#but she's out slapping patrick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faistizer · 1 month ago

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me & you together song

i've been in love with her for ages and I can't seem to get it right i fell in love with her in stages my whole life - me & you together song, the 1975

pairing: stanford!art x friend!reader, slight patrick x tashi

in which: art’s been in love with you for ages, and he can’t seem to muster the courage to tell you.

warnings: patrick and tashi are dating in this, art being an absolute loser and dork, severe pining

note: i just really like writing friends to lovers okay???

“seriously man?”

patrick snap his fingers in front of art’s face. “i come back from tour, just to visit you and you can’t even look at me because you’re busy— what, busy starin’ at a chick?”

“she’s not just some chick—“ art snaps his attention back to his best friend.

“no, she’s the girl of your dreams—“ the other boy mocks in a dreamy tone. “you’ve been doing this since the tennis academy days. since you saw her on the fuckin’ court when we were twelve.”

“shutup- shutup-“

“no! i will not shut up, donaldson.” patrick rolls his eyes. “you’ve been doing this for forever, and we’re in college now. ask her out, it’s not hard to—“

“shut up— PATRICK.” art says loudly. he clears his throat and he turns his head to you approaching. his cheeks flushing up from the sight of you. “hey.”

“hey.” patrick snorts casually.

“hi.” you smile politely. “um, art. do you know when practice starts today? i lost my schedule.”

“um. yeah- it’s- uh— it’s at- at- two.”

“oh okay, thanks, art.” you smile and wave before turning away and joining your friends at their table.

“it’s— uh— uh— uh— at— at— t-t-two,“ patrick teases with a smirk. art slaps his chest with a scoff.

“whatever man.”

“let me be your wingman!”

“no.” art says stiffly.

“oh come on, why not?” patrick groans as if he’s in physical pain.

“the last time you offered to be my wingman, you told her—“ he looks around and lowers his voice, “—that i have an intense boner.” art hisses, his pale skin turning red at the memory.

“what? was i wrong? no!” patrick cackles then slowly stops as he catches his friend’s glare, “besides, she laughed! she thought it was a joke. girls love a funny guy-“

“she didn’t laugh because it was funny, patrick. she laughed because she was mortified.” art says stiffly.

“whatever you say man.” patrick chuckles to himself, wearing that stupid, condescending grin. “i’m just saying— if you don’t ask her out, you’ll be pining after her until you’re forty-fucking-five.”

art’s mouth shifts in a thin line, because for once, what patrick’s saying is true.

at practice, art rallies the ball back to his hitting partner. his grip’s loose, his footwork’s sloppy, but he’s barely paying attention to that because you’re right there.

you laugh at something one of your friends said, the way your face shifts, perfecting that smile. the way your ponytail blows in the gentle wind, the way—

“donaldson! come on, this is the third time!” his hitting partner yells as the missed ball slams the fence behind him with a thwack.

“fuck— fuck- yeah, i’m sorry.” art says quickly, he snaps back to attention and turns around to pick up the ball. but when he bends over to reach it, another hand is already picking it up for him.

he looks up and his cheeks redden again.

“here.” you smile gently, like an angel— no— no- a goddess, and hands the ball to him.

for a moment, art stares, his mouth agape, speechless. his eyes never leaving your eyes, he freezes in place.

you furrow your eyebrows together in mild confusion and you laugh slightly to break the awkward silence. “art?”

“oh— yeah— yeah, sorry- zoned out.” art says frantically, standing up and taking the ball. as your fingers brush— just for a second—his heart stutters. “th— thanks.”

as he turns to toss the ball back to his partner, the coach yells— “ok, five minute water break! good work.” his partner groans and throws his hands up in the air.

art stares longingly at you from a distance as you tip your bottle back. he wishes he was the bottle. fuck— what is wrong with him?

from the bleachers, patrick catches the look in his friends eyes, and scoffs. he whistles. when art looks, gestures lazily in your direction. he then mimes drinking from an invisible cup. ‘ask her out for drinks,’ he mouths, just for good measure.

art mouths back— ‘how?’

but patrick’s already distracted— his hand finds tashi’s waist as he whispers something in her ear. she scoffs showing him off as he kisses her cheek. some wingman, art thinks to himself with an eye roll.

for once, art musters l the courage to talk to you. he takes a few heavy steps, scrambling for the right words. ‘hi, i’ve been in love with you for the past seven years.’ too strong. ‘how are you?’ too vague.

he decides on a ‘hey. are you free tonight? do you want to go get drinks? i know a good spot.’

yet, as he reaches where you are and has you staring at him expecting him to say something— he squeaks out a “drinks?”

you blink, “drinks?”

“you— do you— you want— do you want drinks?”

you tilt your head with a half smile, “n-no?”

“i mean— fuck, uh.” he clears his throat, twice. “do you— do you want, do you want to go out with drinks with me? tonight? if you’re free- if you- have time.”

“as friends?” you smile slightly as you brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

fuck. fuck. abort mission. his brain screams at him to run, but his feet won’t move. okay, so you want to go as friends? sure— he can do that.

“well, duhhhhh—“ he says, way too loud. “um— yeah— as— um— the bestest friends. yes. from mark rebellato’s tennis academy. friends.”

everyone on the stanford tennis team is staring at him at this point. even patrick lets out an exaggerated sigh from the bleachers.

“…oooookay then, is seven good?” you ask gently

“yup. amazing. so good.” he grins— way too wide with his teeth clenched— and bolts.

he drops down next to tashi and patrick, exhaling like he’s just run a 100 miles. “i did it.” he lets out a breathless laugh, almost in disbelief. “i asked her out.”

patrick snorts. “you call that asking someone out?”

“i mean— technically, yeah?”

“did you actually— or-?” tashi raises her eyebrow.

“our big man did it, tash.” patrick laughs. “he’s going out for drinks with her. as the ‘bestest friends from mark rebellato’s tennis academy,’ of course.”

“shut up,“ art groans, holding his head in his hands.

“no- because, you weren’t even ‘bestest friends’— you were barely friends with her at the academy.” patrick points out. “you barely spoke to her, all you did was pine after her and jerk o—“

art’s cheeks flush up and covers patrick’s mouth, looking around frantically. “OKAY— okay, patrick. we get it.”

tashi sighs, patting her boyfriend’s arm. “just don’t be weird and scare her off.”

patrick grins, “like that’s possible.”

“patrick,” tashi gives him a look. patrick rolls his eyes, then turns to art, squeezing his cheeks.

“fine, good luck. just remember, you can’t fuck up more than you already have,” he pauses, “probably.”

for the past half hour, art’s been gripping on his drink like his life depends on it.

you’ve been going on and on about tennis practice, this girl who borrowed your lip gloss and lost it, and that time you fell on your face during a junior league.

but he’s completely distracted because at the moment, he doesn’t know whether he’s looking at you too much— or not enough. if his outfit says ‘causal friend hangout’ or ‘please love me and run off with me to a cabin where we can live happily for the rest of our lives.’

so he just laughs when you laugh. nod at the right times. says “yeah” when it seems appropriate.

and he prays that you don’t notice how he’s completely freaking out about this.

“art.”

he snaps out of it instantly.

“…mm yeah?” he mumbles like complete, fucking idiot.

“are you even listening to me?” you smirk, laughing slightly.

“of course, i am.” he tries to put on a winning smile but it comes out strained.

you raise your eyebrow, taking a slow sip from your glass. art, desperate to seem composed, mirrors you and drinks from his.

as you set your drink down, you casually mention, “y’know, i used to have the biggest crush on you?”

art chokes.

“what?” he coughs.

“yeah. back at the academy. i really, really liked you,” you laugh.

his heart practically leaps out of his chest and he swears his cheeks are probably heating up and shifting to some shade of pink.

but he plays it cool— or at least, he tries to.

"you said you used to? so- so, not anymore?" he stammers.

"i mean, i could like you, if you like me back," you tease. "but we're here as friends? right?"

he screams internally. fuck him. fuck his idiocy and not being able to ask the girl he loves on a real date. "...right." he looks down at the beer swirling in his cup.

you pause slightly, scanning the expression on his face. "do you like me?"

art raises his head, looking you in the eyes. this is his chance, whoever's up above has given him an opportunity. he cannot fuck this up.

"ye— i mean— pff, no."

fuck.

patrick's voice rings in his head, 'just remember, you can’t fuck up more than you already have,' and look what he's done.

why, why would he say that? what is wrong with him? so many questions swarm his head and he has the urge to slap himself.

your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion and you look almost... disappointed? but you shrug anyways, "oh, okay then."

for a moment there is silence, before you clear your throat, "should we get another round of drinks?"

"yeah— sure." art murmurs, nodding slightly.

art donaldson is a fucking loser.

he repeats this in his head as he walks you back to your dorm. he opens his mouth several times to scream out about how much he loves you. about how he needs you. about how he wants to be with you for the rest of his life, despite it being only the first technical date.

but he can't.

he turns his head to look at you, because you're so pretty. and amazing. and perfect. he sighs and looks straight ahead.

he fucked it up.

patrick's right, he'll be pining after you until he's forty-five. actually, no, he'll be pining after you until he dies.

art's convinced he might explode because both of you haven't said a single word. he wants to rip his skin off or get on his knees and cling to you like a toddler.

after another two minutes of silence, he stops walking and bursts.

"i really like you."

he scans your face for a reaction but you stare at him.

"like— i really, really like you. i'm in love with you, i mean— who wouldn't be? you're so amazing— you're good at tennis, you're smart, you're nice, you're gorgeous— fuck- i should really shut up." he rambles, "i've just- i've just liked you since we were fucking twelve because you let me borrow your tennis ball after i hit mine over the fence. i thought you were really thoughtful— i mean, you still are—"

"art." you laugh, grabbing his shoulder.

"no- no- i know what you're going to say- like- we're friends. we're not even friends actually, i don't- i don't talk to you- at all—"

"art."

"-and i don't care if you don't like me back- i just wanted to get this out-"

"art!" you finally yell. you roll your eyes. "i know."

art stops talking.

"i know," you say again with a shrug. you brush a blonde hair out of his face.

art suddenly notices how close you are. "y-you know?"

you smirk, "i'm not an idiot. i have eyes."

is it just him or have you gotten closer? his cheeks are probably red again. like they always are around you.

"huh." his teeth worry into his lip in thought, he tries hard not to stare at your lips but ends up glancing at them.

you giggle softly, catching his glance, “i think you’re cute.”

“cute?” he squeaks.

“yeah, cute,” you grab his face a gently press your lips against his.

a few minutes later, art is running back to his dorm. his steps light and fast, he smiles like an idiot. his heart flutters so fast, he thinks it must be pounding out of his chest. he’s dizzy. he thinks he might faint.

but he stops, pulling his blackberry out of his pocket to type a message with shaky hands.

ART DONALDSON: you will not believe what just happened

he stares at the message with a grin, finger hovering over the send button, then presses it.

PATRICK ZWEIG: ?

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude

PATRICK ZWEIG: dude???

PATRICK ZWEIG: art??

PATRICK ZWEIG: hello?????

art laughs to himself still in disbelief.

ART DONALDSON: i dont even know what to say

ART DONALDSON: but it’s all happening

he leans back against the wall, laughing out loud again. he lets out a breath, grin never fading—

he’s definitely still an idiot, but maybe now— he’s a lucky one.

tags: @hyuneskkami for the divider

#art donaldson #mike faist #challengers 2024 #challengers #challengers fic #challengers x reader #challengers x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fluff #mike faist x reader #faistizerart

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theoldsports · 11 months ago

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SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie

1K notes · View notes

madebycloud · 2 months ago

Text

pt 4 | Not Even at All

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff (eh maybe?) and angst, kinda enemies to what, one sided fake dating, highschool, modern au, prom, kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 4.7k notes: we're so close… — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

Jinx leans over the bathroom sink, applying a moisturizer to her face. She pauses at the sound of someone at the door.

Vi taps on the open bathroom door and smiles at her sister. “Nice haircut,” Vi remarks.

Jinx glances at her from the mirror's reflection, giving her a side-eye.

“What, not gonna say hi?”

Jinx sighs, setting the bottle down on the sink.

Vi lingers in the doorway, looking at Jinx, who's doing her skincare routine. She waits until Jinx shuts the bottle before speaking. “You goin' to the prom?”

“Why do you care?”

“I'm just asking a question. So, are you going or-”

Before Vi can even finish her sentence, Jinx reaches out a hand and slams the bathroom door shut inches from her face, nearly closing it on her nose.

—

Jinx lays flat on her bed, her headphones over her ears and music playing.

Vi knocks on the door and opens it, peeking inside. “Hey, you-”

“No, Vi,” Jinx cuts her off before she can get a word out. She takes off the headphones and sits up. “I'm not going to prom.”

Vi steps into the room fully, shutting the door behind her. “Why not?” she asks, walking over to her bed.

Jinx leans back against the pillows. “It's stupid.”

Vi sits down on the edge of the bed. “Is that all you've got?” she teases, shoving Jinx's knee.

Jinx slaps her arm away. “I don't want to go, okay? It's lame.”

“It's not lame,” Vi retorts, raising an eyebrow. “It's senior prom. You can't just skip it.”

“Watch me.”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me going to some dumb dance?”

“Prom is not that bad,” Vi counters. “Besides, it's your senior year. You're supposed to go.”

Jinx scoffs. “Supposed to? Who says I'm supposed to go? I have a right to choose what I want to do.”

“Yeah, but-” Vi stops herself, thinking carefully about her phrasing. “Have you really not found anyone to go with? no one has asked you?”

Jinx pauses, pulling a pillow from behind her back and bringing it to her chest. She hugs it tightly. “I mean, yeah, well… someone did,” she mumbles, staring at one of her many punk band posters.

Vi chuckles, flashing a grin at Jinx.

Jinx glares at her, narrowing her eyes. “Shut up,” she huffs, throwing the pillow at her face.

Vi catches the pillow with one hand and holds her other hand up. “Hey, hey, I didn't say anything!”

“Yeah, you were thinking about it.”

“Maybe,” Vi replies with a shrug. “Maybe not.” She grins innocently as Jinx continues to scowl at her. “Why did you turn her down anyway?” Vi asks, tossing the pillow back at her.

Jinx catches the pillow before it hits her face, clutching it to her chest. “I told you already, prom is stupid,” she says, pulling the blankets up tighter around herself.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Vi plops down on the bed next to Jinx, who gives her a glare.

Jinx grumbles. “Then why are we having this discussion?”

“Because you keep avoiding the question,” Vi replies, nudging Jinx's shoulder.

“I'm not avoiding the question,” Jinx retorts, sinking deeper into the blankets. “I already gave you an answer.”

“That's not a real answer,” Vi says, poking Jinx’s shoulder again.

“Yes, it is.”

“Saying prom is dumb isn't a real answer.”

Jinx buries herself deeper into the blankets.

Vi sighs and scoots closer to her. “C'mon, Pow, you can tell me,” she says, reaching out to touch Jinx’s shoulder.

Jinx glares at her from beneath the blankets.

But Vi doesn't relent. She reaches out and yanks the blankets back, revealing Jinx's face. “You've always loved dressing up, even when you were little.”

Jinx bites her lip, looking away.

“And you've always loved dancing and music,” Vi continues. “So why turn down the perfect opportunity?”

“I just…” Jinx murmurs. “No one... nobody asked me to prom for the last few years. And then, suddenly, someone asked me in my last year… it's weird.” She looks up at Vi. “I don't know, maybe she's up to something?”

“Powder…”

“Don't call me that,” Jinx snaps.

“Why not? That's your name.”

“Was my name,”

“Still is your name,” Vi insists.

Jinx grunts but doesn't protest further.

“Powder,” she repeats.“Do you like her?”

Jinx fidgets with the edges of the blanket, her fingers twisting and tugging at the fabric. “I don't know,” she mumbles. “Maybe?”

Vi grins, sensing weakness. “You're blushing.”

“No, I'm not,” Jinx protests, but her flushed cheeks say otherwise.

“You're blushing because you like her,” Vi singsongs.

“Shut up, no, I'm not,” Jinx snaps, punching Vi in the arm. “I'm just… frustrated!”

Vi laughs, rubbing the spot where Jinx hit her. “You're frustrated that you like her.”

“Ugh, you're a dick,” Jinx groans, burying her head in a pillow.

“Look, Pow—Jinx, I just want you to be happy.”

Jinx lifts her head up just enough to look at her sister. “I am happy.”

“You know what I mean. You deserve to have fun. Go to prom, enjoy yourself-”

“Stop it,” Jinx interjects. “You sound like Dad.”

Vi laughs. “Maybe I just want you to take advantage of your last year of high school. Have a good time, make some memories. I mean, you're going to be an adult soon. Time's moving fast.”

“Ugh, now you sound like an old person.”

“I'm not that old.”

“You're going to be twenty-five,” Jinx sits up, wrinkling her nose.

“Exactly. Not old.”

“Debatable.”

They both laugh, and Jinx rolls her eyes.

“So anyway,” Vi starts, grinning. “You gonna reconsider going to prom? Just give it some thought.”

“Fine,” Jinx groans, flopping backward onto the bed. “Fine, I'll go. Can I sleep now?”

—

The second you see Jinx's name flash across the screen, you snatch your phone off the table and answer it on the first ring.

“Hey,” you say, breathless.

There's an awkwardly long silence on her end.

You frown, wondering if she's accidentally butt-dialed you or something. Are you going to have to listen to her fart noises until she notices?

Just as you're about to call out her name, she suddenly greets you back. “Um, hey,” she mumbles. “Sorry. I was... surprised you picked up so fast.”

