, including any accounts or information within the game! (I will update you as the game continues, and I appreciate any info I can get from you all as well!!!!)

Tender Moments | Memoria | Bond | Devs/Offical/Messages/Calls | Main Story | Annecdotes

Basic Info:

Zayne's Birthday is September 5th | About Him

Other Names: Rei (JP), Lee See-Oen (KR) and Li Shen (CN)

Zayne's Constellation sign is a Virgo (like me)| About Him

Zayne is 6'1 | About Him

Zayne's age is 27 | About Him

Zayne is the Chief Cardiac Surgeon at Akso Hospital | About Him

Zayne's evol is Ice | About Him

Daily Life and a good chunk of the lore

Zayne is a workaholic, and he likes it | Gentle Twilight/About Him

He is good at snowboarding! | Everlasting Snowdrop/About Him

He knows how to peel an apple in one go | Spring Remnants/About Him

He is good at drawing (those anatomical diagrams, ftw!!!) | Suprise Encounter/About Him

He has a sweet tooth (like me) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

He gets toothaches (unlike me) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

He is a terrible patient (Strict against others, indulgent to his own whims) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

Zayne is a teetotaler (a person who never drinks alcohol) | Drunken Intimacy/About Him

He is good at pool but is a strict teacher | Exclusive Tutorial/About Him

His Parents are also Doctors and work with Doctors without Borders overseas | Eternal Attachment/About Him

He sends them a message on his birthday each year, telling them he is just fine! | Eternal Attachment/About Him

Zayne has a hard time controlling his Evol | Main Story 4-10/Never Ending Winter ch.4

Starcatcher Awardee (2046) | Main Story 4-5

Linde Award Winner (Year 2046) | Main Story 4-5 / Never Ending Winter ch.10? Last chapter mention

His patients all are obedient (terrified) of him | A Pure White Heart ch. 3

Dr. Zayne and Dawnbreaker see each other in their dreams | Gonna be pulling from a lot of things, so give me a moment for this one 😭 (Never Ending Winter Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.4) (Ngl Dawnbreaker Might Need his own section....or Page)

He has a pet squirrel named after the medication, Clopidogrel! | Feed the Squirrel/Message

It appears Zayne also frequently volunteers to assist in medical relief for disasters or joins the medical teams assisting hunters fighting wanders in high-frequency zones | Dawn's Shadows, Foreign Aid/Video Call, Hidden Motive, Medical Rescue

He is quick to forgo his well-being to save others in dangerous situations. He truly puts his own duty as a doctor above everything else.| Medical Rescue, Neon Night

He is surprisingly (not to any of us but to MC ig) a novice to the art of sleeping in. | Fluffy Treatment/About Him

When he is sick he dodges the cold medicine for Hot Cocoa. | Engraved Affection/About Him

His Past:

Zayne was one smart cookie and skipped several years! But because he was so young and his classmates were not. He had a hard time making friends | Delicacy/About Him

When he was in medical school, he visited a barbeque stall a lot | Delicacy/About Him

He has a good tolerance for pain😭and he gets injured a lot, leaving many scars | Medical Rescue/About Him

Dr. Zayne was in the 35th Cohort of the Skyhaven Medical School in a PhD Program | Never Ending Winter ch.1

He was an intern under Dr. William (took him under his wing) | Never Ending Winter ch.1

It's implied he had to kill William after those black crystals seemed to be turning Dr.William into a Wanderer (Do we consider this confirmed enough?) | Never Ending Winter ch. 6

He Plays Tennis (and won a prize!) | Tennis Game/Messages

Due to the time travel shenanigans and our boy being the best at everything, Zayne is now an expert Jade carver! | Moonlit Dream

He briefly studied keyboards as a child. But quit after a month. | Heartstring Notes

All he knows how to play is Little Lamb | Heartstring Notes

His Likes:

He really hates carrots!!! | A Frozen Promise/About Him

He visits medical museums to relax, or he will go look out at the river | Heart Within Reach/About Him

Our Story 💙❄️☃️

He gave us a little snow seal when we were children (we thought it was a snowball) | A Frozen Promise/About Him

After seeing our name on the volunteer list for the Frontlines, he follows us. Hidden Motive/Insta Acc.

He is our Primary Doctor!!! (we're not gonna talk about the ethics of this LMFAO) | Main Story 1-8/About Him

Zayne said he melted an "old" popsicle (our popsicles at this time) for us when we were kids | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

Our Grandmother left us a letter with Zayne, and he seems to know more than he is letting on | Main Story 4-7 (I'll double check this one)

We voted for him in the Patient's Favorite Doctor poll on Asko's official account (He also won) | A Vote/Message

HE USES US AS HIS WALLPAPER | Screen Saver/Message

Zayne is not above bribery (whether it is us or his patients) | I Miss You/Message

We gave daffodils to Zayne! (they're garlic) | Gardening/Message

World Underneath

Longly Flame

Williams Girlfriend was named Sienna

She gives Zayne, Williams Martyr Badge.

(See the Everlasting Anecdote for more info on William)

They call Zayne the 35th academic god XD. They pray to him before exams lmfao

Zayne and Dr. Noah are apart of an experiment along with Carter regarding proctores and hearts. It starts growing black crystals

Zayne deletes all of his research

In General this just introduces that Dr. Noah had three protégés; Zayne, Carter and William

Snowy Stairs

Carter didn't get his doctorate degree (what a scum bag)

Carter is stalking Zayne.

He also seems to be playing and is obsessed with life and death

Cabin 607 is a patient, Carter is attempting to use to get Zayne to join him in his efforts at Xander Sciences

His name is Felix, 45 and a teacher

Carter tried to hack Zayne with a Trojan horse. This man is obsessed oml

Carter is now attempting to use MC to get to Zayne and possibly use MC for the X-Heart Experiment

No Morning (The Greyson Anecdote)

Zayne is the type to micromanage

This occurs after Im assuming after MC and Zayne’s trip to Mt. Eternal due to context clues but this may be wrong

Grayson has a crush on a Hunter

Zayne and MC are considered close by the Akso staff

Snowball Flower on Zayne's desk though it looks a little sick according to Greyson

Called a Snow Velvet

Rescue Operation, both Greyson, Zayne attend for 2 days and 2 nights

Awww Greyson got himself a little Hunter girlfriend

CPR and the 6 minutes if they're heart stops. To not give up cause that is when a person is declared dead and can't be resuscitated. (I think Greyson was telling Zayne this but I originally thought it was Zayne telling Greyson)

Overall it really is just getting into how scary being a hunter is from a non hunter perspective. Especially since it's from a surgeon who is like Zayne.

We also learn more about some of the medical conditions that occur with Hunters and protocore symptoms

And once again the mention of the Grim Reaper and again the mention of dark ICE crystals with the dying snow velvet

Dawnbreaker

Anything talked about in this section is written as if you have already had the knowledge before hand.

Never Ending Winter: Zayne Anecdote #2

First mention of Dawnbreaker and also where we get the info of Zayne's Nightmare into Dawnbreaker's world.

Zayne mentions the nightmares again and talks about how his current reality is more bloody than his nightmares (Dawn Breaker World)

We get Dr.Zayne's perspective as he is "in that world of ice and snow" Zayne attacks himself from his perspective with dark crystals (which we know from The third ancedote is the color of Dawnbreaker's ice

Dr.Zayne refers to this black coated version of him as the Grim Reaper.

