#i keep on going to reply sections (bad idea)

[yourbiggestcrybaby]

Dark Side

Tom Riddle X Reader

Tom is aware you have come from a school where the dark arts are taught. He knows you can help him and he knows just how to convince you

Warnings: slight manipulation, dark arts

The restricted section of the library was quiet. Tom watched you scan the shelves, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You were so focused, so intent on finding something in these dusty old shelves. He knew what you were searching for, even if you didn’t know it yourself yet. Power. Knowledge that Hogwarts would never hand over to you willingly.

He let the silence stretch before stepping forward, making sure his footsteps were just loud enough to be heard. Predictably, you spun around, masking the flicker of surprise in your eyes almost as quickly as it appeared. A good sign. You were sharp, quicker than most, but Tom wasn’t worried about that. If anything, it made this more interesting.

"Looking for something forbidden, are we?" he murmured, keeping his voice low, watching you like a hawk. He saw the slight shift in your expression, the hint of wariness. Perfect. You were already on guard, already trying to figure him out. Good, he thought. Be curious. That’ll make this so much easier.

“Tom,” you replied, your tone carefully neutral. “Didn’t expect anyone else here.”

He smiled, just enough to put you off balance. “Ah, yes. You wouldn’t,” he replied smoothly, moving in closer, careful to make his steps calm, unthreatening. He had a knack for knowing when to press in and when to pull back, a skill that had already gotten him access to more knowledge than any other student his age. This was no different.

As he approached, he let his gaze drift to the book you’d picked up, one you’d clearly grabbed on impulse. The wrong choice, but he’d let you realize that on your own. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, amusement in his voice. "Interesting choice,” he said lightly. “But I’d think someone with your background would be interested in… other texts.”

He saw the faint flicker of unease in your eyes, the way you adjusted your grip on the book. So, he thought with a flash of satisfaction, it’s true. Your dark arts training didn’t fade as quickly as Dumbledore had hoped. He watched your expression carefully, knowing that his mention of your past would strike a nerve. It always did. People who came from the darker schools always felt that edge of suspicion in places like Hogwarts, the feeling of being an outsider, of hiding something.

“Maybe I am,” you replied, cool but not defensive. Not bad, he thought. You were trying to keep him at a distance, trying to keep control of the conversation. But you wouldn’t last long. He’d made sure of that.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he said, a hint of intrigue in his voice. He let his tone stay casual, almost amused, but not enough to hide the curiosity in his eyes. He’d learned early on that interest was a powerful tool; people always responded to the thrill of being noticed. “But Hogwarts might not have what you’re used to. Not openly, anyway.” He watched you closely, seeing the way his words drew you in. “Still, you know the things taught where you are from aren’t forgotten here. If anything, they’re just… hidden better.”

The way you studied him then, the hint of resistance, it was clear you weren’t going to give in easily. He almost smirked. Good, he thought, his pulse quickening. It’s always more interesting when they resist.

“And why are you so interested in my old curriculum?” you asked, your voice still light, but he could hear the guarded edge.

He leaned back a little, letting his posture go easy, almost dismissive, knowing how much more effective that would be than anything intense. “Oh, I’m not interested in that,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I’m interested in you.” He let that sink in, watching as the idea took root. “A student who actually knows what magic can do beyond the harmless charms and tricks we’re taught here. I’d think you know spells and techniques that others couldn’t even imagine.” He paused, just long enough to watch your expression shift. “Which, naturally, would make you quite valuable.”

Valuable. That word always worked. It was true, after all, though not in the way you might have thought. Tom’s mind was already racing, already calculating how he might use what you knew, what you dark school had taught you. And the best part was that you wanted this power, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it to yourself. That hunger—it was just under the surface, buried behind all the polite airs and restraint you wore. He’d seen it in the way you looked at certain spells in class, the ones that made the others shrink back in fear. He knew exactly how to draw that side of you out.

“Valuable?” You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone casual. “And you think you’re the one to show me how?”

He almost laughed. Predictable, he thought. You wanted to believe you could see through him, that you weren’t impressed. But he could see it in your eyes, that flicker of curiosity. He tilted his head, letting his gaze sharpen, his expression just serious enough to make you feel like he was seeing something no one else could. “I think you have a potential that most at this school couldn’t even comprehend. Power that few would understand.” He paused, as if measuring his words carefully. “You could accomplish so much, if only you'd... let go of certain reservations.”

He watched as your expression shifted, and he knew he’d struck a chord. Yes, he thought, his pulse quickening again. Let that sink in. It was always the first step. Plant the seed, make them doubt their limitations. After that, it was only a matter of time before they came to him willingly, before they were willing to do anything he suggested.

“I know you don’t believe in the rules, not really,” he continued, his voice calm and coaxing. “And Hogwarts isn’t giving you what you need. Not truly. They’re holding you back, but you’re far too intelligent to let the Ministry’s silly morals stand in your way.”

He could almost see the thoughts racing in your mind, the way you were weighing his words, considering the possibility of everything he was offering. Yes, he thought, pleased. Think about it. Let it fester.

[fudge24-7]

Wondering if tumblr is really good for me

[wannab3-writer]

Game, Set, Love

ART DONALDSON X READER (18+)

Mature Content Warnings: spoilers if you SQUINT , Forbidden Love, Second-Chance Romance, Age Gap, Mentor and Protégé, cheating ( sorta, not on reader), SMUT, NOT PROOF READ.

WC: 13.2 k

description

After walking away from tennis at the height of his career, Art Donaldson finds himself drawn back into the sport as a favour to an old friend. His new charge, Katrina King, is a talented but emotionally young player navigating the intense pressures of the professional tennis circuit. Art and Katrina's connection deepens as they train for the 2020 US Open but a single night changes everything.

2020 BEVERLLY HILLS CHALLENGER

August 31st, 2020

Art Donaldson sat in the shaded section of the stands, his arms resting casually on the armrests. He'd made it clear to everyone���Tashi and the media—that he was done with tennis. But Martha King, a long-time supporter of his and Tashi's tennis foundation, insisted that he attend, going so far as to cover all his expenses for the weekend so he could attend. Her daughter, Katrina King, was playing her final challenger before qualifying for the US Open, and Martha believed it was something he couldn’t miss.

"It's just one set; I'm not going to sit here and beg you to coach her or anything. Just watch, Art. I think you'll find it worthwhile."

Art nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "I’m here, aren't I?" he said, keeping an aloof facade. He glanced toward the court, where Katrina was preparing to serve and begin the last set. Her movements were fluid and purposeful. He'd heard about her talent and determination, but he wasn't ready to be pulled back into the tennis world.

The game began, and Katrina's serve was powerful, almost explosive. Art watched with mild interest as her opponent, a seasoned French player, struggled to keep up. He watched her body move, head to toe, taking her in. She was tall and lean; her body was nothing less than an athletes that was for sure.

"She's impressive," Art commented, a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. Katrina’s mother smiled, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her lap, glancing over towards him.

"She works hard," she replied. "A lot like Tashi used to. I remember watching her play when she was just starting out. She had the same intensity, the same drive."

That had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Art's gaze lingered on Katrina as she moved around the court with confidence and agility. Each shot was precise. He found himself leaning forward slightly, and his interest piqued despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

Martha noticed the shift in his demeanor and cocked a brow. "It's good to see you out here, Art. I know you didn't want to come, but I'm glad you did," she said, her voice soft yet firm. Art nodded, his eyes fixed on the match.

"I'm just watching; nothing special, really," he replied, unsure if he was convincing himself or her.  — Another ace, and the crowd erupted in applause. Art found himself joining in, clapping slowly, though his eyes were locked on Katrina. Something about her—the energy, the focus—reminded him of the early days, the days of fire and ice, Stanford, Wimbledon, and Tashi. It was electric.

As the match progressed, Art's arms uncrossed, and he sat forward, his attention fully on the game. Katrina was dominating, each point building momentum until she reached the match point. The rallies were intense, and the shots were sharp and strategic. With one last ace, Katrina secured the game and title, and her triumphant fist-pump met with a roar from the crowd.

Art stood, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of excitement watching a match. Martha looked at him, raising an eyebrow, her expression expectant.

"Well?" she asked, her voice warm but with an edge that demanded a response.

Art hesitated only briefly, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I'll do it," he said, realizing that he meant it. The idea of coaching Katrina suddenly seemed like an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

Martha smiled, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I knew you'd come around," she said. "Katrina will be thrilled."

Art nodded, his gaze returning to the court where Katrina stood, smiling at the applause. Turning towards the crowd after a few seconds, she found her mother’s gaze, and then — Arts, and she held a fiery look in her eyes, sporting a raised  brow and sly smirk for what felt like at least a minute. One thing was sure for Katrina, on August 31st, 2020, the match wasn’t the only thing she had won that day, and maybe, just maybe, tennis had a place for him again.

THE MEETING

Katrina King walked down the narrow corridor backstage, sweaty, hot, and short of breath, the adrenaline from her victory still coursing through her veins. She was basking in her win, her smile broad and confident. But her mother's text just minutes after the game was clear: "Come to the players' lounge. Now."

She pushed open the door and saw her mother sitting at a small table with Art Donaldson. Katrina knew who he was—everyone in tennis knew. A former tennis champion, the US Open winner from a decade earlier.

Art looked up as Katrina entered the room, his eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and appraisal. Her long hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of intensity and confidence. He noticed the subtle tilt of her chin—she was used to winning, and it showed.

"Katrina," Martha said, gesturing for her to join them. "You remember Art Donaldson, don't you?"

"Of course," Katrina replied, extending her hand. Art stood, his movement deliberate, and shook her hand firmly. His hair was longer than she remembered, resembling his past self, his Stanford days, and recalling his games she'd seen on YouTube. His grip was strong.

"Great game today," Art said, his voice measured. "You played with a lot of confidence. That last ace was a killer."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, a hint of pride in her tone. She could tell he was assessing her and weighing her potential. She didn't mind—she'd done the same with him, reading up on his career and his playing style as soon as she found out he was attending her game. He was known for his

Martha cleared her throat. "But," she said, her tone turning sharp, "there were a few things you need to work on. Your backhand was a bit sloppy today. And you were late on a couple of volleys. If your opponent had been more aggressive, you could've lost points."

Katrina's expression hardened. She knew her mother was right, but the criticism was not something that needed to be said in front of Art; for God sake, she was a 20-year-old woman but felt like she was a child getting scolded in front of her peers, especially after a big win. Art watched the exchange, noting the dynamic between them.

"I'll work on it," Katrina said, her voice steady. "But I got the win, didn't I?"