Okay, she’s not going to start farting then. “Well, I wasn't sure you'd call me after... you know.”

“Yeah, about that. I wanted to say sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize,” you reassure. “I was being pushy and an ass. I shouldn't have pushed you so much.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I didn't need to be so, uh, hostile.”

Silence again.

“Anyway, that's not why I called,” she continues, changing the topic.

You adjust the phone against your ear. “Okay then,” you reply with a nervous chuckle. “Why did you call?”

“I was thinking, if…” she trails off, mumbling the rest of her sentence.

“What?” you ask loudly. “I can't hear you.”

“Iwasjustwonderingiftheoffertopromisstillup,” she says, words rushing and tumbling over each other.

Hang on.

Huh?

After what happened, you weren’t sure she'd still want to go with you.

“Yeah-” you reply. “I mean, why wouldn't it be up?”

“I don't know. I just thought maybe you'd have asked someone else to go with you.”

“No, I hadn't asked anyone else,” you assure her. “I didn't want to go with anyone else… just you.”

She's quiet for maybe one, maybe two or three seconds before replying.

“Oh.”

Oh?

Just ‘oh’.

What were you supposed to do with ‘oh’ as a response?

“So then... you want to go to prom with me? or... was that a hypothetical question?” you ask.

“No, I-” she pauses, groaning. “Yeah, I mean, yes. I do want to go to prom with you.”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from smiling. “Cool... cool, cool, cool.”

“Yeah, cool.”

Another long, awkward silence.

Do you say goodbye? Do you ask her a question?

“Well,” you mumble, “I guess I'll see you on the-“

“No!” she suddenly blurts out.

“No?” you repeat, raising your eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Wait, no. I didn't mean ‘no’ as in like, ‘no don’t see me at prom,’” she explains, tripping over her words. “Like I still want you to see me.”

“Yeah… I kind of got that.”

“I meant, like, don't hang up the phone.”

“Why?”

“Just… don't,” she says. “Can you just… stay on the line for a while longer?”

Stay on the line.

Why does she want you to—oh. Ooooh…

“Oh.”

Now you are the one who can only say ‘oh’.

“Yeah, I can stay on the line for a while.”

“Really?” she pipes up.

“Yeah, really,” you repeat, flopping onto your back and propping your head up on your pillow. “So…?”

“Soooo… what's your favorite color..?”

—

A band that does not ��suck’ by definition and more ‘bearable’ manages to please the audience with a surprisingly decent performance. You can hear them all the way out near the entrance to the prom.

You check yourself a third time for any wrinkles on your outfit and fix your hair to make sure it’s good to go.

With nothing else to do, you grab a fake rose from a nearby vase and spin it in your fingers.

You take a look around, waiting and-

She's here.

Jinx walks up the stairs, wearing a black dress that looks like it's made of satin. She's also wearing heels, giving her a couple extra inches of height. And is it just you, or does that dress also have a slit going all the way up her thigh?

Holy, shitting balls. You're already feeling lightheaded.

She walks past you without noticing you, and you step right behind her, clearing your throat. “Wow,” you say loudly when she's close enough.

Jinx turns around at the sound of your voice, meeting your eyes. She glances you up and down. “You too.”

You try not to have your eyes lingering over the exposed skin of her legs. “You look really good. I like the dress.”

“Yeah?” She looks down at the dress clinging to her curves. “I wasn't sure. Vi was telling me I might be showing too much skin, but I don't know.”

You clear your head and force your eyes up to her face. “Well, I for one, think it looks amazing.”

Jinx raises an eyebrow. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah, I mean it.” You stick out the fake flower you've been holding this whole time. “You're beautiful.”

Jinx looks at the rose.

She looks at you.

She looks at your rose again.

Then she takes it and twirls it in her fingers. “Mmm, how romantic,” she says, hiding her face with the flower.

Oh god, hearing that in her voice does things to you.

“You ready?” she asks.

You take another look at her face and that dress, and you know for a fact you aren't ready... at all. “I'm ready.” You hold out your arm.

Jinx links her arm with yours, squeezing your arm before both of you begin walking together. “Where'd you get that at the last minute?” she asks, glancing over your outfit.

“Just something I had, you know, lying around.” You shrug. You return the favor, looking at her dress as well. “Where'd you get that at the last minute?”

“Just something I had, you know, lying around,” she repeats, copying your tone.

The two of you share a laugh, and Jinx lets go of the grip on your arm. You approach the booth where other students are taking pictures together.

“Listen,” she starts, hesitating for a few seconds. “I really am... sorry that I questioned your motives. I was wrong.”

You wince internally. It hurts you that she's apologizing for something you can't be honest about. She didn't do anything wrong, and here she is, apologizing.

You force a smile, hiding the guilt that's eating you up. “You're forgiven.”

You want to tell her the truth. You feel the words threatening to spill from your lips. To spill the beans and tell her this was all bullshit. But now's not the time. If you confessed now, you would only ruin the evening for both of you.

Well, there's no point in dwelling on it. The problem's already sorted out anyway.

The smile you force is enough to fool her. For now. Jinx just nods, pleased. “Okay,” she says, releasing a breath. “Ready for the prom?”

“Yes ma'am,” you respond, holding out your arm again.

—

The band wraps up their song, and everyone claps their hands loudly.

You turn to Jinx, joining her with applause. She raises an eyebrow, and you raise one back at her.

A new song starts, and Jinx immediately recognizes the opening notes, her hand flies over her mouth. “Ohmygod it's-” Letters to Cleo.

“I called in a favor!” you reply, giving her a wink.

“For real?!”

You nod. “Just for you.”

The lead singer of the band makes her way to the center of the stage and glances around, her eyes finding Jinx. The two lock eyes, and the lead singer smiles.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” she gushes.

The lead singer approaches Jinx, a microphone in hand, and begins singing to her. Everyone around moves to get out of the way. “Oh, I can't take another heartache. Though you say you're my friend, I'm at my wits end.”

Jinx doesn't blink, barely moves, and her mouth opens in shock.

The lead singer continues singing. “You say your is bonified, but that don't coinside.” The singer winks at the both of you and returns to the stage.

Jinx slowly turns to you, mouth open to say something. But you cut off her words with a kiss.

You pull away, and she whispers, “Thank you.”

You take her hands in yours, her head finding a spot against your shoulder. She holds you close, arms encircling your shoulders, her nose nuzzling your neck.

The two of you begin dancing as the lead singer continues with the song.

You reach up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before moving to rest your hand on her waist.

Jinx hums. She lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours. But she looks away quickly, burying her face back into your neck again. She says something, but her words are swallowed by the music.

You lean in closer to her to hear her words again. But she just shakes her head, burying her face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“What's that?” you tease, “Couldn't quite catch what you said.”

She lifts her head again, pulling away just enough to look at you. Her cheeks are dusted pink, and she looks at you with nervous eyes. “I… I said… I…” She's having a hard time getting the words out, like she's not used to saying it. Or even thinking it. “I said, you shouldn't hold me so tight.”

You chuckle, loosening the tight grip you had round her middle. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, no, no, I-” she stammers. “I didn't mean it like that... I-I… because-” She stops, not meeting your gaze. Her eyes dart around, avoiding eye contact.

Until-

“Because I-” She swallows, taking a deep breath. “Because I can't breathe.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Jinx continues before you can say anything. “When I'm close to you... like this,” she starts, her hand moving to her chest. Her fingertips press on her collarbone, her palm over her heart.

Your eyes flicker down before meeting hers.

“My heart…” She swallows again, glancing down at her hand. “My heart's beating so fast,” she admits. She pulls her hand away and looks up at you. “I can't breathe.”

The dance continues on, the music still playing.

Her hand reaches up, fingers finding the nape of your neck. “It's because of... you,” she says. “It's because of you.”

You felt it too.

You feel your own heart racing in your chest. Your ears are ringing, all the background noise feels distant. Your face feels hot. You feel like the world is spinning. Your palms feel sweaty all of a sudden, like they've never started sweating before.

You feel it—your heart, swelling, growing bigger and bigger against your ribcage. The beat pounding hard until it's all you can hear.

Holy shit, she is genuinely trying to give you a heart attack.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she mumbles, her words breaking through your thoughts. “Forget I said anything. I didn-"

“I can't breathe,” you interrupt, speaking without thinking. “...I can't breathe either.”

Jinx's fingers stop caressing the back of your neck, and she stills in your arms. Her eyes widen as she stares at you. But then a smile slowly curves her lips. She rests her chin back on your shoulder, her hand moving down from your neck to wrap around your shoulders.

“I didn't think it was possible,” she says. “I never thought I'd feel this way,” she continues, her arm tightening around your shoulders. “About anyone. About anything.”

You turn your head to the side, your nose brushing on the shell of her ear. “What changed?"

“You did.”

You say nothing, your brain still trying to understand what she's saying and what the hell you're feeling. It's too much to process.

But that's okay. Because Jinx continues.

“This... this feeling. It's… It's new. Different. It's like...” She trails off, her hand resting on the space between your shoulder blades as she rubs soothing circles into your back. “No one's ever been this close to me. It's like I've been running away my whole life, and you just... somehow you managed to stand still long enough for me to finally run to you.”

Your heart stutters again, the pace picking up once more. If it hadn't been for her arm around you, you would've fallen over from how weak and trembling your knees felt.

She lifts her head from your shoulder, and you follow her lead.

Slowly, cautiously, she reaches up to rest her palm on the side of your neck, pressing her thumb just under your chin. Her thumb sweeps over your jawline as she holds your gaze.

“You're the only one who's ever made me want to stay.”

Something in your chest clenches so hard, and it feels hard to breathe all over again and again. She says it with such certainty that there's no way you could dismiss it as anything less than the truth.

Her other hand, which was around your shoulder, drops to your chest. She can probably feel how hard your heart is beating—how out of control it is.

She looks down at her hand, watching it rise and fall with every thump of your heart. Her fingers flex around the fabric, and you catch the twitch of a smile on her lips. “Looks like we're both doomed,” she says. “Doomed to not be able to breathe while we're together.”

“I don't mind it.”

“Yeah… me neither.”

“You just might kill me,” you tease. “What did you say about not holding you tight again?”

“Shut up.”

—

The two of you continue to dance, twirling and spinning and laughing.

It might not look like it, but you practiced your ass off to get all these moves down correctly. You know you looked like a complete idiot the last time she saw you dance, so you took the time and effort to learn some moves. You wanted to give Jinx the night of her life.

You pull her away, only to spin her around and pull her close again. She giggles as she spins, her hand still in yours.

Jinx stumbles when she comes back around to face you. Her other hand catches itself on your shoulder to steady her. You hold her close, one of your arms wrapped around her waist, the other still holding her hand.

“My grandmother's.”

Jinx looks at you strangely. “Huh?”

“That's where I was last year. My grandma was lonely, so I moved in with her. I wasn't in jail, know Marilyn Manson, or slept with a Spice Girl. I spent the last year watching Wheel of Fortune with my grandma,” you say, not letting go of Jinx in your grasp as you dip her down. “End of story.”

“Awww,” she coos as you raise her back up. “That's adorable!”

“I know, I'm a saint,” you tease. “I'm such a great grandchild.” You grin, and the two of you continue dancing.

The room spins as you spin her around. Dizziness creeps up on you when you both come to a stop, but the sound of Jinx's giggle makes it go away.

“Well, I had a different name,” she tells you.

“Oh yeah?” you reply, not letting go of her.

“Yeah, I used to go by the name Powder.”

“Powder,” you repeat.

Jinx nods as the two of you continue dancing. “Yeah, Powder... It was stupid,” she adds with a chuckle. “I went by that at my old school.”

You try to push the name out of your thoughts for now, not wanting to ruin the night. Jinx spins around again, and you hold her close, dipping her again. She squeals as she goes upside down, then laughs when she's raised again.

You hear the sound of your phone's ringtone, but you don't budge. Nah, you just ignore it.

Rinnngg

The call goes to voicemail.

Rinnnggg

Again. Whoever's calling is definitely being persistent.

Rinnnnnggg

…and again. And this time, you actually stop dancing and check the call.

Caitlyn.

You pull away from her, reluctantly letting go of her hands. She lets you go, but with a scowl directed at your phone.

“Ugh... I gotta take this. Sorry,” you grumble.

“It's fine,” she replies. “Be quick.”

You begin searching for a place where the signal is better, somewhere where the call won’t have to be repeated or sound like a shitty recording.

—

You step into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Weirdly enough, the bathroom is empty. Considering how many people are at the prom, you thought there'd be couples making out or at least a few girls fixing their makeup, but nope. Nothing.

At least it's quiet now, and the signal is good too.

You answer the call, holding the phone to your ear. “You know you've just interrupted-”

“THANKTHANKTHANKTHANKYOU!!” she cuts you off, squealing on the other line. What the hell?

You hold your phone away from your ear, just in case her next words are ear-piercingly loud. “Uh... You're welcome?”

“VI. AND—AND I! ARE. OFFICIALLY. TOGETHER!!”

She's going to give you tinnitus from how loud she is. “...congrats?”

“ALL THANKS TO YOU.”

Oh. Right. That.

“I asked her out again and—and—and she said yes! YES!!” she shrieks.

Caitlyn's overjoyed. But to be honest?

You aren't.

You could be out there, dancing and having a good time with Jinx. Instead, you're stuck in the quiet bathroom being deafened by your friend's squeals.

—

After a while. Jinx looks around, watching the other students continue their dancing.

Lux is having the time of her life with her dance partner, while Ekko's talking with someone standing beside the table. A few of the guys are eyeing her, but with a quick glance in their direction, they immediately look away.

You still aren't around.

She groans, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looks around again before making her choice. Bathroom break.

—

Caitlyn continues gushing on the other end of the line, gushing about how perfect Vi is and how wonderful she is. It's not exactly news to you, you've heard this all before.

You sigh, rubbing your face. “Listen, Cait-”

She continues on and on, not hearing you at first.

“LISTEN.”

She finally stops talking, going quiet.

You take the chance to speak. “Can we just forget the deal? can we just forget that you paid me to date Jinx? I mean, you got your happy ending. You asked Vi out again, and she said yes. Case closed, right?”

“What?”

You turn around to face-

“Jinx.”

You freeze. You suddenly feel so cold.

Jinx. Standing right in front of you. There's an odd look in her eyes, like she doesn't recognize you. Like she's completely lost herself.

“You…” Her hands tremble as they slowly clench by her sides. “Nothing in it for you, huh?” She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and storming out the bathroom door.

You watch her leave, still in shock.

No, no, no, no, no.

NO.

She heard you. She heard everything.

You hang up the call with Caitlyn. You quickly scramble to your feet, tearing open the bathroom door. “Jinx!”

Despite how short she is, Jinx can move fast. And you've got a ton of ground to cover.

“Jinx—wait!”

She heads for the stairs, and you give chase. She's running fast, but eventually you catch up with her at the top, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop.

Your heart sinks as she continues to look at you like you're some stranger, someone she doesn't know. You feel like you're going to be sick.

You hold her arm tighter. “No, it's—please, just wai-”

Jinx yanks her arm out of your hands, pushing you away. “How much did she pay you? Fifty? One hundred!?”

You stumble backwards. “Jinx, just let me-” you protest. You try to explain, but each word seems to come out wrong. Or they never come out at all.

She storms off again, but this time you're just quick enough to catch up with her. You grab her shoulder, forcing her to look at you. “Wait, wait—it wasn't like tha-”

She scowls, ripping her shoulder away from your grasp. ”Oh, really?” she snaps. “What the hell was it like? a down payment now, and a bonus if I slept with you?”

The look of hurt on her face nearly stops your heart. You never intended that. That was never what you wanted for her. “NO!” you yell. “I didn't care about the money, okay? I cared-” You cut yourself off, pausing to catch your breath. “I cared about you.”

Your hands twitch, wanting to reach out and grab her, to hold her and tell her that you're sorry, you're so sorry, you never wanted to ever hurt her. You cared about her. You cared about her so much.

But you're just so scared to touch her, to look at her. She's hurting. She's so angry at you.

And yet, you do it anyway and reach for her again. “Jinx, please-”

“Don't touch me.”

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

You slowly lower your hand back down to your side, but you still can’t take your eyes off her.

Every word she says. Every second that goes by. Every minute. It feels like your heart is going to stop and die in your chest.

Keep talking. Talk some sense into her. But the look on her face tells you that she's already made up her mind. It's done.

Tears glisten in her eyes, but she holds them back, clenching her jaw. “You are not who I thought you were.”

Your mind races, desperate and searching for a way to fix this mess. You reach out, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her into a hug.

This always worked in the movies. A single, simple action. A single, simple embrace. A single, simple hug.

Except this is reality.

Reality sucks.

But you can hope, can't you?

A tear slides down her cheek and lands on your shoulder. She shoves you away aggressively, and even though you want to pull her against you again, you don't.

With that, she turns and runs outside. She doesn't look back or stop.

She's gone. You're left alone.

She's gone.

Those words ring in your head, over and over again. She's gone.

You can't move.

You can't think.

Your eyes sting, and tears blur your vision.

This whole time, this entire… everything you had done, everything.

Maybe if you'd said something sooner, maybe if you hadn't taken the money in the first place, maybe if you'd just been better about saying no.

None of that matters now. You've lost her.