Zayne almost accidentally killed someone important to him when he was 12. He was 12 when he first started getting dreams of Dawnbreaker

Crystals begin to grow off of William (though, they mention the color of said crystals being black, they dont mention if they're ice)

The people Dawnbreaker killed appear in front of him after he kills William

Still in the Dark: Zayne Anecdote #3

Georgie's first description of Dawnbreaker Zayne is that of a Grim Reaper (hence the connection to all mentions of him in Never Ending Winter)

Georige is a young boy who hires Zayne to help him find the person who killed his mom

Dawnbreaker is the in canon title for the serial killer who leaves no bodys only dark blue crystals

There is footage of Dawnbreaker killing these people, so it isn't speculation

Detective Ivan, the police working on the Dawnbreaker case, gives distrubing insight into the situation, giving his point of view that the people who Dawnbreaker is killing leave behind shards like Wanderer protocores

When he catches Dawnbreaker in the act, he finds the victim with tentacles and attacking Dawnbreaker.

Georgie's mother was a worker at an ungergound protocore factory

Zayne, after running out of chocolate, takes some from Georgie, and so begins the Georige & Zayne duo.

DB!Zayne watches Old Doctor Television Shows

He also only lives off of Nutrient Solutions

DB! Zayne also has a Jasmine Plant

He also oftens visits a decayed plaza with a jasmine field

In their universe, Linkon City is a city from a distant past.

DB!Zayne confirms that he also dreans and that it is of Linkon City

Chapter 4 is where we get the most intermigle between Zayne & DB! Zayne.

Zayne dreams of MC and the snacks we share with Zayne in particular a popsicle which could be a refrence to [ill pull it later]

He dreams of being a suregon. He started getting these dreams also at the age twelve

He knew at 12 that MC and Zayne would meet at 27

Dawnbreaker lives vicariously though these dreams and the remnants of Linkon he can find in his world.

Zayne calls the Humans who leave behind Protocore fragments "Abominations"

He plays some recording about Zhuangzi and the Butterfly essentially not knowing if he was the dream or if they are. (Butterfly dreaming of being Zhuangzi or Zhuangzi dreaming of being a Butterfly) Dr.Zayne and Dawnbreaker to a T.

Georgie dreams of being a monster (Foreshadowing yall). Zayne notices a bump under Georgies eyes 😭

Georgie, on the day he turns 12, begins to show more obvious symptoms of being an Abomination

IK this has been more of a recount, but we got little to work with Dawn Breaker lore yall

Dawn Breakers first kill was when he was 12, after he killed his adopted father, who became an Abomination

It is also here that we learn that if not killed, these beings turn into Wanderers.

Zayne is the one who murdered Georgie's mother

We find out that Georgie's mother requested that Zayne kills her half a month before she turned.

Her Coworkers having turned into Wanderers (She believes it was due to their long exposure to the protocores)

Zayne kills Georgie after he becomes an Abomination

Detective Ivan gives us the run down that the government and those in power are hiding the fact that some of those wanderers were once human. He also intends to stop and destory the investigation against Dawnbreaker, likely so Zayne can continue doing his job.

Special Investigation: Zayne

Eternal Attachment

MYTH STORIES

Foreseer

Master of Fate

Pls hit me up with any more information and where it's from!!

[sodaabaa]

late night mischief 

anthony bridgerton x wife!reader reader gets dragged into a bit of late night mischief with the bridgerton siblings while anthony is away.

tw: slightly nsfw, spanking 

Y/N walked down the stairs of Bridgerton House, holding tightly onto the nightrobe she’d donned on her way out of her bedroom. She was having trouble sleeping due to her husband’s absence. As she walked past her husband’s study and towards the kitchen, she heard hushed whispers.

“Hush Eloise, you’ll alert the entirety of the house with your cackling!” 

“Benedict?” She muttered to herself. What could he and Eloise possibly be up to at this hour?

She pushed the door to the study open, slipping through the opening. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, laughing silently at the sight before her. Eloise, hoisted up on a ladder rummaging through one of the many shelves in the dark room. Benedict, holding onto said ladder to prevent Eloise from stumbling. 

“What on earth are you two ne'er do wells doing?” She exclaimed, turning to shut the door before anyone else could be alerted.

Eloise turned abruptly, if it weren’t for Benedict’s hold on the ladder, she would have come toppling down. She smiled sheepishly, as did Benedict.

“Y/N! My most favored sister-in-law! Should you like to join us?” Benedict said, his eyebrows raised in invitation.

Y/N hesitated. The Bridgertons always played pranks on each other, it was part of what made this family so unique. They constantly poked fun at one another unlike the typical stuffy and overly formal families of the ton, including Y/N’s own. Pranking her older siblings was something she could never even dream of doing. She had yet to join in on any of the pranks the Bridgertons carried out but she’d been witness to her husband who found himself at the center of many a prank quite often. 

“Come now, you’ve yet to give Anthony some trouble, it’s quite the thrill to see the look of disbelief on his face,” Eloise said, imitating her eldest brother’s furrowed brow. 

She huffed, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Fine. But just this once, I do not wish to make a habit of troubling my husband, your eldest brother, I should remind you. He deserves some respect, does he not?” 

Eloise and Benedict rolled their eyes in unison, “He receives plenty of respect, why do you think he’s so pompous and arrogant half the time?” Benedict replied. 

“Come, you can begin by hiding his preferred whisky behind these dusty old books,” He said, gesturing to the crystal decanter on the wooden desk.

She walked over to the shelf, removing some of the books, a light cloud of dust billowing up at the sudden disturbance. She waved a hand in front of her face, “Dusty indeed.” Benedict shrugged, “I told you.”

She reached for the crystal decanter but before she could take it, Eloise cut in.

“Wait! We should each take a drink, imagine the look of horror on Anthony’s face if he knew we’d consumed some of his prized whiskey” She stepped down from the ladder.

Benedict chuckled, amused by the idea. 

“Well then, after you, Viscountess Bridgerton” Benedict poured a drink into a glass and handed it to her. Y/N didn’t have a habit of drinking anything stronger than wine but being in cahoots with the two most mischievous Bridgertons gave her a sudden rush. She eyed the amber liquid before she took a sip, instantly regretting it. She coughed, shocked by the bitterness of the drink.

“Is this even for human consumption?” She questioned, her face scrunched in disgust.

Benedict took the glass from her hand and only shook his head as he downed the rest of her drink. He coughed once, “Leave it to our brother to drink something as bitter as he is.” 

Eloise poured herself a sip as well, throwing her head back as she quickly swallowed the drink. She winced, “Oh, that’s awful.”

The three of them giggled, the alcohol worked quickly, warming them up and lowering their inhibitions even further. If Anthony were here to see them, she could only imagine the fury. Perhaps he’d make good on his threats to take her over his knee. Her stomach fluttered at the thought. Her husband frequently threatened to spank her, ever the authoritative viscount. Anthony hated when she made belittling remarks about herself every so often or when she teased him at dinner parties to get him riled. But he hadn’t ever gone through with it. Perhaps this would be his last straw. 

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the doorknob rattled and it felt as though someone had poured ice-cold water on the three troublemakers. They scrambled to find a place to hide, Y/N quickly shoved herself under the desk, lifting her knees to her chest hoping she’d disappear. Benedict sat on the other end of the desk, resigned at his fate of being discovered. Eloise sat on the chair, a book in hand hoping it’d simply look like she was doing some late-night reading. 

The door opened, Y/N could only hear what was about to happen. Y/N said a silent prayer for sibling-in-laws. 

“What the bloody hell are you two doing in here?” Anthony asked, not angry – yet.

“Oh, brother. How nice of you to join us. Drink?” Benedict offered, trying his best to remain nonchalant. 

“That was not an answer, Benedict. What are you doing here?” He enunciated, she could hear her husband’s patience wearing thin.

“Whatever could you mean, brother? Benedict and I could not sleep so we both had the idea of coming down here to lounge about” Eloise stuttered.

Anthony huffed, “Never mind. My wife is not in our room, do the two of you buffoons happen to know where she might be?”

Shit. 

Benedict and Eloise stilled, the latter’s eyes dropping down to where Y/N hid and then back up to Anthony.

“Eloise?” Anthony said pointedly, “Is my wife under that desk?” He huffed.