"You need to be prepared for tougher competition. Complacency is the enemy." Martha replied. “If you think you can win the grand slam playing like that, you’ll be in for a rude awakening, Katrina.”

Art leaned back in his chair, watching the interplay. Katrina definitely had the spark and the drive, but there was also a stubborn streak in her.

So Tashi

When she was younger, she was always pushing boundaries and never satisfied with just a win. He could see the potential for greatness.

"She's got a point," Art said, jumping in. "There's always room for improvement. But you played a solid game today. The key is to keep that momentum going without getting overconfident."

Katrina glanced at him, assessing his words. She appreciated his straightforward approach. He wasn't coddling her, but he also wasn't tearing her down. It was a balance she could respect.

"I'm not planning on slowing down," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to keep getting better. Whatever it takes."

Art nodded. He liked her attitude. It was raw and unfiltered, just like he had been. But there was also a hint of something else—an edge that could either make or break her career. He'd have to be careful, tread lightly, and guide her without pushing too hard.

"Good," he replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Because coaching isn't just about winning. It's about building a mindset, a work ethic, and knowing when to listen. You up for that?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.”

PRACTICE

Art Donaldson stepped into the grand foyer of the White residence, feeling a slight twinge of unease. The housekeepers greeted him politely, their voices formal and distant, leading him through the opulent hallways.

The backyard was large, with meticulously manicured gardens and a full-sized tennis court at its center. Katrina was on the court, stretching with the fluid grace of a seasoned athlete. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in her matching tennis outfit, everything was neatly upheld, even Katrina.

"Hi," she said, her tone somewhat neutral, almost formal. "Ready for practice?"

Art nodded, his expression detached.

Katrina stretched a little longer, glancing at Art occasionally. He stood with his arms crossed, his posture stiff and unwelcoming. The silence between them felt heavy, and neither seemed eager to break it. Katrina was used to coaches being more engaged and enthusiastic, but Art seemed distant, as if he was doing this out of obligation rather than passion.

"Let's get started," he replied, keeping his voice level. He placed his bag on a bench and scanned the court, taking in the pristine surface and the quality equipment. It was clear that the King family spared no expense on Katrina's training facilities.

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Katrina listened with a mix of uncertainty and skepticism. Art Donaldson wasn't the type to mince words, and despite his unbothered demeanor, his comments were sharp and to the point. What puzzled her was how much he seemed to know about her style, despite only seeing her play once.?

Art continued, his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I've reviewed some of your past games, mostly the ones you lost. It's clear you have the raw strength and power, but you rely on them too much. That's great for getting those aces, but without proper technique and precision, you're risking injuries and inconsistency. We need to refine that raw power and give it more structure."

Katrina couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation. She knew she was strong, and her serve was one of the best on the circuit, but hearing someone dissect her game so quickly was unsettling. This was only their first practice; they hadn’t even started playing yet, but somehow Art already seemed to know her weaknesses better than most of her previous coaches.

Art continued, unaware of her internal resistance. "So, I've created a set of drills that will help improve your footwork and balance. It's not just about hitting the ball hard; it's about control and accuracy. If we don't work on these areas, you're going to burn out before you reach your peak."

Katrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't one to take criticism lightly, especially from someone who'd barely spent time with her. Art had a point—she'd heard similar comments before—but his bluntness felt a bit too forward for her liking. Who was he to tell her she needed refinement after only seeing her play once?

As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her strength was a double-edged sword; it gave her an edge, but it also left her vulnerable. She'd suffered minor injuries in the past due to poor technique, and she'd lost matches because of these errors. Art's critique, though harsh, had truth to it.

Art noticed her hesitation and the slight edge in her expression. "I know this might sound a bit blunt," he said, softening his tone slightly. "But I'm not here to sugarcoat things. If you want to make it to the top and stay there, you need to listen and adjust. This isn't about criticism—it's about giving you the best chance to succeed."

Katrina sighed, feeling her resistance wane. Maybe Art was a bit too forward, but he wasn't wrong. He had seen something in her that others hadn't—or maybe he was just willing to point it out where others had stayed silent. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Let's give it a shot."

Art nodded, his demeanor slightly less rigid. "Good. Let's start with the footwork drills. I'll show you what I mean."

As they moved onto the court to begin the practice, Katrina felt a cautious sense of optimism. Art was a mystery; she had only met him once before and couldn’t recall him being this cold, but there was something about his straightforwardness that felt refreshing, even if it rubbed her the wrong way at first. Maybe this coaching thing would work out after all—if she could just learn to trust his instincts.

Art watched her for a while, his arms still crossed. He occasionally offered a brief correction, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Keep your elbow in on your serve. It'll give you more control," he said without much inflection.

Katrina adjusted her stance and served again, this time with better accuracy. "I got it," she replied, glancing at Art to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded, his face expressionless.

As the practice progressed, the tension between them slowly eased. Art started giving more detailed feedback, explaining why certain techniques were important. Katrina listened intently, realizing that, despite his aloof demeanor, he knew his stuff. His advice was sound, and when she followed it, she could see near-immediate improvement in her game.

"You're not bad at this coaching thing," she remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Art gave a faint smile, the first she'd seen from him. "Just repeating what I've heard a thousand times," he replied.

Katrina tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "Didn't Tashi coach you your whole career? There must have been an adjustment when you two decided to retire, huh?" After those words left her mouth, she knew she had hit a sore spot.

Art's expression changed, the brief smile vanishing. "Yeah, she was." She hadn't meant any harm; really, it was an honest question. Art had a successful career with more than enough titles under his belt, not to mention a prior injury; it only made sense to retire when he did.

His voice grew colder. "Alright, breaks over." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.

The rest of the practice was more focused, with Art providing steady guidance and Katrina working hard to apply his advice. As the session drew to a close, Katrina felt a subtle shift in Art's attitude. He seemed a bit more relaxed and engaged in the process.

Before they wrapped up, Katrina decided to ask a question that had been on her mind. "Art, why did you agree to coach me?" she asked, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “No offense, but you didn't seem the most pleased when you got here.” She stopped and laughed. “And I know my mother's paying you well, but I'm sure you do good for yourself on your own.”

Art paused, considering his response. He looked up to the sky in thought, licking his lips only to settle his gaze on her while she rolled out her quads. "When I watched your game, I saw the determination and drive for tennis that I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Not since Tashi," he added, his eyes distant. The memory of Tashi's knee injury and the end of her career lingered in the air. “It honestly felt like I was watching her for the first time again.”

Katrina nodded, sensing the heaviness in his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew there was more to Art's story, but she also knew it wasn't her place to press further. She got up after her stretch, dusting herself off.

Art nodded, "We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. Katrina agreed, sensing that this coaching relationship would take time to develop but feeling that they were on the right track. “I think it would be a smart move to sign you up for some challengers; we’ll be able to fully gauge your abilities after a couple of weeks of training and see what we need to adjust.”

AFTER PRACTICE

Katrina stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the tension in her shoulders. The first practice with Art had been intense, and her muscles were starting to feel the strain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she took a deep breath, wondering if she'd made the right choice in agreeing to work with him.

As she got dressed, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, a rich aroma that made her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and she hoped her mom would let her have something substantial.

Katrina entered the dining room, where her mother was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand. The table was set with a carefully arranged selection of dishes, but Katrina noticed the absence of anything remotely indulgent. No desserts, no heavy carbs, just the usual assortment of protein and vegetables.

"Good evening, Mom," Katrina said, forcing a smile as she took a seat. Her mother looked up from her phone, her eyes bright but her expression serious.

"Katrina," Martha replied, her tone even. "How was practice with art?"

Katrina shrugged, picking up a piece of grilled chicken. "It was fine. He's... intense, but I guess that's to be expected from someone like him." She paused, then added, "How did you even get him to come to my match? He's been avoiding tennis for ages."

Martha's smile was tight, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Art and I have a history; we’ve always been interested in his foundational work. I just reminded him of the impact he could make by coming back, even if it was just for one match. And you know, he doesn't say no to me, not when your father and I are as generous as we are during his charity events."

Katrina raised an eyebrow, sensing the hint of manipulation in her mother's words. "So you used the foundation to guilt him into coming?"

Classic

Martha's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not guilt, Katrina. It's connections; your father and I do a lot for you and your career. There's a difference.” She paused. “The money we put into the foundations were investments for you; we would have preferred Tashi, sure, but after Art retired, she went off to coach some European girls, so we got the second best.” She was irritated. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to have a coach like Art. You said yourself you needed someone with real experience." 

Katrina sighed, realizing that arguing with her mom was a lost cause. "I guess," she said, taking a cautious bite of the chicken. She glanced at the dessert tray on the far end of the table, spotting a small dish of fruit tarts. Her mouth watered at the sight of them.

Martha followed her gaze and shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "Your dietitian would have a fit. You know you're on a strict regimen."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but she didn't push back. Her mom was relentless when it came to her career, and any deviation from the plan was met with immediate correction. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, feeling her appetite wane.

“Where’s Jayden and Judea?” Katrina asked only now, noticing her siblings were missing from the dinner table.

“They went out to dinner with the rest of the kids that train with them and coach Pattcheo.”

“mmh.”

After dinner, Katrina retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. She felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. Frustration with her mom's overbearing attitude and curiosity about Art.

She opened her laptop and started searching for Art's social media profiles. His Instagram was sparse, mostly old tennis photos and a few promotional shots, brand deals, and the foundation. Barley has no pictures of his daughter and no recent ones of Tashi. His Facebook was similar, with long gaps between posts. There were articles about his career, but nothing stood out.

"For such a big shot, there’s not much for me to stalk," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the limited content. It was clear that Art wasn't one for the limelight, preferring to keep a low profile. Katrina found herself intrigued.

She searched for videos of his old matches, curious to see him in action. She found a few highlights from his glory days, watching as he moved across the court with precision and grace. It was easy to see why he'd been a champion—his technique was flawless, and his focus was intense.

"Not bad," she said to herself, watching a particularly impressive rally where he had dominated his opponent.

As the night grew darker, Katrina closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Art was weird, and she wasn't sure how to feel about him yet. But one thing was clear—he had a depth that she'd have to uncover if she wanted to make the most of his coaching. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be the one to help her reach the next level.

SIX DAYS BEFORE US OPEN

It was six days before the Open, and Art stood at the far end of the court, watching Katrina as she moved through a set of agility drills. The sun was beating down, but Katrina was relentless, her movements swift and precise. As he took her in, he marveled at how good she looked. The thin layer of sweat that covered her form made her glow in the evening light, with her baby hair clinging to her face as she hit ball after ball. He drank in her curves, nearly forgetting what he was actually here for.

