#except tennis sometimes

[trickstarbrave]

i actually won 4 tickets to the diamondback's baseball game by catching a ball at a school event (i suck at catching) and everyone proceeded to dogpile on me swarming me and trying to rip it from me and then kicking me when i laid on the ground with it under me like i was being attacked by a bear. until the teachers pulled them off.

i was like in 5th grade and i was just like. not phased by the other children assaulting me for tickets. i didnt even like baseball i wanted them for my grandma (she took me to the game anyways. even though I Don't Like Baseball)

this is not the only time i have been swarmed by children trying to assault and/or kill me. but it was one of the funniest because i was just unphased by it. i thought about it every time we had to go to the gym where it happened (they took us to the hs gym for it. fsr. even though my middle school was like. across town. i guess bc we didnt rly have a gym? idk)

[flurry-of-stars]

︵‿︵‿୨✩୧‿︵‿︵

*taps microphone* New chapter for These Hollow Halls coming soon--

[janniksnr]

so accurate

[steelycunt]

tennis looks so fucking boring im sorry. cannot get on board with a sports event where there is no telling if it will end in one hour or five. and not only is there no telling but its also the most boring game to watch ever. so like you can rest assured that what you will be watching is just a ball travelling back and forth across a net but what you dont know is whether it will finish in time for you to get home for dinner or maybe your mother's birthday which is two and half weeks away

[muirneach]

hubi’s absolute utter lack of swag is part of his endearing charm but at the same time could we buy him some new pants. or literally anything. please

[mecachrome]

notes from nicole piastri's interview on red flags pod

oscar started playing monopoly and chess when he was 4-5 but he was too good at chess (relative to nicole) that she boycotted it

nicole opened her twitter account because oscar wasn't replying to her at boarding school and she needed a place to chastise him ("can you not answer... i KNOW you're on your phone") (it worked because he started replying to her there)

instead of unflappable she calls him "conservative"

even during christmas and birthdays he was never super excited, one time they went with a group of 5 mums and 5 kids to a hi-5 concert (popular australian kids' musical group) and while all the kids were "going nuts" oscar just sat there "focused the whole time" and didn't smile or move lmfao. they were like 3 years old

didn't know what she was doing with oscar as a baby because he was her first child and her mothers' group was her only reference and they went "isn't the best part of the day when you wake up and go to their crib and they smile at you?" and she was like ??? because oscar would wake up and just SCREAM every single day needing to be out of there immediately and she thought that was just normal... then she had the girls and went "ahhhh... so that's what they're talking about"

when he was younger than 2 he needed them to read car magazines to him and was already obsessed with all things automotive and while they were driving would just name off and point out car brands by their badges

for a long period of time he behaved like he was a car and would "spin" his wheels and pretend to accelerate and run like a car lol

did a big burnout the first time he was on a bike (it had training wheels but he still learned very early)

as a mum she wishes he'd chosen golf or tennis since it's much safer than f1 and sometimes people tell her that she technically had a say in that when he was a kid and she said "but i didn't! it was just in him!!!"

won an academic award when he was 13 and she was president of the parents' community so she presented it to him, normally these events are super formal and you simply shake hands but she gave him a big kiss and instead of acting embarrassed or spluttering he looked at the crowd, nodded silently, and walked off

came back for the summer a few years ago and they were biking on the beach together when she had to brake hard to avoid a kid and went over, when she recovered and got back on he went "are you all right?" very deadpan but after they got home they checked his heart rate monitor and saw that he was totally steady the whole time except for when she crashed and his heart rate went through the roof, told him "ah so you do have a heart... we just don't see it"

"there's no sibling that can piss him off?" "well he's a boy with three girls so he just doesn't go there because he's never going to win"

met lily in person for the first time when he came home for the melbourne grand prix (was still alpine reserve), at midnight oscar was like "hey mum you know the dts film crew are coming tomorrow morning right?" and she was like WHAT... and he was like yeah it'll be chill they just want to film us having breakfast like a normal family or whatever and she was like Mate you haven't lived here for 5 years now do you know what breakfast looks like. it looks like your sisters storming downstairs and grabbing an inappropriate breakfast and storming out the door giving me the finger!!! and then the next morning lily comes down and nicole is like "oh is oscar up?" and lily is like no... i think he's still in bed... (many such cases) and then mae refused to be in it so she got dressed and ran off to school 2 hours early to escape them. and then the mclaren fiasco happened and the whole thing got cut out of dts anyway

when she said "oh my god you met matt damon!" he was just like (shrugs) "yeah... yeah..."

they communicate by facetiming and he's Always lying in bed. one time in bahrain he was leaning back on an ornate tapestry and she asked what hotel he was staying at and he was like oh i'm at the royal palace i'm like a guest of the crown prince. she freaked out and was like "oh my god!!! get your head off the tapestry!!!" and he just looked back like ? no it's fine it looks pretty old lol

called her to tell her that he signed his f1 contract and when he said mclaren she Realized and was like oh no i love daniel!! and he straight up deadpanned "yeah everyone loves daniel. that's going to be a problem..." and said verbatim "of all the f1 drivers ever daniel is the worst one to be replacing"

one time in f4 chris couldn't go to a race and billy monger had just had his crash so she flew to the uk for the weekend to support him and when she was driving him back to boarding school she was happy because she had 2 hours to spend with him and she wasn't sure when she'd see him again but instead he slept the whole way through and the moment they got back to school he went "ahhhh... home sweet home" and she wanted to slap him lmfao

first day of primary school when he was 5 years old he said he didn't need her to walk him to school and she was like "well i actually do mate" so he forced her to walk behind him the whole way and the moment they got there he turned to her and went "all right i'm here you can go now" 😭

the chinese & italian & yugoslavian is on chris's side of the family while nicole's is scottish & irish ("that's where the pasty skin comes from")

red flags pod sent her a shirt with oscar's face composed of His Tweet and she showed it to him and he immediately said he wanted it

he gave her a small warning before he posted the tweet but it was just like "mum so this is going to happen just don't worry about it. it's all under control. it'll be fine" and was very calm the whole time

"we just had to trust that his personality would come through at some point, because the way he came across was not at all what he's like. people will work out who the real you is so just continue to do what you do" 🥺

all of the kids were obsessed with Cars (2006)

likes his mum's golden syrup dumplings and grandmother's rumballs

AT THE SINGAPORE GP IN 2023 HATTIE DISAPPEARED FOR HOURS TO GO SEE A K-POP CONCERT 😭😭😭😭 i think it was p1h lmfao (nicole was asked for her favorite group and went "i have no idea. five boys") ((it's txt)) meanwhile oscar is only into house music and she thinks everything he plays is the same song

did pilates when he went home but never with her and thinks it's a lot harder than it looks

takes him minimum 24 hours to respond to anything she sends

she had an exact conversation with oscar where she asked who he wanted to be teammates with and he said "well if i go up against lando i don't even have to get close the first year because everyone knows how good he is" 😭

oscar you are so you 🧡

[jesuistrestriste]

♡ Nice Guys Finish Last; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: soft dom!art donaldson, sub!reader, afab/fem reader, porn w/ a little plot, penetrative sex, unsafe sex/pullout method, slight edging (reader!receiving), equal desperation, praise, general filth, art is a softie until he's not

wc: 4.2 k

*does not include challengers spoilers!*

prev. art donaldson fic : <3 here <3

It was currently 11 PM in the state of New York, and Art Donaldson was in your hotel room.

-

Earlier today, you had competed in a long singles tennis tournament for a cash prize, and had beat every other girl in the bracket. You walked away from it with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket than you had walked in with, and a smug grin on your glossy lips.

Art Donaldson had competed in a similar tournament at the same venue, except it involved doubles teams playing against one another. He had played with his typical partner, Patrick Zweig, and they, too, had beat everyone in their bracket.

Tomorrow, they would be playing against one another to determine the ultimate winner.

You had watched them play, and they had watched you play too.

After the venue had shut down for the night, you had begun to wander back to your hotel a few blocks away and coincidentally bumped into the two boys heading back to the same building.

You three talked--or rather, they had buttered you up with compliments as you all went up the elevator, and suddenly you were in their hotel room drinking cheap beer from cold metal cans.

They both flirted relentlessly with you for about an hour or two, before Patrick had called it a night (and had given up on trying to woo you) and told you and Art that he was going to sleep.

Art had given you a look and nodded towards their room's door with a small smile, silently suggesting something. Thirty seconds later the both of you were standing alone in the hotel hallway. He chatted you up and praised your tennis-playing for about ten more minutes, his blue eyes staring into yours with an earnest desire to hold your attention. You had laughed and flushed with a nervous heat while he sang your praises, and then a bout of silence came over the two of you. He looked down to his shoes, letting out a soft chuckle, and then back up to your eyes.. and then down to your lips. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above made the silence seem more tense than it already was.

After tossing the reality of this interaction around in your head, you had realized that his kind, sensitive, charming persona was effectively rendering you weak in the knees..

"You're really pretty, by the way.. i don't know if i've said that yet, but you are," he had spoken in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall as a lock of his strawberry-blonde curls hung in the center of his forehead.

And that was it.

Five minutes later he was in your hotel room.

-

The both of you kicked your shoes off in the doorway, and then moved to sit on the edge of your hotel room bed. Your chest and hands felt strangely hot as the young, talented tennis player sat there next to you. After a few moments of shared bashful glances, you started to notice things about him that you hadn't before.

Sometimes when he smiled, only one corner of his lips would lift up. When that happened, it looked more like he was smirking than he was smiling, which made him seem either disingenuous or disinterested -- even though it seemed that neither of those things were true.

He smelled like generic aftershave, faint sweat, and warm skin, which was a pleasant contrast to the smell of the hotel room. While the hotel was clean, it was also old, which made the permeating scent of the carpet akin to something like the stale basement of a childhood home.

He fidgeted subtly with his hands, staring into your eyes before averting them to look around at your luggage and tennis bag on the floor.

"So.. you said you're going to Stanford this fall, right?" you say, leaning back on your palms.

"Yeah, yeah," he nods, turning his head to look back to you again with a sheepish smile, “and you’re going to Harvard?”

“Mhm,” you hum, smiling back at him, “is Patrick going with you?”

He laughs a little, his brows furrowing, “Patrick? Hell no.”

You shake your head, “why not?”

“Patrick isn’t the college type. He wants to go pro immediately.”

“Ohh.. right, i forgot he mentioned that.”

“Yeah,” Art shrugs, still giving you a soft look as he shifts a little in his spot on the end of the mattress.

“I think you’re better off at Stanford without him,” you tease slightly, a playful smirk on your face.

He smiles wider, “Why?”

“I think he’d just get you into trouble,” you chuckle.

Art laughs again, a tiny bit harder than he did before, and you’re not sure if it’s because he genuinely likes your playfulness or if it’s because he’s a little nervous.

"You don't think I can cause trouble?" he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head after letting a soft giggle bubble up and out of your chest in response.

"Nah, not really."

"Why's that?"

"You're just so.. so nice."

He scoffs lightly and gently rolls his eyes, reaching up to tuck some of his messy hair behind one of his ears. He chews a little on the inside of his cheek.

"What?" you laugh.

"Everyone me and Patrick meet thinks he's this cool 'bad-boy' and I'm just this.. meek little 'nice guy'," he chuckles, matching your body language now by also leaning back on his palms.

Your smile falters slightly when he does this, but only because now the sleeve of his gray tee shirt was brushing against your bare shoulder, and your faces were a short distance apart. If you tried, you could probably just lean in and kiss him..

"It's not a bad thing to be a nice guy," you smirk, continuing your guys' little back-and-forth.

"Yeah, but there's, like, connotations behind that idea of a guy."

"What 'connotations'?"

He lets out a stiff chuckle, averting his eyes down to his legs before he returns your eye contact once again as he speaks, "I don't know.. that I'm 'shy', or that i 'cant be assertive'.."

You smile, feeling another wave of warmth creep over your stomach just from the way he was looking at you. His eyes were soft but steadily looking into yours, and each second felt like three years.

"So you're saying that those assumptions aren't true?" you tease gently, subtly moving to lean your shoulder against his. He noticed this immediately.

"God!" he laughs, slightly offended but still playing along, "do they seem true?"

"No," you say a bit softer with a smile, your eyes unintentionally drifting down to his pink lips. He noticed this too.

"Okay, good," he leans in a little more, your lips only a handful of inches apart now ".. 'cause they're definitely not."

