#been a while since we have to worry about his tennis

[too-deviant]

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!

[callsign-joyride]

But Daddy I Love Him | J.H.S

Summary: You finally tell your dad and Rooster about your secret relationship with Hangman. Content Warnings: Secret relationship, mentions of food/eating Lyric: "Now I'm dancing with my dress in the sun, and even my daddy just loves him." Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Mav's daughter reader

Buy me a coffee

“I know you like to get involved with what I do for work, but I need you to stay away from Hangman, got it?” Your dad had asked you one night over dinner.

“Why? What’s wrong with Hangman?”

“He’s an asshole, that’s what’s wrong with him,” Bradley said.

“Yeah, okay.”

You just couldn’t stay away. The first time that Hangman got you by yourself was on the patio of The Hard Deck. Everyone was too busy inside to worry about what was going on so close to the water. He did a pretty good job of chatting you up and getting your number before you went inside because your dad was getting worried about you. That was months ago, and you and Jake had done a pretty good job of keeping your relationship a secret so far. You had a few close calls but nothing too serious, mainly just Payback and Fanboy catching you hugging or being too close to each other for “acquaintances”. They definitely knew, but Jake scared them into not telling Mav.

Both of you knew what you wanted out of this relationship. You wanted to marry each other but there were a few things you needed to do first. The most important being that your dad had to know about the relationship, even if he’d be unhappy about it. That was the most nerve wracking part, since he was the one who told you to stay away from the Dagger Squad, Hangman in particular. 

“You should come by for dinner tonight,” your dad had told you over a phone call while you were sitting on your couch with Jake. Jake quickly shook his head and you had to stifle a laugh. 

“I actually have plans with some college friends who are in town,” you lied.

”Oh, which friends?”

”Just some friends from the tennis club that I was in. I don’t think I talked about it that much with you.”

”Oh, okay. Well, have fun.”

”Thanks. Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve been seeing someone. He wants to meet you and Penny. Let’s schedule a dinner at my apartment some time in the next few weeks. How does that sound?”

By the end of the phone call, you had dinner scheduled and had told your dad a little bit about your new boyfriend. He didn’t know that it was Hangman, and if he had somehow figured it out, it wasn’t obvious. You spent the rest of the night with Jake, mainly relaxing and watching movies on the couch. As you both climbed in to your bed, you talked about telling everyone else. 

“Let’s tell Bradley on the same day as dinner with my dad. Actually, we’ll call and tell him after. I don’t want him to let it slip to my dad before we get a chance to say anything.”

The next couple of weeks flew by, and there were only a few hours until your dad and Penny would be at your apartment for dinner. You told Bradley about dinner, and he decided to join, so you didn’t have to go to the base just so that you and Jake could announce your relationship. Jake joined you at your apartment while you cooked dinner. You had him set the table and put a bottle of wine on ice. There were plenty of beers in the fridge, since you only had wine on special occasions. (Mainly because you weren’t really a fan of it unless it tasted like jam.)

Bradley walked in with Penny and your dad at the perfect time. You were pulling the lasagna out of the oven and Jake was in the bathroom. You mentioned that when your dad asked you where your boyfriend was, leaving out his name. 

It was a surprise to everyone when Jake walked out of the bathroom and asked if you were all ready to eat. Bradley immediately got a beer out of the fridge, Penny looked impressed, and you couldn’t quite describe the look on your dad’s face. Everyone sat down and started eating, and things were mostly quiet except for the occasional ask to pass something across the table. 

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Your dad asked.

“A few months, and before you get worked up, we’re happy.”

“I’m not worked up, okay? I just wanna know why you kept it a secret for so long.”

“That’s what you’re wondering about?” Bradley asked, “I mean, Hangman, I knew you were seeing someone when you started skipping nights at The Hard Deck. I’m wondering why this, why now, y’know? Like, why get us together for dinner to announce this? Not that I’m really complaining, I get a free meal, but this could’ve been a text, really.”

You sighed and put your head in your hands out of embarrassment. Bradley did have a point, but you were mainly focused on trying not to laugh. 

“We’re thinking of getting married. That’s why you’re all here, because one day, we’re gonna have a big ceremony,” you glared at Jake while he was speaking, “or we’ll head down to the courthouse, and we’ll want you there to celebrate with us.”

“Do you love him?” Your dad asked you. 

“Yes,” you said as you nodded your head.

“And do you love her?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Jake said.

“That’s all I needed to hear. Get married, have fun, do whatever you want. But try not to rush into it, okay?”

“Wait, really?” You asked through chuckles.

“Yeah. If you’re happy, I’m happy. I couldn’t really stop you, anyways, since it is your life.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” Jake said. You clinked wine glasses and beer cans before handing out dessert.You had made a cheesecake before everyone arrived, so all you had to do was pull it out of the fridge and cut it. Bradley stayed a lot longer than anyone thought he would, not leaving until midnight when you pointed out how late it was getting. 

It was somewhat surprising that your dad had approved of the relationship so easily. It was even more surprising that Rooster was okay with all of it. Either way, you weren’t complaining. And since you and Jake were more comfortable with being open about your relationship, you started going to The Hard Deck with him and the rest of the Dagger Squad. You even loudly supported him at the next air show that he had, while hanging out with the other partners of the group.

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[miley1442111]

(part 8) choices in hindsight- a.donaldson

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summary: eleven years later.

(dw there are more parts after this :))

pairing: art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment and depression, hurt, cheating, loneliness, etc.

PART 8 of 12

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Eleven years later….

You sat beside the umpire, your opponent smashing her racket in frustration as tears fell down her face. You were tired. Every bone in your body ached, your muscles were tense, your skin felt too tight. 

Your mind was worse. Playing tennis since you were a little girl does that to someone. Being in the public eye does that to someone, being alone does that to someone.

“You fucking bitch!” She shouted. “You fucking bitch!”

You didn’t care about it, the match was done, and you’d won. As usual. 

You hated tennis. You hated your life. Your lonely, empty life. 

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“How about a challenger? To boost your motivation?” Your manager, Michael, offered. 

“I’ll do whatever,” you shrugged. 

Michael stopped in front of you, stopping you from walking. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” you plastered on a fake smile. “Just tired.”

“In what sense?” He asked. He’d always been able to see right through you. You rolled your eyes. 

“In the sense that I’m completely alone and I’m sick of knowing that I’m a winner while I feel like a failure!” You exploded. “Tashi and Art got married. Patrick isn’t anywhere near as good as he was. I have no friends. I have no family. I have nothing but a bunch of cold, metal trophies, and a team who don’t care if I want to play anymore. All they care about is my game. And I fucking hate tennis!” 

Michael stared at you, face hardening. “You really had to do that in front of everyone?” He asked. You looked around. Your team was around you, but so was your next opponent.

“I’m not exactly worried,” you snarled. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Go win the match, then we’ll let you have some alcohol and you can drown your sorrows.”

“Fuck yourself!” you shouted as he walked away. 

“How can I do that when you’re constantly fucking me over anyways!” He shouted back. 

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Back on the court again. Another subpar player against you. 

HIT. You’re worthless. HIT. You’re awful. HIT. You’re nothing. HIT. You deserve to be lonely. HIT. You deserve to be alone. HIT. You deserve to feel worthless.

HIT. Be better. HIT. Be stronger. HIT. Be more. 

HIT. 

“We have a winner!” 

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“Come on!” Lily shouted from beside him, her eyes on the court as you won, yet again. She’d seen her mother do it so much she was turning it into a catch-phrase. 

“She’s pretty good, right?” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving you. He didn't want to let himself admit it, but god you looked good. The white tennis outfit you had on was practically making him weak in the knees, as well as the 'I don't give a shit' attitude you carried with you. You were simply leaning in your chair, a drink in hand as your opponent screamed to her manager about how unfair playing against you was.

I mean she wasn't wrong. You were the top female tennis player and you were practically unbeatable. You were incredible.

“She’s amazing!” Lily smiled. “When does she play again?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. He had your schedule memorised. 

“Can I meet her?” 

Art shook his head. “She and mom have a complicated history.” Also, I’m still madly in love with her.

“How so?” Lily asked as he walked with her, hand in hand to the concessions stand. 

“Well, back in college mom and her didn’t get along because mom couldn’t beat her-” he started but he felt Tashi beside him. 

“You’re lying to Lily now?” She snarked. 

Art felt his skin go cold. “No. It’s true-”

“I beat her,” Tashi nodded. “Dad used to date Y/n as well, isn’t that right?”

Art nodded and Lily looked up at him.

“That’s weird,” she confessed. “Why did you break up?”

“I was in love with mom,” Art lied and kissed Tashi on the cheek, the entire display looking awkward and rehearsed. His regret and resentment grew everyday. He’d never regret having Lily, but he regretted everything he did to you, and letting you get away. 

“That’s gross!” She squealed, shielding her eyes from her parents kissing.

“Alright peanut, what do you want?” He asked, moving up in the line and getting ready to order. 

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HIT.  Train harder. HIT. Work harder. HIT. You deserve nothing. 

The ball hit into your side and you groaned out in pain. “Fuck!”

You let yourself rest on the ground, not even bothering to turn off the automatic ball-throwing machine. 

“Hi,” a familiar voice smiled at you. Your eyes opened to find Patrick Zweig over your head. 

“Hi,” you mumbled, getting up. 

“How are you?” he asked, following you as you began to hit the balls again. 

“Fine,” you grunted out. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he smirked, watching your figure as you bent to hit a ball. “Very good.”

“Your dad give you a job yet?” 

Patrick’s fantasy was broken. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, not yet.”

“Too bad. You’d make a much better corporate asshole than the piece-of-shit tennis player you are.”

“Tread easy,” he chuckled, a touch of pathetic begging in his plea. You just rolled your eyes and continued on your exercise. 

“How about you go fuck yourself, Patrick?” Tashi scoffed from the stands, Art beside her. 

“How can I go back to that when she fucks me so well?” He joked. HIT. 

“Leave her alone Pat,” Art sighed. HIT. 

“Why are you defending her?” Tashi questioned, turning to Art. HIT. 

“She is right here in case you don’t see her,” Pat defended. HIT. 

“Pat we fucking know-” Art started, but it just ended up in Tashi talking over him to the point that Patrick started talking over both of them in the argument. 

HIT. HIT. HIT. 

“All three of you can fuck off!” you screamed. “I never want to see your stupid face again Patrick, Tashi you can stop flaunting that you got the love of my life, and Art, go be a dad or something! I don’t care anymore!” 

All three of them turned to you with various faces. Patrick was smirking, happy he’d finally pushed your buttons to the extreme. Tashi looked awkward and caught, maybe even guilty. 

But Art. Art looked at you like you’d hung the stars just for him, then tore it all down in front of him. His beautiful blue eyes filling with tears as he finally got to hear you admit that he was the love of your life, only eleven years too late. 

“I’m content with being alone, as shit as it is. I suggest you all move on from me now,” you sighed, grabbing your bag and walking off to find you manager. 

“See you at the challenger!” Patrick called after you. The ATP Challenger Tour. 

The same one from eleven years ago. 

Where everything fell apart. 

You got that familiar sinking feeling in your stomach.

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[maxverstappendefender]

Hi I was wondering if u can make an imagine with max verstappen where the reader is an athlete also (tennis player please 😮‍💨😮‍💨😭😭🥹🥹) and she is also from Netherlands

her and max were like in the same school or neighbors or even Victoria’s friend and her and max used to be dating since they were young teenagers but they broke up because of their careers (more like she broke up with him lol🤭) and they meet again at a gala or a wedding when they are at the top of their game her being world no.1 and many grand slams winner and him being world champion and then they have a confrontation with a lot of angst and yelling and max being heartbroken 💔💔🤌🏻🤌🏻

other part to this request: "Also about the max and athlete reader like if u can make it inspired by “call out my name” by The Weeknd 🥲"

a/n: this is such a good idea, i love some good angst. i made it a smau and also written parts (more towards the hend). i don't know much about tennis but i tried. the google translate dutch is probably bad but that's fine. hopefully i did your idea justice <3

warnings: profanity (?), alcohol

my masterlist !

The Dutch Athletes

yourusername posted on instagram!

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yourusername and that's a wrap on the lovely game of tennis, back to training for next season :)

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user PROUD TO BE DUTCH BC OF THIS LADY AND THIS LADY ONLY

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landonorris you're serving! (do you get it? im so funny)

-> yourusername ty lan (the tennis jokes are never funny)

-> landonorris not even a pity laugh.

user i see a certain someone hiding in the likes

-> user 🤺🤺🤺 be gone sir

victoriaverstappen cannot wait to see you next week!

-> yourusername i miss my favourite dutch person

-> user max is punching the wall rn

user wait, im new. why is everyone hating on max verstappen here?

-> user y/n dated him a while back but they ended it in 2021 for reasons no one knows. lots of speculation but they never confirmed or denied anything. he still has loads of pictures of them on his insta but she deleted hers, probs wasn't a mutual breakup in that case. she's still good friends with lando, charles, and max's sister!

-> user he probably cheated or something

-> user they both seem happy so we shouldn't make assumptions :)

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liked by f1fan1, vstppn, y/nflowers, and 14,912 others

y/nmaxupdates still no new content of our favs together so we are doing a little throwback thursday to one of y/n's posts from 2015 (she has removed the post).

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yourusername posted a story!

yourusername posted on instagram!

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 791,492 others

yourusername vegas baby! vv thankful lando is okay. congrats on the podium charlie!

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charles_leclerc You say congrats but you wear a McLaren hat

-> yourusername only because lando invited me, not you!

user max being cropped out has me CACKLING

user we were so so close to some y/nmax snippet by her posting him but she fucking cropped him out

landonorris i'm so mad i crashed, my helmet was so sick for this race. do you think i can wear it to the clubs tonight?

-> yourusername lando istg if you wear your damn helmet anywhere tonight. you are supposed to be staying at the hotel with me anyways?

-> landonorris i don't see a doctor that will stop me from leaving. but my helmet looked sick right?

-> yourusername eh

landonorris we literally spent like 3 days together before the race and you still chose that ugly picture

danielricciardo VEGAS BABYYY. tonight we party.

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yourusername posted on instagram!

liked by landonorris, maxverstapen1, and 701,831 others

yourusername 'VEGAS BABYYY. tonight we party.' ~daniel ricciardo (and don't worry, i didn't let lando leave the hotel looking like that)

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it had been a wonderful night so far. lando couldn't drink due to the drugs the doctors gave him so you didn't drink either out of solidarity. lando had gone off to do lando things, probably finding a way to the dj booth or socializing with whoever he can. you were just sat at this couch in the vip area. you were talking to charles for a while before he went off to do celebratory shots. you were so tired from the timezone difference, vegas compared to the netherlands was messing with your system. you had your head leaned back against the couch, your eyes were just looking at some of the drivers having a lot of fun and celebrating in one of the best party cities in the world.

you felt someone sit down next to you on the couch. you didn't know who it was at first but you quickly smelt the cologne and knew. max. you two hadn't really spoken since 2021, when you ended it. it wasn't the prettiest of breakups but we were both stupid kids and in love back then. you both should've known it wouldn't work out. you tried, though. you tried with every single thing you had in you but at the end of the day, fate would always be stronger.

"hey, y/n. haven't seen you in awhile," max finally said, breaking the silence. he sort of had seen you though, on instagram. had he missed you? every fucking day. you broke up with him though, and you seemed happier. if you were happy, he would accept that.

"sure," was all you said. that was your telltale sign that you did not want to talk. but let's be honest, max verstappen not having a conversation when he wants to sounded impossible. he wanted to fix things, he wanted to fix it all. why wouldn't you let him? "any chance we can talk?" he asked you. he wouldn't really take no for an answer. he would just talk to you while you listened, but even that would be stretching it.

you stood up from the couch, careful to not look at him. if you looked at him, you would be a goner and would do just about anything he asked you to. you were a strong person except when it came to max. "see you around," you muttered to him before leaving the vip area. you would infact not be seeing him around, not if you can avoid it. maybe not drinking was a bad idea. you had spotted lando who was busy chatting away to someone. "fuck," you whispered under your breath, realizing that the person who you had to make sure got home safely was still having a good night. you wouldn't want to cut his night short, especially when his night started bad with the race.

you felt some hands wrap around your waist and before you could protest, these hands were pushing you out this door to the club's back alley. you knew those hands though. you knew them all too well. "max, what the hell?!" you shouted at him as you felt the cool night air hit your face. it felt better than how being inside that club felt.

he knew this was probably too far. but when has 'too far' ever stopped him. he was so done with this all. 2 years of not having more than 10 words shared between you two. you two used to talk every single day, where did it all go wrong? he knew this one was his fault. he was the one who had lost you, all for racing. he gave up you for racing. he was a royal idiot for that. "i am so done with you not even talking to me!" he shouted to you. he was thanking god that you two were in an alley and not somewhere public for this.

"i don't want to talk to you," you said to him. not many people held their ground against max, but you always did. you never wanted to talk to him again, not since your breakup. you were happy and had a great life, you didn't need the mess that was max verstappen. "you never do!" he said back. that was true and you both knew it.