Art was calling out instructions, his voice clear but encouraging. Clearly, the past five weeks of training had brought them closer, both in skill and in the ease with which they interacted.

"Remember to keep your weight centered," Art said, pointing toward her feet. "Don't lean too much into the shot; it'll throw off your balance. Other than that, you’re looking good."

Katrina nodded, adjusting her stance. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he was praising her. It felt genuine, not just a coach’s platitude. She could sense an unspoken tension between them, but she couldn't quite define it. It was there, in the way his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they needed to, in the way he sometimes reached out to correct her form.

"Nice volley," Art said as she expertly returned the ball over the net. "You're really getting the hang of these drills."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, giving him a small smile. "I learned from the best."

Art chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery won't save you on the court, but it's appreciated." He watched as she moved into position for a backhanded hit, a play that had been a weak point for her. She swung, and the ball clipped the net.

Maybe she was just tired, or maybe he just looked too good; either way, she was distracted. How was she supposed to focus when he was standing with his broad shoulders and arms crossed and that damn backwards Sandford snapback observing like a hawk? She understood that’s his job; he’s quite literally getting paid to be here. Something was different though; the look he gave her five weeks ago, shit even two weeks ago, was nothing near the way he looks at her now.

“Stop.” He says, and she halts her hit.

Art moved closer, taking a pause, before walking behind her, closing the distance between them. "Here, let me show you," he said, reaching around her to correct her grip on the racket. His breath was warm on her neck, and Katrina tensed, feeling a heat that wasn't from the sun. His touch was gentle but firm, guiding her into the proper position.

"Like this," Art said, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel his presence. "Keep your elbow straight and your wrist firm."

Katrina nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and swung again, this time clearing the net with ease.

“There we go, atta girl.” He whispered while cracking a smile.

She felt hot, oh god, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. How could he say that so casually? She didn’t have to just deal with the fact that she’s now all hot and bothered, but also the guilty embarrassment of realizing she has a fat crush on her 30-sum-year-old tennis coach, who just happens to be a husband and father.

Right

Pulling away, she changes the subject, considering he’s been silent for the past minute and a half. "How's your daughter doing? And Tashi?" She felt the atmosphere shift as Art cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Lily's doing well," he replied, his voice controlled. "She's on tour with Tashi, who's coaching her for the season." He left it at that, his eyes avoiding hers as he focused on the court. "Keep hitting the ball with that form," he added, his tone all business now.

Art adjusted his pants, his expression tight, and turned to leave. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just need to run to the bathroom."

Katrina watched him go, her heart still racing from the moment he'd been so close. She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on her training, but the lingering warmth of his presence was hard to ignore. The open tournament was coming up, and she needed to be at her best, both on and off the court. The challenge would be to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“Oh, what the fuck, Art?” feeling his own disappointment, he said to himself as he did his best to fix the hard-on that was growing by the second. What would he give to be able to take a cold shower right now?

Scurrying to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the door, contemplating what just happened and palming himself.

“Fuck” was uttered in a raspy and hushed manner.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. He felt guilty forgetting hard for a girl over a decade younger than him. But that wasn’t what he really felt guilty about. He felt guilty because he liked it. She was fiery; she was driven, and the way she looked at him, with admiration, was long since Tashi looked at him with any emotion of the sort. Katrina made him feel good about himself. And fuck, was she hot. He was almost certain that as the days of training passed, the length of her skirt shortened and her tops got tighter, or maybe he just started paying attention to it.

He needed to stop thinking of her for his sanity and his cocks, because leaving every practice with blue balls for the last week and a half hasn’t been pleasant.

Splashing himself with cold water and tucking his dick into his waistband, he walks back out before she starts questioning anything.

"All right, that's it for today," he called out, clapping his hands to get her attention. "Good work. We'll take it easy tomorrow, then hit the road the day after."

Katrina straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathless from the intense workout. "I feel good about it. I think we're ready."

Art nodded, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. There was a grace to her movements, even in her exhaustion. She carried herself with confidence, but there was also a vulnerability that he'd come to recognize. It was in the way she sometimes hesitated before speaking or the way her eyes softened when they shared a joke.

"Thanks for, you know, doing this," Katrina said, her eyes meeting his. "I know you didn't have to, but... I'm glad you did."

Art felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that he'd been avoiding, or perhaps suppressing. There was something about Katrina that made him want to stay, to guide her through the ups and downs of the game. And it wasn't just about tennis. It was something deeper, something that made him feel almost protective.

"It's been a good few weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "You've got a lot of potential, Katrina. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could go far."

She smiled, a genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where neither of them moved. He knew he should step back and create some distance, but he found himself drawn in, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her eyes. There was something about her.

"All right," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Get some rest tonight. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I need you focused."

Katrina nodded, her eyes locking with his. The tension was palpable, a mix of excitement and something else, something neither of them wanted to name. Art felt the stirrings of something almost primal, a desire that had been dormant for a long time. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.

"Good night," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"Good night," he replied, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than they should. "Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." With his things packed, he walked off the court, leaving her to stretch.

The US Open tournament was coming, and with it, a new set of challenges—both on and off the court.

THE DRIVE TO SAN DIEGO

This was unexpected. Somehow, Katrina was sitting in the passenger seat of Arts Blue Bronco and had managed to snag herself a one-on-one tournament weekend with the Art Donaldson himself. Her mother had only missed three of her games throughout her entire career. The first time was when Katrina was 12. Her mother didn't attend because Katrina had just started playing tennis, and her mother assumed she wouldn't be good enough to watch, so she spent her time on holiday with the neighborhood housewives and was pleasantly surprised when Katrina returned with her first trophy. The second time was when Katrina was 16. Their grandmother had passed away, but Katrina's mother insisted that Katrina should play in the game instead of staying home to grieve like a normal person. She told Katrina that every win was one step closer to a successful career; bad things happen all the time, and you simply “need to get over it and move on." The third time was today, when Katrina was 20, after her little brother's appendix unexpectedly burst at 4 a.m. in the morning, and he and their mom had to rush to the hospital.

"How do you feel about your mom not being here this time?" Art asked, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Katrina's expression carefully.

Katrina shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of happy she's not here. It's like a weight off my shoulders. I don't have to worry about her criticizing every move I make or every shot I miss."

Art nodded, sensing the relief in her voice. "Your mom seems pretty tough on you."

"She is," Katrina replied, swirling her drink. "She talks a big game, but sometimes I think she doesn't really know what she's saying. Like when she criticizes my plays—she doesn't really get the game, you know? She just wants to be involved, but it's not always helpful."

Art felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd known parents like that, always pushing, always expecting perfection without understanding the sacrifices involved. "I'm glad I could be here for you, then," he said. "You shouldn't have to go through all this alone. It's hard enough without extra pressure from someone who isn't really helping."

Katrina shrugged, her lips curling into a small, ironic smile. "It's been like that since I was a kid. I never had much of a childhood, anyway. The little bit of teenager-like stuff I did, I had to sneak around to do it. Mom was always watching, always pushing me to be the best and to win. I never really got to be a kid."

Art felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It wasn't just empathy—it was a sense of injustice, of the things Katrina had missed out on. He'd seen it before in other athletes whose parents lived vicariously through their children, expecting them to carry the weight of their own dreams. It was a burden no young person should have to bear. Shit went through it himself with Tashi, and it eventually cost them their relationship.

"That sounds rough," he said, his voice gentle. "Everyone deserves a chance to be a kid—to have fun, to make mistakes, to figure things out without a constant spotlight." 

“I definitely have to make mistakes." She paused and giggled in embarrassment. “This might be T.M.I. But my first time was with a random guy around my age that was dragged to a dinner party at his parents house.” She side-eyes Art for a moment. “Of course, while the adults did whatever adults do, we snuck off into the liquor cabinet, got so hammered, and then decided to go up to my room.”

Art only looked at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.

“Long story short, by the time we were done, everyone was looking for us — of course we were too stupid to think that anyone would notice we were missing for over an hour.” She sighs with a smile. "Anyways, it turns out they were serving desert, and when the housekeeper came in looking for us, she couldn’t hold back a scream. It's safe to say I can’t even remember how long I was grounded for.”

Art was fully laughing now, not sure if it was from second hand embarrassment or because of how unexpected this was.

“Mistakes aren’t something; you escape, believe me.” He seemed nostalgic.

"Yeah," Katrina replied, her gaze dropping to the table. 

“Anyways, I’m sure instances like that’s what made me basically one of the strongest tennis players of all time,” she concludes, sarcastically exaggerating.

Art sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Strength isn't just about winning," he said. "It's about finding your own way, making your own choices, and being okay with who you are, even if it doesn't fit someone else's expectations."

Katrina looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I want," she said. "I want to play because I love it, not because I'm trying to prove something to someone else. I just... I wish I had more time to figure it all out."

Art nodded, understanding her struggle. "You'll get there," he said. "You've got a lot of potential, and you're doing it for the right reasons. Just remember, it's okay to take a step back sometimes. To enjoy the game, to find joy in the small things,

Katrina smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that."

Art returned her smile, feeling a connection that went beyond coach and player. It was a moment of genuine understanding, the kind that made all the effort and hard work worth it. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least they had each other to navigate it together.

AT THE HOTEL

After a two-hour drive, Art and Katrina King arrived at the hotel where they would be staying during the tournament in San Diego. The hotel was upscale, with modern decor and spacious rooms. They'd been given a suite with two separate bedrooms connected by a shared living area. It was the perfect setup for coach and player.

Art had just finished unpacking when he decided to knock on Katrina's door. It was only 7 p.m., and he thought it might be nice to have dinner together. A little bonding before the tournament might help ease some of the tension they have been feeling lately. There is no harm in a friendly dinner. 

Right?

Katrina opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Art standing there. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than usual. "What's up?"

"Want to grab dinner?" Art asked, keeping his tone casual. "There's a nice restaurant downtown I've been meaning to check out every time I come down here."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a hint of a smile. "Sure, why not?" she replied. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach—this wasn't just a quick meal at the hotel lobby; it was a proper dinner out.

"Great," Art said, checking his designer watch. "Meet you back here in 40."

Katrina agreed, closing the door to get ready. She picked out a simple black dress, something a little fancier than she normally wears. Her brown hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in curls. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was just dinner, right?

When she stepped out of her room, Art was already waiting in the living area. He glanced up and immediately did a double take. Katrina looked stunning, the soft curls of her hair framing her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her figure in a way that made it hard to look away. Art felt like a high school boy going out on his first date. He could already feel himself stiffen. 