Eloise let out a nervous laugh. Y/N could feel the ground shake with each step her husband took. He towered over her, his head tilted to the side, hands on either hip. 

She looked up as innocently as she could, donning a sheepish smile in hopes it might charm her husband enough to overlook their mischief.

“Hello, dear,” She said meekly. 

Anthony rolled his eyes, reaching down to grab her arm and pull her out from underneath the desk. With his hand still around her arm, he looked at his siblings. 

“Bed. Now.” 

With that, the two scurried away, leaving Y/N alone with her husband. 

Anthony let her go, reaching behind her to fill his cup with a drink. He swirled the glass, staring her down as he took a sip and then, to her utter shock, downed the entire glass at once with no indication of its bitterness. She swallowed, suddenly intimidated by the man in front of her and his tolerance of strong liquor. He turned, taking a seat in his chair, knees spread. He rested his head in one of his hands, looking at his wife in thought.

She stood before him and although he was looking up at her, Y/N felt rather small. Warmth rose to her cheeks, Anthony’s gaze was intense and there was nothing she could do to escape it. He exhaled. 

“Come here,” he motioned with a hand. She walked towards him, hesitant. He grabbed her, pulling her to stand in between his legs. His hands trailed up until they rested at her waist. Her breathing quickened in pace. 

“You’re becoming quite troublesome, Y/N, what am I to do with you?” He murmured, his hands tightening their grip on her waist.

It must have been the alcohol for she had never been one to be so forward, especially with the man before her. Despite being married for nearly a year, she still found herself timid when he gazed at her with eyes filled with desire, and hunger. 

“I recall several threats of a spanking, my lord” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Anthony’s brows raised a smile formed on his face in amusement but his eyes darkened at the challenge. In one swift motion, he pulled her down over his knees. Her torso rested on one knee while his other knee lifted over her lower body to keep her legs in place. She stumbled forward but he quickly grabbed one of her arms, pulling it behind her to keep her steady. Her other arm rested on her side, against her husband’s chest. His other hand snaked up under her robe, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. 

“Count each spank,” he commanded. His voice rumbled through Y/N’s core.

She only nodded, failing to muster the courage to speak. Her breath quickened in anticipation, suspense prickling at her skin. When she least expected it, his hand came down harshly with a loud slap. At first, she couldn’t feel the impact but mere seconds later, warmth spread across her bottom. She gasped.

“Count," he repeated.

She inhaled, “One.”

His hand came down again. 

“Two.”

Again. 

“Three.”

Y/N’s face grew warmer, tears beginning to well in her eyes at the stinging sensation. She felt electrified. Her breaths came in and out rapidly as he continued his punishment. 

She yelped, and the warm sting finally made way to a more painful sensation. Anthony stopped, assuming she’d had enough. She struggled against him, trying to wriggle her arm out of his grasp. His rough hands gently rubbed her bottom, hot from the impact. Cooing and shushing her to calm her before he released her.

“Are you alright?” He asked her softly, releasing his grip and pulling her into a straddling position. She nodded against his neck, her cheeks still warm. He pulled her back and held her face for a moment, scanning her for signs of regret or fear. She gave him a sleepy smile. When he was satisfied that she was only tired from their activities, his fingers buried themselves in her hair, gently caressing her, causing her to grow even sleepier. She hummed, enjoying the tender moment between them after days of missing her husband. 

“I must say if this is how you’d like to end nights of mischief – I might allow for more opportunities,” her husband chuckled. 

She huffed a laugh, already falling asleep against his chest to the rise and fall of his breathing. She felt him press a kiss atop her head, murmuring something she couldn’t quite catch as she drifted off.

[pigeonpeach]

Jealous harbingers

Warning: yandere like tendencies or behaviors but not fully. Also ofc jealously and violence

Characters: Childe, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Arlecchino, Columbina, Sandrone

Childe is definitely the worst when it comes to jealousy. He’s number 11 so he’s eager to rise up the ranks, but he also refuses to bring you around the other harbingers because he worries they’d use you to get to him. And it would work. Hook line and sinker. Even if its innocent. The only harbinger he’d let you around is Puncinella and that’s because the guy is like family to him so of course he doesn’t mind. But if he must he has you close 24/7. He cuts off his colleagues if they get too comfortable and is quick to show displays of affection as of means to dissuade anyone. He also will leave enough hickies to make you look like a dalmation

Capitano is actually very calm when jealous. For the simple fact that scenario is incredibly unlikely to happen. No man is stupid enough to flirt with his partner, especially when you’re consistently guarded and accompanied. Not even Dottore would risk his wrath. But if some idiot does decide to try they won’t last long. Like at all. He will just grab them by their skull and toss them like they’re a lingering piece of garbage. He will not leave hickies on you however because with his strength that could actually do serious damage and he just refuses to risk hurting for that. He will likely have you wear his insignia in some way on your outfit if you go out without him.

Dottore is worse but hes good at covering for it. Like Captiano he is less likely to let you be alone in public without him or underling. But he knows you’re a beautiful sight so you would catch a eye or too. You won’t know that the underlings avoid your gaze because the last few that lingered their gaze quickly became test subjects of some horrible experiments. He is also not stupid enough to show you off to the other harbingers. You’re likely in your own wing of the lab building in a comfortable environment with attendees far from where any colleague of his is allowed to go. Although he will probably get jealous of his clones. The younger segments are more neutral towards you but the older ones are more likely to try and hold you or kiss your hand while he’s not in the room. It’s quite a mess for him.

Pantalone is not like Dottore in that he will show off his prized jewel in the appropriate settings. They wear custom matching outfits meant to clearly indicate they are his, jewelry paralleling his own, with a hand on the waist at all times as he mostly dominates conversations with strangers or colleagues. He is proud that you are his. He makes it well known. In public he is usually not so touchy minus holding you. But if he notices the lingering gazes and jealous stares he gets he won’t hesitate to stoke those agitation as a way of showing dominance. For instance he may pull you into s dance in which he keeps you pressed so close to him. He may pull you in for a quick kiss or a long one depending on how mischievous he is feeling.

Arlecchino

You’ll need not to deal with such things. More likely than not you’ll be busy in the orphanage. The rare occasion she allows you to accompany her is for special events she thinks you would enjoy. Often times your shared children are also brought as body guards to you. So you won’t be left alone. If any would be suitor comes by they’ll swiftly redirect them and engage if they get violent. But if a harbinger were to try their luck…. Arlecchino will not hold her tongue nor keep up appearances as she pulls you from the conversation and kindly reminds said harbinger to keep their hands to themselves. Once you’re home safe and alone however her teeth with be in your neck making enough hickies to make you into a leopard.

Sandrone

You are her most prized possession by far. Beautiful puppets and such. She is seldom seen in public or in events. Often sending underlings in her stead. It helps she’s also not nearly as social able or diplomatic. But she is a very jealous lover. She hates the idea of anyone else having eyes on you. She may subtly influence you to stay by her side more and more. Not even the most arrogant harbinger would dare to challenge her.

Columbina

She is actually least likely to be jealous. She’s a odd woman. But if she didn’t think you would stay loyal then she wouldn’t have let you out of the house today anyways! Your attire is tailored and customized to match hers. Sometimes you dawn a veil as she thinks if she sees your pretty face too much she’ll loose all restraint and just get carried away with you. Truly a strange woman. Not even the most reckless of harbingers would challenge her.

[phyrestartr]

If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

--

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished. 

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were. 

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.” 

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.” 

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.” 

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.” 

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it. 

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?” 

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.” 

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him. 

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.” 

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it? 

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts. 

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them. 

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed. 

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.” 

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.” 

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes. 

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late. 

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree. 

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them. 

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them. 

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.” 

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words. 

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own. 

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side. 

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses. 

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too. 

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose. 

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching. 