"you're right! i never do! because you fucked up," you shouted to him, putting your finger straight to his chest. the breakup was infact not mutual like the media made it seem. you two broke up because you were trying to support him in racing while still building a life in tennis for yourself. you could see the stress eating away at max that year and he still wouldn't let you help. even if it was help from afar. you tried to be there. he didn't even try to be there for you and your goals either.

"i know i did. believe me, i know i fucked it up," he said to you. there had been quite a few sleepless nights where his brain just wouldn't turn off. he had only been thinking about you. tonight was just his breaking point. he was done acting like he hadn't been thinking about you.

there was a moment of silence as we just looked at eachother. we had grown up a lot since we last got close like this. "so then why? just why?" you pleaded to him to just give him a real answer. 2021 had been a hard year for him and you knew that. but you were his girlfriend. you were meant to be there and help him but he wouldn't let you. he pushed you away at any chance he got. then you were alone. it was an endless cycle of you trying to help max with his stress, him pushing you away, and then you also getting lost to your own stress.

he put his hands on either side of your face. he knew he couldn't give you the answer he had given you when you asked this question 2 years ago. he couldn't say "just a tough year" because although that was a part of it, it wasn't the entire truth. and you deserved the truth. "i pushed you away before you could push me away," he said to you as he looked into your eyes. he felt like an idiot for saying that but it was the whole truth.

you gave him a slightly confused look. that had been a different answer than what you got 2 years ago. how could he even think you would push him away? you loved him so much and you had for years. you would have clung to him, even in death. "if i wouldn't have won in 2021, there was that thought that you would be gone," he admitted.

"i wouldn't have left. i wouldn't have ever done that," you quickly said. you had to say that really quickly before he spoke again. clearly your words took him aback a little. he really felt stupid for ever thinking that you would leave, let alone leave simply because he won a championship. mentally, you said 'fuck it', and just kissed him. you pulled away for a second to whisper, "je bent een idioot, max verstappen (you are an idiot, max verstappen)". then you kissed him again.

he smiled in the kiss, his hands in your hair and yours in his. your words were true, he was an idiot. he would probably have to kiss you a million times to make up for him pushing you away. and that was a price he was willing to pay. he felt you pull away and as desperately as he wanted to pull you back into him, he knew you had some more words to say.

you pulled away. "but you left. you left when it got hard and i will never put myself in that position ever again," you said to him. your lips stung with how much desire you had for max. but you had to make smart decisions, you could not get hurt again. and deep down, you knew he would leave if it got hard again. him leaving again would hurt too much. you had a good life now, he had a good life now.

he felt his heart shatter at your words. but he knew you were right that he had left when it got hard. he had taken the coward's way out. he wanted you to be happy and you seemed so happy with your life now. he couldn't take that from you. he nodded his pain away and spoke softly to you, "i hope you have nothing but happiness in life". then he walked away. he walked away but this time for your sake. he knew you wouldn't walk away from him so he walked away from you. he really did hope you had nothing but happiness in life. he could hear all about your happiness from the bits that victoria shared with him.

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y/nmaxupdates NEW CONTENT!! I REPEAT NEW CONTENT OF MAX AND Y/N!! that kiss?? oh we are SO back.

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[feltit-wroteit]

The Prodigy Son

Art Donaldson x Fem!reader

Something about all the stress Art had been under all of his early teenage years and right now made him vulnerable. He had always been, the only difference is that he had you now.

Warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, sad! Art, panic attack, talk of death

Nothing ever made you more worried than the text you had just received from your boyfriend.

Paint :) -> I need you. I'm in the lockers, please hurry...

You took your school bag off the floor quickly and hurried to meet him. Art had never texted you like this. Without a nickname or even a silly exclamation point that showed you he was always happy. Not in this one though. There was an absence of both. When you reached the men's locker room, it was silent. You dared a glance in and saw that the place was void of any other men. "Art? Baby?" You called out to locale your boyfriend.

Sobs. There was only sobs to be heard.

You walked to the sound and saw your boyfriend on a bench in his underwear. His head was held up by his arms propped up on his knees. His entire body shook and his breathing was uneven; dangerously so. You got closer to him and made your presence known by getting on your knees in front of his eyes. "Baby. Breath. Come on, breath for me." He then looked at you for the first time. But his breathing hadn't changed. He was sobbing like it was never going to end. In all honesty, you were started to get scared. "Art, please follow my breathing pattern." You took a deep breath in, telling him to do the same, and followed by breathing out. You repeated the process six times until his breathing had evened out. That is when he said his first words to you: "Can you hold me. Please, Y/n/n?" You didn't hesistate to take him in your arms and wait for him to come back to reality totaly.

It took about ten minutes for your boyfriend to calm down completely and stop sobbing. Your soothing movements on his back had stopped and you pulled away to see his face better. His soft features were marked by tear streaks and you frowned at that. What had made him so upset? It wasn't his first panic attack. You knew that because he had shared that with you during one of your late night talks. But you had never been there during one. He had not had one since you two got together seven months ago.

You helped him get dressed by handing him his Stanford shorts and polo shirt. He kissed your lips quickly a few times and let a few more tears out. Art was a mess and you didn't know why... "Art?" You asked while he was pulling back from a kiss after having put the final item of clothing on his body. "Yeah?" You took his hand and made him sit with you on the bench. "I think we should talk about this. Right? I'm sorry if it's too forward, but it's worrying me and-" he cut you by putting his hand on yours that was on the bench between your two bodies. "I want to talk about it. If you want to ear it, of course?" You nodded silently and held his hand while he started explaining.

"I love tennis. I really, really do. But sometimes I'm wondering if I have what it takes." He admitted while looking down at his lap. You rubbed his thumb reassuringly. "Of course you do, baby. I'm no expert, but Tashi told me so. Your coach seems to think so too... What happened that made you think that?" You tried to meet his gaze but he just went deeper into his head. "Hey. Stay with me..." You took the side of his face in your palm and lightly brushed it with your thumb. "My father called..." He said and tears came again. "What did he say?" You wanted to know what had put him in this state. "My grandma's dead, baby. She died last night of a stroke." He burst out in tears againa nd you went forward and held him.

You knew how close Art had been to his grandma. She was her biggest supporter, she had always been. "I shouldn't have waited to go pro. She never got to see me pro, Y/n/n." He blurted out through sobs. You held him closer than ever and sighed. "I know baby, but she'll see you from up there." You whispered. "I think and know she was proud of you right now, Art. No matter where you go after this, she would've been your biggest fan. That I am sure of. Don't put pressure on yourself over her. From the little I do know of your beautiful grandma, I know she would be sad about it." He pulled back a little and looked at you intently. "You think?" He asks more unsure than you had ever heard him. You nod your head and wiped his tears away. "When's the funeral?" "In two days." He answered and a comfortable silence fell over you two while you held for the third time in the pas hour.

A little while after, Art got up after kissing you and took his bags with him. He led you two to the exit of the lockers and you walked him to his dorm. "Y/n?" You turned your face to look at him while holding his hand. "Would you come with me? To the funeral, I mean." He waited for an answer and you smiled at him softly. "Of course, whatever you want, Art." He lifted your entertwined hands and kissed your knuckles. "Thank you for being there for me. I love you." You smiled even brighter. "I'll be here for you no matter what, baby. I love you more." You said to him as you guys continued your way to his dorm. You had spent the night at his place and you watched his comfort film while cuddling up and organizing your trip to his hometown.

At the funeral, everybody was happy that Art had found a girl as loving and supporting as you. When he walked to the open casket, you held his hand and comforted him to his needs. No one had ever done such a beautiful and meaningful thing for him. For him, you were it. You were the person he wanted to be fierce and also vulnerable with.

It was not even a full year later that he asked for your hand.

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 9

warnings: SMUT! 18+!, dirty talk, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, praise.

Part 9

"What did I miss?" Liana asked as she sat down, seeing the boys exchange looks. Sometimes they spoke without words. She always envied that connection. She didn’t have anyone who could understand her with just a nod or a blink or, in this case, a stare.

"Hello, Earth to Art and Patrick?" she tried to join in, but something about the current situation didn’t feel right. "It's my turn to go inside. I need to drink some water. You two catch up, it's been a while since you’ve seen each other," Art said without looking at her, causing Liana to frown as he walked away. "That was weird, right?" she asked Patrick, who responded with a half-smile. "When is Art not weird?" he said. "How are you?" he asked, turning his gaze back to her and seeing her give the widest smile she could offer anyone. "Do you forgive me?" she asked, moving to sit next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. "What do I have to forgive you for, Amanda?" he chuckled, tracing shapes on her shoulder while taking another sip of champagne. "I was terrible. The exams made me crazy," she tried to justify her behavior over the past month. "Do you know if you're leaving yet?" he asked. "I’ll know when we get back from vacation. I’m terrified," she murmured. On one hand, Liana desperately wanted that year in Oxford. She wanted to see Europe. The architecture. The atmosphere. The culture. She wanted to see something other than the American suburb she had lived in her whole life, with the same people and the same opinions and the same tennis. On the other hand, she didn’t want to break her parents’ hearts. Her parents who had always talked about Stanford and how she’d join the family business after she finished school, and her parents who were the best people she knew but whose dreams for her flew past them as if they were never there. And now there was Art too. Art, who in the past two days had made her feel things she had never felt before. Art, who in the months at Stanford had become an inseparable part of her life. Art, who made her stomach ache at the thought of not seeing him for a year. Art, who still didn’t know she was considering leaving. "You’ll pass that test, we both know you will," Patrick said calmly. "And then you'll conquer Europe, building by building." He chuckled, but his voice faded with each word. "And we'll stay here, missing you," he said, and she straightened up, looking at him. "I’m not going to die, you know," Liana rolled her eyes, trying to lighten the conversation. "No, you're just going to meet people much better than us, and I'm enough of a bastard to be worried about that," he said honestly. "I don’t think there are many people in the world better than you, Patrick," she concluded. The next day Art left. He texted her that a spot opened up in some tennis group he could join, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity. That he’d see her at Stanford. When Liana tried to call, he didn’t answer. So they kept missing each other throughout the vacation, she trying to call just as he was going into practice or the shower or falling asleep, and him sending messages that he was okay, just busy. On the last day of the vacation, she received a message that her exam results had come in. She had been accepted. Liana cried. Which wasn’t anything special because objectively Liana cried a lot, but this time she cried out of excitement. All the effort she put in had paid off, and now she could prepare for the student exchange. She could make her dream come true, start being a real person in the world. The conversation with her parents was horrible. There were shouts and accusations, and her mother said they wouldn’t pay for this, which Liana had suspected might happen. Her father seemed more conciliatory but didn’t say much. "Do you think Mom will be mad at me for long?" she asked him on the way to the airport. If there was one thing Liana hated, it was that it was always obvious she had been crying. Her pale face would turn red, and her eyes would swell, sometimes for days. This was one of those cases. It could be said with confidence that Liana looked like she had been run over by a bus yesterday.

"I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re proud of you. Mom will come around, don’t worry," her father hugged her as they got out of the car. "I want this so much, Dad," she sighed.

"I know, honey," he said, kissing the top of her head. He hated seeing the emotional turmoil his daughter was in. His daughter, who above all feared disappointing people. "I’ll come back to Stanford after that," she mumbled, feeling the lump in her throat take over again. "I don’t want her to hate me," she looked at him with teary eyes.

"She doesn’t hate you. Li, look at me." Her father tried to wipe her tears. "Your mother is a stubborn woman, and you’ll see that a month after you’re there, she’ll come visit you." He smiled, and she nodded, not sure she believed what he said. "Besides, you have another semester at Stanford. Make the most of it, maybe you’ll love the place as much as we did." He shrugged, seeing her take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I love you, Dad," she hugged him again and started to walk away, hoping everything would calm down and her mother would eventually look at her like she did before she told her she was planning to leave. Art opened the door after five knocks, looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Did we have plans?" he asked. "Hey Arthur, I missed you too," she rolled her eyes and gave him a small kiss on the lips, seeing him close his eyes and deepen the kiss within seconds as he closed the door. "Hey," he smiled at her and moved her hair out of her face. "Have you been crying?" he asked after examining her. Art couldn’t stop himself from asking. It was like an instinct; seeing what he could do to make her feel better. But he was so mad at her that he didn’t really want to talk to her or know how she felt right now; after all, she didn’t care how he felt. He did want to fuck her. He wanted to feel like she was his. He was afraid he was a little addicted to the feeling of looking at her and feeling like she was entirely his. He was afraid that if she left, he wouldn’t feel that way again. He was afraid of losing.

"Did you know?" his mother asked on the phone. Her voice worried. "What?" he returned the question, panting after practice. "That Liana is planning to leave for Oxford? Did you know that?" she demanded the truth. And the truth was that he knew she was leaving. But he didn’t know where or when and he didn’t know it was official. His heart pounded faster. "Yes, I knew," he mumbled, not wanting to reveal how far he felt from Liana in reality. Not wanting to reveal how stupid he felt that of all people, Patrick knew before him. "How could you not say anything, Art, she's our Liana. How will she manage in England alone? She barely manages to find her way in the supermarket without getting lost," his mother sighed. And she was right. He knew she was right. And she wasn’t even their Liana; she was his Liana. And she was his Liana for exactly two days. What an idiot he is. "She’s a big girl. She can navigate the supermarket in England without getting lost. I have to go," he mumbled, angry at himself for still feeling the need to protect her. "Just tired from the flight," she smiled at him a tired smile and felt his lips leaving small kisses on her neck, causing her to close her eyes. "Can I help?" his voice was teasing as he took off her shirt without much resistance. Examining her for a second, as if trying to remember how she looked. "You're already helping," she smiled a genuine smile, and his lips were on her again, hungrier than she had felt him so far. "I want you so much, Li," he groaned into her mouth. His tongue intertwining with hers as if he had wandered for years in the desert and she was his source of water. "Do you want this?" he asked, as they moved to his bed and she nodded. In complete haze, at this point, she decided that Art Donaldson could do whatever he wanted with her. And it was a liberating decision. Knowing she was safe in his hands and he decided how good she could feel now. "Words, Liana," he demanded as he started taking off her jeans. She didn’t even notice she was already half-naked in front of him. "You're wearing too many clothes," she mumbled incoherently as his hand brushed over her panties. "You're already wet, Li?" his voice was amused as he took off his shirt. "Already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet," he whispered in her ear and heard her moan, which caused him to release a groan of his own. "Do you want this?" he asked again. This time his hand applied more pressure over her panties. "Art." Her voice was desperate. "Please," she whispered, and he bit his lip. Stopping himself from all the things he wanted to do with her. "Please, what?" he asked, his mouth close to hers, teasing, barely touching. He kissed her right cheek and then her left

"Touch me. Please," she almost cried out of frustration and desperation, exactly the way he wanted her. His. His again. And he felt desperate too, so her panties came off in a flash and he gave her exactly what she wanted. He heard her moan beneath him as his fingers moved inside her rhythmically. He felt how tight she was. He tried not to imagine his dick inside her, thinking he might not last. She was a virgin. He knew that. She had told him. He was going to be the first inside her. "So good for me, Li," he murmured and smiled, never taking his eyes off her. He didn't think anyone could look better than Liana did now, beneath him, eyes closed, desperate sounds escaping her, moaning his name. He was sure the student in the room next door was jerking off to the sound of her. He was sure no one in the world could resist Liana Levy when she looked like that beneath him. He was no different from anyone else. Almost captivated. Almost helpless. Just wanting to deliver. Just wanting her to always be like that for him. His lips roamed over her body until they reached her clit, while his hand sped up.

"You take me so well, Li," he said as the room filled with the sound of her fluids and moans.

"I'm going to-" she mumbled, her voice breaking, making him look up at her. He had to see her come. He had to remember this moment.

"Come for me, Li, come on. I want to see you," he demanded in the most authoritative voice he could muster, even though he felt himself melting under her influence.

"Art," she moaned again.

And he was right, her face in that moment was truly the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his 20 years of existence. Her half-open mouth, her eyes closed, slightly teary, her hand on her breast. It was a magnificent sight and he knew only he had seen her like this.

Her body shook and he gave one last kiss on her sensitive clit, then stood before her.

"Open your eyes, Li," he said, and she did exactly as he commanded. "Kiss me. Taste yourself." Another half-command with a smile and scheming eyes. Within seconds, her lips were on his, her tongue mingling with his intensely, just wanting more.

"I want to be inside you," he murmured, and she nodded. "Can I?" he asked. He had to ask. He knew she could say no and he would have to accept it, and if he were less greedy, he might even be satisfied with that anyway.

But he was so angry with her. He wanted her to know. He wanted her to know that just as he was hers, she was his. That she couldn't just ignore him like that. Dismiss him as if he didn't matter.

"Yes," she murmured into his mouth, feeling him smile against her.

"Yes, what?" he asked, teasing.

"Fuck me," she whispered, and it came out vulgar and blunt, uncharacteristic of the girl in front of him. She was even surprised by the words that left her mouth, her eyes widening for a moment before remembering it was Art and relaxing. She was safe with Art. He wouldn't use her words against her. It was okay for her to need him.