"Really?" you chuckle, still teasing him.

He nods, "Really, really."

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your ribcage, and then you started to wonder if he could hear it. Your lips part, little breaths being let out as you lean in an extra two inches. He smirks, and then you feel him move his right hand off of the bed and over your thigh. Its gentle and almost hesitant; giving you the opportunity to say 'no' if you wanted to.. but you didn't. you definitely didn't want to say no.

Your breathing hitches a little and your thighs shift slightly to capture his fingers between your limbs, and he looks steadily into your eyes as his digits squeeze your flesh softly.

"I'm not that shy," he murmurs lowly.

And then his lips are on yours, hot and hungry and eager to please. Your brows furrow as you kiss him back with equal ferocity, and his other hand moves to gently cup your cheek.

His tongue lathes over your bottom lip, and you open your mouth wider so that he can slide it in and taste you better. He groans softly against your smooth, parted lips, his hand between your thighs sliding up to press his palm against your clothed heat. A shaky, barely audible moan escapes your lips as this happens, and he swallows it down as he kisses you harder.

Art's hands then move to slide under your athletic tank top, and he pulls away with lidded eyes to mumble lowly and warmly against your jaw, "can I take this off?"

You nod feverishly, breathing heavily, as you lift your arms above your head while he pulls your shirt up and over. He tosses it aside once it's off like it's trash to him, and then he's diving back in to kiss and suck and nip at your neck. You're sure that he'll leave marks, but you can't find the strength or willpower to deny how hot it would be to look in the mirror later and see all of the little red blotches that his pretty mouth left behind. A few soft "ahh"s and "oh"s slip from your parted lips as his tongue flicks over your pulse point like its a clit, and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. Without further warning, both of his hands slide up to grope your breasts over your sports bra, and your back arches instantly.

"I want to see more of you," Art whispers against your neck, one of his hands moving back to gently grope your thigh right under the hem of your shorts, while his other starts to hook one of his fingers under the elastic band of your bra.

"Yeah, yes," you mumble and nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his silky tongue lap gently over the sensitive spot on your lower neck again.

He pulls back, his lips shiny with his own saliva, and he lets out a small huff of air as he stands up from the bed and shifts to stand in front of where you're trembling on the edge of it.

Your eyes meet his, and you now fully realize that his whole "nice guy" thing was a facade.. maybe it was just a protective cloak he put on until he got comfortable..

Regardless, he looked different now as he stood in front of you, breathing heavily as his gaze drank in the sight of your body. He takes a step closer, his knees touching the end of the bed as his legs stood steadily between yours. He looks down, shifting his left knee to push your legs farther apart, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a whine.

Not a moment later, he's reaching down to pull your tight sports bra over your head. It drops from his grasp onto the floor, his breathing hitches as he looks down at your exposed chest, and then his hands are moving to roughly knead and squeeze at your soft flesh underneath his palms. You shudder and bite your lip. He thumbs your nipples.

His eyes move back up to return your gaze, and he leans down and starts to crawl on top of you, his body gently coaxing yours to lay back flat over the patterned comforter. You don't need a verbal cue from him to know what he wants and what his goal is; his body did all the talking -- just like it did when he played tennis.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his erection straining against the inside of his boxers as it presses against your bare abdomen. A lift of your hips is all the indication he needs from you to tell him that you're as desperate for this as he is right now, and so he gingerly begins to slide one of his hands down the front of your shorts. His touch dips under the waistband, and then before you can process the sensation, you realize that he's moving down into your panties too. One thing that you are painfully aware of, though, is the fact that he never tries to break eye contact while he does all this..

"Ahh.." you moan, your brows pinching up as you feel his warm fingertips brush over your throbbing, sensitive nub. He was hardly touching you, but it was enough to get the fire roaring in your guts. It was more than enough. He knew all the right ways to touch you.. and all the right spots to squeeze and caress.. which seemed crazy considering you two had never spoken to one another until about three or so hours ago.

He smiles gently, his eyes now moving to gaze down at your lips. The pads of Art's fingers begin to play with your clit, rubbing soft and incessant circles over the ball of nerves as you start to squirm on the bed. His head leans back down to kiss your neck and your hands shakily grab onto his shoulders. A laugh escapes him, coating your flesh in a bath of warm air, while he feels your nails dig into him. Even over the fabric of his cotton tee shirt he can feel this, and he winces slightly before the sting of your grip dissolves into pleasure and he starts to moan along with you.

A few more minutes of this go on, and the band in your stomach is stretched more and more until it feels like it's about to snap, and then-

"I really want to fuck you right now," Art murmurs against your skin, his fingers coming to a pause as he pulls his face from the crook of your neck to look down into your dazed eyes.

You blink a few times, feeling the numbing pressure in your pussy start to fade as he unintentionally edges you.

"yes, please.. I want you to.." you softly whimper, your hands reaching up to needily tug at his shirt.

"I don't have a condom," he whispers breathlessly, shaking his head softly as his gaze falls onto your lips now.

"I.." you pause, taking a second to breathe as you attempt to think over the predicament you're now in, "uhm.. I- well, I don't really care.. as long as you pull out.."

It's almost as if just the idea of him being able to be inside of you-- skin to skin; raw--sets him off, because the moment the words leave your mouth, he's letting out soft breathy moans and grinding his clothed pelvis against your thigh. You can feel him throbbing through the fabric, and now you're certain you can't wait much longer. Neither can he.

Your hands pull on his shirt again, forcing his face back down close to yours, "I want you inside of me.."

A groan and a grunt later, he's scrambling to pull his shirt off, and then his shorts, and then his strong calloused hands are gently tugging yours down as well. Art doesn't want to waste time on the act of undressing. Sure, he liked being tender and going slow most times, but this occasion was different. The more that he felt himself leaking into his underwear, the more he needed to feel your silky cunt grip around his cock. Maybe if he got your number after all this, he could go slow next time, but not now. Not when he's like this and you're like that.

When your panties are pulled down with your shorts, Art lets out a groan as he sees the fabric connecting with your delicate flesh via a glistening string of arousal from your heat.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs, his tongue moving to dip out over his bottom lip involuntarily. He pushes your shorts and panties down the rest of the way, and you urgently kick them off onto the room's carpet.

After he moves back up, one of his hands reaches down once again to your cunt. His fingers gently brush over your slicked-up folds, causing your body to jolt and shudder as you struggle to remain quiet. In the next instant, you feel his touch leave your body and you watch in awe as he brings his digits up to his lips and sucks your juices off of them. He rolls your wetness around over his tongue and his eyes roll back a little. He can't help it -- you just taste so fuckin' good.

"Art," you whisper, your voice dissolving into a soft whine, "c'mon.. just- I want you to-"

You're cut off when the man hovering over your form moves his fingers from his mouth and down to yours, effectively shutting you up.

"Suck," he whispers.

You do as you're told instantly, parting your lips to engulf his middle and ring finger in wet heat; your drool pools over his fingertips as your tongue swirls around them and tastes the mix of his saliva and the remnants of your arousal.

He watches with bated breath as you do this, his eyes never leaving your face, and he cant stop himself from pushing his hard, clothed dick against your bare cunt. Your eyes flutter. A string of whimpers echo out into the room from your chest, and you can feel more of your wetness slide down from your entrance.

Art keeps his fingers in your mouth as he uses his other hand to pull his hard-on out of his black boxer briefs, groaning as he taps your clit with the tip of it a few times. Each time his leaking cockhead touches your sensitive parts, your hips buck up. He didn't think it was physically possible to get as turned on as he was right then.

He shifts his pelvis back so that he can slide his dick over your sticky body, not pushing in quite yet, but just teasing your greedy hole. The feeling of your heady moans around his fingers cause them to vibrate, and he leans down close to your face on instinct.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes blink open and you whimper as he uses his digits to gently force your lips to part so that he can shove his tongue past them. Art licks at the inside of your mouth, groaning while he subtly removes his fingers and brings them down to your clit once more. He slots your bundle of nerves between his index and middle finger, sliding them up and down to effectively stroke over your most sensitive area as you feel his cock prodding at your hole.

While his tongue laps over yours, his mouth eagerly swallowing the obscenely loud moans you're letting out as your climax approaches once again, he begins to slide his tip into you. Your eyes instantly open wide before your face scrunches up in pleasure and your hands desperately paw at his shoulders.

He slides in another inch.

And another.

And then two more.

And then he bottoms out completely, filling you wholly with his twitching length as he pulls his face back from your lips to gasp softly.

You look up at him as his brows furrow, and you wriggle underneath him as he lets out a soft growl.

"You're so tight.. shit, you feel so good," he murmurs lowly, his eyes on yours as he starts to slide himself slowly back out before thrusting back in. You can feel him hit your cervix. You'd let him bruise it if he wanted to.

And he wants to.

"Fuck me harder," you moan softly.

"Yeah?" he smirks, breathing heavily.

"Yeah."

He leans up so that his back is straight, and he gazes down at you while he slides his hands under your form to gingerly cup your lower back.. and then he's pounding into you without further warning.

Your back arches up from his hold, and every thrust of his thick cock into your cunt is sending explosions of numbing heat throughout your lower half.

Each movement of his hips results in a lewd squelch as his pelvis slaps into the underside of your ass, and every movement sends you closer and closer to the edge. He's groaning and moaning above you, watching your every move as you squirm around and take him properly. You want to be good for him; he can tell.

Whimpers and needy whines are forced out of you as he fucks you with abandon into the mattress, and your mind is forced back into reality once you feel his hands move from your back to your sensitive tits.

"Are you gonna cum? You're squeezing down on me," he breathes out, a loud groan cutting his words off as he tips his head back. His thrusts grow sloppier, "oh god, oh fff-u-uck.."

"Ye-- Uhh- Ahh-!" you hoarsely and brokenly moan out, unable to fully give him an answer. Your hands fist the cool sheets under you as your legs start to involuntarily squeeze together with the onslaught of your impending orgasm.

Art brings his head back up to look down at you, and he shakes his head, sliding his hands down from your breasts to your legs to lift them up and spread them apart gently but forcefully.

"Keep them spread.. I know you're close," he says softly to you, "I promise I'll let you come.. just keep being good for me.. I'm almost there.."

Once his words fill your fuzzy head, you can't help but let out an obscenely loud---borderline-pornographic---moan as your thighs shake in his hold. His cock slams into you faster, but with less and less precision. He bites his lip before his jaw slacks and he lets out an equally loud moan to accompany your filthy noises.

"You're so fucking pretty... you're so-- you feel so damn good," he babbles gruffly, his touch digging into your legs as his hips rashly thrust his throbbing length in and out of your sopping pussy.

You nod, unsure of what to say or how to even respond in the state that your body is in. You're somehow limp and tense at the same time, your body shivering as your back arches up again.

"I-- I'm gonna--!" you gasp out in a shaky whimper.

He moans at your words, fucking you deeper and messier, before he leans down over you and you can feel his broad toned chest press against yours.

"Say it.." he breathes out against your ear in a soft groan.

You moan, shuddering under him as your cunt starts to rhythmically tighten around him.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine, nearly sobbing.

"Fuck," he groans, "yeah? Say it again for me."

"I'm gonna cummm-!"

"You wanna cum on my cock?"

You nod helplessly, your arms wrapped around his flushed upper back as his cock slides in and out of you; his tip constantly brushing up against that special spot in your velvety walls hidden just a couple inches inside.

"Yess-s-!" you moan, your body absolutely writhing on the bed under his heavy form.

"Okay.. alright," he breathes out hotly into your neck, "go on and cum for me."

Before you can process what's going on, your body is overwhelmed with an overpowering heat as the last thing you distinctly feel is one of Art's hands moving down your lower abdomen to then rub circles over your swollen bud with his thumb. And that's all it takes -- You’re thrown over the edge.

"Fuck! OH MY GOD, OH--!" you cry out, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you through your climax.

He groans harshly and loudly against your warm skin before his hips stutter with the feeling of your hole pulsing around him. He keeps his digit rubbing incessant, soft circles over your clit to prolong your orgasm as he forces himself to pull out with a gasp.

His balls draw up and he reaches down quickly with his other hand to stroke over his length just as he feels his release start to rise up.

As you moan tremblingly and bask in your afterglow, you try to catch your breath as you shakily push yourself up onto your elbows just in time to watch Art squirt out a thick load over your torso. Rope after rope of sticky white fluid drips and gushes from his cock and between his fingers as he jerks himself off; shuddering deeply over you and letting out little "fuck"s and "oh my god"s and "yes"s.