Blinking, he gives up a smirk. "You look great."

Katrina blushed slightly. "Thanks," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "You don't look too bad yourself. Nice seeing you outside of tennis attire."

The place was dimly lit with candlelight, adding to the intimate atmosphere. As they sat down, Art felt a sense of ease with Katrina that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was nice to know that for once, something in her life wasn't just about tennis; it was about getting to know each other on a personal level.

As time passed, they got into a comfortable conversation, talking about anything and everything.

"So," Katrina began, looking across the table at him, "you mentioned your daughter earlier. Tell me about her."

Art smiled at the mention of Lily. "She's great," he said. "She's 10 and a total fire cracker; she’s starting boarding school next year. She’s got this energy that lights up a room. She loves tennis, too, but I'm trying not to push her too hard. I want her to find her own path."

Katrina nodded, appreciating his perspective. "Sounds like you're a good dad."

Art chuckled softly, then his expression turned a bit somber. "I try to be. Things have been complicated at home. Tashi and I are technically still together, but it's more for Lily's sake than anything else." He paused, glancing at Katrina to gauge her reaction. "We're not really happy, but we're making it work—for now. Nothing has really been the same since I retired, you know."

Oh, that makes sense. She tensed.

Katrina felt a guilty glimmer of hope. If Art and Tashi were essentially separated, then maybe her fantasies weren't so impossible after all. The thought made her blush, and she took a sip of water to hide it.

As the dinner progressed, they subtly flirted with each other. Art ordered a bottle of wine to keep the conversation going, which prompted Katrina to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this off-limits?" she teased. "My mother and my dietitian would be so disappointed."

Art smirked. "You have to live a little," he replied, pouring her a glass. "Besides, a glass of wine won't ruin your career. It's all about balance, right?"

Katrina laughed softly. "Isn't it ironic that a thirty-something-year-old man is telling a twenty-year-old to have fun?"

Art chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about loosening up," he said with a playful wink. "Life's too short to be serious all the time."

“You sure look like you know how to have fun,” she said in a teasing tone. It was clear her words had a double meaning.

Art smirked and quipped, “I do; you just have to pry it out of me, I guess.

As the evening went on, the tension between them grew more palpable. The candlelight, the soft music, the wine—all of it added to the atmosphere. There was an undercurrent of attraction, a pull that neither of them could ignore. By the end of the night, you could’ve cut the tension with a knife.

Art leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "We should probably head back," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "I don't want to overdo it before the tournament."

Katrina nodded, feeling her heart race. "Yeah, probably a good idea," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they left the restaurant, the night air felt cooler against their skin, but the heat between them hadn't cooled at all. They walked back to the hotel in comfortable silence, each aware of the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface, steeling glances here and there.

The tension had been building throughout dinner. As they reached their suite, Art turned to Katrina, his expression neutral but his eyes holding a hint of warmth.

"Well, I guess we should call it a night," he said, reaching for his key card. He didn't want to cross any boundaries, especially with the multiple games she had tomorrow. But the way Katrina looked at him during dinner made it difficult to ignore the desire simmering just beneath the calm exterior.

Katrina held up a finger. "Okay...” she paused, feigning a thought. “But we didn't finish the bottle of wine," she said with a playful smile. "And my mom's going to be back for the second day of the tournament. This might be our only chance to… get to know each other; we’ll have to throw it out if we don’t finish it tonight, just sayin’."

The wine was definitely hitting.

Art hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

They moved into the shared living room, which had a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. Katrina grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses while Art flipped through the channels on the television, settling on a random movie for background noise. It was an action film with a lot of explosions and fast-paced scenes, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

As they settled onto the couch, Katrina poured them each a glass of wine. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was an underlying current of flirtation. They started talking about the tournament, about tennis, and then about life in general. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and playful banter.

"You know," Art said, taking a sip of wine, "I didn't think I'd enjoy coaching, but I'm glad I came back for this."

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Coaching? You're more like a mentor," she teased. "Plus, you're not that old to be called a coach."

Art chuckled. "Careful, or I'll make you run extra laps tomorrow," he replied, giving her a mock stern look. "I'm not that old, but I've seen a lot in my time."

"Sure, sure," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically ancient."

They both laughed, the sound filling the room. As the conversation continued, they found themselves leaning closer to each other, the space between them shrinking with each passing minute. The flirting became more overt—the playful touches on the arm, the shared smiles, and the lingering glances.

Art felt the tension building and the pull growing stronger. He knew he should keep his distance, but the way Katrina looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, made it difficult to resist.

"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you're more than just a talented player, Katrina.” He looked at her with a dark gaze. “There's something about you that makes it hard to stay away. Even when I know I should."

Katrina's eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at his words. The air between them felt electric and charged with anticipation. There were no words left to be said; they leaned in without even noticing, and there they were, on the hotel couch, lips smashed together. The wine glass in Katrina's hand tilted, spilling a few drops onto the couch, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.

The kiss was intense, filled with the desire that had been building for weeks. It was risky, even dangerous, given their roles as coach and athlete. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them caught in a whirlwind of emotion and longing.

Sprawled out like a couple of horny teenagers making out on their parent’s couch, it was almost comedic. 

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged, and their eyes locked in a mix of surprise and exhilaration. The movie played on in the background, the noise a distant echo as they sat there, close together, knowing that everything had changed in a single moment.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Art broke the silence first.

“Yeah, we really shouldn't.” She pulled back for a moment. “But we already did.” She moved up to fix his nonexistent collar. “Unfortunately, I have this really good coach, and he’d hate to see me not finish something I started.” Sha gazed up at him as she finished giving him a cheeky smile.

She was giving him that look, a look that said nothing less than fuck me.

Art couldn’t do anything more than chuckle and give in. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you disappoint him.“ He told her as he lifted her up into his lap.

“You’ve gotta live a little, you know.” She said it in-between kisses. His lips, his neck, and his jaw. There wasn’t an inch of him; she wasn’t going to kiss tonight.

“You’re right.” Their mouths dance together, their tongues fighting for dominance. Arts hands were taking all her in. Her dress pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands under it, grasping her tits. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, Katrina.” He breathes out in a hushed manner, biting at her lip.

“Prove it to me, Art.” She says she is pulling her dress over her head. He stopped taking a moment to drink her in; she was beautiful.

“Holly fuck.” He rasps out, unclasping her bra, leaving it to be forgotten, much like the wine.

Katrina could feel the raging hardness beneath her. Grinding into it, she lets out a moan as he kisses and sucked on her exposed breast. “Every time I’d walk on the court, and I’d see you wearing your tight little tennis outfits, god,” he rasped while bighting his lip. “All I could think about was how I wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there.” He picked her up and started walking to her bedroom. “Now, I get to be a good coach and teach you a thing or two.” He threw her on the bed, peering over her with hungry eyes and breathing heavily. “Will you be a good student and let coach fuck some knowledge into you, huh, baby?”

“I’ve never let you down, have I?” She answered him, looking up at him from the bed, her big doe eyes saying everything for her. “Show me how it’s done, coach.” She wet her lips seductively.

“Well, first, pretty girl, it’s important to get warmed up. You need help warming up, babe.” Art drags his finger from her thigh to her stomach and back down to her panties.  Slowly pulling them off. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he gazes up at her with hooded eyes. He kisses along her thighs, sucking now and then, making his way up to her sopping cunt. When he does reach her, he begins lapping at her like a man who’s been deprived of water for forty days and forty nights.

“Oh my God, Art, it feels so good.” She could feel herself getting short of breath. It was so good, better than anything she had fantasized about while taking the shower head for a spin. Grasping his hair in her hand, she can’t help but grind her pussy in his face, making both him and her a sloppy mess.”

“You’re so good for me; you've always been a fast learner, you know.” He pulled up, leaving trails of kisses as he made his way up and onto the bed. “My pretty girl,” he says, looking down at her with a smirk, his chin wet with her juices. He gets off the bed and starts to strip. His shirt comes up first, giving her the opportunity to get up on her knees and run her hands over his toned abs as she continues to kiss his neck. He follows with his. Belt slipped off his pants, his cock springing up, strained by his boxers. Katrina can’t help but feel her mouth damn near water. Pulling his boxers down, she lets a glob of her saliva leak on his cock before taking him into her mouth with a moan. Art only grabs her hair in his fist before letting out a deep moan and letting his eyes roll back. “Really got a mouth on you, huh, pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “Taking me all in.”

He pulls out, a string of saliva following, only to drip down from her chin onto her chest as he motions for her to lay back down on the bed. “You ready to get that pretty pussy fucked?” he leans down, sucking on her nipples. “You’ve warmed up enough, don’t you think?”

"Yes.” Its barley is above a whisper.

“What was that? You’ve got to use your words, Kat." He says, slightly pulling away from her lips, waiting for a better response.

“Please fuck me, Art.” She moans out, “I need you now."” She pulls him back down for a kiss, lining her hips up with his. He’s teasing at her entrance for a moment before she grabs his lower back and pulls him in the whole way. They both let out a sigh of relief as she felt her walls stretch around his length and he felt her wetness embrace him.

He’s fully thrusting now, with his whole strength, his hips snapping into hers with purpose. Grunts and moans are coming out of both their mouths.

"Switch,” she says, suddenly pushing him back a bit, only for her to get on top, grinding her hips in circles while riding him. “You’re so good, Art; you make me feel so good,” she’s breathless, guiding his veiny hands onto her chest. “I’ve ouched myself so many times fantasizing about this, thinking about how I’d take your cock.” She slips his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them for a second. “Even better than I dreamed,” she smirked. She could feel the pit inside her tighten; she was close, and she could tell that he was too.

She looked down at her and motioned for Art to open his mouth, and when she did, she let her spit trickle down into his mouth with a satisfied grin. That was it for him; after she did that, he started hammering on her mercilessly.

“Oh my god, harder art.” She says this with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He obliged his vice like a grip.. Her ass was so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His pace was uneven with labored breaths; he let out one loud moan before pulling out and cumming all over her stomach, some even getting on himself. She didn’t even have the time to process what happened before she was pushed onto her stomach. 

There he was again, nose deep in her aching pussy, only this time it was from behind, and he was going between her cunt and her asshole. Moaning into a pillow, it didn’t take long for her to finish all over his face, collapsing onto the bed, flat on her stomach.

After a long and hot shower, Art lay on his back, his arm around Katrina as they were in bed, enjoying the stillness of the night. The hotel room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow that created an intimate ambiance. Katrina's head rested on his shoulder, her hair cascading over his chest. It felt comfortable and natural, like they belonged there.