All thanks to you.

notes: caitlyn when i catch you

taglist: @axolotl-arsonist, @crvcified-kinx, @axoluxy, @dyslexic-dreamer, @urdeadpoet, @iluvshifting, @shootingc, @freementallyillkid, @tr3nzit444s, @powderbomb-jinxed, @chickennuggetsaresootasty, @multiliker, @rick-grimes-girl, @angelsglitch, @blobfishyy

#arcane #jinx #arcane x reader #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #jinx x reader #jinx x female reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #jinx imagine #10 things i hate about you #fluff #angst #jinx hates ur guts rip #not even at all

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volchitsa-of-winterfell · 9 months ago

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the way patrick zweig is so clearly a creature of desire; so fundamentally hungry. always devouring, uncaring of how desperate he might appear for it—taking a bite of the line judge's bagel sandwich before he even sits down; scarfing down his hotdog before grabbing a bite of art's, and then later treating their churros exactly the same way; picking the cigarette that tashi slapped out of his mouth up off the literal alleyway street so he can finish smoking it. acting on his hungers without asking permission first.

the way art donaldson is comfortable expressing desire without acting on it; content to yearn. mr. i-do-what-she-says-and-then-i-win obediently drinks his green juices, his electrolyte mixes; he lays his heart on the table for tashi, twice, and lets her decide when to take it; he tells her he wants to kiss her, but then lets her come to him to actually do it. a lapdog, just like patrick says: he'll turn his pleading eyes to you, desire writ across every line of him, but he is too well-bred to ever snap and just take.

....except, of course, with patrick; but even then, only when he can sublimate his desire for patrick into the appearance of desire for another woman. snapping at the churro when patrick calls him out over sowing doubt in his relationship with tashi is the obvious one, but also the fact that art is the one to come first in their mutual-masturbation experience when talking about kat zimmerman (how much of it was because of miss zimmerman and how much of it was art letting himself imagine patrick with her?). patrick, in the churro scene, describes it as seeing art "lit up about something," and while he's not wrong i think it's more specific than that. art feels deeply, keenly, but he guards the flames of his desire so carefully; banks them down and keeps the embers glowing for years. tashi is content to meet art halfway, to take the quiet longing invitations he extends. patrick is not. his desire, his hunger, is bigger than that. he wants to see sparks fly. how perfect, then, that he is the only one who can bring that out of art. he does exactly that with the racket-neck signal, and art (once he's over his shock) is once again lit up; ready to take the win, not to have it handed to him.

the way tashi duncan understands them both, perfectly, from their very first night in that hotel room that was so formative for all three of them. she kisses art first, because she already knows that if she kissed patrick first, art would take that as a rejection and retreat; put his desire away. she kisses art first because she knows patrick will not give up on his own desires that easily. she understands how to stoke art's desires and how to temper patrick's and teach him patience. and because of that, she gets them both: she doesn't have to choose.

#challengers #challengers meta #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #fan analysis #challengers analysis #my post #text post #v speaks #character analysis

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heavenbarnes · 9 months ago

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Million Dollar Baby

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: this is essentially a series of vignettes, at this point you’re the duncan-donaldson sugar baby, swearing, effective cheating (tashi approved), mild exhibitionism, face slapping (not with hands), unprotected sex, reader is pretty submissive, thee slightest tashi x reader, patrick mention.

Part one

it’s that part two to “i wanna make it (so badly)” that i kept harping on about! just wanted to prove to you all i could make good on something! enjoy! i still crave this man!

Born under a lucky star.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Art Donaldson plays tennis very well.

When you're around?

He's better.

O2 Arena, London, England. ATP men's singles finals.

Naturally the only way you'd ever get close to something like this was on her invitation.

Tashi had invited you.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We'll cover your flights and accommodation- it's important that you're there."

Yes, because you were sure you could sweet talk your way into a lesson with Lily at Buckingham Palace.

Obviously, obviously it wasn't about your silly little tennis lessons these days. But that was the front.

Rich neighbourhood, nosey neighbourhood.

"Tashi, I couldn't help but notice Art's Jeep drive past me as I left Pilates. Just who was that pretty young thing in his passenger seat?"

"She's Lily's tennis coach, he drops her off when she's had to stay late."

Yeah,

yeah.

Drops you off because your legs aren't their best when they've been over his shoulders for an hour.

It was a pretty good front.

So you found yourself courtside in a Lacoste skirt you'd never imagine owning. That's why you didn't own it, Tashi had left it on your bed among other items of clothing she expected to see you in.

Dress-up doll.

Her plaything.

Pulled out of your thoughts by the chorus of cheer, it was all directed to the movement you could just and only see out the corner of your eye.

Art Donaldson took the court with a kind of swagger that made your thighs tense under expensive material. His eyes took to the stands- sweeping over adoring eyes looking back at him.

And then he came to rest.

You could tell he looked at Tashi first, the way his shoulders straightened and the grip on his racquet became even tighter.

Miracle it didn't snap.

Then you felt him look at you, his eyes softened and the corner of his mouth turned up.

A smug smirk as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

And you began to think back on everything that lead you here.

You had found yourself in many precarious situations with Art.

And you were acutely aware of the fact you hadn't seen it.

You'd felt it- felt it against your thigh, the heat of your cunt,

fuck, you'd even felt it against the sole of your foot.

Ruined numerous pairs of Calvin Klein's in the process.

But you'd never seen it.

And it wasn't a topic of contention, it wasn't a 'you' thing per se.

It was actually the fact that Art about blacks out every time you make him cum, and that's through a good few layers of clothing.

The thought of getting it out and laying it against your bare skin? Putting it in your mouth? Putting it inside-

Even the the idea of it makes his eyes water. Blessing and a curse, really.

On one hand, he's guaranteed a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other, it might only last a few seconds.

You were just happy to be there.

Art could give you everything or give you nothing and you'd lap it up every time.

Good girl.

Art looked good like this, he always looked good but there was something about this.

Sat on the couch, thighs spread, large hands balled up on his knees. When you were in this position- on your own knees before him, with reverence- he looked good.

He looked all consuming.

If you asked him, it wasn't a sight Art was used to, something something role reversal.

Your hands ran along the coarse hairs of his legs, ever-so-slightly getting closer to the bottom of his shorts.

(Post-tennis, still a little sweaty- heavy musk if you really got your face in there)

"We'll go as slow as you need, Art."

However he wants it, whenever he wants it.

Quarter to midnight on Tuesday, you were meant to be doing an ungodly load of laundry tonight. But then he'd looked at you, then he'd told you he 'needed' you.

Turns out whatever he wants looks a lot like what you want.

Obedience in spades.

He stopped you before your hands could go any further, opting to reach under the waistband himself. You were all the better for it, too focused on not giving up the extent of your excitement.

Was it weird to say you'd spent a lot of time imaging what his cock looked like?

Probably.

You reasoned it with the fact you knew Art spent a lot of time thinking about what happens under your pretty little tennis skirts. That and he'd seen it more times than you could count, these days.

Things always seem to go his way.

Your breath caught in your throat when Art hooked his thumb around the waistband, stretching the elastic so he could get it out.

Of course, of course it was as pretty as the rest of him.

Flushed pink at the tip, pale and creamy down the length of it. Kind of thing you need to get your lips around.

Banked for another day.

One hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around the base- Art slapped his cock once, twice on your outstretched tongue.

"A-ahh, f-uck- okay-"

Nice and slow- can't have him blowing the top off just yet.

He couldn't really say you were helping the point. Sitting there, sitting pretty, primed and ready for whatever he wants next.

The sight along was enough material to tug his cock to for the rest of his life.

Let alone being faced with it.

Which is why he did just that- tugged his cock to it.

Long fingers wrapped around a long cock, twisting along the length of it, rolling the palm over the head. Sticky wetness catching in the centre of his palm as he drags it back along the shaft.

Your tongue stayed permanently outstretched, allowing him to slap the weeping tip right on it. If it wasn't your tongue, it was your cheek- wherever he could gain purchase with your skin without tipping himself over the edge.

Yet.

Eventually, Art came in filthy hot ropes across your face and the most minimal amount actually made it in your mouth.

Majority of it was painted across your cheeks, drawn up and sweet under your shining eyes. Bright smile stretched across your face beneath pearly little drops.

Pretty girl-

perfect girl.

"I'm sorry- I just need- oh, oh god- just need-"

Incoherent.

A bleary-eyed, incoherent Art.

Chest pressed tight to your back, shorts around his thighs- your little skirt bunched up tight in his fist.

"I need this- I need this- y'so good to me- I need this-"

Yeah, seems like it.

You'd only managed 15 minutes on the court before it'd come to this. Art had thrown his racquet to the wind and ushered you around the side of their changing shed- the same one where he first,

You know?

Yeah.

You'd actually headed for the door but he couldn't wait that long, pulled you between the wall and the tall fence that circled the court. You were both nestled in beneath an Arabian Gingerbread Palm of sorts- naturally.

Art had slipped your underwear to the side and mounted you like a fucking dog.

Desperate.

The sound of his taut thighs slapping against yours was fucking ludicrous, the sight would’ve managed something worse.

He had a look across his face that said he knew this was pathetic- that there was no way he should’ve been rutting into you in broad fucking daylight.

But it’s not like you could see that look, not when his face was pressed into your neck.

“Ohh, you just- you just feel so good.”

Was he crying?

You looped an arm around the back of his head, slowly stroking your nails against his scalp as you struggled to keep yourself from buckling under the pressure.

Your other arm stretched out in front of you, palm braced on the wall as Art continued the relentless piston of his hips.

Through tears even.

“Feels so good, Art- making me feel so fucking good- just rub my clit, touch me a little.”

In an instant, his fingers were under the front of your skirt as he rubbed haphazard circles around the apex of your cunt.

“Like this? You like this? Tell me I’m doing a good job, please.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yes- doing a good job, you always do so good- gonna’ make me cum.”

And like you’d said the magic word, Art was going rigid. Hips slamming into you with a couple brutal and unyielding thrusts, less precision than you were used to with him.

Til’ he was dripping out of you.

His fingers kept going.

Until your face was pressed was pressed against the changing shed wall, sure to leave a lovely pattern of stucco on your skin.

Until you were babbling and canting your hips back onto his hand as drool ran down the side of your cheek.

Until you even realised that he’d dropped to his knees and was running his tongue through your cunt from the back, massive hands splitting your cheeks.

You reached a hand back to grip his hair, pulling his face even further into the sodden lips of your pussy as you fucked yourself back onto his tongue.

“That’s it- lick my cunt, Art. See how good you taste?”

Your ears stopped ringing long enough for you to hear it.

He makes that noise when he cums.

Again.

Tashi watched you both drag your feet back into the house- a sheen of sweat over you both that could’ve looked post-tennis.

To anyone else but her.

She let you pass without issue, but a fine hand pressed to Art’s chest as he tried to follow you to the showers.

“If I ever see you cum before her again, there will be trouble. Understood?”

There was no use explaining that you didn’t mind, that you kind of liked when you riled him up- made him lose control.

That he probably deserved to feel good.

Instead, you heard him murmur an apology before he finally got you under the monsoon shower head in the enormous guest bathroom.

Three more good ones on his tongue, just for good measure.

It was a miracle the Donaldson-Duncan mantelpiece didn't crumble under the immense weight of success.

Trophy, after trophy, after photo, after-

"Did Tashi meet Obama?"

Art chuckles over your shoulder as he watches you cradle the photo, eyes wide with admiration. Devotion?

"She did, he invited her to the White House the year before we got engaged."

"Your invite get lost in the mail?"

"It wasn't about me."

Is anything ever about him?

As you continued your impassioned scan of their family treasures, you came to a complete stop at a 5x7 frame.

"Is this a young Art Donaldson?"

You could feel his eyes on you as you lifted the frame with the same gentle touch as you'd lent to Tashi's photo.

This time, your fingers gingerly brushed over the glass- almost as if you could feel the crop of golden curls beneath your fingertips.

"You've never seen any of my earlier games? Junior doubles at the US Open?"

Taking your eyes off a very-pretty-young Art, you threw him a look that said something like 'be so serious.'

"No, I wasn't much for watching tennis as a- what? Six year old?"

Oh.

That's right.

It was impossible for Art to forget the elephant in the room- call him a dirty old man but Art was always thinking about the pretty young thing that he liked best in his lap.

But sometimes he forgot.

"Well, that's me the day Patrick and I won."

"Who's Patrick?"

Oh.

And just like that he's chubbing up in his pants.

Art Donaldson currently exists in a space and time where he has something that Patrick doesn't.

And you're none the fucking wiser.

How could you be? You're still enamoured with the shaggy golden curls and the unspoken pull of a backwards cap.

"Yeah, you would've driven me wild back in the day."

There's a wry smile that catches on the corner of his mouth, right at the same moment he takes the photo from you. You're forced back to reality, present day-

The one where Art's a few years older but still as devastatingly handsome.

"Would've?"

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, feeling a firm chest pressing against your shoulder blades. Feeling crowded.

Feeling caught.

"As if I don't already."

Art spends the evening reminding you of your place.

That, despite the age between you, he's still the one that runs rings.

Contrary to popular belief, Art Donaldson has bad days.

Unfortunately for just about everyone in the O2 Arena, he chose today.

Well, the fates decided on today.

As he thrashed his racquet through the air, you could've sworn you heard the 'woosh' it was sure to have made from all the way up here.

Tense, you were slumped in your seat as you couldn't escape the voice in your head-

the one that was telling you your luck had run out.

The one that still sounds a lot like Tashi Duncan.

"COME ON!"

Tashi's voice actually sounded from beside you, making you jump out of your skin.

Naturally, you began searching for Art- searching for something to do, someway to fix this. What was left for you if you couldn't be lucky.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Nowhere to be found- but you found Art, found his eyes.

Looking at you.

Pleading with you.

Come on.

There was that pathetic little gaze you'd come to know. When he wanted something, when he needed something.

Art Donaldson always gets what he wants.

You jumped a little when you felt Tashi's hand rest on your knee where it crossed over the other. Perfect manicure drumming against your kneecap, gripping once.

Gripping twice.

Gently, prying it away from the other till they were side by side.

Thighs being forced apart.

Suddenly acutely aware that Art's eyes weren't on your face anymore.

They were on Tashi's hand.

Acutely aware that, among all the pretty things she'd laid out on your bed this morning, there wasn't a pair of panties among them.

That same perfect manicure between your spread thighs, patting you once, twice- right where her husband had made a home.

Under a lucky star.

Art Donaldson had a penchant for getting what he wants.

With an unmatched performance, the arena was turned on its head. Neon green blitz across the court, landing right where he wanted it to.

The crowd cheered his name to a tune only he knew;

How to be a winner.

All guts, all glory.

The deafening commotion chewed you up but it was Art that spat you out. Amongst the noise, the fury, you found him stood staring right at you.

Expectantly.

The weight of responsibility on your chest. Your luck hadn't run out, it was only just the beginning.

To the victor go the spoils.

Somewhere, a rabbit was missing it's foot.

#did i want this to be more? yes #did i just have to pony up and fucking post it? yes #did i have to stop beating myself up for it not being as good as the first one? oh fuck yeah #anyway have at it!#art donaldson x reader #art donald x fem reader #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader smut #challengers smut

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zweiginator · 3 months ago

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going back to ex!patrick after a three weeks of telling him he’d never get to touch you ever again. now you’re pinned beneath him, legs pushed to your chest as he fucks into you so slowly, enough for you to feel every inch of him.

“tell me you fucking missed me.”

you shake your head. patrick shoves his thumb between your lips and he feels your cunt clench around him as he bottoms out again. he stops moving.

“you don’t have to.” a slap to your pussy. “she’s telling me herself. fucking slut.”

you’re back together that night.

#patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #Sorry all

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traveler-at-heart · 1 month ago

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Doctor's In - Part 13

Summary: Your life in Boston after Wanda.

The air is cold, and just your luck, today you left the car outside of the building’s parking lot.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all, as a cute woman is inspecting the black Corvette, in awe of the elegant and expensive car.

“Want a ride?”

“This yours?” she says, genuinenly fascinated.

“Yeap” you nod. “She’s a beauty, 490-hp 6.2-liter V-8 engine”

Do you know what those words mean? Not at all.

“My father and I used to fix cars. I need to send him a picture. Can I?”

“Sure, go ahead” you smile. “I’ll even take one of you standing next to it”

You pull out your phone.

“Oh, wait, I should have given you mine” the woman says, and you smile.

“Or you could give me your number and I’ll send the pics” you smile at her, offering your phone.

“Very smooth” she blushes, taking it.

“If you wanna talk about smooth, the leather seats are just…”

“Ugh, it’s too cold to take my motorcycle, can you give me a ride to the hospital?” Yelena interrupts, coming out of nowhere as usual.

“Shh, go away” you push her behind you.

“God, we’re gonna be late. Just skip to the part where you lie about texting the girl and get on with it” she mumbles, and luckily only you can hear her.

“Sorry, she’s being annoying” you elbow Yelena’s side. “I’ll send you the pictures, and my offer for a ride still stands”

“Well, alright then. Have fun babysitting” the woman comments, which earns her a glare from the blonde.

“Get in the fucking car” you mutter. “Why can’t you ask your mother for a damn car? She has lots of them”

“Like the one you borrow and use to get phone numbers? I don’t understand why you do it, you never call them”

“It’s not about having a date. It’s just fun to talk to girls. I never really did it outside of college” you shrug your shoulders.

You never call them because the thought of being with someone who isn’t Wanda is simply absurd.

But you don’t expect Yelena to understand it.

“I never ask for a car because then she’d be like See, I was right, a motorcycle was a bad idea”

“Get both, like your sister”

“No, because then she’ll say I’m copying her, like when she went to school with a green backpack and I got one that was similar the next day. But green has always been my favorite color” she rambles.

“Are all the Romanoffs this complicated?”

"Is your music taste always this random?" Yelena points at the screen. "Yesterday it was ABBA and now it's Metallica"

"Don't even think about changing it" you say, slapping her hand away.