"I didn't hear you," he murmured, removing the rest of his clothes and moving to his desk to grab a condom. "I'm on this side of the room, Liana. You need to speak louder." He leaned against the wall as he put the condom on, taking a breath. He had to steady his breathing if he wanted to last inside her for more than three seconds.

"Please, Art. I want to feel you inside me," she said louder, more confidently, more desperately. He moved toward her. "Please fuck me," she looked him in the eyes and bit her lip, feeling almost small but also kind of powerful. He looked almost as desperate as she did as his hand traced her face and then her chest, stopping at her sensitive nipple, making her moan.

"That much, huh?" he asked, positioning the tip of his dick at her entrance and hearing her sigh in response. "Don't worry, I've got you. Are you going to be good for me, Li?" he asked, watching her nod in response. "Are you going to take me like you were made for me?" he asked again.

"Yes, please. Art." She was almost crying with frustration. Liana didn't know what to do to make him enter her already. To feel him. For him to fill her with himself. For him to be close to her. Part of her. She didn't know when she started feeling all these emotions for Art Donaldson, but now was not the time to figure it out. He began to slide into her.

"Oh, Art," she bit his shoulder, making him groan.

"Fuck, Liana. So tight. Fuck. Hang in there, baby, are you okay?" he asked, studying her.

"More," she mumbled. The pain didn't matter. She just wanted him. She wanted all of him. He did move more. A bit more each time. Another moan and another sigh each time until he was fully inside her. Their lips merged in their most sloppy kiss yet. They were one for a moment.

"You can move," she managed to say after a few seconds.

"Are you sure?" he asked, seeing her nod. "Fuck, Li. I won't last long like this," he murmured, his movements gentle. He was careful with her.

When he felt he was close and knew she wouldn't come from the first time someone inside her, he added a finger to play with her clit.

"Fuck, Art," she moaned his name for the umpteenth time.

"I know. You're doing such a good job, Li, taking care of me so well," he said, feeling her tighten around him, bringing him to the edge almost with her.

After a few seconds, he gently pulled out of her, seeing her panting and feeling just as spent. He took off the condom and walked it to the trash, finding his boxers on the way and putting them on. He saw the girl in front of him, completely naked. Completely his.

"When were you planning to tell me?" he asked, looking at her from a distance.

Liana was still in euphoria, her eyes half-closed, confused by the question. "What are you talking about?" she sounded amused, looking at him with a smile as he put on a shirt. For a moment, she felt fragile, not understanding how she was still completely naked while he was fully dressed in front of her.

"About leaving Stanford. About Oxford? I don't know. Maybe there are more things you'd like to tell me." His gaze was cold, making Liana freeze too. She felt her nakedness now. She understood why he was dressed and she wasn't. She was vulnerable right now.

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly, swallowing and searching for her clothes.

"My mom asked me about it yesterday," he said, never taking his eyes off her. "Do you know how stupid I felt when I lied and told her I knew?" he asked. His voice didn't rise, but the frustration was clear.

"Art, I found out two days ago," her eyes glistened and she breathed quickly, feeling everything slipping away from her. He was slipping away from her.

"You're lying," he stated with an eye roll, sitting down on the bed.

"Art," she knelt in front of him, studying his face. He showed no emotion, only coldness.

"It's okay, Liana. We both know what this is," he said, instinctively moving her hair out of her face.

"What is it?" she swallowed. She knew Art. She knew he was about to say something he'd regret, and yet she still pushed him to say it.

"It's me passing time until Tashi realizes she wants me," he said, seeing her expression change to one he'd never seen on her before. She moved his hand from her face quickly and scooted back on the floor as fast as he didn't know she was capable of, as if afraid of his touch.

"Wow." She swallowed, looking at him, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," she tried to salvage the situation, and he chuckled.

"Come on, Liana." He rolled his eyes and lay down on the bed, no longer looking at her.

"You just fucked me, Art." She felt sick. It was the first time she had slept with someone. He knew that. She felt so humiliated.

"I know. I was there, and if I remember correctly, you asked for it. More precisely, you begged-"

"Shut up. Just shut up." She cut him off and stood up. She couldn't hide her tears anymore.

"Why did you do it? We could have just continued meeting at family dinners. Seeing each other in the hallway and occasionally saying hello. Why did you do it?" It came as a sob. She had never felt so humiliated. It was like a truck had run over her.

"I was bored, and you were cute, and let's be honest, a little desperate," her hand found its way to his cheek with a force neither of them knew she possessed. She wanted to apologize automatically because she wasn't violent, but it didn't come out.

"I hate you so much. I will never forgive you. You are the worst person I know." She mumbled and moved toward the door.

"At least I beat Patrick to it," he found himself saying. He had to have the last word in every argument.

"No, Art. You lost to Patrick. Even in twenty years, you won't have half the character and heart that Patrick has already. You're a complete loser compared to him, and I hope you never forget that." She said without stuttering while he didn't take his eyes off her, swallowing hard, finally hearing the door slam.

The moment Liana reached her room, after passing a considerable number of people who looked at her with worried expressions, some even trying to ask if she was okay, she collapsed on the floor and let out the loudest cry that had probably ever escaped her. She felt dirty. Almost used. She had trusted the wrong person.

She picked up the phone to call the only person she thought could understand her.

"Liana, are you okay?" Patrick sounded concerned and confused, probably because of the late hour.

"He really hurt me and I didn't know who else to call," she managed to say through her tears, hearing Patrick sigh, as if silently saying he knew. He knew this would happen.

Writing this part kinda broke me. I know Art was being cruel, but well, he was acting out without thinking about the consequences. Got your requests and maybe on the weekend we'll give Liana/Patrick/Art some more layers. Keep sending me questions and such. I LOVE it. Hope you're still enjoying and again, if you wanna join the taglist, say the word ❤️

taglist: @swetearss @ganana @yoitsme-04 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @serenadingtigers

[sadesluvr]

Attitude Adjustment

Wrapped up in the grit of the finals of your tennis tournament, Pope doesn’t appreciate you missing dinner with his parents…

SUPER RICH KIDS MASTERLIST

Pope Heyward, someone who prided himself on being mature and oh-so above it all, was incredibly petty when he was annoyed. He'd been giving you the silent treatment since you’d left the restaurant, his hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel of his car as he drove you home in silence.

Today had been a day to have dinner with his parents, Bobby and Cara Heyward, but practise for the upcoming finals of your tennis tournament had gotten in the way. You knew you were fucked the moment you’d shown up to the restaurant fifteen minutes late, with the Heyward family sat down around a table overlooking the ocean, their wine glasses already half full and complimentary bread half eaten.

You’d tried your hardest to smooth out your white dress you’d thrown on in the changing rooms of the leisure centre, but you still looked frazzled - with frayed edges and glowing skin from perspiration. Pope usually liked you like this, but certainly not on this occasion.

Bobby and Cara’s adorning had offered little comfort to you - they already loved you - and you could only focus on Pope’s clenched jaw, side eyeing you as he tapped on the side of his glass.

“I’m so sorry Mr and Mrs Heyward!” you pouted before taking a sip of water. “I got caught up with practise, and I just lost track of time --”

“No worries, Peaches,” Heyward said. You’d become fond of the nickname. “Cara and I know how much this means to you. And you know to call me Bobby.” he smiled, which you returned.

“We can’t wait to see you with that trophy!” Mrs Heyward gushed. “Whether you win or not, you know we’re going to celebrate – all the family’s around for his uncle’s birthday.” She finished, nodding over to her son, who wore a dull expression on his face. He barely spoke to you the whole night.

“Why are you being like this?” you huffed, staring over at him. His lips twitched, but he didn’t respond. “I said I was sorry. It’s not like I didn’t show up...God fucking forbid if I hadn’t.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.” Pope replied, voice monotone and eyes locked on the road.

“Oh, like you really care about all that shit?” you scoffed. “Your ‘Ma would have a heart attack if she heard the way you spoke about the other students, let alone when we’re together.”

“Can you – not – talk for a second? I’ve got a headache.” He said matter-of-factly, his childishness beginning to sink deeper under your skin.

Pursing your lips, you nonchalantly glanced out of the window before reaching for the radio, quickly connecting your phone to the Bluetooth and shuffling through your playlist, playing the music so that the bass vibrated through the leather interior of his Range Rover and under your skin.

It was loud; obnoxiously so, made all the more dramatic by the fact that you had the windows rolled down, giving a show to all those who passed. Pope winced; teeth gritted behind the closed mouth of his frown, tolerating your behaviour for those last couple of blocks leading up to your house, only to swerve into the driveway, causing you to jerk about in your seat.

“What the fuck was that about?!” you gasped, grabbing at the straps of your seatbelt, so in shock that you hadn’t noticed Pope lock the doors. “Right in my parents’ driveway?”

“Why don’t you go in there and tell them how much of a bad boyfriend I am, then?” he snarled, shrugging his shoulders. “While you’re there, tell them about how you can’t keep track of time.”

“Are you seriously still on this? You can’t let anything go, can you?” you said, folding your arms. A small smirk appeared on your face as the following words left your mouth. “Sometimes being with you is like living in a dictatorship. The frat boys would never treat me like this --”

You were cut off by Pope, his fingers pinching your cheeks together as he angled your head to face him; his grip gentle, but commanding.

“If you wanna leave me for an idiotic manchild like Rafe Cameron then go ahead,” he hummed, a smirk wiped across his face. “At least let me teach you how to act first. I don’t want him thinking that I can’t control my girl...”

Your cunt throbbed as Pope’s spare hand snuck down to his pants, where a visible bulge had formed by his pelvis, making it a struggle for him to undo his zipper. Maintaining his grip on your face, he snuck his index finger into your mouth, watching as your glossy lips suckled at the digit, your eyes wide as you followed his gaze down to his cock. Pope’s dick was perfect; longer than it was girthy, with a pinkish-brown tip. Fully erect, it rested against his stomach as he gave it a few languid strokes, brown eyes gazing into your own, his hand still holding onto your face.

“Be a good girl and make it up to me.” He said in that low, rambling tone you’d become accustomed to, giving your cheeks a sarcastic squeeze as he lowed your head onto his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you took him in your mouth. You needn’t cast a worried look up the driveway – the porch lights of your home were on, but it was almost too far away to see anything too explicit. At best, your parents would think you were talking.

Pope wasted no time in making you gag – pushing your head down on his dick so that you took all of him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of winning, you pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, wrapping your manicured fingers around his base and jerking him off.

“That’s right...” he grinned. “Use that fucking tongue, princess. I bet you mouth me off just so I can clean it out, huh?”

All you could do was let out a muffled moan, peering up at him through your lashes as his hands roamed your body, lingering on the hem of your dress before deciding to slide his fingers up your thighs to paw at the round skin of your ass. Meanwhile, you were busy in pleasuring him; his cock now glistening in the summer evening as his plump lips were parted as he let out a groan, hands firmly planted on the nape of your neck.

Resisting him, you moved up to bob on his tip, staring into his half-lidded brown eyes. He always fell for this move; you tugging at his cock whilst flicking your tongue on his tip, making sure to tease the tiny hole. He twitched, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he pulled away, frowning at you.

“Aw, Popeyyy,” you drawled, the nickname getting under his skin. “What did I do?”

“Bend over the wheel.” Pope said in a monotone voice, drawing his seat back. Wiping your mouth, you instinctively crawled into his lap, your chest grazing the material of the wheel as you felt him lift your dress. You gasped as he pushed your panties aside, sticking a few fingers into you as he admired your wetness.

He tutted.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he began, fingers curling into your sensitive spot. “All those scholarships and honour rolls you’ve made can’t take away from the fact that you’re just a desperate slut, hm? Daddy’s gonna give you what you need...”

He pushes himself into you without warning, and you grip onto the dashboard. A sharp slap on your ass tells you that he wants you to do the work too; and you immediately start to rock your hips, his large hands gripping your respective ass cheek as he spread your pussy apart; admiring the way your juices mixed as he disappeared in you. His uncovered cock feels different; filling, but tangible and raw, and it's as if you can feel his every inch, throb and vibration – you could get used to this.

It doesn’t take you long to find a rhythm – you’re fucking each other fast, but somehow, he still manages to go deep, hitting your g-spot with his tip on every thrust, skin clapping together pornographically. You’re moaning his name like a bitch in heat, your throat dry from your incessant whining, but he doesn’t stop, instead gripping your hips so that he can buck up into you like a rabbit.

“P-Pope...”

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts. “None of that sentimental shit now. You know to call me daddy...”

“Fuck -- Daddy...Please, I’m ---” you splutter, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone sentence. He’s drilling you as if there were no tomorrow, right in the middle of your parents’ driveway...and you couldn’t have loved it more.

“Look at me when you say it.” He commands, his voice cold but laced with lust.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you bite your lip before turning to look at him, eyebrows raised and a euphoric expression on your face, mewling out how sorry you are as he holds you down on his hips, his movements sloppy as he begins to near his orgasm. There’s a smirk on his face as his hands snake up to your neck, tugging on the silver chain necklace you’d worn – a dainty, expensive little piece he’d bought for your anniversary.

Balling it up in his hands, he pulls you into him, his chest pressed against your back as he moans in your ear.

“I’m gonna fill this pussy up, ok? Maybe if I knock you up, you’ll quit with all that attitude...”

Your stomach did knots at the thought, and you soon became undone – with Pope quickly following – your fluids mixing as they dripped down his cock, pooling at the base and forming a creamy ring. You were certain that your dress was stained, but it was the least of your worries considering he’d just given you a creampie, and you’d have to take the inevitable walk of shame up the driveway, past your parents and to your bedroom – that was of course if you could even walk.

Coming down from your high, you took a moment to fix yourself, your head turning as you watched Pope open his wallet, sliding you $100.

“For Plan B,” he said, his voice as smug as ever. “And some new panties. I’ll take care of the dress next time I see you.”

And there was the responsible Pope that you knew and loved. Smart, smug, sensual...It was all too obvious that you would marry him some day.

[wolken-himmel]

In which (Y/n) and Grim visit the Ignihyde dorm to hang out with Idia.

Yet, upon arrival, Idia and his brother seem to have been turned into cats by one of his inventions.

Requested by anon.

"I can't wait to finally beat Idia at Mee Sports! I've been practicing my tennis technique the entire week. I'll even be able to hold off his freaky smash balls!"

"That's what you've been saying for the last three weeks already," you retorted while walking down the Ignihyde hallways with your cat companion. The excitement he radiated couldn't even be tamed by your teasing grin. Your arms still struggled to balance the popcorn bags and drinks, but you nonetheless flicked his forehead affectionately. "I don't want to be mean, but if you asked Ortho how your chances were, you'd receive a negative number."

A scoff escaping his lips, Grim crossed his short arms and rolled his eyes. "You've never believed in the great Grim, henchhuman. No one ever has." Without much of a warning, he swiped a popcorn bag from your arms and popped it open. As if deaf to your protests, he grabbed a fistful of the delectable snack and threw it down his throat. "It's alright, though!" he said with a full mouth. "Your doubt will only further underline your foolishness when I've proven you wrong."

"Sure," you muttered wistfully. "That's also what you said last week."

His ears were pressed flat against his head, and a large pout snuck its way onto his face. "Oh hush now..." he muttered when the door to the dorm leader's room came into sight.

"Idia? We're here! We also brought some popcorn," you yelled at the top of your lungs. Then, when you received no reply, you banged your foot against the door since your arms were occupied. "Idia? Ortho?" Worry slowly started to bubble up inside of you.

"Huh, he doesn't seem to be in his room."

You pursed your lips. After a concerning while of silence, you once again banged your foot against the door. "That's so strange. Why wouldn't he be in his room outside of class?" you mumbled under your breath and set all your belongings down to the floor. Once your arms were free, you continued to knock against the door. "Something's definitely wrong..."

"What?" Grim asked in confusion when you pressed your ear against the door. "Is it impossible to imagine that he became as outgoing as Cater overnight?"

His remark took you off-guard for a moment, and a look of disbelief flashed across your face. "Are you even listening to yourself, Grim?" Your eyebrows were scrunched together in amusement. Yet, you still couldn't help but worry about the Shroud brothers. A rumbling in the depths of your stomach was telling you that something was terribly amiss. "Idia! Or Ortho? Open the door, please!"

"Shut up, henchhuman. You're hurting my ears." Grim let out a groan, but quickly quieted down in satisfaction when you lowered the volume of your voice. That was when his ears twitched in surprise. A gasp escaping his throat, he turned to you with wide eyes. "Did you hear a meow?"

Just as he had finished speaking, a soft croon came from within the room. You perked up in surprise. "Wait, now that you say it..." Before you could question the sound any further, the door to the dorm leader's room slid open. Your eyes snapped to the door, only to find a small kitten standing in its frame. "Oh, aren't you the most adorable kitten I've ever seen?"

"A robot cat?" Grim asked when you bent down to pick it up.

Its metallic body was cold against your exposed skin, but the croons it produced warmed your heart. Unable to control yourself, you began to scratch the kitten behind its ears. The robot meowed happily. "You're one of Idia's inventions, right? He sure knows how to make adorable robots..." you cooed happily when it began to vibrate.

As harmless as the cat seemed, its vibrations somehow triggered another much less harmless function. The next time it opened its mouth, a fountain of bright, blue fire exited its throat. A scream escaped your lips when you managed to dodge the flames just in time.