Art turned slightly to look down at Katrina, her face peaceful and relaxed. He traced his fingers gently along her arm, a simple, affectionate gesture that made her shiver slightly. It was a closeness that was rare for him, something he hadn't felt in years, and he cherished it.

"You're something else, you know that?" He said, his voice low and warm. "You've got this way of making me feel like I'm twenty again. I don't know what it is, but you bring out a side of me that I thought was long gone."

Katrina smiled, her eyes still closed as she nestled closer against him. "That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

Art chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Yeah, it's a good thing," he replied. "I really enjoyed tonight. It was... different from what I'm used to, but in the best possible way. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into coaching, but being your coach has been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time."

Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. "I'm glad you did," she said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. It's not just about tennis—it's about everything else. You made me realize it’s not just hitting a ball with a stick."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, a simple, tender gesture that spoke volumes. "You've got a lot of talent, Katrina," he said.

Katrina blushed, feeling a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the physical closeness. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot coming from you. I feel the same way, you know. You make everything seem a little easier, like it's all going to be okay."

Art nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just affection—it was a sense of connection, a bond that he knew was special.

Katrina sighed contentedly, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, grounding her in the moment. She felt safe, secure, and genuinely happy. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time, and she wasn't ready to let it go.

Art tightened his arm around her, holding her a little closer. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Katrina by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.

THE TOURNEMENT

Katrina woke up to an empty bed. The warm spot where Art had lain the night before had cooled, and there was no sign of him in the hotel room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was early, but she figured he had probably gone to start prepping for the tournament—they had a busy day ahead. It had been a long night.

She sat up, stretched, and looked around the room. Everything was in its usual place; nothing seemed out of order. Art's clothes were gone, and her things were neatly put away, almost as if he had never stayed there.

Strange

Katrina didn’t dwell on it. It made sense that he might have moved his things back to his room to get ready for the day. After all, he was her coach, and today was important.

She got dressed in her tennis gear, taking her time in the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up. The uncertainty about where Art had gone was starting to creep in, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to get worked up—he'd turn up soon enough.

Katrina made her way to the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Art there, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. It was odd; usually, he'd leave some sort of note or text. She grabbed one of her pre-prepared meals from the fridge and ate it while waiting for him to return, her mind running through the drills they’d be doing later that day.

After what felt like an eternity, Art finally walked in, holding a cup of coffee from the café downstairs. Katrina felt a rush of relief. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "You went out for coffee?"

Art nodded, but his demeanor was noticeably colder than usual. His eyes were distant, and his responses were curt. "Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was flat, lacking the warmth she had come to expect from him.

Katrina felt a flicker of anxiety. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. "You seem a little off."

Art shrugged, barely looking at her. "Just focused on the tournament," he said, his voice detached. "We've got a lot to do today."

Katrina felt a pang of confusion. This was a complete 180 from the night before. They had shared something special, something she thought was meaningful. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. But now he was acting as if it had never happened. So she pressed the issue.

"Art, why are you acting like this?" she asked, her tone edged with concern. "Last night was... well, it was nice. What changed."

Art set his coffee cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm being a responsible coach," he said, his voice cold. "You have important matches today. We can't afford distractions."

Katrina was taken aback by his abruptness. "Distractions? Is that what last night was to you?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Art sighed, rubbing his temples. "Katrina, we can't do this. You need to be focused. What happened last night." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was a mistake, and I need you to be serious about this tournament."

Katrina felt a surge of anger and hurt. "A mistake?" she said, her voice sharp. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened. You can't just switch like that!"

Art's expression was stern. "You need to act like you've got an important game today, because you do. And I have to be the coach you need, not something else."

Katrina felt her heart sink. This wasn't the Art she knew. The warmth and connection from the night before were gone, replaced by a wall of professionalism and distance. But there wasn't time to press further—they had to get to the court and start their warm-up drills.

The argument left Katrina feeling disoriented and hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. She had to focus on the tournament, even if her coach seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. As they headed out the door, she tried to shake off the feeling, knowing that the game ahead demanded her full attention.

FIRST MATCH

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, introducing the players for the Challenger tournament. The crowd applauded as Katrina King and Alexis Grace stepped onto the court, each acknowledging the fans with a wave. Art Donaldson watched from the sidelines, his eyes focused on Katrina as she moved to her position.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first match of the US Open," the announcer said, continuing on.

Art knew it would be a challenging game. Alexis was a good opponent who could hold her own, but based on states alone, this should be an easy win, for lack of better words. Art felt a pang of guilt for how he'd acted that morning. He'd been cold and distant, trying to maintain professionalism, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wished he could go back and handle things differently, but now wasn't the time for regrets—Katrina needed his support.

The first set began with Katrina serving. She delivered a somewhat strong shot, but Alexis returned it with ease, sending the ball back with a blistering forehand. Katrina scrambled to keep up, her movements swift but slightly off-balance. She managed to return the shot, but Alexis was already at the net, volleying the ball with precision.

Art watched, his heart racing. Katrina had the talent, but he could tell she was getting into her own head. The missed points seemed to weigh heavily on her, and she was starting to lose her composure. He couldn't blame her—his behavior hadn't helped.

Katrina's next serve was strong, but Alexis anticipated it, returning the ball with a slice that landed just out of Katrina's reach. The crowd murmured, sensing the momentum shift in Alexis's favor. Art clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. He needed to be there for Katrina, even if she didn't want to hear it right now. Her errors were becoming more frequent. A double fault here, a missed volley there—it was starting to add up.

Art's internal thoughts were filled with frustration and guilt. He knew he had to do something to help her, but he also knew her head wasn’t focused on the game. As the set progressed, the tension in the stadium grew. Katrina's shots were becoming more erratic, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake.

Finally, the set ended with a decisive point from Alexis, securing her the first set. The crowd erupted in applause, but Art felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

Katrina King sat on the bench, her racket resting between her knees, and tried to catch her breath. The set break was supposed to be a chance to reset, to gather her thoughts, and to prepare for the next game, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her body felt tense, and her heart was heavy with doubt.

This match was supposed to be a warmup, and I’m making a complete fool of myself. She thought, scrunching her brows as she looked up at the sky.

Her hand gripped the racket tighter, the familiar texture offering a semblance of comfort.

A mistake

This morning kept replaying in her mind, each word like a weight pressing down on her. It had thrown her off and shaken her confidence. She couldn't understand why he'd suddenly turned so cold.

What the fuck did I get myself into? She wondered, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

She glanced at the sidelines, where Art sat, his arms crossed, watching the court with a distant expression. He was focused, but not on her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and his detachment made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone out there.

He's just a coach. I don't need him to win. I've been doing this on my own for years.

But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her emotions swirled. Last night felt like a turning point, like they were connecting on a deeper level. And now, all that warmth and all that understanding were gone. It left her feeling hollow and unsure of her next move.

Forget about this morning. Forget about last night. Forget about Art. Just play the game. That’s all you're good at anyway.

She couldn't forget, not when it felt like her world was shifting beneath her feet. The pressure of the tournament, the expectations from everyone, and now the unexpected 180—it was all too much. She needed to find her focus, but it felt like she was battling more than just an opponent on the court. She was battling her own doubts and her own insecurities, and it was starting to show.

The umpire's call signaled the end of the break, and Katrina stood up, her legs feeling heavier than usual. She couldn't afford to let this slip away. She had to find a way to center herself and regain the focus and determination that had brought her this far. But as she walked back onto the court, she knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of doubt were growing, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to push them back.

The final set was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Kat had lost the first set to Alexis, barely clawed her way back to win the second, and now faced the challenge of closing out the match.

A whirlpool of frustration was consuming her. She knew she should be playing better than this. Alexis was a competent player, but she shouldn't have been able to pressure Katrina like she was doing now. The missteps, the errant serves, the missed volleys—it was all spiraling out of control. She knew she had to get her head back in the game.

"Come on, Katrina," Art muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He knew he should’ve never said what he had this morning, and God did he regret it. Not even because it threw her off her game, but simply because it wasn’t true.

I didn’t mean it, Kat.

Alexis returned Katrina's second serve with a deep forehand, forcing Katrina to run to the back of the court. She managed to get the ball back, but it was a weak return, and Alexis took advantage, hitting a powerful backhand down the line. Katrina struggled to reach it, her footwork sloppy.

The crowd murmured, sensing the shift in momentum. Katrina felt her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Get it together," she told herself, trying to drown out the negativity in her mind. She took a deep breath and prepared for the next point, knowing she couldn't afford to lose her composure.

Art clenched his fists, watching Katrina's struggle. He wanted to shout words of encouragement; right now, he needed Katrina to find her focus and to play like he knew she could.

The next few points were a back-and-forth battle. Katrina managed to win a couple of rallies, showing glimpses of her usual skill, but Alexis was relentless. Katrina's errors were piling up, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake. A missed serve here, a poorly timed volley there—it was all adding up, and Katrina felt like she was falling apart.

He knew he had to do something to help her, but he wasn't sure what. She was slipping, and he could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the frustration. He wished he could just rewind the morning and start over.

Katrina's frustration boiled over as she missed yet another shot, sending the ball wide of the sideline. She clenched her racket, her anger turning inward.

What the actual fuck kat? She felt herself slipping.

Art watched as Katrina's confidence seemed to crumble. Every point felt like a battle, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. The crowd's cheers seemed distant, drowned out by her own inner turmoil. She needed to find her focus and remember why she loved the game in the first place.

Katrina King stood at the baseline, bouncing the tennis ball as she prepared to serve. The pressure was immense. The score was tied, but this was match point for Alexis.

"Just get this right," she told herself, bouncing the ball one more time. "Keep it simple, focus on your form, and breathe."

She threw the ball up and swung, her serve powerful but lacking the usual precision.

The umpire's call was clear: "In!"

Alexis immediately raised her hand, signaling her challenge.

Katrina tensed, holding her breath. Fuck. She had already accepted defeat.

The electronic system, designed to track the ball's trajectory, sprang into action. The large screen above the court displayed the replay, with the lines highlighted in bold white against the blue surface.

The slow-motion replay showed the ball’s descent, curving slightly in its flight. It landed, from this perspective, millimeters inside the line, causing the crowd to murmur in anticipation. The pause felt longer than it actually was, with everyone waiting for the official verdict.

Alexis stood with her racket resting on her shoulder, her expression tense and unimpressed. She glanced at Katrina, who remained at the baseline, her stance rigid.