You finally get to the hospital, parking in your spot, which is one of the best ones in the entire facility.

Melina is trying to convince you to stay beyond your three month contract, and she’s not shying away from providing a life of luxury, with a penthouse and a fancy car included.

If it wasn’t because you’re busting your ass in the ER, you’d feel like a sugar baby.

“Go and check on the people waiting, I have to sign discharges and look at some post ops” you tell Yelena as soon as you walk in, and she nods.

“Morning, everyone” you greet the front desk. “Is Patrick ready for his recital today?”

“Yes, he’s very excited” Nurse Roman says.

“Well, as a doctor I don’t feel comfortable saying break a leg, so let’s just leave it at good luck”

“That sounds perfect to me, Doctor Y/L/N, thank you” the woman says. You’re smiling until you notice the frown on Peña’s face.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not my fault you keep betting on Shelton when he’s literally playing against Alcaraz”

“Shelton is the future of American tennis”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the resounding noise of your debt” you say, going back to the charts but keeping your palm open. You don’t look up until he gives up, putting a 20 in your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Peña. I’m so looking forward to Indian Wells and Miami back to back”

You don’t realise that Natasha is also at the front desk, signing a couple of discharge forms.

It’s been a month and you’re already friends with half the people who work here. Natasha’s glad, because it can be miserable to be isolated while you’re away from home.

The other side of her can’t help but feel really stupid too, because all this time she thought you were flirting and in reality, this is who you are with most people.

Now that’s a fast way to humble someone.

“Hi, Doctor Romanoff” you say, finally noticing her. “Ending your shift?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Starting a 48”

“Didn’t you just do one 12 hours ago?” she says.

“Yeah, but my brother and sister are coming over so I need the weekend off” you smile, actually excited. Natasha is probably one of the only people who could understand how good it is to reconnect with your siblings, but she’s been distant with you ever since you came to Boston.

So, you wish her a good day, and walk to the madness of the ER.

“Fuck my life, fuck it hard” you mutter when you notice who’s there. Ed Lorne, aka clown nurse. He’s a young one, practically fresh out of college and with an unhealthy obsession to behave like Patch Adams in that movie that always puts you to sleep (No disrespect to Robin Williams).

“Please tell me his shift is almost over” you plead to Yelena.

“Don’t be mean. He’s trying to make an impression”

“He already did and it’s a fucking awful one”

The fact that there’s no swear jar around has turned you into a sailor on leave. Not that you keep track, but if the twins could hear you, they’d be set for an Ivy League education.

Stop thinking about this, you mentally scold yourself, trying to breathe to settle that uncomfortable feeling at the pit of your stomach.

Yelena mistakes your frustrated sigh with a protest as Ed approaches you. Truthfully, it’s a bit of both.

“Top of the morning to you, Doctor Y/L/N” he says, removing an imaginary hat.

God, you’re gonna strangle him with a stethoscope.

“Guy in bed six has problems with urinating and I’m like well, more like ur-out of my bladder!”

“Boy, you’re really bringing the theater kid energy today, aren’t ya” you complain, ignoring Yelena’s smack on your arm.

“Why, thank you for noticing”

“No, that wasn’t a compliment. Check all of my post ops and medication, then fill out the medical records in the computer”

That should keep him busy for the next two hours and away from you.

“Evil” Yelena mumbles, but she’s laughing along.

You take care of a few people, ordering lab tests and other stuff that is quickly taken care of by the staff. It’s nice to have an ER that is never short on medical personnel.

You finish your exam on a patient just in time to get your daily call.

“Hello, Judas”

“Darcy!” you say, always with the same enthusiasm.

“I hate you” she repeats, every day since you left. Well, minus the first week. You didn’t have a phone at all. “Carol hates you too and you’re no longer invited to her wedding”

You can faintly hear Carol’s voice in the background, shouting that what Darcy’s saying is not true.

“I’m trying to get her to come back” Darcy explains. “Look pal, it’s either the good way or the bad way aka getting you in the Psych ward until you go back to your senses”

“I don’t suppose you could get my stuff and send it over?”

“No, for two reasons. One, if I see Wanda I’m going to kill her and dos, you belong here. So it would be stupid to send stuff that you’ll need when you’re back. Besides, how do you know Wanda didn’t throw them away?”

“I just do. Ok, it was nice being emotionally manipulated by you, but I gotta scrub in. Same time on Monday? Remember I’m seeing Zach and Jenny this weekend”

“Yes, get me all the deets on the gossip and yes, same time”

“Love you, pal”

“Screw you”

Darcy hangs up, but stares at her phone for a moment longer. She does miss you and even if she’s giving you shit for it, she understands where you’re coming from.

“Are these the CVs for Chief Fury?”

“Yes” his secretary says, carrying a couple of files. “He doesn’t like to read on the computer”

“Oh, here, I’ll take those”

And Darcy does take them. Straight to the trash can.

Gotta make sure the job’s open when you come back.

—

You’re out of shape. It’s been 27 hours and the work keeps on coming. It doesn’t help that Boston is so much bigger than Westview.

As you sit in one of the front desks, looking over paperwork and lab results, Ed comes in, holding a deck of cards.

“Pick a card”

“Did you get the lab results for Mrs. Pattmore?” you say, resisting the urge to slap the deck to the floor.

“No, they said it would take another hour…”

“Can you check again? Thank you”

Fortunately, he leaves and you sigh.

“He’s quite the character” a man shows up next to you, and you nod.

“He is very useful when I need urgent results from the lab. The technicians can’t stand him so they rather not see him around” you laugh.

“I haven’t seen you before. I’m doctor Stephen Strange. Yes, that is my last name” he adds when you frown.

“Oh, nice to meet you. Yeah, I’m the interim Head of Trauma. Just until they find someone new”

“Huh. Not what I heard”

Well, there’s no way Melina will convince you to stay. But then again… you never thought you’d take the job in Boston.

“That’s definitely my plan” you assure him. “Were you on break?”

“Honeymoon. We just got back” he nods towards another woman who joins you, her smile wide. “Doctor Christine Palmer, meet… sorry, I didn’t get your name”

“Y/L Y/L/N. Congratulations to the both of you” you shake her hand.

“Thank you, how are you liking it here so far?”

“Everyone’s great” you say, but Christine catches your exhaustion.

“Lorne was just here asking to do a magic trick”

“Ah. That” she nods.

“Yeah” you get paged, and then wave at them. “See you around, and welcome back”

There’s a man coming in with a stab wound. Another shift from your work in Stark Hospital; the frequency of people who come in as a result of fights is a lot higher.

It was very rare to treat these kind of things in Westview.

“BP 130/70, no external bleeding or fractures” Yelena says and you nod, encouraging her to continue. “I want a chest X-Ray, transthoracic echocardiogram and blood work”

“The patient’s yours, Doctor Belova”

You’re honestly impressed. Yelena has been putting the work, and she’s very talented, especially while working under pressure.

“She has a good teacher” Melina speaks. The woman has a talent for knowing what people are thinking.

“Well, it’s in her blood, isn’t it? The whole Romanoff dinasty”

“Yes. By the way, this is your last patient. You’re not to be on call for so many hours in a week. The workload is very different here. And we will talk about a bonus so you can buy something to that girlfriend of yours to thank her for letting you be here”

About that.

Nobody knows Wanda kicked you out.

Except Yelena, but that’s because she kept asking about what Wanda said when you decided to come to Boston. The only way to shut her up was by telling her the truth.

It’s impressive that she’s kept the secret for so long.

“No need for a bonus, I’m doing my job as usual”

While you wait for the results of Yelena’s patient, the man begins to complain about pain between the shoulder blades.

“Lorne, book an OR and page Yelena” you say, knowing that’s a bad sign.

The blonde scrubs in as you begin the laparoscopy.

“What’s wrong? I’m still waiting on the results” she says, standing next to you.

“Pain between the shoulder blades is not a good sign for this type of injury. I’m seeing blood cloths in the anterior surface of the stomach and the liver. We’re switching to a laparotomy”

You find three lacerations in the liver and one in the stomach. Well, Melina’s plan didn’t work; you’re staying here for a bit longer.

As you move to inspect the pericardium, you look at Yelena, asking if she sees anything.

“No, it’s fine. Aside from the diaphragmatic perforation”

“And how are we closing that?”

“Ethibond suture with pledget” she answers after a slight hesitation.

“You’ll do it and I’ll be watching” you nod, moving aside. Truth is, your shoulder is hurting. It’s the old injury combined with the extra workload.

“Need any help?” Natasha walks in, and you shake your head no.

“I thought your shift ended”

“Came to do some post ops, and Doctor Romanoff asked me to help so you could go home”

“I’m fine” you lie. But Natasha stays in the OR, looking over Yelena’s shoulder.

“You’re making me nervous”

“Good. You could use some pressure. Y/N’s going soft on you” the redhead teases.

“I’m not!” you say, laughing. “I’ve been told I’m a great teacher”

“I’ve heard” Natasha nods.

Though Yelena takes a little bit longer than you would have, her work is excellent. Once you check everything’s done, you give the team instructions and scrub out.

“What are you doing with your siblings?” Natasha asks, joining you.

“Well, Jenny’s looking at NYU to apply. So I’ll meet them in New York, take them to a Broadway show. I was hoping they’d wanna go to the Met but not holding my breath for two teenagers to choose a museum”

“That’s fair. Have fun with your family” she smiles.

It’s weird to think about them as your family. They are, of course.

But to you, family is an entirely different group of people. One that you’ll never see again.

“Thanks. See you around” you nod, hoping to get some rest.

—

You never thought you’d be eager to see your family, but here you are, waiting in the airport, looking for Jenny.

As soon as she spots you, she runs towards you.

“Hey, kiddo”

“Make room for me” Zach says, jumping right in and making sure his sister has no room to breathe.

“You’re so annoying!” Jenny complains. Even if she’s three years older, Zach is a lot taller, being in that awkward teenage phase. “This trip was supposed to be just me”

“Y/N invited me” he says.

Well, kinda. He inserted himself in your conversations with Jenny, and as soon as he heard the words weekend in New York, he was ready to go.

“Well, I didn’t alter my girls weekend schedule for you, Zach. So just so you know, you’re getting a manicure and we’re plucking your eyebrows” you tease, walking them to where you parked. Of course they argue over who gets to ride in the front. “Alright, this is a rental. So, rule number one, no eating in the car. No throwing stuff at each other. No feet on the dashboard. And no one changes the music”

“Fine” they agree.

“First stop, the penthouse, then NYU”

Melina had heard about your trip and went out of her way to offer you everything at her disposal. Exclusive tickets, the Romanoff penthouse (apparently they have one in every major city), a reservation in a very nice restaurant.

You took most things happily. In a way, this is your compensation for emotional damages.

“So, what happened between you and Wanda?” Jenny says.

“Wow, can we at least have lunch first?” you accidentally hit the brake, making Zach hit his head against the headrest of your seat.

“I’m blind!”

“You’re fine” Jenny shushes him, turning to you. “I’ll tell you about our parent’s divorce”

“Ugh, deal. But you go first”

So, as you get food, Jenny tells you everything, with the occasional intervention from Zach. It’s nothing exciting, not technically. Their father finally realising your mother is an evil witch and taking their children away from her. It would have been ideal to do it when they were younger, but whatever.

“And you guys are doing good?” you ask, making sure things are better.

“Yeah… I just feel bad for her sometimes” Jenny admits. “Like what if she’s lonely or sad, you know?”

“That’s because you’re a good kid” you smile at her. “Let’s go get changed, we have to be ready for your college tour soon”

“What about your part of the deal?”

“Later” you say, trying to avoid talking about it.

By the time you reach the penthouse, you can’t help but admire the view to Central Park. It’s even bigger than the one they gave to you back in Boston.

“I want the biggest room” Zach says as soon as they drop their bags.

Of course, they’re engaging in a fight that involves some name calling and a lot of finger flicks on the forehead.

“You guys are worse than…”

They turn to look at you and you smile, trying to keep it together.

“Worse than…” Zach says but you shake your head.

“Nothing. Come on, better change fast”

Worse than Wanda and Pietro.

Will you ever stop thinking about her?

—

Earning the title of cool sister only takes a borrowed penthouse, Broadway tickets and exclusive seats at Yankees Stadium.

It’s day two and though you haven’t been able to convince them to go to the Met, you’re still enjoying yourself.

Kind of.

“So how long do these last?” you ask again, even if Zach explained the rules a dozen times already. “Ok, next time we’re going to the US Open because at least I’ll understand the game”

“So, you’re planning on staying here?” Jenny asks and you shrug your shoulders.

“There’s no plan for anything, really. I have two months left on my contract”

Zach goes to get more food and you keep watching the game in silence.

“Are you ok?” Jenny asks. Truthfully, though you’ve enjoyed spending time with them, Wanda’s been in the back of your mind more frequently than when you’re busy with work.

You can’t help but think about all the trips you never took with her, or wonder what she’d think about the city.

“Want the grown up answer or the big sister being brave answer?”

“I’d like the truth”

“Well…” you take a deep breath. “I’m not ok. I fucked up big time. I had everything I wanted within reach and just… I don’t know. Maybe it was never meant for me. It was too good”

“You are good enough for it, come on. Don’t say that”

“It’s hard to believe it when I hurt her so much. And the kids. But, it is what it is I guess”

“I’m sorry. If you wanna talk…”

“I know, sis. Thanks” you smile at her. All of the sudden you hear the crowd roaring and look up to see a ball that’s coming straight your way. You catch it, thinking nothing of it, while some people around you begin to speak to you. “What? Do I have to throw it back?”

“Are you insane?” Zach comes out of nowhere, taking it from you. “This is the coolest thing!”

“It’s a ball” you say, looking at the field.

“Nu-uh. It’s Camarena’s 50th home run. You know, the most promising baseball player of the season”

“Ok, if you say so”

Turns out it is a very big deal, as the player wants the ball back and is offering to meet you in exchange for it. You let Zach decide for the two of you, and his answer is an excited yes.

So, you take a couple of pictures and thank him when he hands you a signed baseball bat.

“Thanks, Carme…”

“Camarena” Zach elbows you. “I’m your biggest fan”

Yeah, you definitely earned the award to coolest sister, and it had nothing to do with all the money you spent. It came down to your ability to catch a freakin ball, like a competition with a golden retriever.

“We still have some time before we have to take the plane. What do you wanna do? You’ve been doing everything we want to” Jenny says, and you think about it.

“Let’s have a picnic in Central Park”

“Sounds fun” she agrees, while Zach keeps taking a million pictures of the bat.

As you walk around the park, you find something that unlocks a memory that was totally lost on you.

“Balto!” you point at a statue of the sleigh dog. They both look at you with blank expressions. “You’ve never seen Balto? Seriously?”

“I don’t know. Mom wouldn’t let us watch some stuff. She said it was silly to have a movie with speaking animals”

“That and Ghostbusters. But we never learned why”

“Oh, that’s because she and dad watched that movie on the day I was born” you explain while you pull out your phone to take a picture of the statue.

“Mom is such a bitch” Zach mutters and it makes you laugh.

“Come on, kid. Screw the picnic, I’m buying you the biggest burger we can find”

“See? I’m her favorite already” he teases Jenny and they begin to argue again. You hug them, staying in the middle to prevent a fight.

“Love ya both, kiddos”

—

Coming back to an empty house stings a bit more when you spent the weekend surrounded by playful banter and pleasant company.

The silence is unbearable and you know that at moments like this there’s only one thing that can make you forget.

So, even if you have to go to work tomorrow, you get changed and head for the usual club.

“Thought you found a better spot” Laura greets you as you approach the bar.

“Work was crazy” is all you say. No one knows your name, or what you do for a living. You just get drinks and dance to loud music.

“The usual?” you nod, accepting the glass of scotch. You enjoy it slowly for a bit, watching as some people dance and party. The outfits and the music are different from your time in college; plus Darcy and you used to go to shitty bars.

Either way, what hasn’t changed is how drunk people act; messy, unaware. You love it. No one’s asking if you’re ok, or why you're there.

“I was gonna buy you a drink, but you’re not done with that one yet” a woman offers with a flirty smile.

You finish what’s left of the scotch in one swift motion, and wink at her.

“There”

“Are you that thirsty, huh?” she teases, and you laugh, sipping from the new glass. “I’m Eve. You?”

“I’m… really thankful for my drink, Eve” you say, because you’re never gonna share your name with anyone else. “Wanna dance?”

The woman rolls her eyes, but follows you to the dance floor. It’s the perfect place to get lost, and avoid any conversation. The music’s loud, there’s people everywhere and you can simply disappear when you’re done.

It’s what you do best, isn’t it?

As you go out for another drink, there’s an impulse to talk to Laura.

“That was the name of a friend”

“What?”

“Laura. Well, not my friend. My ex girlfriend’s friend”

That’s about everything they have in common. This woman is covered in tattoos and has dark hair, styled in a mullet. Very Joan Jett, which is every girl’s type.

But my type is Wanda.

“Is that why you drink until I have to call you a cab?” Laura says, and you nod, taking a shot of tequila and asking for another one.

“Yeah. Come on, just one more” you plea when she’s doubting about giving you a third one. You pout and Laura rolls her eyes. “Thank you. Ah, I love this song!”

You blow her a kiss, running back to the dance floor. Wait, no, you don’t even know this song but it’s cool anyway.

And then the next one is good enough, until you’re a bit too drunk and have no idea what’s playing.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

To your disappointment, it’s a man.

“I’m fine!”

“Yes, you are” he says, putting his arm around your waist.

“I’m gay, dude. Stop it!” you push him away.