After a few more shaky moments tick by, his thumb comes to a halt over your clit as he watches the last drops of his cum fall onto your stomach.

He breathes heavily, biting his lip as he watches your body shake. He loves the way his cum looks on your beautiful body.. it's like liquid pearl splattered all over you. He takes several mental pictures of the scene in front of him before he collapses on top of you with a soft grin.

You chuckle breathily, wrapping your arms around him as your warm bodies stick together in the aftermath, and he presses two soft kisses to your neck. One of your hands slides up from between his shoulder blades to run some of your fingers through his messy curls. He shivers and sighs, sliding his hands under your body to hold you closer to him.

A small period of comfortable silence is held between you two as you both work to catch your breaths, before Art is the one to break the quiet with a soft murmur into your shoulder.

"So.. can I get your number?"

"After round two," you whisper with a smile.

"Deal."

note; this is for everyone who voted for soft dom!art donaldson in that poll + the anons in my inbox asking for this sort of dynamic w/ art <3 much much much love !

divider credit: @benkeibear <3

[sinner-as-saint]

drag me under

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader 

Run-through: After what has to be one of the most exhausting and exasperating meetings he’s ever had with the Bishop and Mother Superior, Father Charlie desperately needs a quick release. It was wrong, he knew and he’d repent for it later. Except, what he thought was going to stay as a secret between him and God ends up involving a third witness – you. 

Themes: smut, explicit language, mentions of infidelity, degrading kink

Fuck. He was close. 

He’d shut himself inside the confessional booth a few minutes ago because he absolutely needed to get his mind off certain things. Those meetings always left him feeling like a damned pressure cooker, and he always needed to let out some steam after. 

All that arguing, and having to keep his cool and maintain composure when all he wanted to do was yell and tell them all that he was right and they were wrong. It had to be the generational gap, but sometimes he felt like he was being tortured with how much his mindset differed from those of his superiors. Why couldn’t they just let him do things his way? 

But he pushed all that aside for a moment. Just a moment, that’s all he needed. Fist wrapped around his throbbing cock, his spit and precum giving him just the right amount of lubricant, his head thrown back against the thick wood as he worked his fist up and down his cock, as fast as he could. 

He tried to keep his gasps and moans as quiet as possible. It was late in the afternoon, there wouldn’t be anyone around during this time, but just in case. A groan left his lips anyway, and he bit his lip immediately after. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck… 

He could hear how fast his fist moved, the friction was almost just as good as how he remembered sinking into a warm body felt like. Almost, not quite as exhilarating though. 

Fuck! 

A few more tugs, a couple more unrestrained moans later, and he came with a loud sigh. Spilling all over his hand, gasping for breath as he blinked a couple times, already feeling his thoughts flowing much easier. His all black suit, his collar around his neck didn’t feel as tight and constricting anymore. 

He quickly cleaned himself up with a handkerchief he’d have to put in the trash later, he sighed one more time as he made sure to fix his clothes and was about to walk out of the booth when he heard a timid, soft, almost hesitant voice ask: 

“Are you done, Father?” 

He froze. 

Shit. 

He cleared his throat. It sounded like a young woman on the other side. He tried to look but the screen only allowed him a partial view of your face. Okay, okay, don’t panic. He could still get out of this situation. Maybe you didn’t hear what he was doing. Maybe you’d just gotten in here. Maybe you were too naive to even know what those sounds were. 

He cleared his throat again, “How, uh, how long have you been waiting for?” He tried his hardest to sound apologetic for making you wait. 

A moment of silence. Then you replied, “Long enough.” 

That voice. He knew that voice, didn’t he? 

He said your name out loud. A pause then, “Is it you?” He asked. 

A sigh. Then, “Yes, Father.” 

Ah. He let out a quiet breath, relieved. 

He had no reason to worry if it was you. You were what he called a lost little lamb, too innocent for her own good. He knew your family. They were nice people who frequented the church, and lately your parents had been worried about you since they found out that you had a troublesome boyfriend who was nowhere near the god-fearing type your family wanted you to date. 

He also knew that you, unlike your parents, were not seen very often at church. He saw you here and there, sometimes at charity events, or sometimes at the tennis court with your mom. But never in the confessional booth. 

Father Charlie sat up straight, looked ahead at the wooden door and asked, “This is your first confession?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“And what would you like to confess?” He asked, knowing he was going about this all wrong. No signs of the cross, no ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned’, but he was impatient and… intrigued. What could a shy, timid girl like you have to confess?

“I… I slept with my boyfriend.” 

He couldn’t help but turn towards the screen. He watched you as you fidgeted and squirmed. “Did you?” He didn’t recognise his own voice. 

“Yes, Father.” You answered. “But that’s not all.” 

“Oh?” 

A trembled sigh left your lips, then you said, “While we were, um, when he was...” You struggled to speak. 

And Father Charlie felt weirdly interested all of a sudden, so he urged, “It’s okay, you’re safe here.” He cooed gently, using the soothing voice he always used with everyone. “Use your big girl words, come on. When he was, what?” 

“Father, I cannot say it.” Your words sounded heavy with shame. 

So he urged you even further, “Like I said, you’re safe here. Now tell me. When he was, what? On top of you? Fucking you? What happened, did he hurt you?” 

“No,” You said quickly. “No, he was… gentle.” 

Father Charlie raised an eyebrow, “And?” 

You let out a shaky breath and confessed, “I wanted him to…” You trailed off, “I know it’s wrong to want these kinds of things, but I didn’t want him to be gentle. I wanted him to be rough. To make it hurt.” 

Another shaky breath left your lips, and this time Father Charlie felt like he was the tormented one. He frowned as he looked down and noticed that he was hard again. Shit. 

He cleared his throat again. “I see.” 

But you were quick to add, “It’s wrong, isn’t it? To want things like that? Isn’t it, Father?” 

There was a strangely innocent desperation in your voice even as you referred to sinful things. The kind of innocence he wanted to take into his hands and crumble it into pieces but also preserve it at the same time. 

Fuck, he was hard. And it was painful because you were right there. 

“Depends,” He answered, “What other things do you find yourself wanting?” A small, quiet gasp left your mouth. Father Charlie caught himself smirking at the sound of it. “And don’t lie. I can’t help you if you lie.” He noticed movement on the other side of the screen. Maybe your hand touching your neck out of nervousness. 

“I… I like being told what to do. I like authority. I like…,” You gasped, as if not believing you were actually saying all this out loud, “I like it, I mean I like the idea of men being mean to me, in bed. I want them to take what they want from me, with consent of course. But I don’t want them to be gentle about it.” 

Oh fuck. 

“That’s, uh…” He found himself at a loss for words. His cock was making his trousers tighter. His hands were shaking with the need to grab and feel a warm body. Preferably that of a shy young woman who thought she should be ashamed of her desires. “Yes, that’s not right.” He did his best to sound stern and disappointed. 

A soft sound came from the other side. Sounding a lot like a sniffle. “I’m sorry, Father.” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “I should go.” 

It all happened too quickly. The sound of the door opening, the sound of you trying to rush and get out. Before he knew it, he was out of the booth as well and stopping you from leaving. Your wrist in his hand, his chest heaving, tears down your face, a shocked look in your eyes. 

“Did I say you could leave?” He asked, looking down at you and noticing the way you didn’t even fight him. Aww, a lost little lamb indeed. 

“No.” You whispered, going along with the movement as he walked you backwards until your back hit the nearest wall, beside the booth. 

“You’re disobedient,” He noted, “I should punish you for that.” 

“Yes,” You mumbled, like you were ready to be punished for your sins. 

“Yes, what?” He chided. 

“Yes, Father.” 

And oh, how he would’ve loved to have you on your knees in front of him. To have his cock in your mouth. To make real tears stream down your face, ruining your makeup. But he didn't have too much time. 

He stepped closer, trapping you between the wall and his hard body. He noted the way your eyes remained fixated on his white collar, those teary, innocent eyes. You didn’t even know the treasure you were. 

“Look at me,” He ordered. 

You did. Unable to look away once you did. 

“You’ve been a bad girl, you know that, don’t you?” He asked. You nodded at him. “And I need to punish you, because I need to make sure you’re good from now on, don’t I?” You nodded at his words again. “Good,” He whispered, then grabbed both your hands and placed them on his shoulders as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours. 

He fucking that little gasp of surprise that left your mouth as he kissed you, hot and messy. His hands reached down and bunched your dress up before he slipped his hand in between your legs.

He chuckled into the kiss when he felt your flimsy underwear. “See now, good girls don’t wear things like this. You understand?” He whispered, running his knuckles along your wet folds and smearing your arousal around through the thin fabric. “I’m gonna have to take it off, okay?” 

You nodded again. 

And he did, he slid your underwear down until it fell to your ankles. He watched as you stepped out of them and he immediately slid his knee in between your legs, followed by his hand again. “This is all part of your punishment,” He whispered into your ear, and watched how you shivered upon feeling his warm breath. He slipped his two fingers into you with ease and smirked against your skin as he felt your arousal coating his fingers, which he curled inside of you, hitting all the spots which made you gasp and moan.

You whimpered and closed your eyes, sighing and moaning when he leaned down and nibbled on your skin around your throat. He chuckled, sliding his fingers in and out of you, “See what a little slut you are? Cheating on your boyfriend, and letting me touch you however I please,” He scoffed, “Is this what you came to do? Was this your intention?” 

You bucked your hips against his hand impatiently. “Please,” You murmured. 

He pulled his fingers out, and messed with his belt, undoing it and the zipper on his trousers until he pulled his cock out. “Please what?” He asked, rubbing his wet fingers along his hard cock, “Huh? What do you want?” 

You looked up at him, pleading with your eyes. 

“Oh?” He taunted, “You want this cock? Huh?” He leaned in and grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks together, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke in a lowered voice that sent shivers down your back, “Does this little slut need a cock in her?” 

“Yes,” You murmured, unable to take it anymore. 

“Yes, what?” He growled. 

“Yes, Father.” You quickly corrected yourself. 

He smirked, smug. Then he lifted you up until you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your back against the wall, and the two of you partially hidden by the booth. His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you moaned out loud. 

“Shh,” He reminded you, “Quiet.” 

“Please,” You whined, eyes shut. “Please, Father…” 

“Shut up,” He hissed as he aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance. “Shut your needy little mouth up.” 

You moaned as he pushed himself into you. Stretching you out as he went. His nails digging painfully into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours sliding into his hair as he filled you up nicely. 

“So fucking wet for me…” He whispered against your cheek as he rocked in and out of you. “I bet you’re not this wet for your little boyfriend, huh? Does he feel this good? This big?” He chuckled. “Does he know you let random men fuck you?” 

You were a mess, moaning and whimpering when he began moving in and out of you. His cock reached places that had you whining out loud. 

“Shh,” He hissed again, “Shut up, you little slut. Shut the fuck up.” He groaned as he fucked you. He kept an eye on your surroundings, just in case someone wandered in. 

But you kept moaning like crazy so he did the only thing his lust-filled brain could think of, he brought out his soiled handkerchief from earlier and shoved it in your mouth, and slapped his hand over your mouth. “Yeah, that’ll shut your filthy mouth up, huh? Is this what you wanted? Your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you like the needy little whore you are, does he?” 

Your moans sounded muffled now, and he fucked you relentlessly, earning more and more muffled whines and moans and whimpers out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. He loved the way your eyes rolled back when he fucked you harder, reaching deeper. 

He pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the wall with each thrust. “Filthy girl.” He sped up into you again, making you cry out. “So fucking desperate, aren’t you? You couldn’t help but spread your legs for me, huh? Even for a man of God? You couldn’t help it.” He taunted. “What else would you do for me? Would you come here everyday and let me have you? Hmm? Would you let me fuck your needy little pussy like your boyfriend can’t?” 

He knew you couldn’t answer him, so he chuckled and continued as he felt your walls clench around his cock. Fuck, he had missed this. He’d missed making a beautiful girl lose control while he was inside her. He knew you couldn’t think right, he was so fucking deep inside you that all you could do was whine and cry, and let him take what he wanted from you. Which is exactly what he did. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking you harder and faster against the wall. 