The electronic system confirmed the umpire's call: "In!" The word flashed across the screen, accompanied by a graphic showing the ball's exact position—just inside the line. The crowd erupted in applause, and Katrina allowed herself a small smile. She was relieved that the serve was good, but she knew she couldn't let her focus slip.

Alexis nodded curtly; her challenge was unsuccessful. She adjusted her grip on her racket, preparing for the next point. The moment of doubt had passed, and the game resumed its intensity.

Art saw Katrina's moments of ease, but he also saw the hesitation in her footwork and the slight tremors in her hands.

Alexis's return was a deep shot to Katrina's backhand, forcing her to pivot quickly. Katrina reached for it, but her timing was slightly off. The ball clipped the net, but it went over. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief as Alexis scrambled to reach it. and get her racket under the ball just in time.

The volley was clumsy, but it kept the rally going. Katrina's heart raced as she tried to regain her rhythm. She could feel the momentum slipping away, and she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. Alexis, however, was relentless, keeping the pressure on with precise shots to the corners of the court.

Art clenched his fists, chewing his gum while watching Katrina's struggle. He felt the intensity of the moment, knowing that this point could determine the outcome of the match. He wanted to find a way to ease her nerves, but all he could do was watch and hope she could pull through.

The rally continued, with Katrina barely managing to keep up. Alexis played a drop shot, and Katrina lunged to reach it. She got there just in time, but her return was weak, giving Alexis the upper hand. Alexis moved in for the kill, smashing the ball toward the baseline.

Katrina dove to reach it, her body hitting the ground as her racket connected with the ball. It went over the net, but it was a high lob, an easy shot for Alexis. Alexis jumped, delivering a powerful overhead smash that Katrina couldn't hope to reach. The ball hit the court with a decisive thud, and the umpire called the point.

Art felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd erupted in applause. He knew Katrina had fought hard, but the internal turmoil had cost her the match. He saw the frustration on her face as she stood up, brushing off the dirt from her fall. She glanced toward him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, defeat, and tears.

Katrina knew she had given it her all, but it hadn't been enough. She felt the weight of the loss, knowing that her own doubts and the fight with Art had played a part in her performance. As she walked off the court, she felt a mix of disappointment and a lingering sense of confusion about what had gone wrong—both on and off the court.

Art made his way down to talk to Katrina. She was sitting on the bench, her head down, a towel draped over her shoulders. Art approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his tone gentle. "It's just one game; you’ve got three more today. You can still turn this around. Just focus on your game, okay? Don't let this get in your head." He finished and tried to embrace her in his arms for some sort of comfort, but his efforts proved futile because before he could fully hug her, she pushed him off.

Katrina looked back at him, her eyes watery, cold, and distant. "Oh, now you're being supportive?" She shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to the coach who was so concerned about being professional this morning?"

Art winced, feeling the sting of her words. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt. "I know, I messed up," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Katrina shook her head, her expression hardening. "I don't need your fake support, Art," she said, standing up. "Just let me play my game."

“Kat, don’t be like that.” He said he was stepping forward, trying to get a hold of her.

“Be like what, Art?” she said, feeling her anger rise. “I shouldn’t act like you treated me as if I were a late-night tinder hookup.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t be like this if you would have had the human decency to treat me with a little respect, even if you regrated it!” She took a breath. “You know what the worst part is; you could have waited for the tournament to be over to shit on me, on us, like that. At least I would’ve left this stupid fucking weekend with a champion title and cup.” She started walking away from the locker rooms. “Guess once your balls are empty, you come to your senses, huh?” She hadn’t even bothered to turn around for the last bit.

"Kat, wait!" he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Please, just give me a minute."

Katrina turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough today? Did you finally decide to be a good coach?"

Art knew he deserved that, but he needed her to hear him out. "Just let me explain," he said, his voice desperate. "Not here. Let's go outside, away from everyone."

She hesitated, clearly still furious, but she didn't pull away. Art led her through a side door and out into the area behind the arena, where it was quiet and they could talk in private. He released her arm, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Katrina, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but urgent. "I'm sorry for everything I said this morning and for telling you it was a mistake. I didn't mean it. I was just... scared."

"Scared?" Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Scared of what? Scared of actually caring about someone? Scared to give up the overdone, nonchalant act you’ve got going for you?"

Art shook his head, struggling to find the right words. "I was scared that I was crossing a line," he said. "I was scared that I was too old for you and that being your coach and being with you would mess up your career. I was worried that we'd end up like... like me and Tashi."

Katrina's anger flared. "I'm not Tashi!" she shouted, stepping closer to him. "So stop comparing me to her; I'm my own person, and I'm nothing like her!"

"I know," Art replied, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're not her. But that's what scared me. I don't want what happened to me and Tashi to happen to us. I didn't want to mess up your game, your career, or... anything."

Katrina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you sure did a good job of that," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at what happened today! I lost because you couldn't make up your mind about what you wanted!"

Art felt a pang of guilt, knowing she was right. "I know," he said, his voice low. "I was selfish. I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. But now I see that I hurt you anyway, and that’s the last thing I wanted." He is groveling.

Katrina looked at him, her eyes still blazing. "So, what do you want now?" she asked. "Are you just going to apologize and then go back to being cold and distant?"

Art stepped forward, taking her cheek gently in his hand. "I don't know what we are, Katrina," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But I know I don't want to stop whatever this is. It's special. You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, and I can't keep ignoring that."

Katrina's anger softened, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Art felt the connection between them, the tension that had been building for weeks, and he knew he couldn't let it end like this.

"I was wrong this morning," he continued. "I was scared, and I acted like an idiot. But you... you're amazing. You didn't deserve the way I treated you, and I know the game today was my fault. You were distracted because of me, and I'm sorry. But I know you're going to win this. I believe in you. I always have, and that hasn’t changed."

Katrina's expression softened, her anger giving way to something else—something that felt like forgiveness. Art leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, his hand still gently cupping her cheek. She responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed against the concrete wall.

The kiss was long and intense, filled with the emotions they’d both been suppressing. When they finally pulled back, their breathing was heavy, and their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Art pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before laying his against hers.

“Are you ready to bring another title home, pretty girl?” He says, gazing into her eyes.

She looked up, her eyes glistening with a familiar spark. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.” She held a soft smile, bringing him in for another kiss.

[cloudcountry]

Yooooooo happy to see that field of mistria are making you happy ^-^ i'd like to request reader helping march dye his hair ( lots of bickering and threatening to turn him pink instead ) but since ik you don't really like him and might not feel inspired here's another idea ( choose whichever one you feel most comfortable writing for ) how about flower picking with Celine :)

SUMMARY: when the saturday market can't come to town, you offer to help march dye his hair instead

COMMENTS: no pls wifey im very much joking w you i like march :(( hes just a bitch and im going to stab him. with a plastic sword. gently.

i dont have dividers so i am recycling my header ITS FINE DONT WORRY ABOUT IT

“Ow, would you quit pulling my hair like that?” March groans, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder, “For all that skill you claim to have you don’t act—”

“Oh will you hush?” you huff, gently tugging on a handful of March’s hair on purpose, “If you stopped squirming and whining, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad!”

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch, but you’re far too busy sectioning off his surprisingly thick hair to prepare for the (tacky) bright red hair dye.

“Why the fuck is your hair so thick?” you comment, very much amused.

“Oh shut up.” March snaps, “If I could reach back there and grab a fistful of your hair to yank around I would, you little—”

You click your tongue, interrupting him once again. “Worry about yourself, March. Wouldn’t want my hand to slip and for you to end up with pink hair, now would we?”

He grumbles again, and you giggle.

It occurs to you that, if anyone were to overhear this conversation, they’d assume you and the blacksmith were a hair’s breath away from killing each other.

You pat yourself on the back for the winning pun you just made. Holt would be proud.

“Oi, I can feel your smugness from here. Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s making me sick.”

“I was just thinking about you.” you comment offhandedly, snatching up the bottle of dye flippantly, “You must be pretty awful if you make yourself sick.”

“Don’t say shit like that, it’s weird.” he crosses his arms in his chest and sinks into the chair, his back hunched as if trying to make himself smaller.

You wonder why he’s shriveling up now. Normally he'd return your scathing insult.

Instead of asking, you opt not to. You pop the cap off the dye bottle and start applying it to his scalp, massaging it into the roots. You try not to feel smug about the way March so obviously relaxes, shoulders dropping and head falling into your touch, his breathing shifting from frustrated to calm.

You also try not to feel warm about the way he looks right now, vulnerable and soft, you try not to think about how it’s just the two of you here, with his brother who knows where, and you try not to think about the very tempting open space of his forehead, which is finally not all wrinkly for once.

You don’t want to smooth over those wrinkles with your thumb at all. And you certainly do not want to kiss them after a hard day’s work.

Even when he’s sweaty.

Especially when he’s sweaty.

You cough loudly into your arm, trying your best not to squirm where you’re standing, lest you mess up March’s hair.

Fully expecting him to turn around and scold you for ruining the moment, you’re surprised when he doesn’t move.

“You’re such a weirdo.” he says, but his voice his soft and there’s no real bite to them.

The smile that threatens to burst out of you is barely held back by your desire to keep the solemn, dare you say affectionate atmosphere going.

“So are you.” you reply, and your voice is equally as soft.

March snorts, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say it was a genuine laugh.

[oreolemur]

Streamer's Worst Nightmare

Working as a streamer, you never showed your face. It was easy to make money having a cute virtual character impersonate you, but after losing a couple of fans, money became tight. “Guess what guys?”, you asked your audience through the stream. “I’m starting an Onlyfans!”. In the chat section you had a mixture of comments complimenting and some shaming you. “I know this may be a bad idea…but at least I’ll let you guys see my face”. Looking at the chat you began to get more supportive replies. “It’ll only be for a short time until I work something out for extra cash. I hope you all subscribe and see more of my personal interests”. Waving goodbye to your fans, you immediately shut off your webcam. “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, you sighed. 

Meanwhile, there was one fan of yours who wasn’t too happy about your decision. “An Onlyfans, huh?”, the man titled his head. “I’m not too happy to hear about that y/n”. He sat in front of his computer, lurking through your socials as he scarfed down a bunch of sweets. “I should pay a visit to her soon”. Crouching at his desk, L took drastic measures to find your location. “I will have you sooner or later, my sweet doll”.

Over the next few days, you began to feel more and more comfortable with your new line of work. “I’m making more than what I do streaming”, you beamed, staring at your financial statistics. “Maybe I should keep this up. Just for a little”. Posting pic after pic and video after video, you decided to open up your messages to give your subscribers a paid one on one chat with you. “Cum to my dm’s and have a little fun with me in private, my loves”, you say, making a vid of yourself in a pink robe. “I’ll be waiting”. 