“Come on, you just need a good di…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, not when your fist crashes against his nose.

Stupid move, as he’s tumbling to the floor, creating a commotion. You can tell he’s pissed when he stands up, but he never even gets to yell at you, because someone is pulling you back until you’re out of sight.

“You really are trouble” Laura tsks and you try not to laugh.

“He was an asshole”

“Yeah, he is. If it were up to me he wouldn’t go in at all. I have to get back to the bar. Stay here, drink some water. Then I’ll call you a cab”

“I’m sorry” you say, reaching for her when she walks past you.

“That girl did a number on you, huh?”

“I only have myself to blame” you smile sadly. “Thanks for the help”

Following the woman’s advice, you walk around the room, drinking some water and breathing to gather yourself. You’re vaguely aware of the pain in your hand, and remember that it was stupid to risk yourself that way.

If you can’t operate, Melina’s kicking your ass.

After a while, Laura comes back.

“Car’s waiting”

“Thanks… I owe you...”

“A cup of coffee”

You’re about to protest when she rolls her eyes.

“Not as a date. You have too many issues for me to handle. But I’d rather we stop meeting like this, with you starting a bar fight”

“Yeah, that’s fair” you smile, looking back before leaving the room. “My name’s Y/N, by the way”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N”

—

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That’s all you can think about as you get ready for a 24 hour shift, sporting a massive headache and hangover.

You’re leaning against the elevator when the doors open, and you speak without opening your eyes, handing the keys of the car to Yelena.

“You’re gonna have to drive me today”

“Yelena already left”

You look up a little too fast, eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Ah, jeez” you complain, feeling your head pound with the sudden movement.

“Rough night?” she says with a mocking tone, but then pays attention to your bruised knuckles, taking your hand. “What the hell? Are you ok?”

“Dude thought he could touch me and get away with it. It’s fine” you promise, though she doesn’t let go of your hand.

“You know mom’s gonna freak out when she sees this?”

“Don’t be a snitch, Romanoff” you say, stepping out of the elevator. “What are you doing?”

“Get in my car” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re in no condition to drive”

“This is nice” you look around the Mercedes-Benz, reaching to touch the controls in the dashboard. Natasha slaps your hand away.

“Nicer than the Corvette?”

“Nah, let’s not get crazy”

“Did you have a nice weekend with the family?” she asks, rolling into conversation naturally.

“Yeah, we went to see Wicked because Jenny wanted to, then to a Yankees game where I caught the ball, which is apparently a big deal”

“It is, congrats”

“They made me buy some clothes that are not scrubs or…”

“Mini skirts? Like the one you wore last night”

“How did you…”

“My penthouse is in the same building, remember? Same as Yelena’s. Mom was smart enough to get a house away from everyone”

“Right”

“Doesn’t Wanda mind?”

That shuts you up real fast. And honestly? You don’t feel like lying. But as you’re about to answer her, she stops in the parking lot.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business” she mistakes your silence with annoyance.

“No, that’s not it” you explain, but then your phone pings. It’s a message from Jenny, sending you the Instagram post she made for the weekend in New York.

J: You made it to the gram!

Youths. You don’t even have instagram but click the link nonetheless. Yeah, those are nice pictures.

“Oh, you two came together?” Melina greets when she meets you in the hallway.

“Y/N can explain why” Natasha smirks and you glare at her.

“I was just feeling tired after the family trip”

“Natalia, who will be your plus one to the gala?” Melina changes the subject abruptly.

“I’m not taking anyone”

You direct your attention back to your phone, knowing they’re about to argue.

As you swipe through the pictures, a name catches your eye.

w.maximoff

What?

Does Wanda follow your sister?

She saw the pictures and liked them? Even if you were in them?

Don’t be an idiot, don’t think this means anything, she hates you, she’s better off without you.

The sudden urge to throw up has nothing to do with your hangover. You look around the hallway, and feel the desire to turn around and beg her to take you back.

You miss her too much, you can’t do this without Wanda.

Who are you kidding?

“Take Y/N” you hear all of the sudden.

“What?”

“Take Y/N to the gala with you” Melina decides, making Natasha roll her eyes.

“She doesn’t want to…”

“Yes. I’ll go” you interrupt Natasha.

Anything, anything at all to stop thinking about the one person who made your life worth living.

“Then it’s settled” your boss nods, pleased.

“Excuse me” you walk away, hoping there’s a ton of work that can keep your mind off everything else.

There is, and you’re grateful for the distraction it provides.

“I’m exhausted. How are you managing with a hangover?” Yelena complains after a few hours.

“Get some rest,” you mutter, looking at the lab results. “The OR won’t be ready for another hour anyway”

Unfortunately, it gets very slow as the day progresses. Everyone in the hospital is focused on a kidney transplant that is happening next week.

You see a woman walk in with her son to the ER and approach them.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Y/L/N. How can I help you?”

“Hi, yes. My son fell and I’m not sure, I think he might have hurt his wrist”

You turn to look at the kid, who is probably ten or eleven, and he looks back at you scared.

“I understand. What’s your name?”

“Kyle”

“Hi, Kyle. I’m Y/L. Can I take a look at your wrist?”

It takes him a moment to nod, but once he does you take him to one of the hospital beds where he sits. As you put on a pair of gloves, he looks around, clearly nervous.

“Cool shirt” you make conversation, noticing his Yoshi shirt. “My favorite is Rainbow Road, but the best time I ever did was on Vanilla Lake”

“Really? My favorite is Koopa Troopa Beach”

“That’s a good one” you agree, applying pressure on his wrist. “Ok, I don’t think anything’s broken but we need an X-ray to confirm. I’ll walk you there, it will take a minute”

Thankfully, it’s just a sprain.

“You’ll just wear a brace for a week, I’m also sending some medication for pain. Now, you’re gonna have to hold up on playing Mario Kart for a bit, as the movement isn’t good for your hand. Take it easy and if there’s any more discomfort or pain, come back to the hospital”

“Thank you” the woman nods, relieved that it’s nothing major. You’re about to say goodbye when her son hugs you.

“Take care, kid”

As you watch them walk away, your mind goes back to Billy and Tommy.

You miss them so much.

“Everything ok?” Yelena asks when you leave in a rush, walking towards the stairs.

Instead of answering her, you go down the steps, until you push the emergency exit, breathing heavily.

Don’t cry at work, don’t cry at work.

It’s not working. You squeeze your eyes shot, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A sob leaves your lips the minute Yelena catches up with you.

“It’s ok. I’m here” she says, hugging you.

“I miss them”

“I know. I’m sorry” is all she says, allowing you to cry as you lean your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be…” you finally gather yourself, wiping away the tears. Your face is hot with the embarrassment of being so emotional in front of Yelena.

“I understand. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Come on, you should get some sleep. I’ll cover the ER for a bit”

“Ok” you nod. But she still follows you to the break room, and as you lay in bed, Yelena makes small talk, asking about your trip and telling you some funny things that used to happen to her and Natasha when their mother would leave them to roam the city while she had board meetings.

As she tells you about her favorite things from the Met, your eyes feel heavy and you fall asleep, exhausted.

The younger woman looks at you, feeling a bit guilty. She understands that everyone in this situation is an adult, and sometimes relationships don’t work.

But it’s still hard to see you so heartbroken and lonely.

“Hey” Natasha walks in the room, and Yelena shushes her, leaning her head towards you. “Is she ok?”

“I don’t know” the blonde admits, closing the door behind her. “What’s up?”

“Mom told me you’re bringing a plus one to the gala! I thought we agreed no dates for this one”

“Oh, yeah…” Yelena blushes, and Natasha tilts her head.

“Who is it?”

“So, what are you doing? Should we find you a date?” Yelena rushes to change the subject, walking with her sister to the cafeteria.

“No, Y/N volunteered. Or, my mother kinda forced her to”

“Maybe it will be good to have a distraction. She’s having a rough time”

Natasha stays silent as they get some food. To be honest, she has been distant with you. It was hard to get close again after all the hard words you exchanged.

Natasha was just trying to protect herself.

“So you’re not gonna tell me who it is?” Natasha insists after a moment of silence. Yelena laughs, shaking her head.

“You’ll find out soon enough”

—

You open your eyes to the sound of your pager. The OR was busy for longer than anticipated and you’re about to go and check if everyone’s ready.

While you yawn, you dial Yelena’s number.

“Hello?” you hear Natasha’s voice.

“Why are you answering Yelena’s phone?” you say, doble checking that you indeed called her sister.

“Oh, crap. I took her phone by accident”

“Hey” you step out of the room, and find none other than Natasha, ready to leave for the day. “Guess your mother bought these phones in bulk”

You show her the mobile Melina gave you, though you insisted in keeping your number. It’s identical to Yelena’s and Natasha’s and every head of department has one as well.

“Heads up, she might be tracking your location”

“What? Can she do that?” you say, shaking the phone. Natasha smiles at that.

She forgets not everyone is expecting the worst from Melina.

“I better go and exchange phones with Yelena” the redhead says.

“Sure, can you tell her that the OR’s ready? Thanks”

You leave, but then Natasha’s voice stops you.

“Do you wanna do something tomorrow?”

There’s a hint of shock in your face, but you nod and smile.

“Yeah, sure. Wanna come over to watch a movie?”

“Sounds good” she agrees.

“Alright. See ya then” you wave goodbye.

Between this and the gala, Natasha doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to spend so much time together.

She’s about to find out.

—

Natasha is questioning her choices as she knocks on your door, thinking it might be unwise to spend alone time with you.

She had felt like you both got some closure after the emergency surgery on that woman. And then, one week later you had shown up at her hospital, as if you hadn’t refused the offer a number of times.

As if the thought of leaving your precious girlfriend behind wasn’t the craziest thing in the world.

“Hey, come on in” you greet, opening for her.

“Love what you’ve done with the place” she teases, watching as the only real decoration is a Polaroid picture of you and Yelena that is taped to the fridge.

“I’m happy this thing came with furniture or we’d be having dinner on the floor”

“Martha Stewart would be proud” she says and you roll your eyes.

“Come on, food will be ready in a bit” you say, asking her to open the bottle of wine.

“Where’d you get it from?” she asks as she hands you a glass.

“Uh, the grocery store?” you look back from the stove.

“Wait, you’re making it? From scratch?” she puts her glass down, looking over your shoulder.

“Well, not from scratch, it’s not like I made the pasta”

“I thought you didn’t cook”

“I didn’t” you smile, offering her a taste of the sauce. “But I got used to the finer things in life, like a good old homemade meal, and had to figure out how to get something done”

“This is actually really good” she says, surprised.

“I will give you a pass because I am also surprised that my cooking’s not so bad”

It must have been because you used to watch Wanda cooking all the time.

Ah, shit.

Maybe eventually you’ll go a day without thinking about her. Or not, and that’s your karma for being an idiot.

Once everything’s ready, you pull out two plates, and serve the food.

“What do you wanna watch?”

“Not sure, could we eat first?”

“Why, want to check that I won’t give you food poisoning?” you joke, but Natasha doesn’t laugh. “Oh, come on! I’ve never gotten sick and it’s been a month!”

“Let’s just eat”

“Fine, are you sure you’re gonna be ok talking to me? You’ve been avoiding me since I arrived in Boston” you comment, though you can’t be mad at her.

It was easier to blame her for your screw up that own up to it. You’re not particularly proud of it.

“I wasn’t sure if your girlfriend would give you shit for talking to me”

“We’re not together anymore” you blurt out, making Natasha stop chewing.

“You’re shitting me”

“She broke up with me” you shrug your shoulders. “So I quit my job and ran away like the asshole I am”

There’s a beat of silence, and you keep eating. You’re not expecting anything from Natasha, like pity or words of comfort. It’s just the way things are.

“I had no idea… I’m sorry. I feel responsible”

“Nat, don’t. Honestly, you weren’t wrong. I am attracted to you, and I didn’t set boundaries. If anything, I’m sorry for being a jerk and ruining our friendship”

She keeps eating quietly, and you know that she accepted the apology without making a fuss about it.

“Crazy, stupid love” you mumble after a couple of minutes.

“Yeah, I guess it can be”

“No” you snort out a laugh. “I mean that’s the movie I wanna watch!”

“Oh, I don’t know it” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Of course not, it’s not a Bond movie. Come on, now that you’ve seen my food won’t take you to the ER, let’s get everything ready” you say, picking up the dishes. Maybe you’ll make popcorn, even though you are full.

“Wait a minute” Natasha says, and when you turn around, she’s got you cornered against the kitchen counter.

“Huh?”

“You said you are attracted to me. Not were. So you still are” she smirks, eyeing you up and down.

“Well, yeah. Have you seen yourself?” you stutter. It’s not helping that you’ve gotten used to physical intimacy and you’ve been craving it for the past weeks.

But that makes you think of Wanda again.

“I just… you deserve more than being a rebound, Natasha. And I am serious when I say I’m not staying beyond my contract”

You know you can’t be someone who isn’t heartbroken and in love with Wanda. But you can at least be honest about it.

“I know. It’s just fun to watch you get all flustered” she says with a sultry voice.

“Not funny” you say, pushing her away.

“Let’s watch that silly, corny movie now” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“You’re gonna love it”

“Doubt it”

As you suspect, she’s critizing Cal at every possible turn, calling him a loser. She’s also constantly texting about the hospital in between complaints.

“Hey!” she protests when you snatch her phone.

“I know we’re both workaholics, but you’re missing the parts with Emma Stone which are arguably the best ones. And this big reveal will blow your mind”

So, you put both of your phones down in the coffee table and take it as a win when she’s laughing at some of the moments in the film.

“Hannah is Cal’s daughter?” Natasha screams when you get to that scene.

“See?”

“Damn!”

“Bathroom break” you announce a while later, leaving the movie playing as you know the dialogues.

Natasha is actually interested in the movie when her phone rings and she picks up without looking away from the screen.

“Hello?”

She’s met with silence, which makes her actually pay attention to whoever called her.

Shit.

Wanda.

She took your phone.

But before she can explain or tell the other woman to wait, the call disconnects.

“What’s wrong?” you say when you return, sitting next to Natasha. “I know it’s sad, but I promise it has a happy ending”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry”

“Nat, you’re scaring me”

“I thought it was my phone, I picked it up. Wanda called you” Natasha says, handing over the phone to you.

“Oh” you tilt your head, shocked. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. She hung up. I’m so sorry”

“Well, maybe she just wanted me to get my stuff. That’s the only reason she’d call me, honestly” you say, returning to the movie.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Natasha insists.

“I don’t know” you confess. Maybe you’re in shock. It feels surreal to have Wanda call you, after everything she said to you.

You left your old phone at Darcy’s house before jumping on a plane. You only got your old number back after Melina gave you one of those fancy phones.

Now you wonder if she ever tried to call you.

“I should go”

“And leave me to drown in obsessive thoughts?” you say dramatically. “Look, what’s the harm here? That she’ll think the worst of me, and then what? We broke up. She kicked me out, I’m gone like Wanda asked me to. I’ll just text Pietro and ask if the kids are ok”

That was your real concern. You had a feeling that it could be a mistake or something very serious. And you’d always put your pride aside for the sake of the kids.

“We’re watching a horror movie now” Natasha snatches the remote as soon as the credits roll, looking for Insidious. “That will distract you for sure”

—

“You’re evil” you say when Natasha walks out, laughing.

“And you’re a baby”

“There was a demon! Sewing while that creepy song played. You’re sick, Romanoff”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N” she says, whistling the song as she closes the door.

Now you won’t be able to sleep.

But there’s also another thing in the back of your mind.

Pietro hasn’t answered which can mean that it Wanda's call was a mistake and he’s choosing to ignore you.

Or something so monumentally horrible happened that he doesn’t even have his phone on him.

“Fuck it” you say, trying to control your breathing as you dial back.

You begin to feel like an idiot, especially when it’s pretty obvious Wanda won’t pick up the phone.

Hands squeeze the device as you deal with the disappointment. You are about to hang up when you hear it.

Wanda, saying your name.

And for a moment, you feel like everything’s ok again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n

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artdcnaldson · 8 months ago

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ugh "leverage" to ensure she won't go tattling to patrick. especially as he starts getting meaner and meaner, he tells her it's to make sure she doesn't back out and tell on him. because patrick would genuinely kill art if he knew what he's been doing to his baby sister.

i know it doesn't really fit in the canon of the other parts to this au, but hear me out anyway... what if he agreed to fuck her, properly this time, in her sweet little pussy. BUT he needs said leverage to make sure she keeps quiet about it (truly he just needs to immortalize taking her virginity so he can watch it back for the rest of his life). so he "agrees", he's the one to bring it up lol, on the condition that he can record it. y'know like really shitty, amateur, pov style, on her creaky dorm bed and pink, frilly sheets. shaky and grainy, but it's good enough for him. it's not like he would ever actually post it anywhere or show people, but she doesn't know that.

he gets off on how nervous she is when he points the camera at her, she's blushing and trying to hide her face. but he just slaps her cheek and manhandles her to look right down the lens of his shitty phone camera. tells her to moan louder around his big cock, tell the camera how good he feels, really just stroking his own ego. makes her tell the camera exactly how he's making her feel, can't cum unless she asks into the camera. he nearly cums right inside her when she tells him he's too big and it hurts :(((((

yummy yummy yummy

-🐞

OHHHHHHH <3 I had to let this simmer. This had to ruminate. Had to really let it sit and grow legs or whatever wine people say idk

RATING: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, degradation, making a sex tape, loss of virginity, world’s worst aftercare), mean!art as always, uncomfortable power dynamics, DUBCON due to coercion

He catches you leaving one of your classes, chatting happily with a few girls as you walk. Their eyes widen as he approaches, smacking his gum, looming tall over them. You murmur a quick apology and bound over like an obedient little pet, falling into stride beside him as he walks.