"Adorable?!" Grim yelled and tried to extinguish the small flames on the ground. "You better put that thing down right away."

A sigh escaped your lips, but you knew that he was right. "At least my hair didn't get singed..." you muttered under your breath while setting the kitten on the floor.

The little animal chirped happily, and, much to your surprise, leapt into the air. It hovered in front of the door for a moment, as if urging you to follow it. Then, when it was sure that it had your attention, it happily rocketed into the dark room.

Without any second thoughts, you set foot into the dorm leader's pitch-black room. You blindly wandered inside with your arms extended. "Oi, Idia! You in here?" you asked loudly. Your hands roamed the walls in at attempt to find the light-switch. But the switch seemed to evade your grasp.

"That's strange, Ortho isn't here, either," Grim said and walked further into the room. With his feline vision, you thought he would be able to navigate the room better than you. But you were proven wrong when a loud collision had him cry out in pain. "Ouch! Who put this giant metal thing in the middle of the room?"

Just a few moments later, you had found the light switch with the help of the robot kitten illuminating the room with its flame-thrower. You winced in pain when the harsh neon lights flooded your vision. The stinging sensation became a secondary worry, however, when you laid eyes on your cat friend. "Grim, are you alright?" you asked and rushed to his side.

"I bumped into something tall..." He grumbled under his breath and let himself be pulled to his feet again. After you had made sure he wasn't seriously injured, the two of you turned to the object that he had bumped into. "What's this thing? And who put it here?"

"A... machine? The 'Felinator 6.0', the label says..." you read out loud. "What does it do?"

A triumphant gasp escaped the grey cat's lips. "I've found the manual!" he exclaimed and held a thick leaflet into the air. Then, he studied the content much closer and eventually stumbled upon a strange series of pictures. "Huh, so a human goes into the machine... and then a cat comes out? So the machine serves to turn people into cats? Why does something like this exist?"

A soft meow from beneath you caught your attention. The robot kitten from earlier had wrapped itself around your legs affectionately. You bent down and cautiously stroked its metal chassis. "Hmm... does this mean you're Ortho?" you asked slowly. Surprise etched itself onto your face when the kitten nodded. "Then... does this mean that Idia has also been turned into a cat?"

Grim was just as surprised as you. "What a strange predicament..."

"Idia?" you called out and rose to your feet again. "Are you here?" When you received no reply, an idea came to you. A grin on your lips, you grabbed an unopened popcorn bag and shook it up and down. The loud sound it produced somehow caused a blue shadow to bolt out of its hiding place.

Within a matter of seconds, another cat stood by your legs and pawed at them. Its golden eyes were purely focused on the popcorn bag in your hands.

"That's Idia?! He must be a shy cat," Grim mumbled to himself.

"Huh, I didn't think that would work." Much to the newcomer cat's dismay, you immediately discarded the bag of popcorn and instead picked up the cat itself. Although it hissed and thrashed around at first, it eventually eased into your embrace. Your head-scratches were just too convincing. "Aw, aren't you the sweetest cat ever? Such pretty golden eyes! And your fur is such a beautiful blue shade, just like your regular hair."

"Shouldn't we turn them back, henchhuman?"

You exhaled in dismay. "Yeah, just a few moments more. They're just so cute... And besides, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"Hey, you don't need more cats in your life!" Grim mumbled impatiently and tried to pry the blue cat out of your arms. "You already got me."

Laughter escaped your lips when the cat let out the most frightening hiss you had ever heard. On cue, Grim let out a scared shriek and fled onto the nearest shelf. As soon as he was gone, the cat in your arms began purring again.

"Idia begs to differ," you cooed and peppered the cat's face with kisses.

[alotofpockets]

Match point | Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Where The Avengers and some famous tennis players meet to play doubles for a charity event.

Written with @catasha | Marvel masterlist | Words: 2.9k

-----

It had been months in the making but the time had finally arrived. Tony had been planning a charity event with some retired tennis players to raise money for an organisation who stands for helping children from all backgrounds to be able to play sports. Once Tony had reached out and set-up the basics, he handed over planning to Steve, who had a better eye for that part of the process.

While most of The Avengers had been busy with other things in life besides learning sports like tennis, they were all eager to join the cause, and learn something new over the next couple of days. 

The Avengers made their way over to the tennis courts, where they would first be introduced with the players. Natasha was slightly nervous, not to meet the players, but to play a sport she has never played before and that in front of professionals. Nonetheless she put a smile on her face, and was looking forward to today. 

Amélie Mauresmo, the player who Tony organised the charity event with, gathered everyone around. “Alright everyone, thank you all for joining us today. I hope you are all ready to have some fun along the way. Steve over to you.” Steve gets his clipboard out and moves towards Amélie. “Alright, I’ve matched up a player and an Avenger to create the doubles teams. You will be training individually with your partners over the next couple of days, leading up to the big event. Now, once I’ve listed your name, please find your partner and get acquainted. We will call you up when you can head to the equipment room to get everything you need sorted.” He looks down at his clipboard to read off the pairs. Once your name is announced along with Natasha’s, you send her a small wave before heading her way.

You get to know Natasha a little bit before she gets called to the equipment room. The equipment manager helps Natasha on her way with the right racket for her, letting her know the differences between the rackets. Natasha, who didn’t know a lot about tennis and therefore also not about rackets, listened carefully to the equipment manager. He advised her three different rackets, and it was to no surprise to anyone that she picked the red one. 

You see Natasha walking back towards you with a red Wilson racket, and know instantly that as an avid Babolat user you were going to have to make a joke about her choice of rackets. Putting your best shocked face on, you exclaim “I don’t think I can play with someone that chose a Wilson over a Babolat.” However, since you had only just met, Natasha was convinced that you were being serious. “Oh, I can switch it to a Babolat if that’s better.” You realise that she doesn’t know you’re joking and are quick to reassure her, “I'm just messing with you, you should play with whatever feels best for you. And if I may, red suits you pretty well.” Seeing you joke around, she relaxed a bit so she got along, “Let’s say the compliment made up for messing with me then.” You both share a quick laugh and a casual talk while heading over to the tennis courts. 

“So, it’s quite simple, I have one week to make you the best teammate possible! Everyday we’ll do physical training, even if as an Avenger you probably don’t need it, it’s still quite important to have the right footwork on a tennis court. Then I’ll teach you the basic shots and that’s it, you’ll be the best!” Your enthusiasm works its magic in Natasha letting loose about all the worries about the event. “Well, I’m ready when you are Coach, let’s do this!”

You both start running around the court for a few rounds, while you introduce some split and crossover steps. “Alright, one important thing, if not the most important while playing tennis, is how you run on the court. You’ll have to use different steps depending on where you want to go on the court.” You point in the directions, while explaining the techniques to Natasha, “To go forward, a normal sprint. On the sides, split steps like we did before and to go backwards, well just run backwards!” You both laugh at the simpleness of the last technique. “The most important thing is to always keep your eyes on the ball. So, I propose a little exercise. We’ll both start at the centre, run to the side, and then sprint to the net.” She nods at your explanations and you both make your way to the baseline of the court. 

“It’s okay if you can’t keep up with the pace, I’ll start easy” You wink at her and she laughs. “Very sweet but you don’t need to worry about me, Y/l/n.” Her comment instantly told you that she was just as competitive as you were. You started the first rounds slowly, giving Natasha time to get used to the footwork. After a few rounds you notice she had increased her pace, because she was soon ahead of you by a few metres. “You alright, Y/n? Struggling to keep up with an Avenger?” Her comment made you snap out of your ‘go easy’ tactics, and soon you were sprinting to catch up with her. She didn’t make it easy on you and before you knew it, you were both running at full speed, not wanting to let the other win. 

After a few more rounds, you end up out of breath from the sprinting and laughing, which definitely did not work well together. “Okay okay, I’m out… You win Natasha.” She comes back to you laughing, as if she didn’t spend the last minutes sprinting “You’re sweet, thinking you stood a chance against me.” A smirk plays on your lips, Natasha thought this was it, but you knew what was still to come and she would definitely feel less like the winner after the next point of practice. You go to grab your rackets from the sidelines, and hand Natasha hers. “Alright then, let’s get to the real business. Show me what you got Romanoff.”

Over the next few days you spend a lot of time on the court together. You practised serving, volleying, and a lot of other techniques that would be helpful in your matches later this week.

You were happy that you agreed to the charity event, because you never would have thought that you would have so much fun during it. Natasha was as enthusiastic as you were and it showed. Her skills were improving everyday, and she was actually getting quite good at it. After a few more practice sessions you were ready for the tournament.

The first couple of matches didn’t go as bad as Natasha had originally thought, as they were winning time and time again. It wasn’t that the matches were easy to win though, they really had to fight for every win, which in the end only brought Natasha and Y/n closer together. The charity matches had been livestreamed so far, and a lot of money had been raised for the cause already. Winning all their previous matches meant that they ended up earning a spot in the final, where they would play against Tony Stark and Amélie Mauresmo, which was bound to be an interesting match. It would also be the first match in front of an actual crowd, and you better believe that the whole stadium was sold out.

Natasha takes in the crowd as they walk onto the court, and realises just how many people had come to see them play tennis. You nudge her shoulder when you see her take in the crowd, “Nervous?” She turns to you, a shy smile on her face “How could I not be” Bringing your hand on her shoulder you’re quick to reassure her “You have trained well this week and I must say you impressed me. Let’s show these people what you’ve been working on, alright?” Natasha locks her eyes in yours. You can see a twitch in her eyes, going from nervousness to excitement. “Yeah, let’s crush Tony’s ego, since he’s been saying he’s going to win this tournament from day one.”

Every minute of the match had been intense. Both teams are playing really well and neither one of them seems to be willing to give up even one point. First set, 6-6 to the counter, set point for Y/n and Natasha. It’s your turn to serve against Tony so you decided to show off a little bit. You added a little extra power to your ball, which ended in glueing Tony on the spot. The crowd cheered for you, as well as Natasha who handshaked you and flashed you a flirty smile “Damn Y/n, that’s one strong arm” Seeing you slightly blushing she started laughing “Come on, we still need to win that final set”. You were really happy with how the rest of the match was going. Natasha was impressing you a lot with how well she was playing and how determined she was. And without even having time to notice, you were 2 points away from the victory. You shared an eye contact with Natasha, both realising that it’s your chance to win the tournament. You smiled at each other before focussing on your opponent’s serve. Point won. Match point now. Your turn to return Moresmo’s serve, Natasha is at the net. After a few exchanges between you and your fellow tennis player, Nat decided it was her time to shine. She sneakily intercepted the ball at the net with an almost flawless volley. Tony ran to catch the ball but was unable to hit it before the second rebound. It was like time stopped for Natasha who came back to her senses when she heard the referee scream her name and yours. She was fast to run to you and jump into your arms, “We did it Nat!” You congratulated her, squeezing her in your arms. 

The twinkle in her eyes after the win was enough to make your heart beat faster. It was inevitable that you would get close with the Avenger after spending so much time with her these past weeks, but nothing could have prepared you for the depth of the connection you felt with the woman. You were from completely different worlds, yet you clicked instantly and ended up having a lot in common. The way she jumped into your arms after the win kept playing in your mind as you did a round around the court, signing autographs and taking pictures with the people in the crowd. You catch Natasha looking at you from a few feet away, and smile her way before taking some more pictures with fans. 

Once you’re done with your round around the fans, you grab ahold of Natasha’s hand, and raise your intertwined hands up in the sky as the crowd cheers the both of you on. When you lower your hands, you don’t let go until you’re back inside. “So, how was winning your first tennis tournament?” Natasha was still beaming from the win, and spoke to you with a big smile on her face. “That was amazing! It was really hard, but we did it, and I’m so proud of us.” You returned her smile, “Yeah, we did pretty great.” 

You talk a bit more about the match while you head further into the building, towards the dressing rooms. “Here I wanted you to have my racket, to have something to remember the match by, since I know you’re going to have to hand in yours.” She takes the extended racket. “Are you sure it’s not just something to remember you by?” Her confident smirk makes its way onto her face. You look at her with just as much confidence, “Who said this had to end?” Before you could respond, Tony yelled out in the hallway, “Afterparty at the Compound, you don’t want to miss it!” Natasha looks back at you once Tony has left again, “Will I see you at the party tonight?” You nod, “If you’re coming, I will definitely be there.”

To nobody’s surprise, Tony didn’t hold back for the party. Champagne bottles were on every bar and table along with a dozen different appetisers. It’s the least to say that it wasn’t the kind of environment you were used to. You were scanning the room trying to find a familiar face and decided to join a group of your fellow tennis players. Before you could even walk in their direction, you heard the soft voice that now makes you smile automatically “Hi champion”. Without giving you time to answer, Natasha planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You don’t know what made you blush the most, the kiss or her stunning red high slit dress. “Wow Natasha.. you are beautiful” A little hint of pink on her cheeks betrayed her even though she tried to hide it. “You’re not so bad yourself Y/l/n. So, do you want a drink?” She grabbed your hand without waiting for your answer and made her way to the bar. 

The party was a success. After spending some time talking together, Natasha and you joined a group of Avengers. They shared various stories about some of their missions, how they all met, etc. You got to tell them how you became a professional tennis player as well. The conversation got interrupted by Tony screaming in a microphone. “Alright people, listen up! Firstly, I want to thank you all for participating in this charity event. We raised a huge amount of money and that couldn’t have happened without each and everyone of you. Now, I will ask you to make a lot of noise for our champions! Y/l/n and Romanoff come join me!” Natasha got up first, hyping you up on the way. She once again grabbed your hand and brought you to the stage next to Tony. He gave you each a huge bottle of some expensive champagne, on which you could read Natasha’s name and yours written on the label. “As much as it pains me to say this, you deserved the win. You make a pretty great team together” 

After saying a few words of gratitude, you both got down off the stage and you led Natasha somewhere a bit more quiet. “Wow, I really wasn’t expecting that much.” You laugh to let go of some of the stress. “Ah Tony can’t do small things. And if I must be honest, I deserve it. I mean with all the running you made me do, I think I deserve that bottle”. She playfully hits you on the shoulder, to which you gasp. “Oh so you think you deserve it more than me huh? From my side, training the Black Widow was not easy..” It was her time to gasp at your comment. “Pff I know you loved it.” She was right, you had spent a wonderful week with her. “I cannot deny that. Seriously Natasha, I had a lot of fun with you. I am very happy we won, but I am even happier that I got to meet you.” You were about to continue with your monologue but Natasha stopped you before you could. She grabbed your hands and got closer to you, to place a soft kiss on your lips. Pulling back, she smiled nervously at you “I hope that’s okay?” You grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her in for a more passionate kiss. “I’ll take that as a yes” You both laughed and you brought her in for a hug “Of course it is.”

You spend some more time in the quiet corner of the room together, relishing in the moment. When Natasha feels like it’s time to head back to the party she thinks of a way to see you again soon. “So, my racket at home feels kinda empty, like it’s missing an autograph from a certain tennis player. Do you know anyone who would be able to fix that?” With a smirk you point to the room where the party is. “Oh, I can get Moresmo to come over and sign it for you, if you want?” She laughed and attached herself to your arm while you were both making your way back to the party. “Not the certain tennis player I had in mind actually. All jokes aside, I was thinking that you could come to my place sometimes, dinner maybe?” You smiled back at her brightly, “As a date?” She nods her head. “Then yes, I would love to.”

As the night continued, filled with laughter, champaign, and music, you found yourself enjoying your time with Natasha and the old and new friends surrounding you. Each time that Natasha’s eyes would meet yours, your heart would skip a beat. You were grateful to all parties involved in getting the two of you together for this charity event, and could not wait what the future held for the two of you.

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[roses-for-rosalyn]

what if abby's father and the reader's father were friends and the like to hangout and play tennis a lot ; one day jerry anderson tries to convince his daughter to play a game with him, his friend and his daughter (reader) who has just returned home after two years of travelling ;

both girls accept their father's invitation! then the big day arrives and abby finds herself in front of reader in her pretty tennis set (and maybe something could happen in the locker room, after a heated match 👀)

I'm baaaack!

Sorry this took me so incredibly long it's been a weird few weeks. I hope I did your idea justice, she's a long one.

word count: 3.3k

content warnings: enemies to lovers, mean, competitive Abby, thigh riding, fem! reader, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, modern au where Abby's dad isn't dead obvi, no use of y/n

--------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting at your kitchen counter sipping on a glass of ice water and gazing out the window, watching the summer breeze rattle the trees. It had been a few weeks since you’d gotten back from Europe, but ice still felt like a luxury. Europe was so beautiful and you wouldn’t trade it for anything, but after a few years you started to yearn for air conditioning, cold water and disgusting greasy fried food. Your first bite of a McChicken back in the states was orgasmic. 

You also missed your family, your dad would call you every other day and talk about his day in incredible detail. He joined a country club and got into tennis while you were gone, he even made a few friends. You were especially happy about that because you were worried about him getting lonely while you were gone. You didn’t want him rotting in an empty house while you went out and traveled the world. Even though your dad’s days were mundane and repetitive you just liked listening to him talk. His voice was the only thing that could dull the feeling of homesickness. 