After making your final post for the day, you spent the entire night trying to reply back to the hundreds of customers who hit your dm’s. “I didn’t know I’d get this much”. Without opening the last few that came in, you got bored. “Nothing new?”, you scoffed. “It’s all the same suggestions”. Before closing your laptop, you received another message. “This one better be good”. Opening it, your eyes widened. “Hello”, it read. “At least this one has a normal greeting”, you smiled.

Messaging the person back, you enjoyed talking to them. “Wow, it’s been 30 minutes and they haven’t asked for anything special yet”. Texting them back, you asked them this. “Are you not interested in seeing anything special tonight?”. Waiting for their reply, you suddenly hear a noise in your living room. “That must be the cat again”, you sighed. Getting up from your bed, you headed that way. “Come here baby”, you signaled your pet. Picking up the furry animal, you walked back towards your room. Seeing the notification come through, you gently put down your cat. As you read the reply, your heart skipped a beat. “W-what?”. Reading the message again, you wanted to make sure that your eyes were working correctly. “Something special? Like your cute fuzzy slippers in the front doorway”, the message read. “This can’t be happening”, you begin to panic. Texting the person back, “What fuzzy slippers? I don’t have any”.  Biting his nails, L stood in front of your bedroom door, “These ones”, he said. 

Feeling a chill go down your spine, your heart beats fast as you froze. “You do have quite an interesting taste in style, doll”. Seeing the man from the corner of your eye, you turned around slowly. “H-How did you get in?”, you asked. He approached you slowly, bending down to your level as you sat on the bed. “Don’t worry about that”, he said. L’s big eyes stared at you, taking note of all of your beautiful facial features. “You know…”, he paused. “You’re more pretty in person…and short too”. He then tried to reach for your face, but you smacked his hand away. “D-don’t touch me”, you said, scooting back. L grabbed your leg, pulling you back towards him. “I’m stronger than I look. I would hate it if you made me get physical with you, my love”, he said. 

“What do you want?”, you asked. “You”, L replied. "M-me? Why me?", you questioned. "If you're some creepy fan that has a crush on me...I won't date you". L tilts his head. "Why you? You're interesting. You interest me in ways no other human has. I want to peel you open. Analyze every inch of your brain until I know everything about you”, he chuckles. Hearing him say that creeped you out even more. L leans forward with each word. As he does so, his long black hair falls around his face, shrouding his eyes from view. "I want to get inside you”. L leans forward even more, until his face is mere inches from yours. His hair, now a tangled mess, conceals his face, but you can see the glint of curiosity and hunger in his eyes. "I want... to devour you." L whispers, his voice dripping with desire.

He tried to grab you, but you dodged it. You fell on the floor, getting up quickly to run away. The man smirked. He liked to watch people try and escape him. He always caught his prey in the end. L follows you, moving surprisingly quickly for somebody as lanky as him. "Where are you going, dear? The game was just getting interesting”. You ran into the living room, tripping over your cat's litter box. "Shit!", you yelled. You got up, heading towards the front door. L chuckled again. He really liked how you were trying to escape. It was so amusing and cute to watch you try and get away from him. L continued his pursuit, closing the ever-shrinking distance between you. "Don't you know that running away only makes me want you more, my dear? The more you resist, the more I crave to devour you”. 

You tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. L was suddenly directly behind you, his lips next to your ear. "It doesn't matter. There is no escaping me at this point, darling. I'm faster. I'm stronger. I'm smarter. You will be mine." L's words send shivers down your spine. He wrapped his arm around your neck, pulling towards you to the bedroom. "Let me go!", you shouted. "Oh, you are so adorable. Trying to act so tough even though you're shaking like a leaf in my grasp. I can feel how tense you are. You know you can't get away from me, but still, you persist. It's so cute!" L continues to drag you to the bedroom, a smug smirk on his face. 

Once inside, he throws you onto the bed as he proceeds to take off his shirt. L tosses his shirt to the side, revealing his pale, lean chest. His eyes glint wickedly as he looks down at you. "Are you feeling vulnerable, my dear?”. You begin to cry, seeing him get closer and closer to you. "Please go away!", you begged. "Oh, but my darling, we're just getting started." L climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. As he does so, his long black hair falls forward, framing his face again. "You can't run from me. You can't hide from me. I will always find you." He leans down and whispers in your ear. "You're my obsession now”. He rubbed his hands through your hair, pulling on it as he brought your face close to his.  "Shhh... let me hear those pretty cries," L says, placing his finger on your lips. "I want to savor every sound that comes out of you. You're so enticing when you're scared. It's like I'm feasting on a delicious meal”.

He kissed your lips passionately, pushing his tongue past the barrier of your lips. He explored the inside of your mouth, slightly moaning. A trail of spit connected both of your lips and he pulled away. “Now…”, he said. “I want to see more of you”. His hand opened the slit of your robe, exposing your breasts. “Perfect”, L said. He pinned your arms above your head as he moved his way down to your tits. He stuck out his tongue, licking your sensitive nipples. “S-stop”, you said, letting out a small whimper. His hand traveled down to your waist, rubbing your bare cunt. “You have such soft skin”, he said, making a pop suction noise as his mouth latched on and off your tit. Your legs shook, feeling him massage your clit. “No”, you said, closing them, trapping his hand in between your thighs. “I don’t like uncooperative people, my dear”, he said, forcing your legs open.

L’s cock hardened inside his pants, making him blush. “My god”, he said, moving his hand away from your pussy, he had your arms pinned with one hand as the other moved to unbutton his pants. “I didn’t think I would get this excited”, he said. You laid there crying, wishing this situation was over with. You saw his dick poke out of his boxers. “Stay still”, he said, unpinning you. He pulled them down just enough so he can fuck you. With your legs still spread, L positioned himself comfortably between them. He placed his cock on your cunt, spitting on it. He rubbed himself on you, attempting to lube your dry pussy. “If you scream I will hurt you”, he said, shoving cock inside you. The size caught you off guard, making you cry even louder. “Take it out!”, you yelled. He covered your mouth, leaning into your ear. “I can tell it’s your first time, my love”, he slightly smirked. “I felt your hymen break”. His thrusts were slow as he placed kisses onto your neck. His teeth sunk into your skin, leaving bruises. 

Your body started to like his touch as your cunt became used to his cock. You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t like it, but you liked how fucked up the situation was. “Your body is starting to relax. You don’t feel tense anymore”, L grunted. He let go of your mouth, kissing your soft lips. He bit your lower lip, drawing blood. “If you keep up this good behavior…I might just let you go”. His thrusts quickened as he felt your walls tighten around him. You moaned as his pace went faster, feeling your orgasm arriving. L rested his head beside yours, moaning into your ear. “After I’m done, I’ll make sure no one else sees your body but me”.

[steddiealltheway]

Coming back to say that this went in a completely different direction than I imagined, but I’m just gonna keep it.

Obsessed with the idea of Steve trying to be Eddie’s wingman.

Like one day Eddie is lingering around Family Video and Steve notices a girl eyeing his friend. And yeah, Eddie is cute, Steve isn’t afraid to admit that, but he’s never seen him even attempt to ask a girl out. So he decides it’s time to maybe encourage him or do it for him.

So, Steve follows this girl over to the horror section - and look at that, similar interests! - and notes that Eddie is following behind him. And yeah, the girl is pretty cute, she even has some metal looking band on her t-shirt that Steve is sure Eddie mentioned to him before. Oh! They’re definitely on the mixtape Eddie made for him. This is perfect.

So, Steve taps on the girl’s shoulder and smiles when he notices her staring at Eddie over his shoulder. “Excuse me, I was wondering if you needed any help.”

The girl replies in a higher voice than Steve expected, “Oh… I… I don’t know.” Jackpot. She’s utterly enamored by Eddie. And yeah, she should be when he’s wearing his hair in that messy bun and those jeans that fit just right.

Steve takes a moment to think about how well those jeans fit before shaking himself out of it. Weird. But he has a mission. “Well, my friend here knows all there is to know about horror movies, so I’ll let him help you.”

Steve gives Eddie a quick pat on the shoulder, noting how adorable he is when he looks panicked. He goes back to the counter and watches as the girl nervously twirls her hair around her finger, then she’s loudly laughing and Eddie looks startled. Steve tries to suppress a laugh.

Then the girl is picking a movie and thanking Eddie for his help while trailing a hand down his arm. Steve’s stomach churns. Must’ve had something bad for lunch or something, but that doesn’t explain why he feels so… angry with himself. He’ll deal with that later. But now the girl is rushing to the counter.

Steve notices Eddie lingering in the horror section, likely a little flustered by the whole interaction. So Steve winks at the girl and says, “So, I see my friend was a great help to you.”

The girl giggles in response and leans forward. “Does your friend have plans tomorrow night?” she asks then bites her lip.

“With you at nine o’clock? Absolutely. I’ll give him your number in case he needs to reschedule.”

The girl scribbles down her number on a notepad Steve hands her then they exchange notepad for her tape. “Have a goodnight!” Steve yells after her and looks down at the note. Why does he want to rip it to shreds? The front door shuts.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie asks and Steve jumps not realizing he was at the counter.

“I was helping you out, man. Being your wingman.” Steve shrugs it off and starts organizing the returns in piles by genre, struggling to find why Eddie is so pissed at him.

“Maybe let me decide who I want to ask out, Harrington,” Eddie bites out, shoving the tapes to the side.

What the hell? And Harrington? He hasn’t heard that in a while. And something about it pisses Steve off. “Well, Munson, if you actually went on dates then I wouldn’t feel the need to help you.”

“Help me,” Eddie scoffs. “I’m not some damsel in distress that needs saving King Steve.”

“Don’t call me that,” Steve says turning around to try to look busy at the computer so Eddie doesn’t see the way the name gets to him.

Eddie hops over the counter as Steve is typing the girl’s name into the system and finding her past rentals. “Why not? King Steve can’t help but try to save The Freak. Why not just call it as it is?”

Steve turns around and runs a hand through his hair. “Why are you getting so worked up about this? It’s just a date!”

“I’ve never been on a date, you asshole! And I certainly wouldn’t want to go on one with a girl because I want to go on one with you!” Eddie yells then the color drains from his face as he must realize what he’s just admitted.

Steve freezes to process what Eddie’s just said. But then Eddie’s backing up and saying, “I have to go.” He turns to jump over the counter again, but Steve comes to his senses and latches onto his wrist stopping him.

Eddie slowly turns to him and whispers, “Please, don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Eddie,” Steve says still latching onto his wrist. “Just… give me a minute, and please don’t run.”