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.” 

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered. 

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly. 

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they? 

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased. 

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?” 

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?” 

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development. 

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?” 

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before. 

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage. 

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them. 

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all. 

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope. 

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors. 

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna. 

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?” 

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.” 

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.” 

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.” 

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?” 

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.” 

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost. 

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.” 

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning. 

[explosionshark]

Part of why it's so frustrating to me that we didn't have the opportunity to spend more time during Vi's pit fighter era and Caitlyn's dictator phase is bc like. Well, I mean those are both hugely significant and interesting ways for them to cope that are deeply reflective of the fundamental differences in their characters

Vi, an undercity kid that spent most of her formative years imprisoned, seeks out pain and oblivion. She finds herself lost and abandoned and immediately reaches for what she's most familiar with - violence. The self harming nature of her fighting career is obvious but I think the other stuff we see in the montage deserved more time too. She drinks to an unhealthy excess, blacking out, getting into more violent altercations. We don't see her seeking out any form of intimacy or connection with people - there are no depicted one night stands or groupies. Instead we see her hallucinating Caitlyn and reacting violently when a guy tries dancing with her.

Whether it's an intrinsic part of her or a trait that was cultivated through trauma, we know that Vi doesn't have many close relationships, but she loves the people near to her fiercely. It's kind of heartbreaking and so fucking interesting that when she's apart from Caitlyn she doesn't try to fill the void with other people. She just misses her.

Vi reacts to being left behind by isolating herself further. She reacts to being hurt by piling more hurt onto herself, channeling her pain into aggression, and when she's not fighting she's trying to numb herself with alcohol. It's a brutal montage and I really wish we'd been able to dive in more to Vi's self destructive tendencies.

Caitlyn meanwhile also reaches for the familiar but in a totally different way. We see her indulging her privilege in a very particular way. Unlike Vi, instead of fully isolating or burying her pain, we see her hold her grief tight in both hands and use it as fuel. She channels her pain into obsessively hunting down Jinx and suppressing Zaun through her increasingly militarized policing campaign. She becomes a workaholic who can't ever stop focusing on her agenda, even as the doubts she has continue to increase. She's stone cold sober in every scene and the combat practice she undertakes at Ambessa's side is controlled, goal-oriented and the complete opposite of Vi's reckless prize fighting.

Instead of solitude, we see her take up with a subordinate that she doesn't have a strong emotional attachment to and take comfort in sex within a dynamic where she perceives she has total control. Maddie doesn't mean enough to Caitlyn to meaningfully challenge her, which we see as Caitlyn ignores her advice and pulls away from her in bed. Hooking up with someone under her is a move that it's hard to imagine the idealistic s1 version of Caitlyn ever approving of and that's why it's so interesting to me. I think it highlights how much of s1 Caitlyn's morality is related to her resisting the ability to abuse her privilege as a favored daughter of Piltover. In s2, she forgoes her earlier attempts for egalitarian reform and justice in favor of indulging more wantonly with her baser impulses for control and power and immediate satisfaction. It suggests this beautiful death by a thousand cuts of her moral center as she loosens her grip on her noble ideals and gives in to this rash impulse, and that pragmatic cruelty, and this selfish want until she's in so deep she's become the sort of brutal oppressive force she had once tried to tear down.

The difference between them in this part of the show is so striking and it's a shame to me that we never get to really see them confront these versions of each other.

[signanothername]

Was listening to “The Court Jester” before I thought of something.

Does your version of Nightmare have like, a will of some sort? Like, if Nightmare were to die because if Dream had won against him and like, killed nightmare or nightmare just died cause he old and crusty (/hj), would Killer get his things?? Like his mansion/castle, clothing, throne, prized possessions, etc. .or would Killer just mourn over Nightmare, wander around the castle and like, get nothing but help himself to things inside of it? Finding his secrets and stuff like that?

Interesting question >:)

Ok so i feel like it’s pretty much clear Nightmare does own a lot of things, his castle one of them of course

But I feel like had Nightmare died Killer wouldn’t inherit anything after, cause to inherit something you need to be a family, which Killer isn’t, and tbh, I don’t think Killer would ever care enough to want to inherit Nightmare’s possessions regardless, he certainly wouldn’t care if Nightmare died either

Nightmare’s death would negatively impact Killer, but not in a “Killer would feel sad and mourn Nightmare” kinda way, more like “Killer had been a bit codependent on Nightmare to find purpose that now Nightmare’s dead he doesn’t truly understand what to do with his life” kinda way, but even then, it’s not like Killer truly understood if he had any purpose at all anymore other than to be someone’s killing machine, so i feel like he’d move on to do whatever the fuck he wants anywhere he wants

Killer would simply abandon the castle and go somewhere else, especially with the fact that the one who kept him trapped there no longer exists to continue keeping him there, and it’s not like Killer holds any attachment to it or Nightmare, Killer can’t feel anything most of the time anyway, and even when he does (stage 1) it’s not like he holds Nightmares in high regard (especially with how Nightmare treated him)

Know who’d actually inherit Nightmare’s possessions tho? Dream, and unlike Killer, I can see Dream actually genuinely caring about inherenting every little thing Nightmare ever owned, cause Nightmare’s possessions are the only things left of his now dead brother, Dream would heavily mourn the loss of his brother and I can even see him taking care of Nightmare’s possessions for the rest of his ageless life, making sure the castle is spotless (spring cleaning if you will) he’d take all Nightmare had, from paperwork, to photos, to books, to the crescent golden crown and keep them somewhere safe, making sure they never wear down with time

Dream knows Nightmare actually cares about keeping things prestine and he aims to keep it as prestine as he possibly can (and maybe it’s cause of the crushing guilt weighing him down about how both their lives had been, and how he couldn’t ever fix it)

And who knows, maybe Dream would start healing when he realizes that there’s a tiny part of Nightmare that still cared about him even after his corruption in the process ;)

Part 2 (of sorts)

Part 3 (a lil bit)

Part 4

[joyfulcowboycandy]

The princess in the tower... And the dragon?

Malleus x Reader

❥ one shot

Content warning: murder, angst and fluff, malleus is very tall, hints of past sexual assault

fem reader

The princess in the tower… And the dragon?

This is how the story goes:

A beautiful princess from a faraway kingdom is kidnapped and held captive in a tower by an evil and strong dragon, and the knight must slay the dragon and save her from his evil clutches. The princess then falls in love with the strong knight who risked his life to save her, and they lived happily ever after.

This "princess," however, is far different from how the story is meant to go.

She is no princess at all.

Y/n is merely a common girl who ran away from a life of suffering, seeking refuge in a lonely tower in the middle of a desolate forest. She found solace here, safe from the cruelty of others. But the tower had a guardian of its own—a dragon. Not that she knew it at first.

The dragon was enormous, far too large to ever fit inside the tower, so at first, she thought she could stay without much trouble. After all, she reasoned, dragons don’t communicate with humans… Do they? If he wanted to harm her, he would’ve done so by now. Yet, despite his fearsome appearance, he never attacked her. Instead, he left her alone, merely resting atop the tower. He even brought her berries and fruits. It was confusing. Back in her village, dragons were supposed to be vile creatures—monsters of destruction.

But unlike the people she once knew, the dragon never hurt her. And that was all that mattered.

Back in her village, life had been anything but safe. Y/n was forever scarred by that one night, the night when she dared to speak up about the man who assaulted her. He was a respected figure, shielded by his reputation, while she was met with disbelief and scorn. Her cries for justice were silenced, twisted into accusations that she had tarnished his honor. Her family turned their backs on her, and the verbal abuse became unbearable. They accused her of lying, of bringing shame upon them. The whispers, the judgment, it all closed in on her, suffocating her until she could no longer bear it.