His hand left your mouth, making sure his handkerchief remained nice and snug in there, and reached down until he wrapped his fingers around your throat, he squeezed just enough to make your eyes widen. “Yes,” He goaded you, “You like that, don’t you? Your messed up little head likes this,” He taunted. “It’s filthy in there, isn’t it? You think about these things at night? When you touch yourself before going to bed? Is this what you’ll be thinking about from now on?” 

Your body shuddered, trembling in pleasure. He looked down and noticed the slight cleavage of your sweet little dress. Fuck, he wished he had time to really peel it off your body and have you crawl around naked just so he could look at you. He was sure he could spend a lot of time just looking. 

“He doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?” He chuckled, his body moving expertly against yours, “No, how could he? He’s just a boy. He wouldn’t even know what to do with a dirty girl like you.” He leaned in, whispering against your wet cheek, “This is what you needed. I’m what you need.” 

Your mind was a foggy mess already, and he could tell by the muffled by wanton moans that he could still hear that you were so, so close. 

“I bet he doesn’t even come inside you, does he?” He scoffed, “I think he’d be too scared to do that.” He pulled away and looked into your eyes. “But you want me to come inside you, don’t you? Remember, it’s all part of your punishment. You wanna be a good girl and take all of it, don’t you?” 

You nodded quickly, more tears streaming down your face. 

“Go on then, you little slut. Come for me. Come all over this cock like the needy, desperate whore you are.” He let out a strained moan, “I said,” He spoke, menacingly, “Come for me!” 

Your body tensed up, legs tightening around his waist, hands tugging at his hair, before you let go and came undone around his cock. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching his neck and a loud muffled moan erupting from your mouth as he made you come hard. 

Father Charlie groaned as he came shortly after, spilling inside of you. And fuck, even he could feel how much he filled you up. 

He pulled the now wet cloth out of your mouth as you both felt his warm cum dripping down your inner thighs. He replaced the handkerchief with his fingers, gliding two of them across your tongue, in and out of your lips as he said, “You’ll come back, won’t you?” He whispered against the corner of your mouth as you caught your breath while sucking on his fingers. “Now that you got a taste of what it’s like, you’ll be back as often as you can just to let me fuck you again. Won’t you, little lamb?” 

—

a/n: call me sister megan bc i’m frothing–

[cutielando]

i’m not clingy | c.l.

synopsis: in which Charles dreams of you cheating on him and is not okay with that

a/n: i accidentally deleted the request for this fic, so i’m making up for it 😭😭

my masterlist

Charles was very confident when it came down to your relationship.

He was a confident person overall, and he was very confident about the strength of your relationship. He truly believed he had found the one for him when he met you.

He knew he had nothing to worry about, that you were 100% devoted to him and your relationship.

But something at the back of his head said just the opposite.

She’s too good for you.

She’s going to leave you.

You’re way out of her league.

She deserves someone better than you.

The thoughts just wouldn’t leave his mind, especially when you would be out to a club with your friends.

Just like tonight.

You had been clubbing with some of your closest friends until the early hours of the morning, celebrating all of you finally being in Monaco at the same time.

During the night, you and Charles danced the time away, wrapped up in each other’s arms and completely blissfully ignoring anyone else who tried to talk to you guys except for your little crowd.

But when you announced that you had to go to the bathroom and had to separate from him, something in the pit of his stomach told him he shouldn’t have left you go alone.

You were very attractive, Charles was very aware, and he knew men would always do anything to get your attention.

And when he said anything, he meant anything.

And that night was no different.

After a couple of minutes had passed and you still hadn’t returned, he got worried and went looking for you, trying not to let himself show the distress he was feeling.

That’s how he found you speaking with an unknown man, your forced smile clearly an indicator for him that you really didn’t want to be stuck in the conversation.

The stranger didn’t seem to notice the uncomfortable look on your face, or simply chose to ignore it. Either way, none of it sat right with Charles, who didn’t want to let you spend a second more talking with that man.

“Are we all good here?” Charles immediately stepped in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he felt you instantly relax at his presence and touch.

The man glared at him when he butted in, his fake smile hiding the rage bubbling under the surface.

“We were having a conversation” the man pointed out, his chin pointing towards you.

He hadn’t even noticed the hold Charles had on your waist, instead settling on glaring at him until he would back off.

Which Charles had no intention of doing.

“I don’t see what kind of conversation you would be having with my girlfriend. I suggest you leave before I have you escorted out, and don’t ever talk to my girlfriend again” Charles demanded, glaring at the man with superiority in his stance.

You were watching the exchange like a tennis ball, thankful that Charles appeared when he did and interrupted the uncomfortable conversation the man had pulled you in.

You bit your lip and expectantly waited for the stranger to finally get the courage to leave, which he eventually did after a staring contest with your boyfriend.

“Thank God, I didn’t know how to get away from him without being a total bitch” you said and pouted, making Charles internally smile.

You were too sweet for your own good sometimes, always polite to people even when they didn’t deserve it. It was one of the things he loved most about you.

“I’ll always save you from creepy men trying to talk you up” he joked, making you laugh and lean into his body.

You quickly kissed him on the lips before taking his hand and dragging him away, back to your friends and the beloved dance floor, eager to forget the situation you had just escaped from.

All while Charles’ chest was tight at the thought and sight of you with another man that was not him.

It hurt more than he cared to admit.

♡♡♡♡♡

It was very late into the night, and Charles was twisting and turning in your shared bed. You were sleeping deeply next to him, his shuffling not even remotely bothering your sleep.

Charles' face was scrunched up as if in pain, his mind plagued by the worst nightmare he could have ever imagined having.

You, his dear and most precious girlfriend, kissing and hugging the man from the bar, the both of you laughing in his face. Charles could only stand there, his body paralyzed as he watched you living in happiness with someone else, someone who wasn't him.

He thrashed and turned the entire night, up until the early hours of the morning, when you rose from your deep sleep and felt the bed and sheets under you constantly shuffling.

"Charles?" you asked confusedly, turning your head to see Charles with a scrunched up face, his forehead sweaty and creased with worry lines.

He continued to twist around, his breathing heavy. You sat up and gently shook his shoulder, trying to gently coax him out of his clearly troubled sleep.

"Charles, amour, wake up" you said as you shook his shoulder slightly harder, jumping back once Charles opened his eyes and aggressively got up, panting and frantically looking around the room for you.

The moments his gaze fell upon you, he body-slammed you into the mattress, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around your waist.

“Oh, thank God you’re still here” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the hem of your T-shirt.

Your eyebrows furrowed, keeping a tight grip around his shoulders in comfort.

“What happened, Charles?” you silently asked, not wanting to spook him even more than he already was.

He sighed, shaking his head into your neck and burying his face even further into your skin, like he was trying to get inside of your skin and stay there forever.

Neither of you spoke for a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room was Leo's breathing next to your bed and Charles' shuddering breath against your skin. The sun was getting ready to rise, the world was ready to wake up and start the day, but you two weren't.

“I dreamed that you cheated on me” Charles mumbled, his voice muffled into your neck.

“What was that, honey?” you asked, your fingers scratching the back of his head.

He sighed, slowly pulling his face away from your neck to rest it on your chest, still not meeting your eye.

“I had a dream that you cheated on me with that guy from the club” he explained, his voice still quiet but more understandable now.

Your shoulders relaxed a little, your frown softening and being replaced with a gentle look.

You gently played with the hair at the back of his head, your lips pressing light kisses against the top of his head.

"Mon amour, you know I would never do that to you with another man, no matter who he is" you explained, which made Charles quickly nod against your chest.

He shifted and got back up, making you sit up with him as well. He leaned against the headboard, his eyes closed and his cheeks still damp from his tears.

"I know. I'm just scared that you will leave me for someone better, someone who has a normal job and isn't gone halfway around the world almost every week" he said, his voice wavering.

This had always been a topic between the two of you. Charles was always worried about the time he spent traveling and being away from you because of his job. It sparked a lot of long conversations between the two of you, which mainly consisted in you trying to reassure him that it didn't bother you and you understood it was his job and dream.

You were nothing short of supportive, attending every single race that you could, but the doubt was still there in Charles' mind.

The doubt that told him that you deserved someone who was there for you every single day, not halfway around the world risking his life every single week.

"Charles, please look at me" you said and cupped his cheek, turning his head to the side until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know you think I deserve someone else and that you feel like a failure because of your lifestyle. But baby, I love our life the way it is. You are following your dreams every single time you go away to race, you do what you love and then you come back to me in one piece. Knowing you are doing what you love makes up for the distance and the weeks spent away from you. Nobody will ever measure up to you, mon amour. You are the only one for me and that is never going to change. I love you and only you"

Charles bit his lip, a fresh set of tears brimming his eyes. He had never had someone understand him on the level that you do.

The love between the two of you knew no bounds, and he was now more convinced than ever than you were both made for each other.

"I love you too" he said before crashing his lips on yours, his hands wrapping around your waist and squeezing you tightly.

And with that, even though you had a long road ahead of you, you would tackle everything together.

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[xneens]

just a friend

he’s just a friend … but.

He’s just a friend, but he sleeps over almost every night. Whether you’re begging him to stay the night because you need a pillow or angry with him for insulting your friends, he’s there on your bed, substituting as a body pillow. No matter what position you fall asleep in, you always wake up draped across his chest, face nuzzled against the crook of his neck.

He’s just a friend, but he spoils you constantly. He gifts you a diamond tennis bracelet when your cat dies, hoping to cheer you up. He buys a convertible when you finally get your driver’s license, grinning when he sees your gleeful face. He showers you with your favorite flowers when get into your dream college. He buys whatever you look at when you take him shopping, repaying him with a kiss on the cheek, and it’s enough for him.

He’s just a friend, but you’re his only soft spot. Everyone else walks on eggshells around him, worried about being in his warpath. Even his own family wasn’t an exception to his hostility, especially after he stopped trying to win his dad’s approval. He does everything you want him to because why wouldn’t he? Hold your bag? No problem. Pick you up from a party? His pleasure. Stop being a rich, egotistical asshole? For you and you only.

He’s just a friend, but he’s your date to every formal and informal function. It’s just easier that way, you both explain to your friends. Midsummer’s preparation goes smoother when you already have a date, someone who will dance with you without complaint, someone who’ll make fun of whatever headpiece Rose is wearing, and someone who’ll sneak out early to drive their dad’s boat to another island.

He’s just a friend, but he knows everything about you. He comes with you to the doctor, dentist, and gyno visits for moral support, sometimes going in the room when needed. You had brought up being codependent but he quickly waves it off. He’s stocked a drawer in his bathroom with tampons and pads, and a few bottles of Tylenol in case you get your period on the nights you stay at Tanneyhill. He carries a cooler filled with water in his car because he knows you hate the intense heat. He wears an extra pair of sunglasses tucked in his shirt for you when you both go to the beach because you always manage to forget yours.

He’s just a friend, but his family thinks you’re dating. Sarah keeps asking you if you are, hoping to drag the truth out. You tell your friend no, laughing at the thought. Ward sits him down to talk after catching him admiring you during breakfast. He stays silent. Rose questions you about what she should give Rafe for his birthday, thinking the same as her husband. You laugh again at the thought, not noticing the way his jaw clenches when you make fun of the idea.

He’s just a friend, but he hates it when guys flirt with you. You’re too pretty to be entertaining guys who are far below you. He strains a muscle from resisting the temptation to punch the man standing too close to you, bicep veins popping out from the resistance. He drags you away when the guy tries to cage you against the wall, making up an excuse, needing help with containing a drunk Wheezie.

He’s just a friend, but he can’t go a minute without thinking about you. When life separates you, despite Rafe’s plans to be at your side twenty-four-seven, he texts you. He ignores Topper and Kelce’s snickers as he pulls his phone out during a round of golf, taking a picture of the sunset to send to you. His friends’ teasing is worth it when you text him back, telling him how much you like his improving photography skills.

He’s just a friend, but he can’t fight the urge to attack the guy kissing you. He blacks out, rage consuming every cell in his body as he breaks the man’s nose and grasps his throat until his hands leave bruises. His brain doesn’t focus until you’re back in his line of sight, blue eyes meeting yours. Despite the man coughing on the ground, surrounded by concerned partygoers, you pay no attention to the injured, instead, pulling Rafe away before yelling at him in his room.