“What class is that?” He asks, nodding back towards the building. Most of the time he forgot you even attended the school beyond cheering at his games and floating around his dormitory like a ghost.

“Peoples and cultures,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s an anthropology course I’m taking. It’s actually really interesting, like, these past few lectures have been—“

“What are you doing tonight?” He interrupts, not really caring beyond the simple answer to his question. He has a one track mind, and for the moment he’s just thinking about getting in your pants.

He watches you think, then shrug. “Um… nothing, I guess? Why?”

Art stops by a tree suddenly, tugs you by your wrist to stop with him. “Do you promise if we fuck you won’t tell Patrick?” He watches as your eyes widen, as sheer need and excitement makes you practically vibrate out of your skin.

Frantically you nod. “I’d never tell Patrick, I’d take it to my grave, I swear,” you say, totally earnest, bouncing on the balls of your feet as he looks at you.

“God, I want you so bad,” he hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear. You melt beneath his touch, gaze all half-lidded and soft. “I just… I think I’d have to have some leverage, just to make sure no one ever finds out.”

You tilt your face, resting it on his hand, your eyes half-lidded and dazed with need. You hum a soft, “Mhmm,” without even knowing what he’s implying, what he’s asking of you. But he hears what you’re thinking, all dumbed down and needy— yes, Art, whatever you say Art, anything you want, Art.

He wants to do it in your room, that night. He walks you back to your dorm and tells you to get your roommate out, make sure she’s busy for however long you need. He’d text you when he’s on his way.

So you’re just… fucking vibrating with excitement, cleaning up your dorm, changing your sheets, fluffing your pillows. You light three warm vanilla sugar candles so the dorm smells nice and sweet, put on your roommate’s SEXXXMIXXX <3 CD that she had burned in High School (and kept your fingers crossed it was still relevant). You took the longest fucking shower of all time, scrubbed your skin until it stung, shaved you’re entire body, wondered if maybe he wouldn’t like bald pussy, then worried that he’d hate if you kept the hair even more. Moisturized, then put on pretty, light makeup— lipgloss, mascara. All in the span of time it took for him to text you.

Art :) <3

omw

You feel a little dizzy by the time he’s at your door, already wet just anticipating what you were about to do. He grins down at you, at your silky little pajama set, pink and lacy around the edges. Smacks his gum, trails his hand along the sides of your waist.

“Pretty.” He looks smug as he rubs the lace between his fingers. “You got all dressed up for me, huh?”

It’s amazing how timid and shy you can look as you stand in front of him, biting onto your lip as you nod. He shuts the door behind him and guides you backwards until you knock against your bed and laugh nervously. Jesus, he’d already fucked your ass, your throat, he’d done things to you that even the dirtiest fucking sluts on campus wouldn’t dream of allowing. But you’re all shy because he’s finally going to fuck you properly?

You gasp as he tugs down the neckline of your top, exposing your tits to the cool air of the dorm. So cute, soft. Your nipples already hard and sensitive, so just the lightest pinch makes you let out a pretty moan.

“Remember what I said about leverage?” Art says, and you nod slowly, dreamily. “I want to film it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, as you think back to the pictures he’d taken of you just a few weeks prior. “And you’d… what? Like post it if Pat finds out?”

“No, no, only if you tell,” he corrects. Even then… he doubted he’d actually ever post it anywhere. He had a tennis career to consider, after all. But the important thing was that you believe he will. “It’s just to make sure this stays our secret.”

You swallow, consider it. You didn’t plan on telling Patrick, so it was fine, right? He’d hate Art, and you didn’t want that. You would never want that, no matter what.

So you nod softly. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’d… yeah, I understand. Okay.”

God, you’re easy. So fucking easy it makes him a little sick to think about. What if he wasn’t Patrick’s friend, if he was some frat house asshole who would take advantage of how bad you wanted him? You’re so lucky he’s a good person.

He uses your own fucking digital camera— pink and decorated with little heart stickers. Turns it on and records you as you slip off your sweet silky pajamas, revealing soft, smooth skin beneath. You’re so shaky, so nervous. You can’t even look into the lens.

“No panties?” He asks, lips quirked into a grin. He steps forward to slip his hand between your thighs, to cup your pussy in one big hand. God, you’re so fucking wet, just like you usually are. He could just slide right in without any resistance, just bury himself right inside that tight little pussy. “Jesus, you’re a fucking mess, just dripping for it, aren’t you?”

You moan, relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. Art never touched you, not to get you off, at least. So the feeling of his thick calloused fingers against your cunt makes you whine. He breaches your entrance with just a fingertip and grins at the feeling of you clenching around the intrusion, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

But the relief is gone as soon as you’ve gotten it. He pats your thigh, nods to the bed. “Go lay down. Let me film you stretching yourself out for me.”

“Art,” you whine once you’ve laid down, embarrassed as he trains the lens on you. “Do you have to film this part?”

It just makes him double down, grinning smugly as he settles at the foot of the bed. “C’mon, just fucking do it. Show the camera how fucking wet you get for me.” You hear the whir of him zooming in as your hand slips between your thighs, as lithe fingers slide through your soaking wet folds and you tease your clit. He groans softly, grinning at the sight on the camera. “Alright, spread yourself out now. Show me how small and tight you are.”

You whimper pathetically, but obey. Your fingers form a V as you spread your lips, revealing the pretty, drippy hole of your cunt. He doesn’t even have to tell you to start fucking yourself, you just do. Pretty, manicured fingers disappearing inside the tight channel of your pussy, slow and easy as you pant and gasp sweetly.

“Can you do three?” He asks. He zooms the camera out, makes sure he gets all of you— your tits heaving with each breath, the slow grind of your hips to meet your fingers. You nod softly, press a third finger alongside the other two. He grins at the sight of the stretch of your cunt around them, how your body works to accommodate them. “God, it’s a tight stretch, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You moan as you pump your fingers slow, in and out. Wet to the point of it sounding obscene. Slick dripping out with each thrust, making your fingers glisten.

He can hardly take sitting there and watching, but god, he’d love it later on when he was alone with only the video to keep him company. But who knows? Maybe he’d fuck you once and never want anyone else. He already felt that way… kind of. You were so eager, so obsessed with him. You touched him like it was an act of worship. He couldn’t get that from easy pussy.

He sets the camera down on the foot of the bed while he undresses, tugging off his sweats and tee shirt, mussing up his hair in the process. It’s not lost on him, the way your fingers speed up at the sight of his cock, how needy and desperate you are.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks as he picks up the camera.

God, he’s mean. You whine when he grabs your wrist and makes you slip your fingers from inside of your cunt. Empty, needy, desperate. “Please, fuck me, Art.” You’re embarrassed, of course you are. He has a camera focused on your needy little expression, one hand on your thigh all warm and possessive. “Please, I’ve been so good for you. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I just need you, I need you inside of me. Want you to be my first. Please, Art.”

He’s not sure where he wants the camera as he notches the head of his cock at your wet little hole. Part of him wants to film the second he buries his cock inside of that tight fucking cunt, but the other wants to film your face, watch how pretty you look as you take your very first cock.

And god, you’re trembling beneath him. Visibly shaking with anticipation, or nerves, or need. He runs a hand along your torso, cups one of your tits in his hands and thumbs over your sensitive nipple. “What, are you cold?” He teases.

“N-no,” you stammer, meeting his gaze. “Just— I just want it so bad.”

He films your face, which was the right call, he decides. He has to think about it technically, or he’ll risk blowing his load one pump in, like a total fucking loser. You’re so tight around him, clamping down on his cock as he sheaths himself within you, inch after inch. And god, that angelic face of yours— mouth agape, wet and pink and pretty, the tiniest furrow between your brows, lashes splayed against your cheeks as you moan, soft and sweet. “Hurts,” you practically whimper. “God, Art, fuck, it feels—“

He films where your cunt swallows him, stretched to the point of obscenity around his thick cock. It shouldn’t even be able to take him, not when you’re so small, so fucking tight. It’s a fucking miracle you’d even taken a toy before. He’d make you film that next. All desperate, fucking yourself on silicon while you drooled over a picture of him. It was sweet that you’d been trying to prepare yourself to take him and you were still a shaking, needy mess.

Tears well in your eyes as he thumbs at your swollen little clit, he feels your pussy clench around him, already so fucking keyed up. He should be good. He should make love to you, nice and slow, like a good boy. He’s starting to think he’s not a good boy, not at all. “Just lay there and take it, yeah? Just look nice and pretty for the camera.”

You cry out when he pulls back only to drive back in, hard and deep. His pace is relentless as he fucks into your cunt— warm and wet and tight and fucking perfect. He honestly shouldn’t have waited, he should’ve fucked you the first night you offered yourself up to him— sweet and needy and clinging off his shoulder like you were his girlfriend.

“A-Art, fuck—“ You cry out, fisting your pretty hands into the frilly duvet, as he bullies himself into you. “Oh, god, fuck, A-Art, it’s too much— I-I can’t—“ A strangled moan seems to rip itself from your throat as your head falls back against the pillows.

He grins. “Yeah? Don’t tell me, honey, tell the camera.”

You whine, turning your head away as embarrassment rips through you. It’s mean, keeping it trained on you while you’re so fucking vulnerable. He grabs your chin, holds it in place as he fucks into you, deeper, rougher. It punches out gasps from your pretty open mouth— Ah! Ah! Ah! Over and over and over.

He pops your cheek, not too hard, but enough to draw your attention back from him and away from your dizzying thoughts. “Tell the camera how good it feels to have my big cock in that little pussy of yours, yeah?

“It feels— ngh— I love it,” you have pretty fat tears slipping down your cheeks as he drills into you. “You’re so big, I— God, fuck— I feel you in my stomach. Here—“ You grab his hand, move it to press against the bottom of your stomach. He can’t feel anything, not except warm skin beneath his, but he groans at your words, at the implication that he’s so deep he’s in your fucking guts.

He has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood. He knows he’s going to cum, knows that he’s not going to last or show off epic, manly stamina and impress you. Not that you give a shit, but he wants to set a standard for whatever fucking loser you fuck next. He’d have next time, and as many other times as he wanted. You’d keep coming back for it, for him.

He struggles to manhandle you the way he needs while holding onto the camera. He tosses it into the sheets so he can press your knees up to your chest. “Hold them— yeah, that’s it, fuck— feels good.” You’re so obedient, holding your legs up for him so he can get deeper. Your eyes roll back, flutter shut. He fumbles to grab the camera, to immortalize you like this.

Your cunt squeezes around him, makes his rhythm falter as he struggles to fend off his orgasm. God, he just wants to bury himself deep and rut into you, to cum deep and hard, leave you dripping with him. It’s about him… but it’s about you too. He’d be good, he’d make you cum.

“Tell me how bad you need to cum. Fucking beg me for it,” He groans, rubbing at your clit with a calloused thumb.

You whine, squeezing around his cock as he draws you closer and closer. “Need it, Art. It feels so good— you’re so fucking perfect, feel so perfect inside of me. Wanna cum for you, around your cock, wanna show you how good you feel. Please, please, god, I want it, I want to feel it, Art. Want you to cum inside of me, need it so bad— I fucking dream about it, about you. You’re so much better, you’re everything I want, Art, fucking claim me. I want you to.”

Art wanted to pull out. He did. He was going to glaze your pussy with his cum, get it on video, swipe his fingers through it and make you taste it. But Jesus Christ, you fucking ruined that idea. He cums suddenly, practically collapses on top of you as he fucks into your cunt, spilling himself deep inside of you. And like the perfect fucking toy you are, you cum too, milking him for all he’s worth, walls clenching down around his cock as he lazily ruts into you.

He pants, stays buried inside of you as he tries to catch his breath. He’d never cum inside someone before— he was too afraid of knocking someone up. He’d always had the self control to pull out, but he lost himself in fucking you, in the tight grip of your pussy around him. Christ, that was bad.

When he pulls out, a thick gush of his cum follows, pearly white, dripping down your ass and to the bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, you’ve tugged a blanket over yourself shyly. Looking so demure, so sweet, batting your lashes up at him expectantly.

The camera lays dropped and forgotten on the bed, he goes and presses the stop button on the camera and you grab at his arm. “Do you want to stay the night?” You ask with a shy bite of your lip. “I told Izzy to fuck off, so she’s with her girlfriend. We’ve got the dorm for the night, so you can stay.”

Art makes a face akin to annoyance as he redresses, tugging on his boxers and sweats. His shirt is somewhere… he can’t focus. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen, you swallow as heat floods your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, I know,” you stammer. “I just thought…”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t do that, then. This is just about fucking.

Art watches the sad little nod, the tiniest twitch of your nose as you fight the rush of tears to your eyes. “I know that, Art,” you say sadly, and you’re trembling again. “I just wish you’d stay for a bit. I’m… I feel a lot right now. I’ve never… I’ve never felt this before I just want—“

“What do you want? A hug, a kiss?” He watches you sniffle sadly, nod and mutter a watery, yeah. He sighs, stops searching for his shirt, and pulls you against his chest. You feel so warm, so vulnerable as you shake and cry hot tears against his chest. He frowns, pulls back, and presses his lips to yours, quick and chaste. “I’m not doing this again if you keep acting like this.”

You sniffle and nod. “Okay, I know, I won’t do it again.” He kisses the crown of your head. Grabs a random shirt from the top of your laundry basket, grabs the camera, and heads for the door. You watch him leave with a pouty, wobbly little frown and get up to redress. You find his Stanford Tennis shirt partly beneath your bed and pull it on. It’s big, fits you like a hug, smells so boyish and warm. You lay back down on the bed he just fucked you on and breathe deep, let his smell flood your senses. It feels a little like being wanted.

AURRRRR this was so much longer than I thot <3

Anyways. Love pat’s sister au, feel free to send me any asks you want about these messy bitches <3

🐞 anon i love u

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfic #🐞 anon #Patrick’s sister au

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compress1repress · 5 days ago

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i feel like i never read abt patrick getting aftercare 😭 i feel like it's usually regulated to bottom art fics since he comes across as more in need of affirmation? but we all know pat is just as hungry for that shit, probably on an even deeper fear-rooted level. like i think he's usually a yapper and bounces right back but once in a while gets super quiet and it freaks artashi out. he makes me think of that daredevil tweet that's like "[patrick zweig] cries before and after sex but never during. during sex he has a fucking JOB to do"

yasss boy loves to be smacked around and degraded by the ppl he loves! boy has also been alone for 12 years! boy has mad abandonment issues! boy probably has sexual trauma from being on the road! in conclusion: boy needs to be squeezed and headscratched and loved on 🙏 artashi im beaming you a mission from god

AO3 VERSION

ok sorry I wrote a 4k+ word fic (that got a bit dark) in response to this 😭 but let me ramble first:

I think about this a LOT (my throuple fic that I'm in the process of writing gets into this a little, and artashi will be giving him that aftercare 🙏) but yeah he has been SO lonely he needs to be hugged so bad but he would never say that.

i think safewords would be such an issue for him because he would be terrible at using them. or if they don't have specific safewords he's just bad at expressing when something is too much for him. Because he loves to be degraded and he's a masochist so he loves pain even when it hurts too much because it feels good... mostly. but when it gets to a point of not feeling good or he's just not in the mood for it that day, he refuses to say that

it's partially an ego thing, that he wouldn't want to admit that he couldn't take something but also i think it ties up with him needing to sleep with people for a place to stay and the weird power dynamics of that

Anyway I got struck with inspiration so here's the fic :)

art x tashi x patrick

cw: nsfw mdni, consent issues, rough sex, blood

***

It had been a particularly rough session, like it often was. The way Patrick loved. Having them shoving him around, pushing him down, humiliating him, degrading him. It was working for him until it wasn't.

He was laid out on his back, Tashi was riding him as Art made out with her. They often did this, a punishment for him when he'd been annoying (on purpose). They'd fuck him but basically ignore him, only focusing on eachother. Like he was a toy for them to use however they liked. It was fucking hot.

Today though it made nausea swirl in his stomach.

Did they even want him here? What's to stop them doing this with any random guy off the street? What if they got bored of him, replaced him, and then he was on his own again?

He tries to shake it off because he's into this, and they don't always ignore him. They only do it when he's purposefully driven them to it, because he wants it.

He tries to grab at Tashi's waist even though he's not allowed. Neither of them look at him as Art pushes his hand off and Tashi brings a hand across his face, the sound of the slap echoing.

She does it a lot, it gets him off, except because she's not looking she hits slightly off, catching his nose with her wedding ring.

The pain radiates and he brings a hand up to his nose. Blood. Shit.

His dick twitches at first but then the pain gets worse, a deep aching. That combined with the fact that it was her wedding ring, identical to Art's. The wedding rings they have because they are married to eachother. That Patrick doesn't have because he's not part of that. Not connected to them in any meaningful way.

He feels wetness at the corner of his eyes, willing it away because it's fucking stupid. And Art and Tashi haven't finished yet so he's got to hold on. He can handle a bloody nose, he's not a pussy.

They haven't noticed so he doesn't say anything, trying to just focus on the feeling of Tashi warm and tight around him, of the sight of Art's back, his muscles flexing as he rubs at Tashi's clit.

He can almost cope but then because he's lying down, he feels the blood block his nose, starting to unpleasantly drip down the back of his throat. He's trying so hard to hold on, doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to look weak.

Suddenly the feeling of it at his throat is too much and he starts to cough, sitting up and spluttering.

"What the fuck," they both say in unison turning to him.