The fear of men had embedded itself deep in her heart, long before she ever arrived at the tower. Their leering gazes, their unchecked power—it had always terrified her. The man who hurt her wasn’t an isolated case. She’d witnessed the way men in the village treated women—like possessions, tools for their amusement, and nothing more. And her voice, like so many others, had been ignored.

The tower became her sanctuary, and the dragon… oddly enough, her only comfort.

He never tried to speak to her. He never tried to control her. He only existed, a quiet presence at the top of the tower. It was strange how she found herself feeling safe in his silent company, even if she knew nothing about him. There were no words exchanged, no gestures of friendship. But he brought her food, he never entered her space, and most importantly—he never tried to harm her.

The men who came after her, however, were nothing like the dragon.

One day, the peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of hooves pounding against the forest floor. Y/n’s heart jumped into her throat as she rushed to the window, peeking out just enough to see a knight approaching the base of the tower. A sinking feeling filled her chest as she backed away, trembling. He called out for her, and although she didn’t respond, she could feel his eyes tracking her every movement from below. The way he stared at her… it was enough to freeze her blood.

She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want him to come any closer. But when he started climbing up the tower, panic surged through her veins.

In his eyes, she was nothing more than a prize. A damsel in distress that needed saving. It disgusted her how these men—knights, they called themselves—felt entitled to her. They believed they could show up, kill the dragon, and take her hand in marriage as if she were a mere trophy. She’d seen that look in their eyes before. It wasn’t concern. It wasn’t compassion. It was desire. Lust. Greed.

She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t.

So, when he reached the top and looked at her with those hungry eyes, her fear turned into cold determination. She pushed him down the tower, watching as he fell.

The sickening thud echoed below.

It wasn’t the end, though. Someone found the body, and after that, more men came—knights in shining armor, each more eager than the last to claim the “princess” for themselves. None of them cared what she wanted. They were predators, and their so-called chivalry was nothing but a facade for their selfish ambitions.

They never once asked for her permission. They assumed their presence was wanted, that they had the right to "rescue" her. But she didn’t want to be rescued. She didn’t want them at all. And every time one of them climbed the tower, she pushed them down just the same. The rumors spread quickly—of a dragon killing knights left and right, all to protect the princess in the tower.

But she knew the truth. The dragon had done nothing.

In fact, the dragon had done more for her than any man ever had. He was gentle. He respected her space, and in return, she felt safer around him than she ever had with another human. It was strange, perhaps even foolish, to trust a dragon—an unpredictable creature of legend. But in his quietness, she found solace. He gave her berries and fruits, a kind of offering. Maybe the dragon, too, was lonely.

One evening, he left a clawful of berries by her window as usual. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out. With trembling hands, she touched his claw—a tentative gesture, a soft caress of gratitude. The dragon froze, as if startled by her touch. She could feel the cold, smooth surface beneath her fingers, the sharpness of his talons. Her heart pounded as she traced the lines of his scales, feeling a strange sense of connection.

Suddenly, he let out a low growl, pulling away quickly. Fear gripped her as she stepped back, her pulse racing in her chest. Did she do something wrong?

“T-thank you, dragon!” she stammered, her voice shaky with fear and something else—hope, maybe.

The dragon huffed, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated through the air. Was it a response? She couldn’t tell. But she took it as one.

She watched him from the window, her eyes tracing his dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. For the first time in so long, she felt something other than fear—something closer to… peace. Maybe, just maybe, the dragon wasn’t as evil as the stories said.

Maybe they were both just trying to survive in a world that had been cruel to them.

˙ ✩°˖🫐 ⋆｡˚꩜

Several days passed like this—her exchanging brief touches and whispers, him delivering food and resting on the roof of her tower. Until one day, something changed.

She had been waiting for the usual sound of his wings flapping when she heard something else—a soft footstep. Startled, she spun around, expecting another knight who had somehow scaled the tower. But when her eyes fell on the figure at the entrance, she froze.

He was very tall, but not in the imposing, armor-clad way of the knights. His clothes were dark, elegant, and his presence felt… different. The horns on his head glistened in the dim light of the moonlight, curling like the very symbol of power. His eyes, sharp and glowing, locked onto hers, and yet, they didn’t hold that familiar lust or greed she had come to expect. They were curious… warm.

Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Who—no, what was he? He wasn’t a knight, not a man here to take her away. But he wasn’t just any ordinary human either.

"Who… are you?" she whispered, voice trembling, not from fear, but from uncertainty.

The man—no, the creature—tilted his head, eyes softening. He didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was familiar, almost as if she had known him all along.

It clicked slowly in her mind. The dragon. The same eyes, the same gentle aura. He had always been watching over her, not as a threat, but as a guardian.

"You're... him, aren't you?" she murmured, stepping closer. She noticed the slight huff of air escaping his nose, much like the dragon’s low rumble when she thanked him. Her fear melted, replaced with wonder.

Her hands, almost instinctively, reached up toward his face, fingers lightly grazing his jawline. He stood still, just like he did when she touched his scales as a dragon, as if allowing her to confirm what she already knew.

He brought his hand up to meet hers, softly guiding it against his cheek. The coolness of his skin startled her—so cold, it almost seemed impossible that he was alive. In contrast, her hand was warm, curling instinctively against him, feeling the soft tickle of his hair as it cascaded over his shoulder and brushed lightly against her fingers.

“I am,” he finally spoke, his voice low and rich, carrying a quiet power that resonated deep within her.

There was no doubt left. He was the dragon—the creature that had watched over her, protected her from the horrors of the world, and silently kept her company all this time. And now, he stood before her in this form, speaking, meeting her touch with a tenderness that was both startling and comforting.

"Why… why didn’t you tell me?" she whispered, her fingers still resting against his cold cheek, her voice barely more than a breath.

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to smile but wasn’t used to it. His hand, still holding hers, gently lowered it from his face, though he didn’t let go. "You were afraid," he said, his gaze softening as he looked at her, the golden glow in his eyes dimming into something calmer, more serene. "And I did not wish to make you more so."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Afraid?" She almost laughed, though there was nothing humorous about it. "Of the knights, maybe, but never of you. You…" Her voice cracked, and she paused, taking in a shaky breath. "You’ve been the only one I could trust."

For the first time in a long while, the truth was spilling out of her. All those months of isolation, of pushing knights off the tower in desperate fear, and yet somehow, she had found solace in him—a dragon, a creature who shouldn’t have had any reason to care about her. She couldn’t even understand why herself.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, a barely-there gesture, but one that sent warmth spreading through her. "I have watched over you," he said quietly, "and I have seen your strength." His gaze flickered, the glow intensifying briefly. "But I have also seen your sorrow."

She blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. It was true—her life had been marked by sorrow for as long as she could remember. The betrayal of her village, the trauma that haunted her every waking moment, the men who tried to take what wasn’t theirs to claim. They all left scars, both visible and invisible, and for so long, she had felt alone in carrying them.

But with him… she hadn’t felt so alone anymore.

"I don’t know why I stayed," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I first came here, I didn’t know if you were going to kill me, or… or worse." She laughed softly, a bitter sound. "But I couldn’t leave either. There was nowhere else to go."

"You stayed because you found safety," he murmured, his voice almost a growl, but one laced with understanding. "You stayed because you are not like them."

Her gaze met his, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the familiar tightness in her chest that came with looking into the eyes of a man. He wasn’t like them either. He wasn’t like the knights who invaded her sanctuary with their hungry gazes and false promises. He didn’t look at her like something to be claimed.

Slowly, she pulled her hand back, though her eyes remained fixed on him. "I’ve never met anyone like you," she confessed softly, taking a small step back, though she wasn’t retreating. She was just… overwhelmed. "You’re… not human, are you?"

He shook his head. "No. I am not."