He’s just a friend, but he’s at your door with flowers, apologizing. He stammers out an apology because he was never good at them, and never had the maturity to admit he was wrong and beg for forgiveness. When you stare at him with a blank look, he gets desperate, taking your hands in his and slowly dropping to his knees, eyes pleading with you. He promises to never get that violent again, and you believe him because Rafe Cameron could never lie to you.

He’s just a friend, but he kisses your forehead every night after you fall asleep, waiting for you to doze off before doing so. He presses his lips to your head, warmth in his heart as it yearns for yours.

He’s just a friend, but he wants to be more.

[wyniepooh]

Know

art knows you like no one else. he knows you better than you know yourself.

standford!art x reader. mentions of alcohol. cheating on reader’s part but it’s valid bc her bf is an ass. art knows he can treat u better than ur shitty bf, and proves it.

“You have to know, right?”

“what?”

your words came out slurry and slow, and it took all your might to not let your squinted eyes close. through the sliver of what you could see, art sat opposite you, back against the side of his bed and beer bottle in hand.

you chuckled, “I don’t know what you-“

“That he treats you like shit.”

you stop in your sentence, choosing instead to fill your mouth with another sip of your beer. You gulp down the prickly liquid, wiping your mouth as you say, “you don’t know anything about us.”

He shrugs. “I know you’re spending a Friday night getting drunk with his roommate, rather than accompanying him to that fancy tennis gala he was invited to.”

you shook your head casually, taking another full sip before speaking.

“I’m wasn’t interested. You know I don’t play, right? i didn’t want to-“

“Did he ask?”

you laugh, running a swift hand over your face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he sat up slightly, scooting a little closer to where you were. you had your legs crossed, and you were drowsily leaning on the side of your boyfriend’s bed. he propped his elbow on a raised knee. “did he even ask you to go?”

you smile slowly faded as you looked down, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you tried to focus instead on the harsh, brown carpet of the room. Faded music could be heard from the other rooms, and usually, you’d be in one of those dorms, partying it down, but tonight, you much prefer the silence.

“No,” you whispered.

He cleared his throat and took another swig. “you know, with the way he talks about you and the way he acts around you, you would think everyone knows exactly how he feels about you. everyone except yourself.”

He chugged what was left in his bottle, tossing it to the side where a pile was beginning to accumulate. He stared straight at you with half-closed eyes and pressed his lips together. “honestly, sometimes, I think you know too. deep down. I think you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he’s going to do to you, and yet you choose to ignore it.”

“Why?” He asks. there was a look of genuine concern and confusion of his face. his expression was pained, as if the idea of you suffering hurt him more than you.

You nibble at the bottom of your lip, hoping that the pain of the peeling skin would stop the tears from running. your actions were done in vain, as your tears had already begun to form and fall. Suddenly, you feel a warm finger on your face, gently swiping away at your dampened cheeks.

The pad of his thumb stayed on your cheek while the rest of his hand uncurled around your jaw. “You have to know, right?”

“Yes,” you sniffled, “of course I know he treats me like another one of his fan girls that he tosses away after-“

“No, not that,” he mutters.

“look at me.”

He guides your chin up until your eyes are parallel with his, and for the first time that night, you get a good view of his face. His overgrown blonde hair scattered all over his face, some across the front of his blue eyes. They seemed to not be able to concentrate in one place, flickering from your hair to your nose to your chin. You were sure that your cheeks were as flushed as him from the alcohol and the embarrassment, so much so that heat was practically radiating off of the two of you.

“what are you talking about, then?”

he sighed, dropping his hand from your face and slumping his head down at the same time. you could feel his warm breaths escaping his nose and hitting your cold knees.

Finally, he looks up, brows creasing as he responds, “how I feel about you.”

he parts his lips, struggling to find the words. “You have to have already known, right? I mean, all the times I’ve wiped away your tears and and comforted you because that asshole did something stupid again.” A beat passed.

“I know I can treat you so much better,” he breathes, “if you would just let me.”

Somewhere between his first question and his last, the proximity between of the two of you had closed. His arm suddenly wraps around your neck as he pulls you into him, digging his nose into the space where your shoulder and neck connects.

“Please,” he mutters.

chills spill down your body from his words, and you simply pause in all of your thoughts for a moment. Finally, you close your eyes and hug him tight around his waist as he tenderly rocks you back and forth.

you’re the one to pull back, and at first, you see a glimmer of disappointment in art’s eyes. but then you lean close, and closer, and, for the first time tonight, he smiles. He further guides your actions by placing a hand on the back of your head, not letting go even once your lips have connected with his.

your own fingers scratch at the back of his curls, and you swear he laughs against your mouth. You bask in the sounds of your mixed pants and the electric buzz generated from the delicate connection of skin in the otherwise quiet room, and it brought upon a lightness in the air, something you hadn’t felt since earlier that day when you first saw art in the dining hall.

“I know,” you mumble against his lips, stopping for a minute to catch your breath. You rest your forehead on his, eyes still closed as you caress his glowing face with both hands. he laughs again, harder this time, and you join him, repeating the same two words over, and over again.

-

a/n: hey google play the historically significant song treat u better by shawn mendes

[thatone-girly]

K.R.E.A.M V.1

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Cherish Henry (OC)

SUMMARY: In the first chapter, we are introduced to the vibrant and bustling atmosphere of Roman Reigns' elite Las Vegas strip club. Roman, a commanding presence with a reputation for being both ruthless and charming, oversees the night’s performances with a keen eye. Among the dancers, Cherish stands out, captivating the audience with her grace and allure. Roman, usually detached, finds himself inexplicably drawn to her. He observes her from afar, intrigued by her mysterious aura and exceptional talent. Roman's interest is piqued, setting the stage for a slow-burning romance that promises to unfold with complexity and depth.

WORD COUNT: 4.0k

Authors Note: If you’d like to be added to the taglist, comment and let me know! Also, go check out this Roman x Stripper fic by @overrboarrd ! It’s hella good and it inspired me to get my lazy ass up and finish this since it’s been sitting in drafts for 7 months.

Red Lights.

There were so many red lights.

In the bustling streets of Las Vegas, there were lights everywhere. Blue, Green, Yellow, and Orange. But there weren’t nearly as many red lights on the streets as there were in Oasis Écarlate, French for ‘Scarlet Oasis’.

In the lounge of the club under the many vermillion lights, there were men scattered all over.

Surrounding the stage, there were the usual bums who popped up every other night. If not, every night. Those were the ones who only had twenty to one hundred dollars to throw, then had the nerve to ask for a private dance. The ones who would pick money up off the floor and throw it to look like they had more money, or just stuff it in their pocket and take it home for themselves. The ones who’d come in and get hammered over a silly argument with their girlfriend, or sometimes wives. The ones who’d come in the club in a dingy t-shirt, baggy jeans, and beat up tennis shoes.

Sitting at the intimately decorated tables scattered across the open floor were the middle class men. The ones who threw just enough to not damage their credit score. The ones who’d lend a few dollars to whatever vagrant had run out of money and could no longer ‘ball out’. The ones who’d never come in alone, either with a friend, or sometimes even their girlfriend. The ones who’d sometimes get private dances depending on how much they’d drank, or how a certain dancer made them feel. The ones who were always decently dressed, normally in a nice button down, or snug turtleneck.

Lounging clad at the booths along the walls were what the dancers liked to call ‘The Big Ballers’. Those were the ones the dancers payed special attention to and were always guaranteed to get a large payday from. The ones who couldn’t care less about how much money they spent because it wouldn’t even make a dent in their bank account. The ones who never associated themselves with the scrubs indulged in the hypnotic movements of dancers they’d never get to see outside of the club. The ones who bought out the V.I.P sections, the private lounges, and the sky boxes above everyone. The ones who’d outbid any and everyone on the club just to get the dancer they wanted to entertain them and their entourage.

However, no matter how much money they had or how much money they put down, there was one man that could come through and shut everything down. If he wanted your table, with the snap of a finger, he’d have it. If he wanted your private lounge, your V.I.P section, with the snap of a finger, he’d have it. He didn’t have to worry about the sky boxes. There was one sky box, the biggest one of them all, smack dead in the middle reserved for him. He had a perfect view of everyone. He could look down at the bums, the basics, and the ballers. He could look down at the stage and watch every single one of his dancers grace the pole with her alluring presence. Though he rarely, if ever did it, he could have his pick of any dancer he wanted. The man who was feared and respected not only in the club, but all of Las Vegas.

That man was Roman Reigns.

The 35 year old, whose real name was Joe Anoa’i, had ruled his club with an iron fist. Having taken ownership from his father, Roman took the running of his club seriously. Once his father stepped down from his position as CEO, the club went into a downward spiral. Clientele was low. No one wanted to visit anymore, no one was interested in the aging, washed up dancers his father refused to get rid of. Hell, even the scrubs stayed away. When Roman took over, all of that went out the window. He did a full rebrand. He had the club renovated from top to bottom. He changed the layout, the lights, the stage, everything. He fired everyone and started from the ground up with staff. He sent his cousins out to rival businesses to recruit dancers for the new and improved club. Due to that, he made enemies out of a vast number of club owners, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Now, some of the best dancers in the city belonged to his club.

Those very dancers were in the dressing room of Oasis Écarlate. As of now, it was intermission. The beaming LED lights were white, an obvious contrast to their usual crimson color. The sea of men below the stage talked amongst each other, some lended the other money, some recreantly slid money their way with their foot, and some made their way over to the bar while they awaited the next dance of the night.

The dressing room was a sanctuary of muted chaos, a stark contrast to the pulsating energy of the club beyond its doors. Makeup palettes, hair products, and costumes were scattered across the vanity tables, each an essential tool for the night's transformations. Amidst the flurry of preparation, Cherish sat quietly, a calm island in the sea of activity. Her reflection in the mirror was one of serene beauty. Her long, ginger hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, and her eyes, deep and expressive, held a world of stories untold. She pushed her lips together, smoothing out any lipstick that hadn’t been before.

“Cherish, you up next?”

She looked in the reflection in front of her, locking eyes with Serena. With a sigh Cherish answered, “Yep.”

Serena was one of the few girls Cherish could tolerate. She and Serena were much alike. They both weren’t fans of drama, yet they took no shit. They enjoyed the same shows, hobbies, hell, they even shared some of the same regular clients. They both weren’t interested in the extra malarkey of the strip club scene. They came in, did their job, got their money, and left.

Like clockwork, the voice of Pat McAfee, otherwise known as simply Pat, boomed through the stereo of the club. Cherish stood from her spot at the vanity, doing one more once over on herself. She made sure her hair was smooth and kinkless, running her fingers through her bundles one last time. Her one piece Versace set, blinged out with crystals was bright enough to catch the eye of even the most uninterested being in the club. A huff left her lips as she made her way towards the door.

“Good luck, Cherry.”, Serena wished, also taking it upon herself to leave Cherish a good luck pat on the ass.

Cherish looked at Serena over her shoulder and gave her a wink before she walked through the string of crimson beads hanging from the door frame. She kept her confident stride up until she reached the curtain. The voice of Pat was smooth and sultry, a huge contrast to his usual hyped demeanor when he was not working as he introduced, “Gentlemen, please give a very warm, wet welcome to La Séduisante Dame Chérit.”

The Seductive Lady Cherish.

That’s what she was known as in the Scarlet Oasis.

The song that began to flow through the speakers was her song.

“Seduction”, by none other than Usher Raymond.

When that song began to play, everyone knew who was hitting the stage. Even if you didn’t know her by name, you knew who she was by that song.

Including the boss.

The heavy bass of the music thrummed through the club, vibrating the very air as Cherish made her way to the center of the stage. The lights dimmed, casting a sultry glow over the room. She took a deep breath, feeling the anticipation of the crowd wash over her like a wave. This was her moment.

Immediately, he was focused. Focused on the way she walked and moved. The scowl on his face neither softened nor hardened, but it stuck. His hands remained clasped together in the center of his manspread legs. He didn’t move, but his eyes? Oh, they moved. They followed her everywhere.

As the spotlight hit her, Cherish began to move, her body flowing with the rhythm. Every step, every sway of her hips was calculated to captivate and seduce. Her eyes scanned the audience, locking onto different faces, making each person feel like she was dancing just for them. As she moved across the stage effortlessly and suavely, her freshly installed burnt orange hair flowing almost cinematically as her body swayed to the slow, seductive beat of the music. She tried not to chuckle at the usual bums who didn’t have a dime to throw as their mouths became glued to the ground.