The front door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Your dad walks in clearly having just got back from the country club, he was dressed head to toe in tennis gear including a visor. You can’t help but giggle at how stupid and preppy he looks. You didn’t exactly grow up going to country clubs, and dressing in brand name clothes. Luckily your dad had gotten a new job so he could splurge on himself. It made you happy to watch him treat himself for the first time in his life. 

“What? Why are you laughing at me?” He looks up and down checking his clothes for stains or any wardrobe malfunctions. 

“Nothing, you just look a little funny dressed in your tennis uniform. Not exactly used to you in country club attire.” You smile as he acts mock offended. 

“I think it suits me, thank you very much.” He dramatically marches over to the fridge to fill up his water bottle. He’s really not gonna let go of this.

“You’re right, you were born to wear exclusively Vineyard Vines and sip wine on the balcony of your third beach house.” You say with a smirk. 

“Sounds pretty nice to me.” He smiles and leans on the counter across from you. 

He hesitates before saying “I’ve been meaning to invite you to play with me and Jerry, I think you’d have fun, it’ll be like the good old days on your high school tennis team. You’d probably deeply humble both of us.” Jerry was your dad’s best friend right now, one of the first people that welcomed him into the country club. 

“Dad, I haven’t played tennis in three years I don’t kn-” 

“Jerry said he’d bring his daughter too. She also used to play a lot of sports in high school. We could do father daughter teams or daughters vs fathers. It’ll be fun.” He sounds so excited, you would feel way too guilty turning him down at this point. 

“Ok, ok. Have you met his daughter? Is she like.. Nice?” You didn’t want to have to fake getting along with her for your dad’s sake, if you were being honest you would probably end up doing that anyway. Your dad wasn’t exactly good at finding you friends. 

“Yes, she’s incredibly nice, and respectful. She’s a few years older than you, about 25 I think, and she works for a construction company.” He pauses trying to recollect the little information he knows about his friend’s daughter. “She’s so strong I’m pretty sure she could pick me up bridal style.” Your dad laughs at his own joke, but now you are a little nervous. It’s starting to sink in that your dad essentially set up a playdate for you with an incredibly buff woman. You just hope you don’t end up noticeably ogling at her, maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll be incredibly mean.   

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your dad bribed you with a fancy breakfast before the match. The food was delicious, but you couldn’t stop your nervous movements, constantly tapping your fingers or feet. Your dad noticed and reassured you there was no reason to be nervous, and that there’s no pressure. To be honest your nerves weren’t completely because you were out of practice. Meeting new people always made you anxious, especially when it was arranged like this. There was an unspoken expectation for everyone to get along and enjoy themselves and you liked to keep your expectations low. 

Before you knew it you and your dad were walking to the tennis courts. Your dad noticed you were starting to get all up in your head.

“Hey, loosen up kiddo this will be fun, if it’s not you let me know and we can leave. I’ll just tell them I’m not feeling well and we can get ice cream. Jerry will understand.” He messes with your hair a bit and you feel mildly relieved. 

Once you get to the tennis court all of the relief you felt drained from your body, immediately replaced with pure anxiety. As you walk onto the smooth green court you see a middle aged brunette man, no doubt that was Jerry, and a tall strong blonde standing next to him. She towered over him, every muscle chiseled to perfection by what must have been some higher power. As you got closer you could see her biceps straining against her blue t-shirt, her thighs were barely visible, but from what you could see they were just as muscular as her arms. You were beginning to ogle when you’re snapped out of it from the sound of your dad greeting Jerry. Your dad shakes hands with Jerry and Abby and you begin to do the same. Abby’s blue eyes pierced right through you, a neutral expression adorning her face. She was incredibly intimidating considering she could clearly snap you in two. You shake Jerry’s hand “I’ve heard so much about you, hope you still remember your stuff from high school. Your dad and I have gotten pretty good.” 

You smile and reply “It’s been a while, but I’m sure I’ll warm up in no time!” You liked to stay humble, but honestly you were pretty good at tennis. You had won a lot of games and you were one of the best on the team. You didn’t talk about it much though because you were self aware enough to know literally no one cares about tennis. You were also as a result extremely competitive so you were hoping you would be able to tone it down in order to not scare your dad’s friend away. 

You move to shake Abby’s hand “I’m Abby, nice to finally meet you.” From her tone you would have assumed she thought it was indeed not very nice to meet you. But you nod and smile as her calloused hand engulfs yours. You can’t help but notice how warm her skin is to the touch and how large her hands are. 

She was incredibly attractive. 

“Alrighty you guys ready for an ass whoopin?” Jerry jests. 

“You bet.” Your dad replies. 

You and your dad make your way to the other side of the net and get into your ready positions. Abby serves the ball first and her swing was strong, but it was no match for your speed. You quickly learned the harder Abby hit the ball the louder she would grunt, so naturally you attempted to rile her up further. You would smirk arrogantly at her every time you and your dad gained a point, and take an extra long time getting ready to serve on the rare occasion she and Jerry would score a point. You and your dad rack up points quickly and the blonde was growing visibly frustrated. She was starting to hit the ball even harder, her jaw was clenched and her expression was so serious. It was adorable. 

Eventually Jerry calls for a break and sits on one of the benches with you dad, leaving you to sit with Abby. Alone. 

You sit down next to her on the wooden bench and start sipping from your water bottle. She does the same and you sit in silence for a bit. You notice the sweat on her brow and how her shirt is starting to stick to her skin. You can almost make out her abdominal muscles through the thin blue fabric. 

“I’m not usually this bad at sports, not used to losing.” Abby says, looking straight ahead. You can’t help but smile at her discontent, she seems just as competitive as you.

“I’m sure your strong muscles get you pretty far in most sports, but apparently tennis is not one of them, especially when you're up against an expert like me.” You say trying to joke around to lighten her mood.

“I wouldn’t classify a varsity tennis player as an expert, but okay.” She says with a smug look, still not facing you. She definitely did not understand your humor. 

“Clearly enough of an expert to beat you.” You shoot back. Abby grows silent and continues to sip her water. 

You sit in silence while your dad chats with Jerry, giving up on trying to make conversation with Abby. Eventually Jerry and your father stand up ready to finish the game. You and your dad beat them miserably. The game only ended because the sun started to go down, the country club quickly emptying out for the day. 

Your dad and Jerry suggest you all get washed up in the locker rooms before leaving. They walk away from the tennis court side by side talking and laughing while you and Abby walk behind them in almost total silence. Once the group reaches the locker rooms the two dads turn to you and Abby. 

“Would it be ok if me and Jerry grab a drink together? Abby can take you home in Jerry’s car.” The absolute last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a small car with this mean blonde, but you smiled and nodded. 

“See you later kiddo.” Your dad smiles and tussles your hair before walking into the locker room. 

You walk into the locker room as well, planning to just keep your distance from Abby for as long as you could until you were stuck with her in a tiny car. You can hear her heavy footsteps follow behind you and you quickly put your bag down, grab a towel and walk towards the showers to avoid facing her. You walk into one of the stalls and turn on the shower. The warm water helps to calm you down and soothes you. You lather on the soap massaging your muscles to relieve any soreness or tension, making sure you washed all the sweat away from the match. Unfortunately you have to be quick because you don’t want to make Abby any more annoyed than she was. 

As you step out and begin to dry yourself off you realized you forgot your change of clothes. 

Fuck.

You wrap the towel around you tightly and make your way to the lockers. Abby is sitting on the bench in the middle lacing up her shoes. Thank god she was looking down. You scramble over to your bag and grab your clothes out. You turn to head back to the showers to change in peace but Abby’s voice stops you.

“You took fucking forever.” She’s not looking at you, which you have observed to be a habit of hers. 

“Didn’t want to stink up your car. Is that ok with you?” Abby scoffs, but says nothing in response. 

“Seriously what the fuck did I do to you?” You blurt out, exasperated. You’re not usually this confrontational, but you felt like you deserved an answer. “I have barely had a conversation with you and for some reason you seem to have a problem with me or something.” 

Abby stands up angrily to face you and you had almost forgotten you were wearing a towel until she looked at you up and down with wide eyes. “You weren’t even gonna get dressed before asking me that question?” She sounds genuinely pissed off. Was everything you did an inconvenience? 

“Doesn’t matter, just answer it.” You look her straight in the eyes, challenging her. 

“Fine. You really wanna know?” You nod “I barely had a conversation with you and I could tell you were a brat.” As she’s talking she starts walking towards you, you didn’t even realize you were backing away until you felt the cool metal lockers against your skin. “You have an attitude problem, you know that? You don’t know when to shut the fuck up” She’s close, too close, she’s looking directly down at you daring you to respond. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You were the one who started being rude to me.” You refuse to break eye contact with her, trying to intimidate her from your height was ineffective, she wasn’t backing down. “What are you gonna do?” You ask boldly, tilting your head inviting her to answer. “Teach me a lesson? We both know you’re not gonna do anything, so just let me get dressed so I can get home and never see you again.” She doesn’t respond, the only sound was you and Abby’s synchronized breaths as she stared at you with a fire in her eyes. Her stare somehow made you feel more naked than you already were, making you overly aware of the fact that you were wearing a towel that was starting to slip down. 

“You have no idea what you’re asking for sweetheart.” She says almost breathlessly. The anger in her eyes quickly turns into a hunger when she looks down at your towel slowly slipping off your body. You’re holding on to the towel for dear life. 

“Fuck.” Abby says breathlessly before doing the absolute last thing you could have expected. She kisses you. Hard. 

You let out a surprised squeak and quickly back away, both of your chests heaving. You look in her eyes and see a desperation and hunger that’s almost scary, but for some reason you kiss her back. Abby melts into you and threads her fingers into your hair. You place your hands gently against her chest as she pushes you further against the lockers with her strong body. Her hands slowly travel down to the towel barely maintaining your dignity. She gently pries your hands from the soft material and rips it off throwing it across the room, keeping her lips on yours the entire time. You barely notice the cool air against your bare skin, she is so close to you you can feel her body heat radiate through her clothing. 

Abby uses her foot to move yours outward, spreading your legs enough for her to slot her thigh between them. You moan into her mouth the moment her strong thigh makes contact with your bare cunt. You start slowly writhing against her, trying to relive the ache that was growing in your center. Abby breaks away and looks down at you desperately grinding on her thigh. “You’re already so wet for me sweetheart. Barely had to do anything.” She smiles smugly as she watches you become a moaning mess, her thigh creating a perfect pressure against your clit. 

Abby starts kissing you down your neck, occasionally sucking on the sensitive skin, the feeling of her rough tongue causing you to whimper. She begins circling her fingers around your nipples, teasing them, before pinching them and rolling them between her fingers. You begin to move faster against her thigh and the pleasure in your belly begins to build. Your moaning starts to become louder as you begin to reach your high. Abby notices and moves her thigh further against you, putting even more pressure on your sensitive bud. “You close baby?” You nod and whine, desperate for any kind of release. You start moving faster against Abby’s thigh and your pleasure quickly hits its peak. It comes crashing against you in overwhelming waves, forcing loud moans from your lips. Abby eventually puts her leg down and backs away slightly, before kneeling in front of you. Before you can ask any questions she grabs one of your legs, hooks it around her shoulder and licks a stripe up your soaking cunt. You hiss through your teeth, sensitive from your first orgasm. She begins teasing your clit with her tongue and you have to thread your fingers into her hair for something to hold on to. 

You barely manage to whimper out, “Abs-fuck- I-I’m too sen-senitive.” 

She stops for a second and looks up at you. The sight of her kneeling between your legs is nearly enough to have you coming again. “You can take it baby, gonna make you come until you can’t give me that attitude anymore.” And with that she starts lapping at your cunt once again. She sucks your clit into her mouth, her tongue circling your sensitive bud. You let out a surprised whine, your chest heaving from the intense sensation. Abby’s hands grab hold of your hips, bring you closer to her mouth. 

You can feel another orgasm building as Abby rubs her thumbs in circles against your skin. You begin uncontrollably writhing against her tongue, but Abby quickly uses her grip on your hips to pin you firmly against the lockers forcing you to remain still. The action caused your pleasure to bubble over. “Abby-”, you whine out “-ffuck-fuck.” 

She keeps assaulting your clit through your orgasm, not slowing down. As you begin to come down, you become sensitive again and try to wriggle away from her. She pins your hips against the lockers and looks up at you with a stern look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to stop until you couldn’t even hold yourself up. 

She shoves two fingers inside of you causing you to gasp at the sudden intrusion. Her digits slid in easily, your arousal now dripping down your thighs. She curls her fingers forward causing you to have to bite your lip to keep from screaming. 

“Don’t you fucking dare bite your lip I want everyone to be able to hear you screaming for me sweetheart.” You clench around her thick fingers at her words and Abby takes that as a sign to keep talking. “You’re taking me so well princess. Think I can add another finger?” You nod eagerly at her in response. “Use your words baby.”

“Y-yes pl-please yes.” With your pathetic reply she adds another finger, filling you to the brim. She fucks you at a steady pace occasionally looking up at you to watch your face scrunch up in pleasure. She begins sucking hard on your clit causing you to let out a pornographic moan. She speeds up her fingers, hitting your g-spot with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers were escaping your lips every time her fingers hit that spongy spot. Your walls began clenching around Abby’s fingers and she knew you were close. Your orgasm hit you quickly and caught you by surprise, your whole body feeling the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt. You’re not even sure what noises you were making or what you were saying, the pleasure was so blinding all you could do was buck your hips into Abby’s mouth. You were being held up exclusively by Abby’s grip on your hips. She stands up and quickly scoops you up bridal style to sit you down on the bench. She helps you get dressed and you could barely protest, she reduced you to jello. Abby stands up and offers her hand to help you up. You oblige and as you stand up she says “Need you to teach me your tennis skills sometime.” Weirdly she’s smiling. 

You can’t help but smirk, “Yeah? Well it’s gonna cost you and I don’t take sexual favors as payment.” 

[pepi1989]

Hi love ur amazing 🫶 English isn’t my first language so I hope this makes sense. can you write a long story about Laver Cup where for the first time, a WTP player can join for a mixed doubles and a women’s match? And reader is the WTP tennis player on team Europe, with banter and mock rivalry between Team World since she’s close with them as friends but obviously being on opposing team means they have rivalry? And then both teams sitting on one sofa on the last day, Ben and reader getting very close together and flirting and the bench can picks up some of it and they both get asked separately on their team press conference?

Don't worry honey, your English is very good! Loved this idea, let's make it like they didn't make Ben play every doubles game lol

Rivals, or Something Like That - Ben Shelton

I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, watching Alcaraz and Zverev take on Team World. The match is intense, but it’s not what’s keeping my mind occupied. Across the court, in their red and black jackets, Ben and Frances are sitting on the Team World bench, loudly cheering for their teammates. And, of course, they’re throwing comments my way. Because why wouldn’t they? It’s Ben.

“[Y/N], you better be ready for a beatdown!” Ben’s voice echoes across the court, catching me completely off guard. He grins that grin, the grin while Frances chuckles beside him. I roll my eyes, trying to focus on the match, but honestly, all I can think about is what kind of beatdown he’s talking about. In tennis, obviously. Right?

I glance over at Grigor, who’s sitting next to me on the bench, and he just raises his eyebrows at me like he knows exactly what’s going through my head. “Don’t let him get in your head, [Y/N],” Grigor says with a smirk. I’m about to respond when Frances chimes in from across the court. “Don’t worry, [Y/N], we’ll go easy on you. We don’t want to make you cry.”

Oh, it’s like that?

“You two better focus on your team losing,” I shoot back, trying to hide my smirk. But Ben doesn’t let up. “We’ll see who’s crying when we’re done with you,” Ben calls, his voice all teasing but with this weird tension underneath it. It’s just banter, right? That’s what we always do. Except now, I can’t stop thinking about how Ben keeps looking over at me in between matches. And why is it that, every time he does, my stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults?

When the time finally comes for my match, I’m paired with Dimitrov against Ben and Frances. Of course it’s Ben. Because why wouldn’t it be? The whole thing feels weirdly set up, but I push those thoughts aside and focus. The first few rallies are tight, every point fought for. Ben’s powerful serves are no joke, but I’m managing to keep up. Still, every time I look across the net, I catch him looking at me, like we’re in some secret tennis duel only the two of us understand.

At one point, I miss a volley, barely, and Ben doesn’t let it slide. “Nice try, [Y/N],” he says with that smirk that’s becoming a little too familiar. “Need me to show you how it’s done?” Please. “Only if you want to lose faster,” I snap back, my heart racing, and not just because of the game.

But then Frances, being Frances, decides to make it even weirder. “Why don’t you two just get it over with already? You’ve been flirting all day.” I nearly choke on air. Excuse me? Ben just laughs, but the heat rushing to my face is undeniable. I shoot a glare at Frances, who is absolutely not helping. “Focus on the game, Frances,” I mumble, hoping no one else noticed. But, of course, everyone noticed.