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes tracing the curve of his horns, the ethereal glow of his eyes, the way he stood so still, so calm, so unlike any man she had ever known. And then, as if the weight of everything suddenly caught up with her, she let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know what to say," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of all the emotions swirling inside her.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied gently. His voice was like the rumble of distant thunder, soft but powerful. "I will not force you to speak."

She bit her lip, her gaze lowering to the floor as she tried to collect her thoughts. "I just… I feel like I’ve been running for so long. Hiding." Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly swiped at the tear that slipped down her cheek, hating how vulnerable she felt in this moment.

Malleus watched her in silence, his eyes never leaving her, though his expression never changed. He wasn’t judging her. He wasn’t pitying her. He was just… there, with her, in this moment. And that alone made her feel a strange kind of safety she hadn’t known in a long time.

"You don’t need to run anymore," he said quietly, his voice a low murmur that seemed to reverberate in her chest. "Not from me."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time, she felt the warmth of hope flicker inside her, fragile but present. Could it really be that simple? Could she really stop running? Stop hiding? It had been so long since she felt safe, truly safe.

And yet, here he was, the dragon she had once feared, now standing before her as her protector.

Tentatively, she reached out again, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. "Then… stay," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the stillness between them. "Don’t leave me alone."

His gaze softened further, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place, but it warmed her all the same.

"As you wish," he replied, his voice as soft as the night air around them. "I will stay."

[serpentface]

South Wardi bulldancer removing his cloak in preparation for a dance. This man is a wealthy athlete (or athlete with a wealthy sponsor) at the Wardin city games, displaying fine jewelry, an elaborate khaitsmane fringed skirt and vibrantly patterned cloak, and a hairpiece that would be regarded as 'kinda femme' (though few will question his rugged masculinity if he succeeds at this endeavor).

Bulldancing is one of several bullfighting traditions practiced in the region. This sport requires immense skill to be pulled off properly- unlike other bullfights (which are themselves quite difficult), the bull must be defeated by sheer exhaustion rather than by injuries or being physically wrestled, and the dancer must avoid injury and fight his own exhaustion, all while continuously dancing. It is regarded as an extremely macho activity, with the skillsets required for success- strength, agility, stamina, bravery and stoicism in the face of danger- being an ideal display of manhood.

A bulldance begins with the dancer entering the ring garbed in his cloak. An intact bull, selected for beauty and aggression, will be led into the ring and restrained. The dancer greets the audience with a formal bow, and greets the bull with a deferential bow (signaling respect and deference to the physical authority of the powerful and sacred animal). He then removes his cloak. This is the signal for the dance to start- the bull is freed of its restraints, and the accompanying drummers will begin to play.

The dancer must maintain control of the bull- goading it into attacking, directing its movements with their cape, evading its charges, and all the while playing off its movements in the form of a dance. Most of the base rhythm relies on legwork (emphasized with the jingling of bells attached to the skirt and shoes, and the movements of their decorated and fringed skirts), and the dance is embellished by movements of the cape- held and spun around the dancer as he dodges, waved over a charging bull, and trailed behind the body when the dancer leaps over the animal (a difficult maneuver expected out of any quality bulldancer).

Some traditions or variants of the performance involve multiple rounds of dancing (sometimes interspersed with simple bull-leaping by other performers) to allow the dancer to keep up his stamina while the bull has no reprieve. Others are a straightforward endurance matches between man and bull- the dancer must perform nonstop and keep the bull continuously exerting itself until the point of collapse. A successful dance ends with the 'capture' of the bull- when the animal is sufficiently exhausted, the cape is slung around its neck or horns and used to drag it to the ground.

A dancing bull can only be effectively used in one match (as it will learn the dancer's tricks and stop responding to goading) and is typically retired after its debut in the ring. A dancing bull that displays excellent strength and puts up a good fight becomes a valuable, celebrated animal. This is can be a double edged sword for the bull- the majority will be kept as prized studs and live out their lives without the threat of consumption or castration, but as a valued and sacred animal, some will instead be offered as sacrifices. In each city's annual games, the dancing bull voted to be the very best by the crowd is sacrificed to the Face Inyamache at the closing ceremonies as means of thanks-giving and blessing the athletes.

[bunni-v1]

Hnnghh christmas Lighter smut where reader is dressed in nothing but a long ribbon and bow bc he’s been a good boy this year

🍓Did u read my mind? Get outta there… jkjk, but seriously this is EXACLTY what I was thinking about. I really can’t dedicate the time to a full fic, which breaks my little gay heart, but imagine with me if you would… (this is a full fic btw i fucking lied to you and myself)

Tw: Nsfw; kinda rough (not too rough); UNEDITED ITS HORRENDOUS

Mdni

Christmas with the Sons of Calydon is pretty atypical. They have their own traditions that most New Eirduians would scoff at, but they’re rather important to those who live in these parts. Drinking, singing together (usually drunkenly and offkey), taking bike rides out to start a fire and literally burn away past regrets of the year, and of course fights — plenty of fights.

You weren’t exactly a fan of the fighting part, usually meant more work for you to do, but Lighter always seemed to have fun. Obviously he did, he never lost — he hardly broke a sweat for the most part. And he loved showing off, especially if you were there to watch him. Everything else was mostly normal, though… a little odd but custom made to your little ragtag group, and you loved it.

It felt warm, cozy, like family. They passed out gifts, most of them hand made or incredibly thoughtful since money was scarce for most of you. Lighter had gotten you a (rather expensive) bracelet with your and his initials engraved on it. It was sweet, and unexpected from the guy who pretended like the holiday was nothing for the months leading up to it.

It made you melt on the inside and feel nice and warm. However… his nonchalance about the holiday cause you one… teeny tiny, itty bitty problem. You had no clue what to get him, and you hadn’t gotten him anything — time had run out and no one would give you any good hints.

His insistence that you didn’t need to get him anything in return made your stomach ache. It was hard to focus on his fight when your head was rushing with ways to rectify the horrific mistake you’d made quickly. The red ribbon of the jewelry box wrapped around your fingers tightly, then unwound as you mulled over your options.

You could get him something for his bike, but you’d have to drive to the city and it’s unlikely he’d let you go without him — that’s if the stores were even open this late on a holiday. Maybe you could craft up something quick and easy, if you could get back to your place there surely would be something, but… that felt cheap. Especially compared to the bracelet.

“That ribbon’s pretty,” Caesar says next to you, drawing you from your thoughts, “Must’ve been one real fancy place he went to for ya.”

You sigh, leaning back against the wall a little, looking at the ribbon as you twisted it around, “I’m sure it was. He’s so hopeless sometimes.”

“Only because you’re so sweet on him,” She teases, nudging your shoulder lightly.

A laugh huffs out of your chest, then an idea strikes you. The ribbon is pretty. You actually had some like it back at your place, stored away from last years festivities. You twist the ribbon one last time, and then you grin, wide and wild. Lighter catches your eye as he socks his opponent in the jaw, smirking at you like he’d won a prize.

“Hey, Caesar,” You hum, turning to your friend who seemed a little uneasy at your expression, “How long do you think you can keep him distracted for me.”

She hums, watching him thoughtfully, “I’ll buy ya fifteen minutes — wait, why?”

“You’ll hear later~” You hum with a wink, and practically skip back to your place, leaving Caesar alone to deal with your very adrenaline filled boyfriend on her own.

It takes you half the time Caesar said she could get you to find the damn ribbon, and the other half is spent fighting for your life to get the thing on and look at least a little sexy. You tried to recall old articles you’d read on bondage and shibari, but it was hard to do without a guide. You’d managed to get all the good bits wrapped up and hidden, with a few extra crosses to make it look pretty.

You don’t get a chance to check because you hear Lighters heavy footsteps outside the door nearly as soon as you’ve tied the bow comfortably around your neck. Your able to sort’ve arrange yourself seductively on the bed for him just as the front door open and he calls out to you. You could tell he was annoyed from his voice alone. He never liked it when you left his shows early.