She moved with grace and power, her movements fluid and mesmerizing. The crowd watched in rapt attention, their cheers and applause melding with the music. She could feel their energy, their desire, fueling her performance. Her routine was a perfect blend of artistry and allure, each move telling a story. As she executed a series of spins and bends, her hair cascaded around her like a waterfall, adding to the visual feast. She was in complete control, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

She worked her way up the slim metal cylinder, climbing upward and onward until she reached the bright blood red lights of the ceiling. She tuned out the usual catcalls, whistling, and sweet nothings as she spun around at the very top of the pole, letting nothing be heard except the music. She listened to the lyrics. So did he.

Seduction

She split her legs open, beginning her slow, hypnotic descend to the ground.

Sensuous, Sexy, Erotic. How You Workin’ Your Body

The lyrics went perfectly with the scene, her legs which were once split in the air now in a perfect split on the ground. Her movements were hypnotizing and intriguing, that being made obvious by the way the men in smooth, steamed suits slid from their positions at their booths and moved up to the stage for a closer look at the gyrating woman.

Still, there was no display of interest whatsoever from Roman. He did nothing but watch.

He watched the stage with a keen eye, his powerful presence commanding the room even in silence. The VIP area provided a perfect view of the performance below, allowing him to oversee everything without interruption. Jey and Jimmy flanked him, their expressions mirroring his intense focus.

The way she commanded the stage, the energy she exuded – it was magnetic. He could see the raw talent and passion in her performance, something that set her apart from the other dancers.

Breaking the silence in the room, Jey snapped his fingers, “That one right there! That’s my favorite one.”

His brother Jimmy scoffed, “Shit, I thought my favorite was Bambi, but after seeing this one, I think I changed my mind.” They could sense her confidence, the way she owned the stage from the moment she set foot on it. The bass of the music thrummed through the floor, the vibrations a tangible reminder of the energy she was channeling. “She got the crowd eating out of the palm of her hands.”

Another wave of silence took over as the twins sat mesmerized. Once again, the silence was broken by Jey as he swatted Roman’s upper arm with the back of his hand asking, “Hey, man, you know what her name is?”

Smacking his lips, Jimmy looked over to his brother. “Her name is in her stage name, Uce. It’s Cherish.”

“Well, hell, I don’t know French!”, Jey scowled over at Jimmy, “And how the hell do you know?”

Swooping his hand down to his lap, Jimmy picked up his phone and flipped the screen in the direction of Jey. Displayed brightly was the Apple translator app, set on the French setting. “Translator. Keep up with the game, man.”

Ignoring the childish spat that started with Jey’s response, Roman kept his eyes on the scene below him, watching as Cherish slowly descend to her knees. On all fours, she crawled up to a crowd of men that stood at the right wing of the stage. Roman could see the way she fed off their energy, using it to drive her performance to even greater heights. He appreciated her dedication, the way she pushed herself to excel in every aspect of her routine.

The end of the song nearing, Cherish wrapped up her act with her signature kiss to the cheek of a random club-goer. Usually, it was one of the ones she knew would tip well, and maybe even ask for a private dance; and tonight was no different as she crawled up to the man with the cleanest suit, wrapped her manicured hands around the collar of his blazer and pulled him in to plant a firm kiss on his cheek. It was perfectly timed, the song coming to an end as soon as she pulled away, her lipstick leaving the print of her lips on the man’s cheekbone.

At the sound of whistles, applause, and catcalls, she stood to her feet and strutted her way behind the curtain, immediately dropping her act when the drapes closed. She made her way back to the dressing room, her feet aching with a terrible throb from the high heels she’d chosen for the night. Walking through the beaded curtains, she was met with all of the other dancers fixing themselves. Cherish was the last dance, and after the final act, all of the dancers went out and walked around the club, just waiting to see who wanted a private dance until the club closed at 2.

Plopping on the stool next to Serena, Cherish sighed of exhaustion. “Girl, I’m so ready to go home.”, she mumbled as she reached to grab her lipstick. “Tonight’s kind of boring.”

From across the room, two dancers, Bambi and Freddi, whose real names were Chelsea and Freeda, giggled amongst themselves. Something as simple as them laughing made Cherish and Serena exchange looks of mutual annoyance. They couldn’t stand those two. Really, no one could, but the pure disdain Cherish and Serena had for Bambi and Freddi was on another level.

The two duos were total opposites. While Cherish and Serena preferred to stay away from the nightclub life outside of dancing, Bambi and Freddi were all in with it. They partied all day and night, drank like unemployed 45-year old divorcee’s, and even dabbled in drugs here and there. The women felt like they were better than any and everybody, often criticizing other dancers on things they themselves couldn’t or didn’t do. On top of that, they were the messiest performers in the locker room. Most of, if not all of the locker room drama came at their hands, whether it was rumors, the airing out of someone’s business, or unnecessary comments and criticism, those two had a knack for pissing people off.

Ignoring the two women, Serena commented, “Yeah, tonight’s been pretty slow”, she agreed, “but, girl! You knocked ‘em down out there! I was watching from behind the curtain.”

Again, giggles erupted from Bambi and Freddi, only this time louder. Serena glanced back at the two, while Cherish opted to just ignore them. She was not in the mood for their bullshit. Not tonight. With a roll of her eyes, Serena turned back to face the white vanity she and Cherish shared. “They better not start their shit.”, she mumbled with a huff, “I’m in the mood to whoop some ass tonight.”

Cherish said nothing, deciding to not even entertain them a bit. Instead, she slid her lipstick across her lips, touching it up after her finale. “I’m not worried about them.”, she mumbled in the midst of applying the smooth paint to her lips. “They ain’t worth my time or my energy.”

At her declaration, Bambi mumbled a faint ‘bitch’ before she and Freddi burst into laughter. They weren’t giggling anymore. They were full blown cackling. With a huff, Serena turned on her stool to face the two women who stood doubled over in laughter in the corner.

“Y’all wanna tell me what’s so funny?”, she question, her tone hostile and annoyed. At this, the room grew dead silent as the other dancers stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Serena. Some of them were being messy, while others were hoping nothing went down and got too serious. There had been one too many fights in this locker room, and none of them wanted to be the ones to clean up the aftermath. “I wanna know what the joke is. What are we laughing at?”

Bambi and Freddi were silent as they exchanged looks, mocking grins spread on their faces. “Oh, what, we’re not laughing anymore? Joke’s over?”, Serena asked with a sarcastic smile and tilt of her head.

“Chill, girl. We were just talking about one of Bambi’s clients.”, Freddi chuckled, the gum she was chewing making obnoxiously loud smacking sounds between her words.

“Oh, really? You sure?”, Serena quipped, her tone shifting to one you’d use when speaking to a child, “I find it real coincidental that y’all get to the funny part of the story every time me or Cherry says something. So y’all sure we’re not the joke? Y’all sure it ain’t one of us being funny and we don’t know?”

“Girl, relax. We just said we’re not laughing at y’all.”, Bambi put in her two cents, accompanying her words with an eye roll.

Preparing to stand up from her stool, Serena placed her brush on the vanity, but Cherish quickly grabbed her wrist before she could. “It’s fine, ‘Rena. I’m not worried about them, you shouldn’t worry about them either.”, she mumbled.

With a deep breath, Serena shot the two one last look before turning back around to face the mirror. “Can’t stand those bitches, I swear.”, she murmured before picking up her hairbrush.

Everyone went back to their business, some girls in various stages of changing, and chatting animatedly about their performances and the possible tips they could get from certain men. The rustling of the beads adorning the doorway of the dressing room pulled everyone’s attention away from whatever it was they were doing as the presence of the 6’3 Samoan they called their boss commanded the room. The sound of throats clearing and rustling clothes of women fixing their appearances overtook the silence as Roman stood flanked by his cousins. Everyone seemed to be so enamored by his presence, except Cherish. She kept her eyes on the makeup palette below her.

“Ladies,” Romans baritone voice resonated, commanding immediate attention. As if he didn’t have that already. “Great job tonight. I want you all to keep it up. Remember, I’m always watching.”

A few of the women had to stop themselves from squealing. He did something to them that they couldn’t explain. Cherish knew as soon as he stepped out of the room, they’d be gushing and cooing about his appearance. She rolled her eyes at the thought. She didn’t understand it. Sure, he was an attractive man. But the thought of lusting after her boss was a strange concept. She’d prefer not to.

He must’ve sensed her thoughts, because the next thing out of his mouth startled her.

“Cherish.”

It was simple. It was only her name, but something about it made her shoulders jump slightly. She looked up at him through her vanity mirror, her lashes fanning her face through her blinks. “Good performance. You got a lot of compliments.”

Forcing a small smile, she nodded in acknowledgment before looking back down at her makeup. His face holding his signature scowl, his gaze lingered on her a bit longer than anyone had expected. Even Cherish. She looked up once more, locking eyes with him through the mirror wondering why he was staring at her. Maybe it was her lack of response. Or maybe he could sense her sour mood. Whatever it was, it made her nervous for whatever reason.

Finally looking away from her, his eyes looked over the other dancers. Scowl deepening at the sight of Bambi mugging the back of Cherish’s head, he stood still. He watched as she leaned over to whisper something to Freddi, who found what she said extremely funny by the way she covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. Deciding that whatever was going on between them should be kept between them until it was brought to his attention by one of the parties involved, he turned to exit the room. He walked first, Jimmy and Jey following behind him.

“Sooo, Cherish is the only one that did a good job?”, Bambi asked bitterly.

Collective eye rolls from dancers didn’t go unnoticed by Bambi, but she paid them no mind. Cherish returned the favor by giving her no reaction, but Roman stopped in his tracks. His halt caused all eyes to be back on him and Bambi, everyone, including Cherish, watching as he slowly walked backwards into the room before turning to face her. “Is there a problem, Chelsea?”

Swallowing hard, she looked around the room as if waiting for someone to come to her defense. That didn’t happen, obviously, so now she had to fend for herself. “Well…you only told Cherish good job. Did nobody else have a good performance?”

Folding his hands in front of him, his shoulders bounced with his chuckle as he took a step towards her. “Jey,” he called out to his cousin who stood behind him, “Please, tell me. When I came in here, what did I say?”

“You told everybody great job.”, he answered, his eyes on Bambi with the look of a child watching their sibling get in trouble.

“Right. I told everybody great job.”, he scowled in her direction. “I gave Cherish an additional compliment because she got the most compliments from customers. Is that a problem?”

He took another step towards her, his intimidating gaze staying on her. Taking a step back, Bambi shook her head. “You sure? You seemed pretty bothered. Is there anything else you want me to break down to you?”, his tone was similar to the one Serena used with her earlier. Gentle, as if talking to a child, but firm and intimidating.

With another shake of her head, Bambi looked down at her white painted toes adorned by her pink heels. Looking around the room, Roman questioned, “Anybody else have anything to say?” Being met with silence, he nodded. “Alright. Finish up getting ready. Y’all have an hour and thirty left to work. Also, be here about an hour early tomorrow. I want to have a meeting with you all in the conference room.”

With one last glance around the room, his eyes landed on Cherish’s vanity one last time. Shifting in her seat under his gaze, Cherish looked back down at her lap before picking up her hairbrush to brush out her hair. Finally turning, Roman and the twins exited the room. The room erupted in chatter, some gushing over their boss as Cherish expected, some lowkey clowning Bambi, and some complaining about losing a few extra minutes of sleep by having to be here earlier the next day.

Being nudged by Serena, Cherish looked up. The expression she held confused Cherish, although she had an idea of what she was going to say. “Girl! Did you see how he was looking at you?”, Serena exclaimed, nudging Cherish once more.

Rolling her eyes, Cherish couldn’t fight the small grin that appeared on her face. Why the hell was she smiling? “Don’t start, ‘Rena.”, she shook her head.

Kissing her teeth, Serena tilted her head, “Start what? You know you saw that!”

Shaking her head once more, Cherish stood from her stool. “Girl, stop being delusional and come on. We have to be back out there in two minutes.” Doing one more once over of herself in the mirror, Cherish ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t want to think too much about what just happened, especially when all he did was look at her.

“Alright, you just wait. You’re gonna see that he likes you. Mark my words.”