After the match, we all end up backstage, completely exhausted. There’s this giant sofa that’s supposed to fit everyone, but honestly, it’s a miracle we’re not all on top of each other. And, because the universe has a sense of humor, I end up squished between Ben and Alcaraz. “Comfortable?” Ben asks, his voice a little too close for comfort as his leg presses up against mine. We’re basically sharing half the same cushion at this point, and I swear I can feel the warmth of his arm next to mine.

I don’t look at him, instead keeping my eyes on the ceiling, like that’s the most interesting thing in the world right now. “Oh yeah, super comfortable,” I deadpan, shifting slightly, but somehow, we end up even closer. The banter doesn’t stop, but now it’s all weirdly charged. I catch Ben’s grin out of the corner of my eye, and Frances, of course, just can’t let us be. “You two should really get your own sofa,” he mutters, not even bothering to hide his smirk.

I want to disappear. Is it that obvious? Ben just shrugs, leaning in a little more. “Hey, I’m not the one complaining.” At this point, Alcaraz and the rest of Team Europe are trying to stifle their laughter, but it’s no use. Everyone is in on the joke. Even Taylor Fritz from the other side of the room calls out, “Are you guys sure you’re on opposite teams? Because it doesn’t look like it.” “I’m about to switch teams if you keep this up,” I mutter under my breath, trying to ignore the fact that my face is probably bright red by now. Ben just smirks. “Don’t worry, [Y/N]. I’ve got room on Team World for you.”

What does that even mean?

The next day, we’ve won, and I’m sitting at the post-match press conference, trying to act like everything is normal. Except it’s not. Because the press? They’ve noticed everything. “So, [Y/N],” one journalist starts, and I can already tell this is going to be bad. “There’s been a lot of talk about your interactions with Ben Shelton during the tournament. Care to comment?”

I feel my face heat up, and my teammates are no help, stifling their laughter beside me. Dimitrov is the worst offender, elbowing me like he can’t wait to hear my answer. “We’re just friends,” I say, trying to play it off cool. But honestly, it sounds a lot less convincing than I wanted it to. The journalist presses on. “It seemed like there was a bit more than just friendly competition on that sofa yesterday.”

I hear someone, probably Zverev, laugh softly beside me. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. “Look, we were just… you know, teammates… on opposing teams…” What am I even saying?

Meanwhile, across the room, Ben’s handling his own press conference, and of course, they’re asking him about the exact same thing. “Ben, there seemed to be some extra chemistry between you and [Y/N] during the tournament. Can you tell us what’s going on there?”

I’m watching from the screen backstage, my face burning as I wait for his answer. Ben just grins, leaning into the mic like this is the most natural question in the world. “Oh, we’re just having a little fun,” he says, clearly enjoying this way too much. “She’s a great competitor, no more than that.” But then he glances at the camera, and I swear he winks. “You’ll have to keep watching, though. Who knows what might happen next?”

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 92... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

IT IS FINALLY TIME, Y'ALL...!!! 👏😆

Today's chapter has brought back some previous plot points that I and many others have been thinking about for quite some time now...!! 😌 So let's talk about it on this wonderful Christmas Eve, shall we...? 😉

Today's chapter begins with something that we knew was coming...:

...THE FINALS...!! 😤

Mentioned all the way back in Mission 42, we learned that if Anya does bad on the finals, she will be separated from Becky (and Damian), so it is extremely important for her to do well them...!! 😲 But she isn't the only one worried about the upcoming finals...

Of course Twilight would be stressing out about whether or not Anya will do well on the finals, but because on of certain goofy spy (last seen being already defeated in a tennis match in Mission 32), Twilight can't even cheat on the test for Anya anymore...:

(*Sniff* I'm so glad to see Daybreak again, even it's just flashback...!! 🥹)

But since Anya did quite well in Classical Language (also mentioned in Mission 42), Twilight wants her to work on that subject and believes that she could even get a Stella for it... Then this happened:

HAHAHA!!! 🤣😂 THIS HAD ME CACKLING!!

After Twilight lost all hope for his daughter to well on the finals, Authens show up and invite the Forgers to have some cookies!! 🍪

While at the Authens' place, we get a lot of interesting information about Authens, but the things that peaked my interest the most are that Mr. Authen taught neurology at the University that he used to work at and that him and Mrs. Authen moved back to Berlint to be close to their son and his family...!! 🤔

I don't know if either these things about the Authens will lead to anything, but I'll still be on my guard about them... (Especially about who might be their son...! 🤔)

Moving on, Sigmund starts to help Anya with Classical Language by *GASP* using something that she loves to help her with her studies...!! 😲 (Yes, I know Twilight to tried to teach Anya using Spy Wars before, but... He didn't do it properly [as seen in Short Mission 9, which was also mentioned in today's chapter as well...! 😄]) AND IT ACTUALLY SEEMS TO BE WORKING!!! 😆

And after some more studying, Sigmund congratulates Anya for all of her hard today:

The Forgers prepare to leave the Authens' place and Anya says that she'll keep coming to the Authens place to study (as long as they have cookies...! 😋) But then, Sigmund asks Anya what's her main goal after becoming an Imperial Scholar, and she says...:

AND SIGMUND GIVES HER A HUG FOR THAT ANSWER...!! 💗🥹💗

(I take back being suspicious of him, at least for now...! 😌)

Anya continues her training (I mean studying) with Sigmund until she ends up looking like Solid Snake...!! 👏🤣👏🤣👏🤣

Anya, you so crazy...!! 😂😂😂

After that, Anya heads off to school (with that permanent marker 5 o'clock shadow on her face 🤭) ready to take the finals...!! 😎 And then...:

WE HAVE TO WAIT & FOUND OUT HOW ANYA DID NEXT TIME ON ANYA BALL Z!!! 🌀

And that was Mission 92, a nice little on Christmas Eve that finally brought back things that haven't been brought up in while (like Daybreak...!! 😆) I loved that Anya was actually enjoying studying for once, thanks to Sigmund!! 😊 And to Twilight, I love you, but... THIS👏IS👏HOW👏YOU👏SHOULD👏HAVE👏APPROACHED👏ANYA👏WITH👏HER👏STUDIES!!!👏😤 My guy Twilight really doesn't understand children AT ALL (especially his own...!! 😌)

I truly don't think that the Authens are bad people after this chapter, but I still believe that they (particularly Sigmund) might have a dark past...!! 🤔 As for the mention of the Authens' having a son has got my theory brain a rolling...! 😵 But, my best guess of who their son could be is either he's Anya's biological father or one of the scientists that experimented on her... 👀

Anyway, I think that's all wanna say about this chapter...!! 😊 And if know me tomorrow is my favorite holiday, CHRISTMAS!! 😆 I probably won't be on Tumblr at all tomorrow, so until December 26th or the next Mission... Take care, be safe out there, be kind to one another, & HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!! 💗😆💗 SEE Y'ALL LATER!! 👋😊

[iloved1lfs]

Losing You

PAIRING: Patrick Zweig x Reader

Sypnosis: Patrick and you have been best friends since kids (along with art) and started dating during high school. He comes to visit you at Stanford for a tennis match you have, but the visit was not what you expected. Which then follows you in your future events.

Warnings: none. Follows the movie slightly just with my own twist.

This will become a series. Working on future parts.

PT.2 PT3.

You've been practicing for the past two hours tennis against your best friend Tashi who you met at the beginning of attending Stanford. You've played against her in the finals of a tournament before going to Standoord, which you lost making you second place. You both were on a tennis scholarship and talked about tennis way too often, but it never got boring. You sat down on the bench drinking water as she came next to you, reaching in her bag for her water bottle.

"Is Patrick coming to see you play today?" You smiled in response and she rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm guessing that's a yes, aren't you excited?"

"I am, but I'm nervous it's been a long time since he's last seen me play." Patrick has visited you at Stanford months before his pro tour began, but recently your season started and his to so he hasn't been able to come to your games. Yet he finally had time and is seeing you play which is nerve-racking.

"Don't worry you're one of the best players I know." She snaps you out of your thought and nudges you, you thank her since the beginning she always told you that you were the best player she knew.

"Well I got to go get in the zone before the match I'll see you in a bit." She grabs her stuff and waves at you before leaving off the court. You start to pack your stuff since you were done practicing and heard a whistle behind you.

You turn around as you zipped up your tennis bag, you saw your boyfriend with a smirk on his face. He drops his bags, you ran to him and jumped in his arms as he spins you around, you grabbed his face while you both shared a passionate kiss as he slowly let your feet hit the ground.

"I missed you." You tell him as you look over his beautiful face that you've missed over the past months.

"I've missed you more baby you look sexy." He says with a smile on his face.

"I'm sweaty, but thank you." You shyly said and he grabbed your face pulling you in for another kiss.

"Love to see you lovebirds back together again, but please it's disgusting to see you suck faces." You looked behind Patrick to see Art in his Stanford tennis outfit, since he had practice.

"Well I haven't seen my boyfriend in a long time so we will do as we please." Patrick laughed and Art rolled his eyes.

"Anyways are we going to go eat before your match or what?" You nodded your head and you looked at Patrick who grabbed his bags from the floor.

"You guys go I'll catch up with you I just want to put my stuff down in your room baby." He gestures to his bags on his arm and hand. "They are quite heavy." He lets out a laugh and you nodded your head.

"Okay well I'm going to go shower in the girls locker room before we go eat Art so wait for me." Art nodded and you told Patrick the way to your dorm room just in case he forgot, but he said he remembered and went off to your dorm.

After you took a shower you and Art went to the canteen to get food. You both sat at a table and you looked around the area to see if Patrick would enter at any moment, but you couldn't find him.

"He's probably lost." Art said as you kept looking around and you looked at him with a deadpan stare, and he looked at his food.

"He knows his way around the campus he can't get lost." Art nodded his head in agreement.

"So how are you and Patrick doing recently?" Art asks before taking a bite of his food.

"Good. We are great." You said taking a bite of your food and he looks at you with a weird expression.

"What?" You look at him and he shakes his head looking down at his food. "Tell me."

"It's nothing." He brushes it off as he leans back against his chair and you furrow your brows.

"Clearly you need to tell me something about Patrick or our relationship based on your reaction." He laughs and shakes his head.

"No it's nothing." You both were arguing back and forth until he finally gave in. "I'm just surprised that you guys are still together."

You squint your eyes at him confused, a few seconds of silence pass between you before he speaks up.

"I'm sorry-"

"Why are you surprised?" You cut him off.

"No I'm just-" He was tiptoeing on telling you what he needed to.

"Art stop being a fucking pussy and tell me." You were fed up with the secrecy, his eyes widened at your sudden reaction. He sighed looking around and then back at you.

"Is he fucking around with other girls?" He hesitated to answer you, but that silence alone answered your question. Your heart was beating fast and you stood up.

"No he isn't-" Walking out the canteen you were unable to think, but your legs were moving. You kept hearing Art call after you, as he chased after you.

You opened the door to your dorm, looking around none of Patrick's bags were in there. You were confused on who he could've been with. You heard footsteps behind you and Art was panting behind you as he caught up to you.

"Listen I'm sorry-" You turned around to look at Art, he stops talking.

"Fuck off Art and tell me where he is." He stayed silent. "His stuff would be here by now he knows where my dorm is. He's been here before. He doesn't know anyone else here, but you, me, and Tashi." You breathe before you continue.

"I'm going to ask Tashi if she has seen him." You walk past him, but he grabbed your arm, you look at him. You furrowed your brows at him and yanked your arm away, walking towards her dorm.

"I don't think that's a good idea." You didn't care what he had to say. He followed you closely trying to stop you, but you kept making your way down to her dorm, which was down the hallway.

You reached her door and heard Art cuss under his breath.

"Hey have you seen Pat-" You opened the door and didn't expect to see what you saw. Your boyfriend and your best friend all up on each other on the bed, he had his shirt off and she was in her undergarments. Your heart was beating so fast, you didn't expect to see this image in front of you.

Patrick pulled away from the kiss he shared with Tashi, he looked past her to see you standing. His smile faded and his eyes widened, he pushed Tashi aside.

"I can explain." You didn't answer you looked between Tashi and him. You couldn't believe that this was happening in front of you all along, you questioned when it started, but your brain wasn't functioning. "Baby please I can explain."

"Explain? I saw everything." You hadn't noticed that tears were running down your face, Patrick had a hurt look on his face as he saw you cry. "Fuck." He muttered.

"Please listen to me-" he tried to get close to you, but you stepped back.

"No Patrick I'm not. This shit started when?" You looked at them both, they stayed silent as your silent crying turned into sobs. "Since when?" You raised your voice getting inpatient.

"After the tournament ended." You looked at him in disbelief, and looked at her she had a nonchalant face, as if she didn't care. Yet deep down you knew she fucked up she just doesn't want to appear as weak.

"Fuck you both. Fuck you Tashi for acting like my best friend and fucking my boyfriend behind my back." She didn't say anything, but looked down in regret. You looked over at Patrick who had sadness cloud all over his features, shame and guilt.

"And fuck you for doing this to me when I've been nothing, but loyal and wonderful to you. I loved you and I thought you loved me but clearly it's all bullshit."

"I do love you." Patrick said his eyes welling up with tears as he got closer to you causing you to take a step back, you shake your head as he tries to convince you to listen to him calling you names, that would make you blush, but you were just broken.

"If you loved me you wouldn't have done this." You sobbed and wiped your tears off your face, you decided to leave since it was too much for you. All you needed was to be alone at the moment, you heard Patrick say your name, yet you ignored him as you went out of the dorms and made your way around campus, You sat on a bench where you were alone and started sobbing releasing all your emotions before your match began.

I hope you guys enjoy part 1 I am definitely going to make it into a series and hope you guys enjoy reading it. Please request anything you want for challengers, I'm focused on challengers right now! But part 2 coming soon! About to post an Art Donaldson series in a few minutes!

[leupagus]

Working title is "Aziraphale is going to get a good grade in sex, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve"

"So!" Aziraphale said, plopping himself down in the chair opposite. "Urophilia."

Crowley glowered at him from behind the safety of his third-best sunglasses and his mug.* He hadn't slept last night — he rarely wanted to, these days — yet it was somehow still too early for this. "No," he attempted.

"I know we neither of us go in for the more, er, granular human bodily functions," said Aziraphale, without even the slightest hint of listening. Crowley took a certain amount of comfort in the fact that he still found this annoying as — well, his former employer's residence. He'd worried, in a vague sort of way, that if Aziraphale came back and they worked things out, became a proper us, that he'd start thinking everything Aziraphale did was wonderful. But even true love had its limits, thank — well, his other former employer's residence. "Did I ever tell you, I tried defecating once? Terribly awkward business, I had to make an anus and everything. But Cicero was very obliging in teaching me about the stick."**

Conversations with Aziraphale tended to fall into one of three categories. Either he was humming away in his default cheeriness, in which case he'd burble happily along with whatever Crowley said for hours on end; or he was in a pet about something, in which case he'd be drier than the desert outside Eden and Crowley'd be lucky to escape without injury to his pride or person. Or he was like this, in which case Crowley's participation was purely decorative.

Still, they were getting some stares. Nina hadn't started tutting yet, but she would do soon. "I'm not pissing on you," he said, firm. "And vice versa."

"Oh, all right," Aziraphale huffed, pulling out his spectacles and wrapping the temple tips fussily around his ears. He peered down at the magazine he'd apparently brought with him; even from here, Crowley could see some illustrations. They were… illustrative.

"What," he said with the conviction that he would regret it, "Is that?"

"It's 'Kinks and Fetishes: An A to Z Guide,'" Aziraphale said, handing it over with all the glee of a dog showing off a rotted tennis ball it had found in the back garden. "I've been doing more research, you see. Apparently, there's all sorts of sex we could be getting up to. I truly had no idea there were so many—" he waved his other hand around vaguely. "Configurations."

"Does Glamour have a print edition anymore?" Crowley asked, thumbing through the pages. There were a lot of illustrations.

"Not as such," Aziraphale admitted. "But Muriel found it for me on the World Wide Web—"

"Don't call it that," Crowley sighed.

"—and you know how I dislike reading off of those… screens," he continued, making a moue of distaste. "So I made my own proof copy, as it were."

Under "Tentacles," there was a stern reminder that you shouldn't have sex with octopuses.*** "Angel," he started, then paused. "Vicarphilia?"

"I thought it was something to do with priests and things, but apparently not," Aziraphale said, leaning over the table to point out the next one. "What about whipping?"

"No fetishes that I could've done professionally," Crowley decided firmly, shutting the magazine. He waved it away, out to the Tadfield Library where Anathama would probably find it and laugh for a week, then try at least a half-dozen of them out on poor Newt.

* Nina had set one aside for him after a while, since he didn't mind the permanent stains that had developed along the inside. "Pretty sure those are scorchmarks, actually," she'd complained. "On the outside. What did you do to it?"

** Roman public toilets were aptly named — men would gather to have a bowel movement and a chat, cleaning themselves off with a sponge on the end of a length of wood. Hence the phrase, "Getting the wrong end of the stick," something decidedly less pleasant when taken out of its metaphor.

*** Accompanied by a picture of a young woman doing exactly that.

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 25

Part 25:

Patrick stood with a cigarette outside the building where Liana worked. He knew it wasn't ideal, but he'd been debating for half an hour whether to go in and say he had an appointment with her. He wondered if there were people who knew him, who had heard stories about him, who knew who he had been in her life. Maybe there were people who would recognize him from tennis, who would recognize him as the one who beat her fiancé.