“Caesar told me you headed back here,” He called, boots thumping as he threw them off, “We’re you not enjoying the show?”

It’s a tease, you know it is, but there was an underlying annoyance in his voice that sent a tingle up your spine. He pushes the bedroom door open incredibly slowly, to the point you think he’s trying to surprise you with something. You have the gall to feel stupid for a moment right before his eyes land on you, and he stops at he takes in the sight.

There is an audible shudder as his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. He takes his sunglasses off, revealing those pretty green eyes that rake in every inch of you with hunger. Then, he smirks, shoving the bedroom door closed with his shoulder already working his gloves and jacket off to the floor. Forgotten without a second thought. The rest of his clothes follow quickly after.

“Merry Christmas!” You cheer, though you’re more nervous than happy. He clearly likes it, according to the quickly growing tent in his pants and how fast he is to strip himself, but he’s a little too quiet for your liking.

He sinks onto the mattress in front of you, hands ghosting around the bright red ribbon. Like if he touches it, it’ll all fall apart in his grasp. He traces each inch of it with careful practiced restraint, following the fabrics flow across your body until he remembers that you are under the fabric and he lands on your face.

His eyes soften when you smile nervously up at him, fingers tracing the apple of your cheek with such admiration it nearly makes you cry. “You like it?” You ask softly, unsure of yourself.

He scoffs like you’re stupid for wondering, “This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

It draws a genuine laugh out of you, which he follows with his own as he comes down to nuzzle your cheek with his nose. Then a soft kiss that trails down to your lips, easing you into a slow careful dance of love and passion.

He readjusts your position so carefully, you almost don’t notice he’s doing it until he’s between your legs. Pressing them open then pressing his dick to the ribbons wrapping up your folds from him. You’re already dripping, the adrenaline from earlier enough to get you going, but the added friction just makes it worse. You’d never be able to reuse this stuff, that’s for sure.

His hands glide over your stomach, following the ribbon with lazy easy until he’s found the one covering you from him. His thumbs slide under the pieces, rubbing over the flesh of your abdomen gently. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva keeping you connected as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” He murmurs quietly, “You could’ve given me a smile and I would’ve been happy.”

You shy away, “Well… I almost didn’t have anything to get you, but your gift, mmm, inspired me.”

He chuckles at you, reaching down to run his dick against your still covered folds. The silky fabric oddly making everything feel more intense. “I can see that. Very cute, by the way.”

“I know, thank you,” You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he presses the two of you back into a laying position, “Now are you gonna unwrap your present, or are you gonna keep teasing yourself.”

A roll of the eyes and another smirk, “Y’know, I’ve never been a fan of ruining the wrapping paper. Shits expensive… so how about we go nice and slow.”

As he says that, he slides his dick between the ribbon, right up against your throbbing clit. You let out a surprised sound, quickly melting into sighs of pleasure and he fucks into the ribbon. Each push and pull stimulates your aching pussy into gushing out more for him, clenching on nothing as he fucks himself against you at a leisurely pace.

You take the chance to look down, moaning out as he head of him touches your thigh. The sight is something you’d see in a porno. Lighter follows your eyes, smiling to himself when he catches you practically going cross eyed at the sight.

“We look good together, don’t we, sugar?” He purrs. A rare nickname, sweet and extra praiseworthy — just like he thinks you are.

You nod along with him, fluttering your eyes back to his with a dumb little smile. Each drag of his dick makes your toes curl and nails dig into his broad shoulders. He sighs at the sensation, pressing kisses into your skin to quiet himself up. He’d rather listen to you, after all, and this was a gift for him.

His fingers begin to crawl up your body, dancing along the ribbon excitedly. They make sure to stop and tweak your nipples through the fabric, humming when he feels they’re sufficiently hard and sensitive under his touch. Then, finally, they reach the neatly tied bow around your neck.

The tug at it, gently unwrapping it from your neck and pulling it away with ease. Replacing the red of it with his tongue, licking and sucking new marks into the flesh. Your hips stutter against his, and he lets out a groan, squeezing your tit as warning. You whine, but don’t fight him anymore. His hands returning to unraveling the ribbon, pressing into the skin revealed until he is the only thing keeping the ribbon and his dick pressed against you.

You pout a little when he pulls away, pussy aching for friction once his dick is gone. You feel it clench as it looks for him, and god it makes you feel like a whore. He takes your hands from his shoulder and leans over you to tie them to the bed board above your head. You can feel how wet your were at the wrists, especially when he kisses them reassuringly.

“I love you tied up,” He hums, “You’re so pretty when you can’t do anything.”

You pout up at him, but he doesn’t stay to admire the look long, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the condoms. It occurs to you, in a state of lust driven stupor, that he shouldn’t have to fuck his christmas gift with a condom on.

“Ah, wait—“ He raises an eyebrow at you, hand just inches away from the condoms, “Would you wanna do it raw?”

He blinks at you, again surprised in the same way he was when he first saw you. “Are you serious?”

“We don’t have to—“ You quickly try to rectify the situation, but he cuts you off.

“No, no, we definitely have to,” He shakes his head, closing the drawer with one swift motion, “You’re trying to kill me out here, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, but he’s not listening as he pulls you up into the position he likes most. Legs over his shoulders, body bent in half so he can fuck you hard and fast. He gives you a few seconds to adjust to the position, then he’s pressing his dick into you at a painfully slow pace.

It’s because he’s just so big, he always has to go slow, but you wish he’d just fuck you through the pain right now. The stretch is perfect as always, and you suck him in like it’s nothing with how wet you already were.

He cusses when he finally bottoms out, pressing his face into the side of your neck. You can feel his hot breath fan against your skin, tingling deliciously. “Fuck you’re always so tight. I’m never gonna get used to it, sugar.”

You hum, though you’re in no better shape. Shivering and shuddering every inch, and still quaking as he sits still inside you. You play with his hair to distract from how hot you are, and how you wish he’d make you hotter.

He gives himself a moment to calm down, then he presses a kiss you your cheek, readjusts you just a little so your muscles don’t tense up, and then he moves. The first three thrusts are slow and easy, then he starts to slam into you hard.

“Oh fuck—“ You cry out as the deafening smack of his hips into your ass rings out across the room.

The pace he sets is brutal and unrelenting, you were hoping for it all night. The unspent adrenaline from his earlier fights coming right back to fuck you so good you know you won’t be walking tomorrow. Each slap of his balls against your quickly reddening ass is accompanied by a stifled moan.

He watches you with an intensity you weren’t aware he was capable of, eyes drinking in every single inch of your expression. He looked crazed, but that’s what made it so hot. He was obsessed with every little look, every little sound that left you.

“Don’t be quiet, sugar,” He hums, pushing two of his fingers along your bottom row of teeth to force the sounds out.

“They’ll hear—“

“Let ‘em,” He dismisses, “They know you’re mine anyway, who cares.”

You really couldn’t argue with that, especially not when he shifts ever so slight to hit your g-spot head on. A salacious moan rips out of your throat, and your sure Caesar has figured out what you were up to earlier from that alone. He doesn’t stop ripping sounds out of you, though, continuing his brutal pace and hitting that spot so well you think you’re seeing stars.

The build up to your orgasm is so quick you hardly have time to realize it’s happening. One second you’re fine the next your throwing your head back and moaning like a whore.

“Lighter- Baby, I’m— fuck me- god I’m gonna cum, Lighter.” You admit, way too loud for your liking.

He hums, seeming to switch gears and fuck you faster somehow, “Go ahead, I’ve got you. Lemme feel you cum for me.”

You nod, chest rising and falling rapidly as start litter your vision. You think you nearly pass out, but Lighters hard thrusts fuck you through your orgasm. You squeeze him so tight, like you’re trying to milk his own out of him. You want him to fill you up, want to feel his warm cum deep in your belly. Want to see it drip down your thighs and pool onto the bed when he pulls out.