[222col]

girl you're so fucking talented 😩 i don't know if you write sub!Art but i seriously can't stop thinking about the idea of meeting Art's friends and intentionally making boyfriend sub!Art jealous by laughing at Art's best friend Patrick's jokes and Art getting so jealous and he looks like he's on the verge of crying because he's so obsessed with you and he gets so jealous when you give your attention to some other guy and when you go back to your shared apartment he starts acting very needy and desperate and all he wants to do is to please you so you won't look at any other guy except him. He's literally begging and all desperate for your validation

thank u sm <3!!!! bestie 100% sub!art is my little baby i luv him (u may enjoy this that i posted yday too if ur a fan of sub!art🫣) 18+

you and art had been dating for a while, recently having moved in together. he relishes the fact that he gets to wake up to your pretty little face every morning. you had met most of art's friends, in passing usually as you meet him after his tennis practise or a quick hello when they pass you in the stands at his matches. he's met all of your girlfriends, joining in on girls night occasionally, sitting in a face mask on the floor in front of where you're sitting on the couch. braiding his hair as you gossip with your girls. "we should go for drinks with your friends sometime this week," you suggest one morning, sitting up in bed, sipping the coffee art made for you. he nuzzles his face into your side, he's been avoiding this from the day he set eyes on you. he just can't stand the thought of you giving any attention to another man that isn't him. "hmm, maybe," he attempts to hide his jealousy, kissing your waist, snaking an arm around you. "i actually already dm'ed patrick and asked him, told him to bring your other friends too," your words are sheepish, you know what you're doing to the poor boy beside you.

he looks up at you, pouting. "you messaged patrick?" he trusts you completely, patrick on the other hand, not so much. your hand strokes his cheek. "baby, it's not like that, i just told him i wanted to meet him and your other friends properly." art's head leans into your hand. still pouting, why did you want to meet patrick? art grumbles, still sulking as he mumbles a 'fine'. the night for drinks comes around quicker than art hoped. you're pulling a pair of jeans over your hips, and placing a white crop top over your body. art doesn't object, as much as he wants to, instead just peppers kisses onto your shoulder. "my beautiful girl," he whispers in between kisses. art does up the buttons to his shirt as you slide your feet into your heels. kissing his lips as you make your way to meet his friends.

art's friends have already claimed a table, the six boys all stand up as you both arrive. art doesn't let go of your hand as you hug and introduce yourself to them all. patrick is last, lifting you up as he hugs you hello, forcing your hand from art's grip. "so so good to finally meet you, can't believe art kept your pretty face from us for so long." patrick winks to his friend as he places you back on the ground. you laugh and sit down in between the two of them. "nice to finally meet you too, patrick." art's already seething, hugging you is one thing, picking you up is another, but calling you pretty right in front of his eyes is a completely different story. "be a good boy and go get your girlfriend a drink, art," patrick teases art. what art wouldn't do to be back at home, between your thighs as you call him a good boy. patrick's arm is resting on the top of the booth behind your head, art can't stand it. "no," art returns, his friends all gain questioning looks. art physically cannot leave you alone with them all, he'd be sick. "fine, weirdo, i'll go get a round in."

patrick knows just how obsessive art can get, yet he's never seen him this bad. scooting out of the booth, patrick states your name, "come tell me what you want to drink, help me carry them back to the table?" you smile and stand up to join patrick at the bar. fuck, this is even worse, art thinks. his friends are trying their best to engage art in conversation, but his eyes are focused purely on you, and patrick. your head swinging back, laughing profusely at whatever patrick just said to you. art's leg is bouncing up and down, his teeth grinding together. it's not until your hand touches patrick's arm that he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. "art, you good?" one of his friends asks, waving them off and fighting off the tears. you return to the table, helping patrick carry everyone's drinks over. "what was so funny?" he's pouting at you now, an oh so familiar face. "nothing," you take a swig of your drink. "just a story patrick was telling me." you're playing with him now, you can see clearly what you're doing to him. you should feel bad, should, but you love seeing him so desperate for your attention.

the night progresses, more alcohol drank together, a more worked up art. his hand rests on your thigh, reminding you he's there and reminding his friends you're his. you shuffle your body further under the table, art's hand creeping further up your thigh. you look to him, he's desperate. his eyes are dark, still glossy, watching you pay so much attention to patrick. you finally cave. "c'mon then you, take me home." you state to your boyfriend, patrick wolf whistles. you roll your eyes and laugh at him again, art only gritting his teeth and glaring at his friend. art's friends all hug you both goodbye, art can swear he sees patrick's hand start to move towards your ass before you escape his grip. patrick hugs art last, whispering in his ear, "don't fuck this up artie, or i'll take her from you," patrick's smiling, kissing his best friend on the cheek. art knows he's joking, but he knows patrick so well to know that he would, given the chance.

you land on the edge of the bed, removing your shoes with a sigh of relief. art sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. "your friends are nice, patrick's so funny," you tease him further, throwing your shoes across the room. he holds your feet, pressing kisses to the soles. you continue discussing the night, and your positive opinions of his friends. "please, baby, i need you," art whimpers, peppering your ankles in sloppy kisses. "you need me, huh? how badly, baby boy?" he groans at your words, as you undo your jeans, shimmying them down your body. once they reach your thighs, art pulls them off and throws them behind him. "mmm, so so badly, my cock is sore just thinking about tasting you," he sits up more, his eyes level with your pussy. shuffling closer to him, your knees on either side of his head. slipping your top over your head and throwing it in the direction of your jeans. the lace of your bra and panties is almost see through, your pussy so close to his face, he's almost drooling at the sight. he breathes in deeply. "you smell delicious baby, please let me taste, i wanna show you how good i can be,"

"you've been a jealous little boy, all night art, i'm not sure you deserve it." you grab him by the hair, forcing him to look into your eyes, they're welling up again. "i can't help it," you lean down to him and kiss his pouting lips. "please, let me make it up to you, i need you." he's begging you, you've never seen him this desperate. you let go of his hair, spreading your legs. he immediately moves to push your underwear to the side, your thighs squeezing his head, stopping him in motion. "i never said you could touch." he groans so loudly, "please, i'll do anything, anything you want, just please, please let me taste you." you unclench your thighs, tears are pouring from his eyes now. "you want me so bad you're crying, pathetic little baby." you place your hand on the back of his head, swiftly pushing his face into your pussy. he mumbles, "thank you, thank you, thank you" into your cunt as he moves your underwear aside again.

his tongue plunges straight into you, his nose pressing against your clit. he's moving his head side to side, letting his nose grind against your sweet spot. his laps up every inch of your pussy that he can, moving to focus his tongue on your clit. he knows exactly how to please you, he's spent hours eating you out. his hands grip around your thighs, you lean back on your hands, head flung back as his name escapes your lips. he's looking up at you through his lashes. "such a good boy you are baby" your breath his shaky, one hand moving to his hair. "you taste so good, thank you baby." art mumbles, slipping two of his fingers inside you. you gasp, his moans louder than yours as his hips buck up into the air.

"my pretty little boy, you're so fucking good at that," you can barely contain yourself, he knows your body inside and out. he loves hearing you compliment him, giggling into your pussy. his fingers speed up, placing your feet on his shoulders, deepening the angle his fingers are fucking you. your hand can't keep you sat up anymore as your body falls onto the bed, back arched as art works you closer and closer to orgasm. "fuck- baby boy, i'm so close." your moans growing louder, art only removing his lips to whisper, "i know, princess," his fingers curl up, pushing you over the edge. pulling his hair as you come all over his face. he doesn't stop, not even for a second. "fuck, art, baby i can't," you attempt to pull him away, he won't let you. only smiling up at you, his chin covered in your juices and he places his tongue back on your clit. your head flings back onto the bed, screaming his name now as feel him smiling against you. "oh, fuck- my perfect boy, shit, fuck," you’re screaming profanities as art works you to another orgasm.

the hand he's not using to fuck you with his fingers reaches up your body, groping your boobs as his cock twitches in his pants. "come for your boy again, please baby, i need to feel you come on my face again." your body is shaking, nearly screaming out as you finish over your boyfriend's tongue once more. he pulls his fingers out, licking up your pussy and placing one final kiss on your clit, licking up any remaining taste of you from his fingers. his forehead is slick with sweat, his chin dripping with your wetness as he joins you on the bed. leaning down to kiss your mouth. "you're such a good boy artie," you mumble against his lips. you reach down his body, palming his boner through his pants before he removes your hand. "no no, princess, tonight was all about you." you sigh and kiss him again. "you're my perfect boy, art." all he can do is smile at you, undressing himself and lulling you to sleep, any thoughts of jealousy disappearing as long as you never spend any more time with his friends.

[zweiginator]

always think about inexperienced reader not realizing patrick’s falling in love with her. they are hooking up and he is always with her and breaks it off with everyone else and does subtle things to show his loyalty to her without actually saying it. when her friends ask her about it she’s like patrick???? in love with me???? no way??? this is what he does with everyone??? he dosnt know how to communicate and she dosnt pick up the signs

yes <33 it fucking scares him how little interest he has in other girls. and then he thinks about it more and it's not even a little. it's none. all he cares about is you. all he thinks about is you too.

patrick is infamous for having at least five or six situationships at a time--if you could even call them that. he is good at shutting his feelings off. hooking up with girls and not caring if anything happens after that. in fact, he prefers that nothing happens. but girls, their feelings get hurt and they want more. they want dates, a text, calls after class.

and then patrick meets up with you. a pretty, smart girl from his class. he loves how in your own world you are. the first day of class you sat there, listening to music and doodling in your notebook as you waited for class to start. you softly hummed the tune of your music, probably because you thought you were the only one in the lecture hall.

but there patrick was, and he noticed you and didn't stop noticing you. and then he started sitting right next to you. didn't even leave a seat in between. got you to share your earbuds with him and you even let him play some of his music sometimes.

but you'd always just--leave. you never asked for patrick's number, but one day he asked for yours and you looked surprised. you gave it to him.

he texted you and you kept texting because he kept answering you faster and faster. and then he started to call you and you'd answer.

your friends started asking you who you were always on the phone with.

"patrick. a guy in one of my classes."

"is it patrick zweig?" your friend looked flabbergasted.

"yeah, why?"

"he's known for being quite the--slut."

you told her that you didn't believe that. you'd never even kissed him yet.

but then your friends told you the stories. none of them had hooked up with him, but it seemed like everyone was one or two degrees away from a girl who had. and every story had the same ending--and then he never spoke to her again.

after hearing this, you separate yourself. you still call and text but you tell yourself it isn't a big deal. you can just have fun and call it quits. except you've barely lost your virginity. you're not equipped for this.

patrick begs you to come out with him one night. you do your makeup and don't wear your glasses for once and you wear a nice top.

you don't even make it to the club; patrick tackles you into his backseat and one thing leads to another and you're scratching your nails down his back and thinking--fuck. this is how they get so attached.

at this point patrick has stopped talking to every other girl. mostly without even realizing it. he just--forgot about them.

and you start distancing yourself. one day you don't even sit by patrick. it almost makes him tear up.

he texts you that night and asks

Are you mad at me?

No, why?

You didn't sit by me in class

Oh, I'm sorry

Can i come over?

you say yes.

and your roommates yell that patrick is here and he brought you a present. a bouquet of roses with baby's breath. you blush and thank him. he eats you out on your baby pink sheets and begs you to cum for him. he wants you to just fucking let go. but it's hard for you to trust him.

weeks of him inviting you out, meeting his friends. him asking to meet yours. more flowers, he buys your favorite snacks. he drives you to class and holds your hand on the way to tennis practice.

your friends ask if you're dating him.

"no, no. we aren't. he's not into that."

they look at you, confused.

"did he say that to you?"

"no, but it's implied. with his past."

one of them sits down across from you. "it's pretty clear he loves you. this isn't apart of a scheme--like im telling you--"

your other friend interjects. "it's always him hitting a girl up at a party or something and then they fuck maybe once or twice and then he just stops talking to them. never flowers and hand holding."

"oh--i mean. we'll see."

and patrick thinks you're his girlfriend. that's what he tells art, anyway. and art congratulates him. asks patrick when he asked you to be official.

"what do you mean?"

"patrick you have to fucking ask her."

[moviecritc]

easiest conversation ⋆ carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!oc (named Angelique)

tropes: strangers to lovers

summary: carlos and angelique sat next to each other in a tennis match in monaco, leading to an endless conversation.

a/n: english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes and poor storytelling. maybe a part 2 if you like it?

masterlist

Everybody was focused on Carlos' future in Formula 1, he tried so hard to not be worried about it, but every thing he does, the media somehow made it about his career as a driver. So, at the end, he couldn't do anything except being worried too. Many what ifs were in his mind anytime he thought about it.