He threw the cigarette away, not bothering to pick up the butt, and went inside after popping a gum in his mouth. "Hey, love, I'm looking for Liana Levy's office," he said to the girl sitting at the reception. She looked at him for a moment, probably trying to figure out where she knew him from. "At the end on the left," she muttered and smiled at him. He nodded and smiled back, walking confidently.

Patrick knocked on the door and heard Liana's gentle voice telling him to come in while she continued talking to someone who was already inside. "Hey," he muttered. He suddenly felt stupid. Not understanding why he came at all. She looked so confused when she saw him that he regretted the decision the moment he saw her face, but there was nowhere to run. "Can we continue this later, Paul?" she asked the guy she was talking to, and he nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Well?" Liana looked at him after a few seconds of silence. Patrick didn't say anything, leaning on one of the cabinets in her office and shifting his weight from his heels to his toes. He felt like a lost four-year-old seeking attention from his mom. "Patrick, why are you here?" she asked after he didn't say a word. "It's been a while since we talked." He tried to sound determined. "It's been two weeks since France. Before that, we didn't talk for a year, and you didn't show up here. Did something happen?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Always so practical. Always looking to solve a problem. "No," he chuckled.

"Do you need something?" she added another question. Liana didn't understand what was happening. Her heart was racing, and Patrick refused to explain himself. But when did he ever explain himself? When did he ever bother to answer one of her questions? "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to build me a house, I'm not an Asshole" he indirectly jabbed at Art, about that time he practically demanded Liana build his house, which over time became her house (just like Patrick told her it would, but he wasn't petty). She sat down in her chair and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

He sat in the chair opposite her and examined her and her office in general. Her degree was framed on one of the walls, there were some letters of appreciation, a strange frog toy standing on a shelf, and Patrick swore it was looking back at him. "That's a gift I got from a client," she said quickly, almost justifying the creepy frog Patrick was staring at. "Was it a real frog once?" he asked, almost horrified. "No. Why are you here, Patrick?" she answered, and he returned his gaze to her. "To invite you to dinner," he said quickly, and she raised an eyebrow, the horrified look seemingly taking turns between them. "Both of you, of course, I have boundaries." he added quickly. "You're at my workplace, and you're talking about boundaries?" she chuckled. "I see the irony, yes." The familiar smirk appeared on his face. "It's not appropriate, you know it's not appropriate," Liana said, still looking at him as if he was the craziest man she had ever encountered, maybe he really was the craziest.

"Why not?" he asked, "You're getting married, and I'm in a stable relationship. We were all friends once, I don't see why it can't happen again," he tried to sound convincing. "What's the catch?" Liana asked, raising an eyebrow. "A man can stop being in love with you and miss his best friend." he said, looking at the picture of her and Art on the desk. "You two haven't been friends for a long time, Patrick." Liana sighed. "Whose fault is that?" he asked. And it came out with a lot more venom than he intended. "I'm sorry, Li, it's lonely. Okay? You have each other, and I don't. I'm not allowed to miss you, but I'm allowed to miss him." He sounded so vulnerable that all Liana could do was nod. Even though there was no way it would work.

"He won't like it." Liana muttered, trying to make Patrick give up. "You're good at ultimatums. I'm worth an ultimatum, Liana. Waste one on me." he moved towards the exit. "Still the same number?" he asked, and Liana nodded quietly, looking at him with almost pity. "I'll text you the address. This Friday," he didn't say an arrogant 'see you later' before he left because he wasn't sure if they would really see each other. And it was sad and exciting at the same time.

When Liana came home, Art was lying on the couch, flipping through TV channels, looking either bored or completely exhausted, one of the two. He smiled at her and glanced at the clock. "This isn't a reasonable time to come home, Ms. Donaldson," he said, and she heard the sarcasm. "I'm not married to you yet. I can still call the whole thing off, you know," she leaned against the doorframe, looking at him amused. "You won't do that." He smiled. "You're very confident for someone who didn't wait for me with takeout and flowers in a vase," she replied with a half-chuckle and moved towards the kitchen, hearing him stand up and follow her.

"Hey," his large, rough hands from holding a racket most of his life, wrapped around her from behind as he kissed her neck. "Hey." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting herself sink into his warmth, the security that only he could provide. "It really is late, Lia, you're working too hard." He murmured and bit her earlobe before she could respond. "It was a long day. And two hours of it, I sat with your mom and picked out napkins. It was really fun." She replied, feeling his chuckle against her neck.

Art gently turned her to face him, examining her and seeing the dark circles forming under her eyes. She was exhausted. "Oh no, you look worried," Liana said suddenly, and his smile was partial. Because he would never get used to how well she knew him. It always caught him off guard. "You're putting too much on your shoulders, Lia, and I love those shoulders too much for them to collapse." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, not taking his eyes off her. "I can handle your mom, Art, she loves me more than she loves you anyway." Liana rolled her eyes in response. "Christine needs to stop telling you things like that, I can't handle your ego anymore." He said, amused.

"Do you love me?" Liana suddenly asked. Art couldn't help but chuckle and take a step back. "A bit of a weird question to ask in the middle of the kitchen in our house, a month and a half before you become my wife," the amused look didn't leave his face until he realized how serious she looked. "Art." She said, demanding he say it. "Of course I love you. How is that a real question right now, Lia?" He would have rolled his eyes if she didn't look so shaken in front of him. "Hey, what's with this talk all of a sudden?" He added, standing close to her again and hugging her as tightly as he could. If he could, he would have absorbed her into himself. To be part of him every moment.

"Patrick came to my work today," Art recoiled from her in a second. How did Patrick always show up in his life like an ambush? How did he always manage to surprise him? Why was Art never ready for the attack? Why did he always have to defend what was his? He looked at Liana with a look she probably couldn't read because he couldn't organize what was going through his head, he just felt his heart start to beat rapidly and his mind racing with all the worst thoughts forward. "Son of a bitch." Art muttered with a chuckle that came out more bitter than he planned, but it was all he had. "Art-" Liana sighed. "What is it this time? What does he want?" Art asked. His fingers danced uncontrollably. He felt how he couldn't stop his level of anger, how his tension was increasing, how he wasn't the person he wanted to be.

"He invited us to dinner. He wants to leave the past in the past." She sounded confident in what she was saying. Art chuckled. "He can shove his dinner up his ass and let it come out of his nose," Art said and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. "Art." She sighed again. "Don't talk to me like I'm a 12-year-old, Liana, I know that tone," he interrupted her again. "Not what I wanted to do." She clarified. "My head is starting to hurt; can you stop?" She added, referring to his pacing. "Are you serious?" He looked at her after he stopped, "You want to go? Unbelievable." He muttered. "How did he convince you, Liana?" He asked.

"He didn't convince me of anything." She muttered and looked at Art. "He convinced you of something if you're even bringing it up." Art leaned on the table in front of her. He looked like a man ready for an attack. One who wasn't willing to let go until the other side surrendered, and Liana didn't plan to surrender anytime soon. "Would you prefer I hadn't told you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'd prefer if you were smart enough to know he doesn't want to have dinner with us, not with me at least." Art said with disdain that didn't characterize him, not when he talked to Liana. "Call me stupid again and see what happens, I dare you," her jaw clenched after she said that, her anger evident in every syllable that came out of her mouth.

Art sighed, looking at the love of his life standing in front of him, furious. "I don't think you're stupid, Lia," he sighed in frustration, feeling all his anger leaving him. He couldn't be angry when she was angry too, one of them had to compromise, and after how he treated her in college, he swore to himself he would always be the one to compromise. That he would never let his anger be what led his words when he was with her. "So what do you think?" She asked, her gaze piercing, and luckily for him, couldn't actually kill. "I think you're naive," he said, searching for the right way to say it, "and that you'll always have a soft spot for Patrick," he added, examining her. "And you don't?" She asked, "You don't care about him? You won't care about him ever again? Wasn't he part of your life too?" She added the questions that hovered over them for years.

Of course, Patrick would always be part of Art's life. Sometimes Art dreams about him. Distant dreams, about the academy, about games they played together, about competitions they won together. There are entire conversations Art has with Patrick in his head, they're never about what really matters. They come up when Art eats a date before a workout and manages to imagine Patrick laughing at him. He sometimes knows in what intonation Patrick would say things or what would be the crudest joke to think of so Patrick could say it in the middle of a bar full of potential sponsors. Art misses the moments they smuggled beer when they were minors. The talks about their hot math teacher. Tennis.

"I've come to terms with him not being in my life anymore, Liana, I came to terms with it a long time ago," Art said, his eyebrows furrowing for a second. No one in the world besides Liana would have noticed it, but he stood in front of her, and she recognized the lie. "Okay." She surrendered and heard him chuckle, "What? You've come to terms with it, what can I do about it?" She added. "Clearly, you have something to say, so say it." He said. "I'm tired of fighting with Patrick and about Patrick, it exhausts me. I'm too old to carry this anger. I think you are too. I love you, and I don't think I can keep trying to convince you that nothing and no one can change that."

"You're quite convincing, Ms. Donaldson," he started moving closer to her until he finally stopped in front of her, moving his hand to her back pocket while hugging her possessively. Even though no one was around. "I'm not married to you yet. I can still call the whole thing off," She muttered into him what she told him every night from the moment he proposed and started calling her that. He just nodded and pulled her even closer to him.

"I can't believe he lives here," Art muttered as they stood at the entrance to Patrick's apartment. The suburb was uncharacteristic. None of them imagined Patrick would live in such a... quiet neighborhood. Liana ran her hand over Art's collar, straightening his sweater as she always did before they entered places together. "Behave. It's just one evening, and we can leave after half an hour if we want." Liana told him, seeing his eye roll.

Casey, Patrick's perfectly blond girlfriend, who wasn't actually a million years younger than him as Liana initially thought, enthusiastically opened the door. "You came," she smiled. It seemed genuine. Genuine enough for Liana to find it hard to be mad at her. "We brought wine and flowers," Liana handed her the wine, and Art handed over the flowers he was holding. Patrick stood behind her, looking amused but not saying a word. "Good to see you," he smiled at them. Liana nodded as Patrick extended his hand to Art, who took his time but eventually shook it. "Do you want a tour of the house? That's what adults do when they invite someone over, right?" he added, trying to lighten the mood, knowing Liana wouldn't refuse to see a house she had never been to. It was one of her favorite things to do. When they lived in London, she would drag him to various open houses, and they would pretend they were about to buy homes they couldn't really afford, just so she could see them.

"We'd love to," Liana said with a smile. Patrick's house looked like it was taken from a magazine. Like a catalog of how a home should look. She saw his mother's touch in the pictures he hung in the living room, in the candlesticks she saw on one of the shelves. "This is a good neighborhood to live in. My dad is big in real estate, and he recommended the area," Casey didn't stop talking, and secretly, Liana wanted to thank her for it because otherwise, they would have been walking around in awkward silence, moving from room to room as if they were on one of those London tours, surrounded by strangers.

"Who wants something to drink?" Patrick suddenly asked, and everyone raised their hands. Thank God. In the dining room, more people had already gathered, some of their mutual friends from the tennis academy. Liana thanked every god she knew that it wasn't just the four of them. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, and Liana couldn't help but wonder if she was the reason Art didn't spend enough time with his friends. If he was wasting too much time keeping her company. She would have to ask him about it when they got home.

Casey was sweet. It was infuriating how friendly she was and how she tried to include Liana in a conversation about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. It was almost infuriating when she asked her how the wedding preparations were going and made everyone interested in her and Art's wedding arrangements.

Art and Patrick went out to the balcony with beer. It was inevitable; after all, that's why Patrick organized all this, to put the past behind, to lie to Art's face, to find the right moment to return to the lives of the two people who were once his greatest motivation. "You're getting married," Patrick said suddenly, and Art swallowed, looking at who was once his best friend. "You won't be able to stop it, Patrick," Art said. "I'm here because she needed this, but I know what you're doing." He continued, not taking his eyes off the guy in front of him, who was once so close but today, when Art looked at him, all he saw was ruin. He saw Patrick destroying his life without blinking, without thinking twice. He had already done it once. Art wouldn't let it happen again; he was more prepared this time.

"I'm not trying to ruin things for you, man. I'm happy for you. For you both. Isn't this what you wanted?" Patrick asked Art while the latter took another sip of beer, leaning on the balcony and watching Patrick light a cigarette. "Want one?" he offered Art the pack. "I don't smoke," Art muttered, almost ashamed of the fact that he didn't live his rebellious youth like Patrick clearly still did, almost ashamed of the fact that their achievements were starting to look similar, but Art was doing everything by the book while even Patrick's expressions were smug. "Of course not," Patrick nodded his head, talking half to Art and half to himself, causing Art to roll his eyes.

"I'm not trying to ruin things for you," he repeated. "So what are you trying to do?" Art asked. "You don't care about Casey; I can see that. I know you." He continued, trying to press, trying to find weak spots. He couldn't leave this house without understanding the endgame of his most important competitor. "She's nice. It's fun with her," Patrick shrugged in response, and Art nodded. "It feels strange that you're getting married and I'm not part of either of your lives. Isn't that strange, Art?" Patrick sighed. "You haven't been part of our lives for a long time, Patrick," Art stated a fact. "I know," Patrick muttered. "Do you remember when you came to ask me for her key?" Art suddenly asked, and Patrick looked at him confused. "She and I had the fight, and about a week later, you asked me to give you the spare key to her room," he reminded him, and Patrick nodded slowly. "I told you not to do it. You made your choice that day," Art shrugged as if it no longer mattered to him. "Are you going to hold that over my head forever, Art? That was almost seven years ago," Patrick looked at him from the chair he was sitting on. "It was a pretty defining moment, Patrick," Art explained. "Look, man, she wants us to be okay, so we can be civil to each other." He continued, "I'm not at a stage where I'm looking for friends. I have everything I need."

"I didn't do it to ruin things for you, Art. It was never to ruin things for you," Patrick said suddenly, laughing in frustration and taking another drag from his almost finished cigarette. "So what was it?" Art asked. He looked at Patrick as if he were dirt he needed to scrape off his shoe. A problem he needed to solve. An obstacle to overcome. "It wasn't about you. It was for her. I would do anything for her. You're about to marry her; you surely know how that feels," Patrick sighed, feeling defeated.

"So that's why you cheated on her?" Art suddenly asked. It bothered him. Because for years, he managed to find logic in Patrick's behavior. He knew he loved Liana. He knew he cared for her in London. He imagined their relationship in his head as ideal. They were always closer than he and Liana were. They never fought just to fight; she never looked at him like she hated him because he ordered ice cream she didn't like or forced her to watch tennis or said something that made her parents laugh at her expense. She and Patrick were always ideal in Art's mind, and he envied that quite a bit when they were young. He regretted more than once that he introduced them, that he didn't keep his worlds separate. He envied them before he even realized how much he loved Liana. Then he found out Patrick cheated on her. And more than he hated him for how he made Liana feel, he hated the fact that all those years he believed she was in a relationship with someone more deserving than him. With someone who loved her more than Art knew how to love her, while Patrick was lazy, cruel, and unfaithful. And for that, he couldn't forgive him. For the time he took from them. For the illusion he shattered for both of them. "That's between Liana and me, Art," Patrick muttered. "You're saying choosing her all those years ago was inevitable because you loved her, and I would have accepted that two years ago. I would have, really. I would be sitting here thinking it made sense and that I would also choose Liana without hesitation because, it's Liana, and I love her, and I thought you loved her like that too. But then I saw you cheat on her and found out it wasn't the first time." Art stopped to catch his breath, his hand clenching into a fist irrationally. "I would never do that, Patrick. You ruined our friendship and didn't really choose her. Why? Was it worth it?" He didn't take his eyes off him. "You don't know how it was, Art. When it was just me and her. You don't know the level of expectations and disappointments. You don't know anything," Patrick felt the need to defend himself. Because if there was one thing that couldn't be taken from him, it was his love for Liana. "Poor Patrick, someone loves him and expects him to fulfill his potential. How could anyone not sympathize?" Art spoke in a mocking tone.

"Do you want to know what I think, Patrick?" Art approached him after a few seconds of silence. "Go on," Patrick's jaw clenched. "I think you don't love her. I think you love the idea that you can take what's mine. But you can't. You can beat me in tennis. But that's not what's important. It's a means to an end. The end will always be a good life for Liana and me. I think you're still sure you're hot shit, that without effort, you can keep taking what's not yours. That without looking people in the eye, you can hurt them, and they'll keep letting you off." Art stopped to breathe as they both didn't blink for a moment. "That's not the case. I'm not buying what you're selling here. Do you want to be invited to our wedding? Fine, I don't care. It's up to Liana, but you're not part of our lives, and you won't be." He finished, and Patrick let out a laugh that sounded like a deep breath.

"If you go to her workplace again, I'll make sure your next sponsor is painkillers." Art said as he moved toward the balcony door, feeling done with this conversation and the evening in general, wondering if it was too early to leave. "Good talk, pal," Patrick said sarcastically. "Yeah, good talk." Art muttered and left, leaving Patrick in a house full of people yet completely alone on the balcony.