Then they take him in properly. He probably looks a mess, blood around his nose and now coming out of his mouth as he spits it out.

"What happened?" Art's asking, his eyebrows drawn together as a vaguely horrified look crosses his face.

"Was that me?" Tashi's sliding off him now, worry in her voice.

"We don't have to stop, it looks worse than it feels," he assures, even though it feels pretty fucking bad, "it's fine, I think you just clipped me in the nose with your ring."

He's smiling at them but they just look more concerned.

"Patrick, why didn't you use the safeword?" Tashi asks, more confused than angry.

They did have a safeword, even though Patrick didn't feel like he needed one. It was more for Art and Tashi than it was for him.

He'd suggested something tennis related but Tashi had vetoed saying it might be confusing in case they were just using that word normally, not in the safeword way.

Patrick had asked why the fuck Novak Djokovic would come up naturally during sex but Art had just agreed with Tashi.

They settled on bumblebee in the end, which felt a little ridiculous but he figured it didn't matter since he wouldn't be using it.

"I didn't use the safeword because I'm fine, a little blood isn't going to keep me down," his insistance is undermined somewhat by the way his voice sounds, so he coughs a little more to clear his throat.

Then he's having a coughing fit which just makes everything worse because his eyes are watering like crazy now. It might look like he's crying or something.

"Shit, Patrick," Art is scrambling over to tap him on the back, "are you okay?"

Once he stops coughing, he responds, "yes, let's get back to it."

"I don't think any of us want to carry on, you don't have to-" Art starts but Patrick interrupts.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm being serious, I think it's hot," he grins at them but it comes out strained, "I can be into blood."

"No one's asking you to be into it," Tashi tells him, an edge to her voice.

Art's rubbing his back and Tashi's staring at him intently, probably looking at the way his eyes are still damp.

"I know, I just mean I'm not crying over a slap or something," he feels the need to say, "I like it."

"No one would think you're a pussy for using the safeword," Tashi tells him, "we have one for a reason."

"Especially if you are literally choking on your own blood," Art jokes, before getting solemn, looking deeply at him, "Patrick, seriously, it's fucking scary."

"Alright, in the future I'll try to have less scary sex injuries," he teases.

"No, in the future you'll use the safeword," Tashi cuts in, tone stern

"Alright," he holds his hands up, smiling.

"I mean it, Patrick, it's not funny," her face is absent of anger, that's how he knows she's being earnest, "you've got to promise me you'll use it."

He doesn't say anything so she continues.

"I won't fuck you if you don't," she threatens.

"Sure," he nods, trying to keep some levity, and because he knows Tashi couldn't keep that promise. She can tell what he's thinking.

"Fine, I'll make him stop fucking you," she points to Art. Oh, she's serious.

He looks to Art who just shrugs.

"Fine, I promise to use the safeword," he sighs but looks Tashi in the eyes, hoping that she'll know he means it. She must because she nods at him satisfied.

"Oh thank god, I was really going to miss fucking you," Art whispers in his ear.

"Yeah?" Patrick smirks trying to lean in to Art but he bumps his nose sending a shock wave of pain, "shit."

"But we're definitely not doing that today," Art gives him a kiss on the shoulder instead.

Before Patrick can call him a killjoy he sees Tashi glaring at him, so he adjusts his answer, "yeah ok, no more fucking today."

"Good," Tashi stands up, "now I'm going to get you a towel, and you better hope none of that blood got on my sheets."

He smiles to himself. She's looking after him. It's very sweet.

As she heads to the bathroom, Art moves to sit in front of him, "you look crazy."

"Wish you'd been the one to do it?" He can't stop himself saying.

"Patrick," is all Art says, pleading, warning and exasperated all at once.

"I was joking," he tries but Art just sighs.

He reaches a hand to the corner of Patrick's eye, swiping with his thumb, he doesn't say anything more except, "I'm getting you a painkiller."

When they both come back they work together to clean him up, it's really not that much blood, and he spat most of it into his hands. Still, Tashi is precise in the way she dabs the towel at his face, avoiding pressing too hard or too close to his nose.

As Tashi rubs his hands, Art uses his forefinger under Patrick's chin to tilt his head up, putting two ibuprofen on his tongue. He even holds the glass of water to Patrick's mouth.

He swallows the pill, and Art rubs his back again, softly. Tashi keeps cleaning him, even when he knows the blood must be gone, inspecting his hands, holding his face to make sure it's all gone.

He thinks this might be the most they've touched him without fucking him. Well, since he'd 'moved in' at least. Might be the most anyone's touched him, non-sexually, in the past decade. He tries not to think about.

Doesn't want to ruin how nice this is. Maybe using a safeword wouldn't be so bad.

***

Patrick hadn't been in the mood today, it was a rare occurrence but it happens. Art and Tashi clearly had been, so Patrick had gone along with it.

On the couch watching some bullshit home renovation show that Tashi put on when she wanted to pretend like they were actually going to watch TV. Patrick had observed the way they got closer, Art rubbing at Tashi's thigh as she kept directing his hand up further.

He liked watching them like this, it was still nice this time but he just couldn't find it in himself to get horny. They kept looking over at him and he felt the need to insert himself, joining in at Tashi's other side, kissing at her neck. He's sure it will come to him soon.

It doesn't, even as they all stumble into the bedroom, making out, getting each other undressed until they were all naked. Patrick lay out, enjoying watching them, being close to them, but he just wasn't horny.

He could just watch them fuck, he's done it before, but the fun of that is that Art and Tashi get to see how bad he wants them. How he can't have them. He'll sit watching, dick straining through his pants if he's tied up, or furiously jerking off if he's not.

But that only works if he's hard. They're not going to want him sitting there, flaccid and not interested in fucking them. He's no use to them like that. What's the point of him being in the room? He'll probably have to go sleep in the guest room while they fuck it out.

What's the point of him even being here at all, if he's not going to fuck them? Isn't that why they're letting him stay? Isn't that why anyone lets him stay?

"Patrick," Art snaps him out of his thoughts, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just zoned out," he looks up at them.

"Right," Tashi says, slow.

Before they can think about it too much he pushes himself up to join again, make himself useful, prove why he's here. He grabs the back of Tashi's head pressing his lips to hers, letting Art come up behind him, his front against Patrick's back.

Tashi pushes at him, wanting him to turn to Art, meaning she wants them to kiss for her. He can work with that. He's not getting hard but he can work with it.

Tashi's at his back now, kissing his neck, he connects his and Art's lips, trying to make it good. He wonders how long he can get away with it.

"I want you to fuck me," he whispers to Art.

"How bad?" Art asks, but then, shit, he's reaching his hand down his body, "Patrick?"

"Yeah?" He pretends not to know what Art is asking.

"What's wrong?" Tashi rests her chin on his shoulder.

"He's not-" Art starts but Patrick stops him.

"That's why I said I wanted you to fuck me, don't need my dick for that," he tries to lean back in but Art pulls away. Patrick tries not to let it sting.

"I don't think he's going to want to fuck you if you're not into it," Tashi interjects.

"We can do doggy style, that way he'll never know," Patrick attempts but clearly it isn't funny to them, "I just mean, I'm sure little Patrick will perk up after some action."

"Don't fucking-" Art starts before adjusting himself, "if you're not in the mood it's okay."

"I'll get in the mood, or" he has an idea, slipping off the bed, getting on his knees, "I can blow you, let you use my mouth."

"Not the point Patrick," Tashi narrows her eyes.

"Don't worry I won't leave you out, you can sit on my face after," he grins at her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tashi's suddenly snapping, desperation tinging her words, "of course we don't want to fuck you when you're not into it, who do you think we are?"

"I know," he gets out, voice small.

"Then why are you so insistent?" Art cuts in.

"It's what I'm here for."

What I am for, in general. He wants to say.

"Is that what we're for?" Tashi raises an eyebrow at him.

"It's your house," is all he can think to say, but it's clearly wrong because both their faces drop.

"What and you're paying your way here with your body or something, is that what you think?" Tashi's angry, and all he can do is stay knelt, "we're your fucking pimps?"

"Well technically you'd be Johns, since you're the customers," he jokes.

Tashi just stands up and starts getting dressed silently, before walking out, closing the door behind her. Then he's just left kneeling, staring up at Art.

Art turns away, reaching for his clothes too. Patrick can't even move, just left naked and alone.

"Get up here," Art speaks, shaking Patrick out of his thoughts, "and put some clothes on."

He finally gets up, grabbing his boxers, pulling them on silently before taking a seat next to Art on the edge of the bed.

"I don't get it, since when would you sleep with someone, not for your own pleasure?"

"Are you calling me selfish?" Patrick smiles.

Art finally returns it, "yeah, I am."

Tashi comes back in, standing with her hands on her hips but she looks on edge, "Are you ready to be serious now?"

You came back. He doesn't say that.

She looks between them both, "why are you smiling?"

"Art was telling me how selfish I usually am," Patrick explains.

Tashi's lips twitch at that and she moves to sit on the bed with them, on Patrick's other side.

"That's why I'm confused, it's not like you to be like this," her voice goes softer, "you really think we're that awful?"

"It's not a big deal okay, it's not about you," he just wants to move on.

"Do you actually think we'd kick you out for not fucking us?" Art looks nervous, fiddling with his fingers.

"I don't know," Patrick does know, but he's not going to say. Not going tell Art he's scared of being alone again, "it happens."

"What do you mean?" Art asks.

Patrick groans, falling back and throwing an arm over his face, "nothing."

It makes him feel like a child.

"Patrick, you know when I saw you at the hotel with that woman, how often do you do that?" Tashi pushes not letting him off, and shit, she's too smart.

"What woman?" Art questions.

"Don't be jealous," Patrick interjects but they both ignore him.

"He was using a date to find a place to sleep," Tashi answers and Patrick peeks out from under his arm to see his reaction. Art actually grimaces.

Ugh.

"So what? Sorry I can't afford fancy fucking hotels every week," his skins itches with the feeling of their eyes on him, "you can't be mad at me for sleeping around, it's none of your business."

They were married to eachother, and they're mad at him for sleeping with a few (many) random people? It's not fair.

"I'm not mad, I'm concerned," Art tries to stroke his thigh, probably in comfort, but it makes him feel worse.

"Fucking prudes," he mutters to himself, "you expected me to celibate for a decade? Me?"

"Did you ever do this with them? Having sex when you weren't hard?" Tashi won't let up and he hates how she's picking him apart.

"Well if I'm on a date with a complete stranger and asking to go back to their place, it's kind of expected, I can't just not have sex with them" he says trying to prove how ridiculous it would be but they just look more worried, "most of the time I was into it, I like to fuck," he shrugs.

"But not all the time?" Art presses.

"I guess, but it's not like I could just be like oh sorry I don't want to have sex right now but can you just let me stay in your house anyway?" He laughs but it's a hollow fake thing.

It really wasn't often but sometimes when he'd been staying at someone's for a few nights, and he was tired from a match he wouldn't really want to have sex that night. Or when someone didn't look like their picture. Or when they were into something that he wasn't. Or he was into it but didn't particularly trust the person.

Sometimes he would leave, just sleep in his car instead or find another date if it wasn't too late. But other times he really needed a place and it felt worth it, it's not like he was being forced or anything. There just weren't that many options.

"Patrick you have to know that's kind of fucked," Art is moving the arm off his face, trying to look him in the eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it," he can't get into it now, not with their faces looking like that.

Art tries to say something else but Tashi saves him, "we can stop for tonight."

He knows they'll have to talk about it another time but he's grateful she's finally letting him off the hook.

"But you can't do that with us, ever again," she continues, sharp and serious, "we're not random strangers from a fucking dating app. You have to tell us if you're not in the mood."

"I know," he replies, looking at the ceiling.

"We're not going to kick you out for not having a boner," Art says it so sincerely that it makes Patrick laugh.

Art glares at him.

"I believe you, man, it's just the way you worded it," Patrick holds his hands up in surrender, Art smiles, and he thinks even Tashi does a little.

"Alright, let's just go to sleep," Art taps his leg.

They let him sleep in their bed that night, the first time he's been allowed to do that outside from when they pass out there after sex.

It's nice. Really nice.

***

This time had been great. He'd been in the mood. Really in the mood. Grabbing at Tashi and Art desperately, touching himself even when they told him not to. He knew how to get what he wanted.

Laid out on his back with his hands above his head tied to the bed post. Art was fucking into him, tight grip on his thighs, and Tashi was riding his face.

It was perfect, he couldn't move, all his senses completely overtaken by them both. They'd teased him, got him close to the edge a few times but not let him over, he couldn't see but he could feel his dick straining, probably bright pink and leaking.

He could barely breathe as Tashi used his mouth to get off, grinding against his face until she was shaking with her orgasm. She slides off him and he takes in a deep breath.

Now his mouth is free he's immediately asking, "touch me?"

"You're so impatient," she's out of breath too.

"Art?" He's pleading with his eyes.

"Don't go running to him for help," she grabs his face turning it to her, "you never fucking learn."

God it's getting him off, his brain fuzzy, not working right, "can't think."

"Can't do anything right," she spits at him.

He wants to remind her he just got her off but he's too desperate, just wants somebody to touch him.

"Sorry," he gets out, moaning as Art thrusts into him somehow faster.

Tashi's smirks, like she always does when he's too fucked out to fight back anymore. When she's won.

He fucking loves it.

She takes mercy on him, "guess I can forgive you, not your fault you get so stupid on his dick. Not your fault you're such a slut for it."

He's whining, trying not to beg.

Tashi knows what he wants, she turns to Art, "what do you think, baby? Has he earned it?"

Patrick squeezes around Art making him moan, "fuck. So tight."

"Art." Tashi scolds.

"Yeah, yeah he's earned it," he rambles out.

Patrick looks up at Tashi, begging with his eyes, she's in a good mood today so she nods in agreement.

"Alright, you've earned it," she moves her hand on his face, prying his mouth open with her fingers, "but you haven't been good, this is still a punishment, so I want you choking around my fingers, okay?"

Patrick nods the best he can with her hand in his mouth like that. She does this more often now, warning him before she does something.

Then she's shoving her fingers in, without hesitation to the back of his throat. He gags around them and it makes Art fuck him harder.

"That's right," she smirks at him, then addresses Art, "only touch him when you're about to come."

It turns out that's pretty soon because Art's hips are stuttering and he's reaching for Patrick's dick. He's so close too, with Art stretching him, the ache in his arms, and the burn of the restraints on his wrists. The way Tashi is relentless with her fingers, basically fucking his mouth.

It doesn't take much more, the feeling of Art's cum spilling inside him and a few clumsy strokes pushes him over the edge.

As he finishes his hips jerk up and he instinctively takes Tashi's fingers deeper, cutting off his breathing for a moment.

When Art pulls out, and Tashi removes her hand he feels dizzy, on a different plane of existence.

He thinks they're asking him something but he can't hear, just lays there breathing.

Suddenly feeling awash with dread for some reason.

"Was I good?" He says, but it gets caught in his throat. Not sure anything actually came out.

He's vaguely aware of one of them untying his wrists, and he finally relaxes his arms at his side.

"Patrick," Art's shaking him by the shoulder, and he's finally able to hear again.

"Sorry, my ears were ringing," he gives a weak smile.

He doesn't want to get up but he knows it's time for him to go to the guest room. Tashi's mom is coming over early in the morning which means he can't sleep in their bed.

"I'll just clean up in your bathroom then go to bed," he mumbles out, on autopilot.

He gets up, aching all over. Aware of them watching him.

Was I good? Echos in his head but he keeps his mouth shut.

After cleaning the cum off himself he leaves their en suite, ready to walk past them silently to go to the guest room.

Tashi's standing there, "get in the bed," she orders.

He crawls in reluctantly, knowing it's only going to make it harder when he has to leave,"I can't fall asleep here remember, your mom's coming over early."

He's got Art on one side of him as Tashi slips in on his other side, "we'll just wake up early, she won't come to the bedroom anyway."

"You can sleep in though," Art chimes in, "you must be tired."

"Not too much," Tashi adds, pausing, "but yeah, sleep in a little."

"I can sleep here?" He still sounds out of it, half wondering if he's not hearing correctly.

"You've done it before," Tashi chuckles, all warm and soft.

"I know," he breathes out, "but never when other people will be here."

Tashi just hums, stroking his bicep, "how do your arms feel?"

"They ache a bit," he says carefully, she doesn't normally ask about that.

Art's touching him too, inspecting where the restraints had been, "and your wrists?"

"Sore, I guess," he answers.

Tashi keeps stroking him, and Art is kissing at the red marks on his wrist.

"Was I good?" Spills out of Patrick finally, and actually audible this time.

Art's face crumples a bit, but he regains composure, "yeah, you were good."

"Really, good," Tashi adds, kissing his shoulder, "so good for us, right Art?"

"The best," Art's pulling him in, cuddling him as Tashi presses up behind him.

If he had asked why they were being so nice to him Art and Tashi would've said something like this: because after you finished you went basically unresponsive, and didn't reply when we asked if you were ok. Then when you finally did, you got up like a fucking zombie, walking to the bathroom with this horrible look on your face. Felt like you needed to be treated gentle. Even if you'd never say that.

He doesn't ask though, doesn't say anything else, just lets them kiss at him, telling him that he did a good job.

Art pushes himself further up the mattress so that Patrick can fall asleep tucked into his neck, and he can kiss the top of Patrick's head. Tashi spoons him from behind, an arm draped over him.

He falls asleep pressed between them, they hold him tight, covering every part of him, squeezing out the last drops of loneliness.