“Cum inside, please.” You beg.

“Fuuuck… ‘re you—“

You nod, “I need it, please cum in me. ‘S part of your present.”

He groans, fisting the sheets next to your head, “Suagr, you’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

Always one to please, Lighter does exactly as you ask. Filling you to the brim with his thick hot cum. You revel in his moans, and only slightly wish you could curl your nails into his shoulders to leave another christmas gift for the morning.

He eases you into a more comfortable position before collapsing on top of you. His weight is welcome against your spent body, as are the wet kisses he presses into your sore skin. He unties your hand with one of his, and you quickly wrap them up into his hair.

“I love you,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “So much. You’re the best gift a guy can ask for.”

You giggle at the praise, “I love you too, Lighter.”

[sharonccrter]

I saw this really interesting video, which talked about my two biggest gripes with challengers' discourse. Which are that everyone keeps saying Art is the heart of this movie, and secondly, the insistence that Patrick doesn't love Tashi, only Art. The creator pushes back against these two narratives, and I wholeheartedly agree. Patrick is arguably the heart of this movie.

Two of the most important scenes in the movie are the churro scene and the scene between p/t out in the storm, and they both centre around Patrick.

The entire movie is about passion and purpose in life, and Patrick is the passion.

I mean, a lot of people assume Patrick didn't really have feelings for Tashi, but the only person who says that is Art. Who is vying for Tashi and is his biggest competitor. The reason I empathise with Patrick is that he is genuine and loving to Art; he does love him. However, we are shown no evidence to suggest that Patrick is this shitty boyfriend, apart from what Art says when he's trying to get into Tashi's head because his jealous. We find out that they're talking every week while he's on tour (normal relationship shit). It's Art who insinuates that Patrick is cheating while on tour. The only person in this movie who says Patrick doesn't love Tashi is Art, and it's obviously very intentional.

I think the reason both Tashi and Art push Patrick out of their lives is because he forces them to comfort parts of themselves they are not yet comfortable with. I mean, it's obvious why Tashi would react that way to Patrick; she's just lost the most important thing in her life. However, I think it's tragic from Patrick's point of view as well. I mean, what did Patrick really do? He got into a fight with his girlfriend because she hurt his feelings.

And no, he's hurt was not about Art. The fight made him feel unimportant, which made him feel like she didn't actually care about him. And that's where Art comes in, because who was going around telling Patrick Tashi didn't give a shit? You bet ya. Art. Art absolutely got into his head. And even if he clocked it, in that moment, he still allowed it to get to him because he was emotional and upset. And because he was too hurt to support her, he was thrown out of Tashi and Art's lives.

And here's the thing, Patrick never saw Tashi as an idea. He saw her as a real person, unlike Art kinda did. Patrick wasn't going to let Tashi treat him like shit just because she was special. And, tbh, if Tashi hadn't gotten injured, I think it's something she would have eventually been grateful for. But instead, she got hurt; she pushed Patrick away, and Art slid into his place, telling her that she could be his entire world and the star. That's not healthy, and sorry to stay a little manipulative.

And let's talk about Art. Patrick and him were literally fire and ice. They always had this underlying desire. They were perfect opposites. Let's face it: Art could never replicate what he had on the court (and off) with anyone else. But instead of confronting his feelings, he took the first chance he had to get Patrick out of his life.

The girl I was watching said it perfectly, "Art and Tashi allowed themselves to find consolation prizes in each other and allowed them to run from parts of themselves they didn't want to comfort and in turn enable each other's worst habits."

Art tries to become a tennis superstar so Tashi can live through him, and Tashi gives him a family so he can finally be confident in who he is. But is there any passion? I don't know; I think at some point, it drained; nothing about what I saw on screen apart from their initial get-together screams passion.

Cue Patrick walking back into their life and showing them how they can feel. Art was always going to let Tashi live through him, but that was never going to be satisfying for her. Tashi needs to find a way to create an identity for herself, separate from him. And I believe it'll be the only way she'll live a satisfying life. That's why they need Patrick: to make them realise that and to help them rediscover their passion.

I think people think that Art is the heart because Patrick admits to being a piece of shit. But the truth is, they're all dicks; Patrick was just the only one who was willing to admit it.

[afurtivecake]

You know what my actual favourite Andrew Minyard line in the whole series is? It's not his sentimental lines like, "...from now until May you are still Neil Josten...". It's not even the best love confession in all of literature line, "Doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you." It's when he says "I'm not as smart as I thought I was."

That one line tells you so much about Andrew's character. That's the line that spells out for the reader that Andrew is smarter than he chooses to let on. That's the line that shows you just highly Andrew thinks of his own intelligence and how much he's been relying on it to survive and to keep his promises.

Consider that up until that point Andrew has presented himself with nothing less than the domineering kind of toughness you'd expect to see in a prison scene in a movie. He openly talks about breaking Neil, threatens multiple people with knives and makes everyone work around him. His "tough guy around town" persona and his ability to inflict violence is clearly something he prizes. AND YET. The first time he admits to any kind of dissatisfaction with himself, it's about his intelligence.

That is the point where the reader realizes that Andrew, in his own mind, is an intellectual. He doesn't actually pride himself on being the toughest guy in the room. He's aware that he's all of 5-feet-nothing and he knows at any given moment there's likely to be someone bigger and stronger than he is. What he's counting on in any given situation is being the smartest guy in the room. Fix any issues before they worsen, anticipate and eliminate any threats before they surface, think his way out of any problem that comes up. His intelligence is what he relies on to keep his promises.

That's the moment Andrew realizes that he's been letting his feelings get the better of his logic. He clocks Neil as dangerous from day one. But he's been telling himself that he's letting Neil stay for Kevin's sake or at least just until he can definitively prove Neil is dangerous. But the real reason he let Neil stay and get away with all his sketchy behaviour is because he let the fact that he likes Neil as a person, overcome his logic.

It makes you think, OH, THAT'S WHY Andrew was so interested in Neil in the first place. For someone who prides himself on his intelligence and KNOWS that no one else can match his smarts, Neil figuring out his twin switcheroo trick is the same as Neil throwing down the gauntlet and challenging him to a battle of wits. Andrew keeps trying to trip Neil up and Neil keeps batting his attempts aside and Andrew ends up helplessly charmed by Neil. Because Andrew LIKES that Neil is able to outsmart him sometimes, that Neil is his intellectual equal. And somewhere along the way, he's let himself forget that he "knows better" than to get emotionally attached, than to let someone else best him at his best quality- than to act like every other idiot in love that he's ever met.

You then realize that Andrew hasn't once thought of himself as brawny jock. That off-putting delinquent/school-shooter vibe and "psycho" reputation is a carefully calculated form of self-defense. It's self-defense in the literal sense of scaring off people who might want to fuck with him, but perhaps also in the sense of protecting himself from being seen. It makes sense, right? If people were to actually try to get to know him with an open mind, they'd soon discover that he IS difficult to get along with in ways they thought they could handle, but can't. Better to act the volatile asshole than suffer the disappointment of people changing how they treat him. And in the unlikely case that people find out that he isn't as tough as he presents himself, they might pity him. And that would be even worse. Much better to be as un-fuck-with-able as possible.

First time reading the book, I was taken in by Andrew's jock-ish façade. But the moment he admitted maybe he ought to be disappointed in himself for not being as smart as he thought he was, I had to set the book down and rethink every assumption I had made about Andrew as a character. The timing of that revelation is so perfect, because it happens just before the Thanksgiving mess. And so as the reader, you're suddenly coming to terms with the fact that Andrew is so much more vulnerable than he's ever portrayed himself to be at the same time that Andrew is being hit with probably one of the worst moments in his life. Like, that absolutely TOOK ME OUT. Which is why, that's one of the best lines in the whole series to me.