When Art sat next to Liana on the couch, she was in the middle of a conversation with Brody's girlfriend. Art wasn't paying enough attention to remember her name. "Everything okay?" she whispered in his ear a few minutes later. "Everything's great." He felt her lips brush against his cheek for a moment. "We need to use our excuse?" she asked, and he looked at her for a moment, seeing her feel more comfortable with the people and not wanting to take that away from her. "Soon, it's all good." He smiled and nodded, watching her return to the conversation. He could endure another half hour in the hell called Patrick Zweig's apartment. He could do it for Liana.

Come to think of it, he could do almost anything for Liana.

Hey guys!!! It's been so long and I'm sorry. As you know, my computer was dead for a while, and then I was kinda taken aback by those hate comments. But we're back! What do we think? What does Patrick want? What about Art's reaction? Any thoughts at all? Hope you are still enjoying it. Talk to me and feel free to send more ideas for blurbs as well <3

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[victimeyez]

Professional//Victim

Darwin

CW: captive whump, drugged whump, graphic depictions of torture, intimate whump

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter

~

The nausea starts when they roll off the highway. An unfamiliar town lies here, sporting lots of fancy diners and shops for wasps. 

“It’s coming up. Get ‘im lively.”

Tommy had been awake for a while now, but a bump of coke made him “more lively” for clients. The bitter taste didn’t help his stomach when he rubbed it into his gums. Sure, it was more direct up the sniffer, but one time he sneezed blood into the passenger window, so they switched strictly to the oral route. He didn’t like the taste or the buzz, but it helped with the pain a little. Not that it mattered. 

His stomach drops to his knees when they turn off onto a long side street and begin passing houses. Only a few down and they turn onto a long, neat driveway that slithered into the woods. Finally, a house emerged from the foliage.

(Brown, drab. Not a mansion, but expensive. Groomed lawn. Driveway, maybe a quarter mile. Isolated. Definitely not a client we’ve seen before. New clients are always crapshoots.)

Caius dragged Tommy up the path to the door. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell, making Tommy face him while he fixed his curls and looked him over. He pinched his cheeks and his lips to give him a flushed look, pinching some of his eyelashes between his fingers and tugging them painfully. He repeated it on the other side, making Tommy’s eyes water so they were tearful and moony. He then pressed the gold-framed button next to the door. A twinkling classical piece played inside in lieu of a standard bell.

A middle-aged man answered too quickly, surprisingly well dressed in a tortoiseshell suit and matching glasses. He looked like a professor. He smiled kindly at the two of them.

“Please, come in.”

Caius put a firm hand on Tommy's shoulder and pushed him through the doorframe into the house, while the client politely held the door for the pair. He closed it behind them and activated an electronic lock, hidden from the outside. A heavy deadbolt slid into place with a loud chink. It resonated with an ominous finality that made Tommy’s stomach clench.

“I am Darwin. I take it this is Tommy?” He gestured to Tommy. 

“I’m Caius, and this is Tommy.”

Darwin nodded, and then hesitated as he began to turn. 

“Forgive me if I’m new to the etiquette of these…arrangements. Could I offer you a water, or maybe some wine?”

“Don’t worry about formalities, you’ve paid for us to be here. Let’s not waste your time.”

Darwin's eyebrows raised just a touch, but he seemed relieved to dispense with niceties. He began up a flight of stairs, which Caius ensured Tommy followed close behind. His heart was starting to pound and his feet felt heavy. Upstairs rooms were less common than basements. They somehow felt so much more intimate. Tommy had long since learned you can’t tell what a client wants based on appearance. He wasn’t sure what he feared more - a dungeon, or a bedroom.

He could feel himself starting to shut down already, and he embraced the dissociation. 

(Left, right, left, right, keep walking, just follow. Don’t feel anything, just exist. There’s nothing you can do now. Just breathe. Disconnect from the feeling of desperation. We don’t have to remember this part.)

He walked robotically behind Darwin until he was led into a room that looked like an enormous study, with a fireplace at one side and rows of nice bookshelves and displays lined the walls. The display closest to him looked something like fireplace tools, but not like ones he had seen before. The floors were of a rich hardwood.

“Remove your shoes, Tommy.”

He hated it when they used his name. As if they knew him. As if they were friends. All it took was a warning look from Caius and he peeled off his tennis shoes, setting them awkwardly to the side. (Avoid eye contact. Makes it easier.)

“Are you wearing underwear?” 

Tommy didn’t like where this was headed. He despised the romantic ones.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Strip down to them.”

Tommy mechanically removed his shirt, and then more hesitantly, his sweats. He was down to plain black boxers, a stark contrast to well-dressed Darwin. He handed them off to Caius while his eyes scoured the room.

The center of the room was filled with precariously placed items that looked very old and worn. There was a big lumpy looking chair made of wood, a kind of bench-like table with three rolling pins attached in the middle, and a big sort of horse-shaped wooden structure. It looked badly built, and had a big triangle for the saddle.

(Don’t panic. Don’t run. You don’t have to know what’s happening. Don’t think about it. Don't think at all. Turn your brain off. It makes it easier.)

“I curate for the museum here, and over the years I’ve become a bit of a collector of sorts myself. When the museum here wasn’t interested in these pieces, I knew I just had to buy them up. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten the chance to play with them, and they’ve gone without use. Then I found a video of Tommy here online, and I thought I found the perfect person to try them out.”

Tommy felt like his body was moving without his will as he was led to the chair, which upon closer look, was more than uncomfortable. It had no open slats but was made of uncut pieces of wood with a high back, wide arm rests, a flat seat, and another solid plate between the front legs, almost to the floor. Every inch of it was covered in neat rows of small, wooden spikes. 

“Which video?” Caius asked conversationally. 

(Market research.)

“It was some kind of flogging scene, with Mistress Alice. A few months ago now.”

Tommy’s head swam before he realized he was holding his breath. He felt a little shaken by the mention of Alice, and struggled to stay adrift from his feelings. 

“It looks like he’s healed up marvelously though,” Darwin appreciated, looking him over hungrily. 

“He cleans up well, and we have excellent doctors on hand. We cannot allow certain things that will damage him beyond repair, so I will be staying with you for our time. Most nerves can be fixed, but no severing of central tendons or arteries, and go easy on the spine to keep basic motor controls intact.”

Darwin nodded. “They shouldn’t puncture too deeply. Everything is antique, but sanitized.”

Without ceremony, Tommy was shoved back into the chair.

He took a sharp breath in when all the points sank in at once, biting into the sensitive flesh of his ass and thighs. The shock of It was like being submerged in icy water. He instinctively leaned forwards away from the back of the chair, but he could feel beads of blood forming where he had knocked into them initially. 

Hands appeared from nowhere, wrapping a leather strap across his throat and pulling him flat against the back of the chair. The shock of the pain winded him, and he gasped for breath as Darwin fastened his restraints. His ankles were locked with leather and pulled taut hard to force his legs into the spikes, and his arms were pulled hard down on the spiked armrests. Thick leather cuffs bound his wrists in place, and slight sides built into the back ensured his outer arms were also penetrated.

The best he could do was try to arch his back away from the back of the chair, but with his neck fastened it only seemed to drive the ones in his shoulders deeper. The awkward position made his back start to cramp immediately, and he doubted he could hold it for long. The urge to fight the restraints was overruled by the pain that the slightest movement caused, and he found himself paralyzed by it. Even breathing agitated the punctures, and on instinct he started to breathe shallowly to avoid it. A muted thought came to him, of the sharp wooden skewers used for shish kabobs, and he suddenly related to being a piece of skewered meat.

He vaguely registered that Darwin had stood back and was watching him, a great grin on his face. 

“This piece is called the ‘Armchair of Inquiries’ - a bit of a cheeky name, in my opinion. This one was actively used a bit longer than most, with the last recorded use being May 8th, 1868. I’ve had it thoroughly cleaned and disinfected just for you.”

Tommy tried to pull his head away from the pins, only resulting in choking himself against the leather collar.

Darwin smiled. “I had that strap attached as an extra, from a heretic’s fork. I think it makes a good addition, even if it wasn’t the original.”

There was something deeply sickening about the pride in Darwin’s voice, while he gladly explained history that hardly mattered to the butterfly he had pinned. 

The initial shock was starting to wear off, but the pain was blooming. He doubted there was enough coke in the world to shield him from this. His shallow panting took on a whine to it on every exhale as the pain began to steep. 

Darwin had walked away, and returned with quick steps holding some sort of miniature harness. It consisted of metal bands arched and connected, with an adjustable leather strap. Tommy couldn’t identify it, but the glee with which Darwin presented it made him think he would find out the hard way very soon. 

With a surprisingly gentle hand, Darwin guided his head forward as far as it could go against his neck restraint, and slipped the harness over his head. 

“This one has many names, and many forms. It was the first piece in my collection. There are other ones that are shaped like pigs, or fools with long noses, or even a cone coming out from the mouthpiece. Just to name a few.”

At being masked, Tommy started to panic and struggle, shoving hard against his restraints only to have the spikes impale him again and again, agitating the wounds with every movement.

“Wait, wait, wait, fuck, fuck, wait you don’t have to do this-”

Tommy finally begged, which Darwin only acknowledged with a soft smile as he worked the cage mask on. There was a metal band that ran down the back of his head, parting his hair, but pushing him off of impalement on the spikes there as the metal band rested atop the points. 

The other band came down the middle of his face, forking into a triangle around his nose. Right below, it connected to a thicker metal band across his mouth, and a sharp obtrusion from it pressed hard against his lips. He clenched his teeth against it to try to keep it out, abruptly ending his ability to beg with words. His pleas reduced to panicked keens of fear and pain.

“It’s called a bridle mask, a scold’s bridle, a mask of shame…” Darwin rattled off idly. He tapped a finger against the metal bit against Tommy’s lips.

“If you can’t feel it yet, there’s another spike in here. I’m about to fasten this tight across your jaw, and if you don’t let it in, it’s going to puncture through your lips and cause you quite a bit more…discomfort. Open up for me, Tommy.”

Darwin’s hands cradled his face with a disturbing intimacy, stroking over his cheeks. His fingers found the hollows of his cheeks and pushed into them sharply, forcing his jaw open. A long metal spike followed by a thick metal bit pushed in, and he had to curl his tongue to keep it from skewering straight through. The metal bit held his jaw slightly open, but if he tried to speak, he would pierce his tongue. 

The strap at his jaw was pulled sharply taut and secured. Darwin’s hands returned to his cheeks, stroking his face gently between the gaps of the mask. 

(Don’t spiral. Just another - just ignore it - the pain is - how much -)

His best guards against the pain were failing, easily overwhelmed by this unfamiliar torture. A new hysteria was building deep inside of him, and he was starting to grow light-headed from his shallow panting around the gag.

Darwin’s lips were parted and he was panting a little too, his face so close, hungry eyes roving over Tommy’s own caged face. His thumbs tenderly stroked comforting circles over the apples of his cheeks, and Tommy felt a wetness there. (When did we start crying?) His eyes felt so heavy as they spilled over without relief. 

Darwin closed the gap between them suddenly, pressing his lips intensely against the outside of the gag. Tommy tried to turn away from him, but Darwin’s gentle hands became restraints holding his head in place. He slowly kissed and tongued and licked the dark metal there, and Tommy couldn’t help the harsh whimpers escaping his opened mouth. 

Darwin finally pulled away, his lips wet. A strong urge to wretch boiled in Tommy’s gut. 

“You look so beautiful.”

His stomach lurched.

“I have one more piece for you,” Darwin murmured, mostly to himself. 

Tears ran down the sides of his face, wetting the metal harness as it started to warm against his skin. 

“But before that…can I take a picture?” 

Tommy was confused for a moment until his brain finally caught up to the fact that Caius was still there, sitting off to the side and witnessing his agony with a look of profound boredom. 

“Sure. I have a camera in my bag if you’d like me to take some nice ones for you. It doesn’t cost extra if you let us also use them for promotional materials.”

Darwin licked his lips. “Of course.”

Tommy let out a miserable moan of protest, with heavy tears of humiliation and pain dripping down his face and cooling uncomfortably at his neck.

Caius kept a calm demeanor of cool indifference while he circled Tommy, collecting photos with his camera. Tommy was only addressed with a sharp snapping of fingers, directing him to look one way or another. He could see a dark reflection of his face in the wide lens of the camera, and he closed his eyes with a sob. 

Darwin emerged to be front and center again, holding one of the metal tools that Tommy had noticed when he entered. It was a crude, thin piece of metal, with two fork-like tines on each end. He held it up so Tommy could see it, and then playfully tapped one side of tines against his cheek. 

“The heretic’s fork. It fits right in here,” Darwin offered, and slipped it into a leather buckle of the collar around his throat. Tommy tipped his head back to try to avoid it, but yelped when he felt one pronged end pushed shallowly into his neck behind his collar bones. This firmly locked the fork vertically against his throat, the tines on the opposite side baring threateningly against the soft flesh under his jaw. 

“If you can keep your head up, this won’t hurt.”

With this last attachment, Tommy suddenly felt entirely overwhelmed with helplessness. He couldn't move an inch, couldn’t even breathe without disturbing the bed of thorns beneath him. His tongue was cramped in the back of his throat, and he was starting to drool around the gag. Lowering his head at all would impale him on the tines of the fork, driving it both into his jaw and into his sternum. He couldn’t think of a time he was held in such strict binding, and his brain was starting to short circuit with the horror of his situation.

Darwin seized this opportunity to lean in and press another kiss over his gag. Tommy whined impotently, hyper-aware of his inability to pull away.

Darwin stood back and took a long, shuddery breath of excitement. He ran his tongue over his lips.

“P-pictures, please,” he called breathily. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas could see Caius toss his cellphone aside and get back up to take pictures. 

Tommy stared at the ceiling, blinking tears of terror. He always hated the feeling of something stuck inside of him, the gnawing urge to pull it out only growing with the many barbs penetrating his skin. He thought his regular collar was bad enough. He could no longer see anything around him, and he had no idea where Darwin or Caius were in proximity to him. The anxiety made him tense, agitating his wounds. 

“This doesn’t quite fit in with the others, but, well…we only have so much time. I think this will speed things up.”

He sounded close. There was a popping, crackling sound Tommy couldn’t quite place. 

(How much time do we have? How long has it been? It felt like an hour, at least. Maybe. It always feels slower than it is.)

Something touched him, two dull points maybe an inch or two apart. Pressed to his diaphragm. He braced himself for it to puncture him, but for a long minute it just rested there. Darwin was breathing heavier. (Psyching himself-)

His body was on fire. 

It almost felt like relaxing. He lost all control while a painful, hot tingling went through his body. He spasmed, shuddering violently until it stopped as suddenly as it had started.

He sagged back into his bindings, but the damage had been done. There were a thousand points on his body that throbbed in urgent pain. It was a full-body pain like he had never experienced before. It was terrifying not being able to look down at his body to see how bad it was - he felt like his skin must be shredded, vivid imaginings of his flayed corpse pinned to this throne.

A touch against his diaphragm, heavy breathing in front of him. Excited sounds from Darwin. He was lit up once more, for a longer time. He could feel himself tearing around the spikes. This time he was vaguely aware of the sound it pulled from his, a deep, guttural cry as the breath was knocked from his body. It was a unique sound he didn’t recognize as his own voice, but a deep wail of anguish. It felt entirely disconnected, like the sound was coming from the prod pushed to his stomach, not his body.

When it ended, his vision was swimming. Everything was black, gray, yellow, dancing shadows. He blinked a few times as he slowly started to come back to his senses.

This time, he noticed the foam in his throat. He coughed, and blood burned on his lips, long dried from the gag. He finally registered the taste of blood on his tongue, the pain in his mouth. His tongue had been speared on the spike inside of the gag. His brain couldn’t process where or how his tongue was pierced, but he drooled blood out the corner of his lips and struggled to swallow the rest pooling in his throat. He couldn’t identify an exact moment when, but the fork under his chin had been driven into his jaw, and judging by the burning pain in his chest, it was up to the hilt on bottom as well. 

Darwin let him stew with the tip of his device pressed to his stomach again. Tommy sucked in a breath, his only chance at pulling away from it, but his movement was easily followed.

He writhed in his restraints as he was electrocuted again, spasming uncontrollably even as it tore him open. Everything was pain, every breath, his nose burned, his eyes rolled back into his head. It let up again and he shuddered to stillness. He could still feel the tingle, and he continued to twitch in spite of his best attempts. He dry wretched, blood in his throat, in his stomach, making him sick. The still room reeled around him. 

“Next time…you can call me Arthur.”

It felt a bit like sweating, an intense sweating across the entire side of his body. As the blood trickled out underneath him, he was starting to feel very cold. The shocks left him feverish, and he felt quite sick, like when he had the flu and felt hot and cold at the same time. He hoarsely barked out sobs that wracked his body. Every surface he touched pooled blood, making his seat feel wet and tarry underneath him. He was limp in his restraints, his heavy head supported solely by the prongs driven into him. 

He numbly felt a prodding against his naked torso, and unconsciousness took its mercy on him.

~

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