***

an: not proofread but will probably be cross posting to ao3 soon, thank you for reading :) (more Patrick being treated nice in other fics, i promise 🙏)

#patrick :(((((#hope this is ok idk why i feel insecure about it 😭#challengers 2024 #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #fic #smut #artrick #patashi #trio #fanfic

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yameoto · 8 months ago

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The first thing I think of when I see this is broke ex patrick zweig

broke ex!patrick whose good morning text is simply a venmo request. broke ex!patrick who calls you pissdrunk to pick him up from bars so you can foot the bill. broke ex!patrick whose sending u 32 voicemails at 4am that u don’t even open. because he’s done this before and you didn’t get the sound of his filthy pants n the sloppy sound of his dick slapping against some other girls mouth out of your head, in his vain attempts to get u jealous. one new voicemail for each new girl. calling them the names he used to call you “pretty fuckin’ princess” “y’so good. so much better—“ and the second last one is punctuated by the sound of her sputtering, choking, gagging (she doesn’t take it as well as you). n he’s cursing and grunting and then he moans your name as he comes. guttural and ripping deep from his chest, completely unmistakable; and the next voicemail is the girl jerking back. spitting his dick out of her mouth n slapping him across the face. broke ex!patrick sending u a slew of more voicemails after that that’s just him jerking himself off n being like “fuck baby i miss your tight lil pussy so bad.” “m’sorry ‘m’sorry. i’ll pay you back next time. swear. pay you back with this fat fucking cock if you just—“

#yam talks #inbox !#.misc #i will make the bot #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #challengers #challengers smut #challengers x reader #patrick zweig drabble

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jesuistrestriste · 2 months ago

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Divorced Art finally going on a date after a couple years of being single after Patrick forced him out of the house, they go to a bar and Patrick hooks him up with twenty something girl. They go back to his place and hook up, she tugs his hair making him throw his head back when she rides him 😔

and art’s just letting it allll happen ! letting this college-aged chick slap and pull him around in his own apartment. she didn’t even seem to notice his tennis trophies lining the mantle when she first came inside, instead focusing all of her energy on climbing into his lap and bouncing her tight wet pussy over his lap.

she’s gasping and moaning and beaming down at him, her hands on his chest now as she rocks back and forth. she’s perfect; smelling like vanilla and tasting like cherry lipgloss.

and he’s, well— he’s a mess.

“you like that, Art?” she whispers into his neck before she bites down on his shoulder so hard that he yelps and can’t stop his hips from reflexively thrusting up into her for more.

he nods, but that’s about all he can do.

his eyes are too busy rolling back, his legs are too busy digging his heels into the carpet, and his hands are too busy fondling her perky tits. he’s more than preoccupied. she feels fucking amazing. his balls are drawing up, and he’s sure it hasn’t even been three minutes yet.. how embarrassing..

“you’re such a good boy,” she licks over the bite mark, teeth-shaped indents forming a crescent over his skin, “you gonna behave for me, Art? hmm?”

ugh, he’s a goner.

#she spits in his mouth and he comes inside her #he just gets so lost in it #i wanna play with dilf!art so bad it’s not even funny anymore #sage’s asks #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader

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sunsburns · 9 months ago

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need tashi making making me take the strap while art and patrick are above me

bruh and i know her strap is fucking big too. like just imagine her behind you, hands on your ass and hips, a tight grip as she tugs you closer, pushing her strap into you. and you're wincing into the sheets, salty tears in your eyes at the stretch as she goes in real slow and surprisingly gentle while you tremble under her.

“‘m almost in, baby,” she mutters under her breath, humming softly. at the same time, art kisses her neck, leaving bruises in his wake. “c’mon, i know you can take it.” tashi continues to push the tip of the silicone into your hole while patrick runs his fingers up and down your spine, grinning at the way you shudder at his touch.

it’s only after a few more gentle strokes that she finally pushes the whole thing in and she’s fucking you relentlessly; a little rougher than art, a lot more gentle than patrick. she watches the way her cock sinks in and out of you, relishing the moans and whines you make. “look at you,” she mewls, “taking it like a good girl...”

when art leaves tashi’s side, it’s to go to you, to kiss your ass, then up your back, momentarily stopping to suck on patrick’s fingers before he tangles his hands into your hair to pull your head up from the pillows. your mouth hangs open, breathless sighs escaping your lips before he starts to kiss you, tongue, teeth and spit.

you only stop when you feel patrick start to rub at your sensitive clit while tashi speeds up. art continues to eat up every single moan you let out, running his tongue over your own, his free hand reaching down to toy with your perked nipples, fighting back his urge to suck on them.

when you cum, unravelling under their touch, tashi doesn’t top. her grip grows tighter at her hips, and if she’s feeling cheeky she'd slap your ass with her cock still deep inside you. you moan her name and she licks her lips, “you've been so good, can you give me another? i know you can.”

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temporarywelcome · 5 months ago

Text

Devil's Night, 1946 - James Patrick March

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Many years have passed since you and March have split up, meeting again in the Hotel Cortez when you need him to do a simple task he's been procrastinating on for years... distractions happen

CW: smut, porn with WAY too much plot, fingering, angry sex, p in v, possessive!james, dom!james (kinda), sub!reader (kinda), a slap to the cooter

A/N: they're both vampires it's mentioned like twice it really doesn't matter lmao. Pretend women have some more rights in 1946. I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS ON HIS BDAY BUT ALAS... life.

________

The Hotel Cortez hasn’t changed in the slightest since the last time she saw it.

It still was bustling with guests and patrons, with loud chatter at the bar and silent gossiping in the sitting area. There was a couple seated in one of the love seats, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

The sight made Y/N grimace.

It reminded her of how things used to be. How things were between Y/N and James Patrick March, the owner of the establishment. They were practically glued at the hip, her painted black nails always gazing his skin, his hand always firmly on her lower back. Always together. In love.

That was long in the past.

Striding towards the front desk, Y/N eyed the little receptionist up and down, “Hello, is Mr. March in tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist, her name tag reading Laura, replied. “He’s currently in a meeting in his office. How may I help you?”

“I wish to see him. Now,”

Laura raised a brow, awkwardly clearing her throat, “He’s in his meeting, ma’am, he might take some time. If you’re in a rush, you can write him a message?”

Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance, lips curling into a sneer, “Tell him to wrap it up. His wife would like to speak to him,”

____

Within minutes, Laura was ushering her into the office of James Patrick March.

Like Y/N expected, as soon as James was aware of her presence, he had kicked everyone out of his office, eager to see her. He was seated at his desk, a cigar between two long fingers, wearing his usual white button down, black suspenders, dress pants, and shoes combo. To accompany it was his carefully gelled hair. Y/N remembered doing it for him every morning, a little bonding experience the two of you used to have.

“It’s been a long time, my dear,” he finally said after a moment, his usual James March smirk appearing on his annoyingly handsome face, “I was beginning to miss you,”

“Hello, James,” Y/N replied, making no move to step closer to him, “It has been a very long time,”

“You haven’t aged a bit since the last time I saw you, dearest,” he complimented, rising up from his seat, “Just as ravishing as ever,”

“How can I age, James? You took that from me,” Y/N laughed bitterly. She adjusted her large black fur coat, eyeing the room. It was practically the same as before, “It’s been twenty years, James. Possibly time to renovate,”

“You’ve always been so kind, darling,” he strode towards her, taking her hand, “Now how may I assist you?” he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to her knuckles.

“Take a guess,” she snatched her hand back, slipping a hand into her designer purse and pulling out a neatly piled stack of papers. She walked to his desk, and being, well, a man, James’ eyes travelled to her ass, admiring the way her tight black dess esentuated her curves. He was snapped out of his thoughts when she slammed the papers down ont the desk. “Sign the papers,”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him over her shoulder, “Sign the damn papers,”

“What papers? I believe I don’t know what you speak of, my love,” he placed his finished cigar in an ash tray.

“Cut the act, James,” Y/N hissed, taking a pen from his desk. She turned to face him, holding it up, “It’s been twenty years. What’s the point of doing this any more?”

“Doing what?”

“James,” she clenched her fists, “It’s been twenty years! I want a fucking divorce!”

A laugh left him, a dark chuckle, “That’s what this is about? The silly divorce? And for a second I thought you missed me,” he opened up a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses, “You came to me on this day just to harrass me? On such a special day?”

“Special day?” she scoffed, “What’s so special about it?”

“Oh, my dear,” he brought an arm around her, leaning in,” It’s Devil’s Night,” he whispered into her ear, breath tickling her skin.

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, “I remember. However, I don’t give a damn. Just sign the papers and I’ll be out of your hair,”

“But I don’t want you to go,”

“But I want to go,” she shot back.

James shook his head, taking a drag of his cigar, “You really want to end a twenty year marriage like this?”

Y/N barked out a laugh, “We were only together for a month of it,”

“Yes, till you left me,” he snapped, sudden venom in his tone, “You didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t leave even a note. Just some blasted divorce papers.”

“So you did get them?” she mused, digging into her bag and plucking out a cigarette, bringing it to her lips. Despite his anger, James still immediately brought his lighter to her cigarette, like he always did when they were together. She glared at him, dropping her lighter back into her purse and taking a puff, “From that letter you sent fifteen years ago, I was quite confused.”

“Ah, what did I write in that letter again?”

“Hm,” she pretended to think, “First, I had wrote you telling you to sign the damn papers. You then wrote back saying you never got any papers. You said I would just have to meet with you to sort this out.”

“And you never did,” he pointed out the obvious, politely holding out a glass of scotch for her, which she dd not take, “So why now? Why not continue on with how things have been?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“Well why?” he pressed, stepping forward, “What’s so different now than fifteen years ago? Ten years ago? One year ago? What’s so different? What is so-?”

“I’m engaged!”

There went the scotch.

It fell from his grasp immediately, the glass shattering onto the floor like little puzzle pieces, “...Excuse me?”

Y/N groaned, holding up her left hand, revealing an golden engagment ring with a modest diamond, “I’m engaged,”

James gripped her wrist, examining the ring closely, “How pathetic! You don’t even like gold, you love silver. And this diamond! It’s practically microscopic! How could you settle for a man that not only can’t tell your taste but is poor?”

She rolled her eyes, “How materialistic, James,”

“It’s true! It doesn’t even compare to to the ring I proposed to you with,” To Y/N’s surprise, James yanked up his necklace, revealing the charm that was neatly tucked under his dress shirt. Two rings, one silver with a dark trim and a comically large ruby in the middle, a diamond on either side. The other ring was more modest, still silver, with small diamonds embedded into it. Her engagement and wedding ring.

“You… you kept the rings?”

“Of course I kept the damn rings!” he scoffed, raising his left hand now. He was still wearing his wedding ring. “Of course I kept the only remembrance I had of the wife who left me!”

“You turned me into a damn vampire!” she shot back, shoving him angrily, “Did you expect me to be happy with you?”

“I wanted us to spend eternity together-”

“I didn’t even know you were a vampire!” she shot back, “And you just turned me without even asking me! F-Forcing me to drink your blood, I thought it was some devilish ritual!”

“It was practically a ritual to declare our love!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I felt so loved then. I was terrified! I didn’t know what you were going to do! You… You could have been planning some sacrifice or God knows what, I-”

His lips were then on hers, his body pushing hers against the desk. She gasped, feeling the sharp sting of the hard wood hitting her back. His hands went firmly on her hips, blunt nails digging into her flesh as he kissed her hungrily, her burgundy lipstick smearing all over both of their lips.

She should have pushed him away. She really should have. Should have pushed him away and just fucking kill him to end this nonsense once and for all, but she couldn’t. Instead, her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him back just as feverishly.

“You made me wait twenty years for you,” he growled, lips leaving hers to find her jaw, then her neck, kissing and sucking on the skin with need. “Twenty years without you,”

“N-Not like you missed me,” she panted, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“How could you say such a thing? I have been patiently waiting. Have you ever seen any reports of the famous James March with a new mistress?” He tugged up her ebony dress till it was at her waist, pushing her onto the desk. He plucked the cigarette out of her shaking hand and discarded it into the ashtray.

“Well, no-”

“Because there has not been any.” He said firmly, beginning to rub her through her lace panties. She whined out, grip on his hair tightening. “I have not touched a single other woman in twenty years while you've gone around whoring it up with all these other men who mean nothing compared to me,”

James took it upon himself to relieve her of her undergarments, his large fingers rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles, “Well? Who is he? Tell me about this bastard,”

“His n-name is William,” she choked out, hands going to his shoulders to ground herself, “He loves me very much,”

“Yeah? What does this William do for a living?” one of those long fingers slid through her wet folds and into her awaiting heat.

She bit her bottom lip, not just to stiffle her moans but to prolong her answer. “Um…”

“What does he do for a living?” James repeated, pushing in a second finger and curling them inside of her.

“Ahh! He's… A hotel owner…” She trailed off.

He stopped his movements, looking at her with wide eyes, “He's a what?”

“Hotel owner,”

His eyes darkened, “So my replacement is just some cheap copy?” he hissed, utterly offended, “For that you might of well have just stayed with me!” His fingers left her cunt, causing her to whine with need. “Shut up,” Next thing she knew, a large hand was delivering a harsh slap to her sex.

She cried out, “James!”

“I said shut up,” he grumbled, hastily undoing his belt buckle and suspenders, pulling down the front of his pants and boxers, his leaning cock springing free. With one hand on her hip, he began to stroke himself, “Once I'm done with you, all thoughts of your cheap new fiance will be out the window.”

How the hell did they end up like this? She came here to demand for him to sign the damn divorce papers so she could marry the man she supposedly loved, yet here she was about to get her back blown out on her ex-lover’s desk.

James lined himself up with her entrance, slowly pushing in. He always started off gentle and romantic, but Y/N knew better. This was just the beginning. “How does that feel, my love? Still thinking about that bastard William?” he said the name venomously.

“N-No, James,” she whined out, legs wrapping around his waist as he began to thrust in and out of her, tantalizingly slow. He was teasing her, doing it on purpose.

“Can he fill you like I can? Hit just the right spots like I do?” he continued, nipping at her earlobe, “I bet you don’t get this wet for him, bet he struggles pushing into you because he just doesn’t get you excited enough,” James smirked, both hands grabbing her waist as he sped up his pace, sliding in and out of her clenching walls with ease, “That’s never been a problem with me. You’ve always come to me with open arms… and open legs,”

“Oh, shut up, you bastard,” Y/N grumbled, nails beginning to dig into his back as he found a steady pace, hips snapping repeatedly against hers with each thrust. “We were never able to have normal sex, huh?”

“Well, you never stopped cursing me out,” he replied cheekily, hands going to her large fur coat, and sliding it off of her shoulders, “I think I got used to you berating me while I kindly pleasured you,”

“You got off on it, don’t lie,” she shot back with an eye roll, until he hit that perfect spot and she gasped, “Oh James do that again James please do that again-”

“Ah, that’s what I like to hear,” he mused, angling his hips to hit her G-spot over and over again. His hands went to the zipper of her dress, bringing it down so that the entirety of the garment was bunched up by her waist. “Much better,” he said smugly, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

“Ahh!” she whined, playing with her other nipple in pleasure, “Right there right here!”

He began thrusting into her faster, a groan leaving his lips as he plunged deep into her warmth, “Look at that, darling, your cunt is taking my cock so deeply, how greedy,” he teased, admiring the way she involuntarily clenched around his thick length with each thrust, swallowing his dick.

“Greedy for your cock only, you damn bastard,” she cried out. Couples give each other such endearing or powerful names in the bedroom, but of course that had to be her favorite for him. Bastard. Even when they were madly in love, that was what she called him. “It always filled me up so w-well,”

“Really, darling?” he grinned, reaching a hand between their bodies and gently rubbing her clit. Her eyes snapped open and she whined, lips parting into the perfect “o” shape. “Filled you so perfectly? Then why did you try to replace me, huh? With some cheap copy? Sounds like we know who the real bastard is here,”

The combination of his dick pounding into her and his fingers expertly rubbing her clit had her seeing stars. She dug her nails into his shoulders, head falling back as she moaned out in pleasure, giving him the perfect view of her breasts bouncing every time his hips met hers, skin slapping against skin. She wasn’t hearing a word he said at this point, digging her heels into his back, ankles locked, urging him deeper into her. Knowing she was still in her blood-red high heels turned him on even more, he used to always love seeing her in heels.

“Damn you, you bastard, I’m going to cum!” she gasped, biting her bottom lip, “Damn you, damn you,”

James laughed, leaning his head down to bite her pulse point roughly, “You’re gonna cum all over your ex-lover’s cock, my queen? Cum all over my cock and make a mess of yourself? Do it, I dare you,” he lifted his head to survey her facial expressions as he continuously snapped his hips forward, drilling into her in abandon. He then reached out, his large hand going around her throat, and he didn’t even have to squeeze, she was cumming.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Y/N squealed, cunt clenching around him one last time before he felt her thick fluids coat his length.

“That’s it, my love, cum all over my cock, it’s my turn now, gonna fill you up, make you mine again,” he buried himself inside of her as he came, painting her walls white. Hips sputtering, he came to a halt, arms going around her waist, “All mine, no one else can have you but me,” he nuzzled her nose with his own, waiting for some movement. Signs of life.

And then her gorgeous eyes opened, looking up at him tiredly, “I came here for a divorce,”

“Damn that divorce,”

“Damn that divorce,” she repeated, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Dramatic girl, leaving me all by my lonesome for twenty years just to come back to me,”

Y/N hummed in response, closing her eyes, “Take that as punishment,”

James let out a soft chuckle, stroking her soft hair, “Have I been punished enough?”

“I suppose,” she pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes, “Happy birthday, James,”

_____

how tf does one write dominate men sorry I usually like subs

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