The past weekend wete the Masters of Montecarlo, a tennis match, and taking advantage of the fact that he was in the city and most of he's teammates were also watching it, he attended as well.

Carlos didn't have the opportunity to talk to any of them, they were seated in different places in the public. Either way, seeing George, Charles and even Lando with their partners made him feel a little bit more miserable than he already felt. No seat and no girlfriend, that's not a very cool situation to be involved.

And there's even more, he doesn't even know a shit about tennis. He played paddel a few times with Lando, but tennis? He had no idea. So he just sat there, gasping when other people gasp and checking his phone once in a while.

"You seem lost," someone said.

Carlos lifts his head that exact moment, connecting looks with a light brunette that was looking at him above her sunglasses.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked, totally confused. Since when that woman was sitting by his side?.

"Yes. You look bored, maybe you just need someone to explain tennis in a cool way," she smiled. A beautiful smile.

Carlos also smiled a bit, in a weird way. Sometimes he forgots that there's people who can effortlesly talk to strangers in a cool and mysterious way. This woman was one of them.

"Yeah, sure. If you can,"

"If I can?" she seemed dramaticly offended. "You don't think a woman can explain tennis to you, man?"

"Oh, no, no, no. I didn't mean it in that way," he said quickly. "Please, go ahead."

She smiled and started explaining all about tennis in the most interesting and funny way possible.

"How do you know so much about tennis?" he asked.

"Well, I'm a tennis player," she explain. "I thought it was obvious."

Carlos noded a bit, noticing a few mobile phones and cameras pointing at them. He didn't realised it until now, and now he was wondering how many pictures and videos of him and that woman would be around the media.

"Uh, well... I mean, I have no idea about tennis," he said, nervously.

"Yeah, I could tell that," she laughed and she infected Carlos with the laughter. "I'm Angelique, by the way."

"Beautiful name. I'm Carlos," they shaked hands with smiles in their faces. He saw some redness on Angelique face after he complimented her. "So you are a tennis player?"

"Yeah." she simply answered.

"Are you good?" Carlos didn't want the conversation to die.

"I try to be," she said. "I'm fifth in the Women's Tennis Association, I don't know if that's enough for you."

Angelique pursed her lips, making a funny face that made Carlos smiled.

"That sounds really good," he said, truly impressed. They were both athletes, maybe that's why it feels so easy to talk to her.

"What about you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm a race driver,"

Angelique raised even more her eyebrows and wide-opened her eyes "Ok, that is so fucking cool!" she remarked. "Which team do you drive for?"

"Ferrari, but..."

"No way! That's even cooler!" she boasted. "I mean, I have no idea about Formula 1. But Ferrari? That is cool guy material, undoubtedly"

Carlos was too invested in Angelique's voice and eyebrow game that wasn't able to tell her that he isn't staying in Ferrari for too long. But they've just met, and being unemployed isn't something to say to someone right off the bat.

He realised that it was the first conversation in a while that he didn't have to mention anything about his future in Formula 1, another reason of him being this comfortable around Angelique.

"And, how did you became a tennis player?" Carlos asked, leaning a little bit to her.

Now, she was focusing on the ball and the movements of the players.

"My brother used to use me as a ball picker when he played tennis, then he broke his arm and I kept his racket," she explained without divert her eyes from the field.

"He stopped playing tennis after that?"

"Well, yes. When he could come back, he was too old and unexperience to achieve something," she said. "But he wasn't very good anyways."

They both laughed and Angelique take off her sunglasses so she could see Carlos better.

"Have you won something in tennis?" he curiously asked.

"Yeah, of course. Matchs and all those things,"

"Have you beaten Serena Williams?" he wondered, with a smirk.

"Not yet," she admited. "But I've won against people who beat Serena."

She smiled proudly. The match was about to end, and none of them were paying attention to it.

"Okey, that's pretty awesome," he said.

She crossed her legs and accomodated her long brown hair to one side, which left Carlos eyeing her in a romantic way.

"And you? How someone decides that he wants to drive really fast cars?"

"My father has been involved in motorsports for a long time,"

"It's always a family thing, don't you think?" she said. "It is hard to find someone who started in sports by themselves."

"It is!" Carlos agreed with her.

He was going to say something else, but they announce the end of the match, everybody standed up to give an applause. Both of them copied the rest of the people.

"Wait, who won?" Carlos asked, totally confused.

Angelique lean into him, whispering "I've no idea,"

They laughed and kept applausing. That was the end of the match and the end of their conversation. Angelique's agent rapidly came to her to take some pictures with the winner.

"Wait, wait," she insisted to her agent and then walked close to Carlos. "It was lovely talking to you, Carlos,"

"Same, Angelique. You seem an interesting person," he complimented. Carlos was willing to ask her for her number, or something.

"Are you coming to the finals tomorrow?" she asked, praying for a yes.

"I don't think so... I have a race soon in China,"

"Oh," she seemed disappointed. "Well, good luck for your race and..."

"Can I asked you for your number?" he said unexpectedly.

"Yes!" she realised that maybe she was too effusive, so she lower her tone. "I mean, yeah, sure. If you want."

Carlos laughed and Angelique did it too, in a more ashamed way. He gave her his phone so she could write her number.

"There you go," she said and her agent was already near her to leave the match. "Text me!"

Carlos laughed and waved at her, when he looked at his phone, he could do anything but laughed again. Angelique saved her as "That cute girl from the tennis match".

He wondered what was about that girl that made her so unique and easy to talk to her. Carlos didn't think about it very much, instead, he texted her right after she left the field.

[poppy-metal]

inappropriate relationship with country club tennis instructor [2019] patrick?

you're rich. and you're pretty. and you're home for the summer from uni, and you cant wait for a few months with nothing to do but sip mimosas by your luxurious mansion pool. after all, neither of your parents ever pay any attention to you or what you're doing - why should they start now?

except they do. they hand you a few brand-new tennis rackets and tell you you've gotta start doing something with your time. sometimes productive. so you're forced to join about ten other well-to-do rich girls at the local country club in daily tennis lessons. and you hate it, but you're not bad. actually, you're quite okay at it. you're fluid, beautiful on the court, calculated. you understand. you're so good that, in your pressed white lacoste sets and your cute little pink sneakers, you remind your instructor of two people he used to love a very long time ago.

your instructor, btw, is hot. like, all the other girls in the class agree. hes sort of a dick, but hes HOT. and he takes a liking to you. likes thats you're a good girl - you wear your skirts longer than the others in his class, you blush easily. you address him, "yes sir," and "thank you, sir". you listen raptly to everything he says, because you might be a rich little prat, but you've been in etiquette classes since you could walk and you know how a little lady is supposed to behave in public.

so he dotes on you a little. and that's all you wanted, right? a handsome older man to pay you attention, to coddle you and compliment you and tell you how good you're doing. and it's completely, totally innocent.

until you end up in his backseat with your head between his thighs. or the club bathrooms with his hand in your panties. or hiding in a closet with his tongue in your ass. or, on one particularly daring afternoon when your parents arent home, taking him to your sweet, soft pink bedroom with the lace curtains and the frilly duvet cover, so he can finally take your virginity on your bed.

-kit ♡♡♡

@gamesetart

gonna go bananas

you're kind of excel past the other girls laughably well. and you're ostracized for it - they dont like you. think you're trying to fuck patrick - like they aren't.

and you're not, at first. you genuinely just want to be good. you didn't expect to like tennis this much - you expected to hate it - some stupid exercise your parents were forcing on you to feel good about themselves, and while it is that, you find excitement in it. the discipline it requires - it quiets your mind and gives you something to focus on. hitting the ball over the net.

you're the only one in the class that shows real potential.

and yeah, your tennis instructor is hot. patrick zweig. yeah - you'd looked him up immediately after that first day and spent the rest of the night watching him play. yeah, you got kinda sucked into it - watching him play. it fascinated you. he fascinated you.

you hadn't thought of tennis much before then but what you did know about it - but you'd thought it must be boring.

nothing was boring about how patrick played, though. he played with a kind of intensity that surprised you. he dominated the court. ran his opponents on the other side to dust. wiped the floor with them. the precise movements of his arm - the way he seemed to smash the ball across the court instead of just hit it.

it'd been a long time since you felt that motivation. but suddenly you wanted to be good at something. something that wasn't just handed to you. something you had to work to get good at.

the first time you played against patrick and managed to volley back and forth with him for more than ten seconds and he'd grinned at you over the net, said "that wasn't complete shit." you felt like you were high.

and patrick..... it's just for the money at first. some extra cash just to teach some spoiled brats how to hit a ball with a racket - he didn't even have to do that much. he could just lounge around while you played - mooch off the snacks and drinks at the country club.

he didn't expect anyone to actually be good at it.

you suprised him. got his attention. he wondered if this is what tashi felt with art, that kind of spark of satisfaction when you instructed someone and then watched them use that instruction to flourish.

he never considered himself being a good coach but he found himself actually getting more serious about it. and that felt good.

finding you hot was a problem.

god, why did you have to look at him with worship? and you were so polite - standing straigher when he approached. saying "yes sir!" in that eager tone. he'd never had someone respect him this much. idolize him. did terrible things to his head, which was big enough.

he didn't trust himself not to abuse it. knew he definitely would if he was alone with you long enough - which is why he responded with a resounding "no." when you asked for private lessons.

winced at how you crumpled like wet paper. scratched the back of his neck because how could he explain that he couldn't be alone with you and your big eyes and pouty lips and need for validation and not sink his big cock into your pussy. he didn't have that kind of strength.

but you didn't let up. you just tried harder. everyday after practice you'd follow him like a puppy with your tail wagging and ask, "please, sir." and "i know i could be better if you just spent some time on me -" jesus fucking christ. and "my parents will pay you more-"

okay, his ears had perked at that one. even if your persistence irritated him.

"i said no."

one time you followed him all the way out to his car, and kept going on and on about how you'd watched his videos all of his videos and how you admired him so much and how good he looked playing tennis and how you wanted to be good and how cool he was and please mr. zweig I'll be so good I'll listen to whatever you say I'll be so good I'll make you so proud, i promise -

he dropped his bag in the backseat of his van. looked around the lot to make sure you were alone before he turned around after slamming the door shut and gripping you by the back of your neck like a kitten by its scruff and dragging you to his mouth.

you let you a little gasp. patrick didn't wait for you to adjust to him, he slipped his tongue right into your mouth, dominated the kiss, dragged moans from your chest and had you leaning into his broad chest with a whine - head spinning, you had to stand on your tippy toes to meet his violent kisses - his big hands gripping your body - your waist, your ass, your tits. you yelped when he squeezed one harshly, whining his name helplessly and he ate the sound from your lips.

by the time he pulled back your lips were swollen and spit slick and you were swaying on your feet, dazed.

you'd read about the term 'kissed senseless', but you didn't know how it could be real. you did now. you felt ravaged. your whole body buzzing.

patrick sighed. ran a hand through his sweat slicked hair, making it even more wild. had you ran your hands through it? you hadn't even been conscious of doing it, but you wanted to again.

patrick said, suddenly. "double it."

you blinked at him, owlish.

patrick was already opening the drivers side door. he plucked his sunglasses from the dash, plopped them on. "what your parents are paying for you now. for private lessons, i want it doubled."

oh. that.

you grinned - momentarily distracted from what that kiss meant by the glee that patrick was gonna be your private instructor. all yours!

"done! its so done - mr zweig, im -"

"patrick." he corrected.

you bit your lip. "oh! um - i was just trying to be polite - i didn't mean -"

"i know what you meant. I'm telling you to stop because if i hear you call me that again I'm going to think it means you want me to fuck you and I'm going to find the nearest empty room to do just that in."

"m - patrick -" you fumble. your whole body flushes. your nipples harden. your cunt pulses in your little panties and you feel something wet drip. "i - i - i mean, i didn't - i wasn't trying to -"

he flicks his sunglasses over his eyes. one hand on the steering wheel. "im a shitty man and a pervert - lets get that out of the way. if you want to keep this professional -" through his sunglasses you feel his eyes like a hot brand on your skin, looking you up and down. "- you'll stop treating me like a good girl treats her daddy. because I'll take advantage of that very thoroughly."

he closes his car door. leaves you alone in the parking lot to just. sit with that.