Eddie reluctantly nods at him as Steve lets go of his wrist. His eyes flicker to the door, but his feet remain in place.

Steve stares at him and processes. Eddie wants to go on a date with him. Okay. He’s had girls who have had a crush on him before that wasn’t reciprocated, and he easily turned them down. Some of them he even remained sort of friends with.

But for some reason the news is making his heart race in a good way. Like… a really good way. Almost like he wants to go on a date with Eddie. But he’s… not gay. Right?

His eyes slowly roam over Eddie, and then he stops when he realizes he’s blatantly checking him out. But when has that stopped him from checking out his friend before?

Oh. Oh shit. He thinks about the way he notices the fit of his jeans, and the way he loves when Eddie pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to expose more skin. He thinks about how he’s always been curious what it would be like for girls to kiss Eddie when he’s let his scruff slightly grow in. But then he imagines what it would be like for him to experience that. And his world kind of combusts.

He likes Eddie. Like really likes him. Not just physically but like, he loves the way he scrunches his nose up at the music Steve plays but sometimes reluctantly sings along. He loves the way his lame jokes make the corner of Eddie’s eyes crinkle. He loves that bright smile he gets on his face whenever he’s messing around with the kids. He loves whenever Eddie comes by the store and lingers for as long as he can just to keep him company.

He thinks back to the way he felt when the girl traced her hand over his arm, and the way the thought of Eddie using her number to call her made him feel… jealous. Holy shit. Oh he’s such an idiot. But an idiot who can make amends.

He notices how Eddie is practically shaking while Steve has just been standing there not saying anything. He needs to fix this. “Are you free tomorrow at nine?”

A look of betrayal crosses over Eddie’s face. “I’m not going on a date with that girl. You can’t make me straight-”

“No! That’s not… shit. That’s not at all what I meant,” Steve huffs out and runs a hand through his hair. He’s messing this up more. Shit. Okay, here it goes. “I’m asking if you’re free tomorrow to see if you can go on a date… with me.”

Now it’s Eddie turn to freeze and process. A few excruciatingly long seconds later Eddie is responding, “Are you kidding me?” Steve’s heart drops to his stomach. Eddie continues, “You’re asking me out before I got the chance to?”

Steve can’t help but burst out laughing. Eddie joins him but between laughs he says, “I’m serious! This is unfair!” For some reason this makes Steve laugh harder, and soon enough he’s wiping tears from his eyes as Eddie looks at him fondly.

“You’re free tomorrow at nine though, right?” Steve asks.

“No, but are you free tomorrow at nine o one to go on a date with me?” Eddie asks and Steve is cackling all over again.

The bell to the front door rings and Robin enters. She looks at the two and asks, “What the hell did I miss during my break? I was only gone for fifteen minutes.”

This only manages to make Steve laugh more as Eddie joins him.

[vodika-vibes]

I saw that you asked for crosshair requests, and I had an idea I figured I'd run by you in case it gave you any inspiration. I was thinking about a kind of friends to loves situation with crosshair and his casual flirting suggesting a friends with benefits situation, but the reader says no despite clearly being attracted to him, and when pressed confesses to being afraid of falling in love with him if they hook up. idk if that's smth you want to write, just hope you focus on stuff you want to do and don't burn yourself out :)

We Could Be More

Summary: Summary: You and Crosshair are friends, only the emotions are a little…more. You’re not really surprised when Crosshair comes to you with a proposition. Friends with benefits would make sense, it’s not as if the Empire will allow you more. You’re both surprised when you turn him down.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1577

Warnings: Discussions of a friends with benefits type situation, some adult discussion, Crosshair demands an explanation when the Reader says no, discussion of the lack of clone rights

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to the idea that you had. I had fun writing it, and I'm so glad that people are feeding my sudden, and surprising, crosshair obsession. RIP me.

You enjoy your job.

You’d enjoy it more if you had your own workshop, or even a workspace that wasn’t a small, unused, section of the ship.

Hell, at this point, you’d be happy with having a chair and a desk so you don’t have to sit on the floor while repairing the mouse droids. You’d also accept a cushion, or a thick blanket.

But no.

You have to sit on the floor with little mouse droids zipping around you while you make sure they work properly.

Still, you like working with droids. They’re easy. Easier than your co-workers.

Well, easier than most of your co-workers.

You flip the mouse droid back on its wheels, and it zooms around you, chattering happily. “Alright, you’re all set,” You say to the droid, “Watch out for more Admirals.”

The little droid chatters and then zooms out the tunnel that leads to your…hallway(?) and you sigh and stretch your arms over your head. Maybe if you send a very polite email to your supervisor you can get a desk…or at least a proper cushion.

“You know,” You yelp at the voice coming from the doorway, “I think you like those droids more than anyone else on this ship, kitten.”

“Don’t do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” You say as you press your hand over your pounding heart. And then you drop your hand and glance up at the much taller man, “I thought you were on a mission, Cross?”

“I was, and now I’m not. Funny how that happens.”

“Ooh, you think you're funny, don’t you?” You say with an amused grin on your lips.

“Funnier than most of the people on this ship, yeah.” Crosshair leans against the wall and slides down so he’s sitting next to you, his knees raised and his arms draped over his knees, “Busy morning?”

“Isn’t it always?” You ask with a sigh, “One of the mouse droids was in the way when a member of the Imperial Guard came though, and nearly crushed him to pieces.” You gesture to the side, “It’s over there, somewhere.”

“Bad luck.”

“Tell me about it.” You say with a sigh, “It’s going to take me days to rebuild it.”

“Hm.” Crosshair hums noncommittally. “What’s the Imperial Guard doing here?”

“Hell if I know. You think anyone tells me anything?” You ask with a grin.

“Nah, but I know the mouse droids pick up audio.” Crosshair replies.

“Crosshair, are you implying that I’m spying on my coworkers, because that would be very, very wrong of me.”

“Uh-huh.”

You keep his gaze for a moment, before a grin cracks your face, “Okay, apparently the Emperor’s ship needed repairs, some kind of space debris.” You shrug, “I dunno, I don’t work on ships, I work on droids.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they could fit a ship in your hallway.”

“Excuse you, this is my office, sir.”

“And you can’t even afford a chair, or a desk. Shame.”

You laugh and bump him with your shoulder, “Rude, maybe I like sitting on the floor.”

“Do you?”

“No. I think my butt is numb.”

Crosshair’s eyes glitter with mischief, “Want me to massage it for you?”

“I don’t think you’ve earned butt touching privileges.” You counter with a sniff.

“Shame. You have a really nice one. Very round and squeezable.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a massage. It sounds like you just want to grope me.”

He shrugs, “Same thing.”

“Very different.” You correct him with a laugh.

“Not the way I do it.”

“Oh? You have a lot of practice then?”

“Well, I might be a little out of practice. I haven’t had the chance to practice my skills since the Republic fell.” Crosshair admits.

“Aww, poor thing. How ever will you survive?” You tease him lightly as a new mouse droid limps in and you grab it and flip it immediately.

“I have a pretty good idea,” Crosshair counters as he leans back against the wall, his gaze locked on you.

You hum thoughtfully as you examine the wheels.

You and Crosshair are friends, because that’s all the Empire will allow. It’s illegal for Crosshair to have relations with people. And actual relationships are out of the question. Which is a shame, you’d be interested in seeing where this, whatever it might be, could go if given the chance.

You pull a piece of metal out from the wheel well, and then set the droid back on its wheels, and it scurries away. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Crosshair stares at you, a small smirk on his lips. “I have a…proposition, of sorts, kitten.”

You arch a single brow, “Go ahead.”

His smirk grows, “When was the last time you got laid?”

Your face burns, “I’m not answering that.”

“Come on, kitten, it’s me.”

You fold your arms, “If you tease me even once-”

“I would never.”

“Yes, you will.” You grumble. Crosshair flashes, what he probably thinks is, an angelic look, and you huff and avert your eyes. “...fine, I’ve never actually-”

A broad grin crosses his face, “Kitten, are you a virgin?”

You scowl at him, “You heard me.”

He looks absolutely delighted, and you consider kicking him in the shin for half a minute. “That makes my proposition even better.”

“If you’re about to tease me-”

“How do you feel about a friends with benefits type situation?” Crosshair interrupts you.

Your words die on your tongue, and you blink at him, “...what.”

“You heard me.”

“I did, I’m just trying to process.” You admit, you hold up a finger, “I just told you that I’m a virgin, and you want a friends with benefits situationship. With me.”

“Did I stutter?”

“Just making sure I heard you correctly.”

“You did.”

You frown at him, rolling the idea around in your mind.

It’s not that you don’t want. Because you do. More than you’re ever going to put into words. Crosshair is so handsome and while he’s not kind, he is good. Good in a way that he doesn’t seem to see in himself.

You could love him, if you gave yourself the chance.

And you can’t risk that. You can’t risk him.

So, hating yourself a little, you focus your attention on him, “I’m flattered, Cross.” You say slowly, “But I think that’s a terrible idea.”

“Why?” His eyes narrow at you, “Because I’m a clone.”

“Of course not. That’s never been important to me.”

“Then what? You’re not attracted enough? I’m not nice enough?”

“Cross-”

“You didn’t flat-out refuse, you said it’s a terrible idea. Why is it a terrible idea?” Crosshair demands.

“Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer.”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you, and you’ll get hurt.” You say honestly.

Crosshair pauses, “...You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

“I’m not dumb, Crosshair. I know it’s illegal for you to have sex with anyone. And it’s even more illegal for you to enter a relationship with someone. And the Empire isn’t the Republic, they will kill you before they’ll punish me.”

He leans back, his gaze calculating, “What if I said that I didn’t care?”

You frown at him, “I care, that’s enough for me.”

He leans in so that his face is only a few inches away from your own, “What if the Empire wasn’t a concern?”

You lean in as well, so that you're even closer, “You can’t bring down the Empire, Crosshair, you’re one man.”

“I could try, if you wanted me to.”

Your gaze softens, “As strong and broad as your shoulders are, that weight would still crush you, Cross.”

He searches your face for a moment, “What if we defected?”

“Please tell me you don’t want to defect simply so you can get laid?”

“I’m not dumb, it’s only a matter of time before they decommission me.” Crosshair says, “The Clones are expendable.”

Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into the palms of your hands, “Cross-”

“So what do you say? If we defect, would you be willing to consider a friends with benefits relationship?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hey, if I’m about to risk my life by running away from the largest government entity in the galaxy, I’d like to know if there are some perks on the other side.”

“Oh my god,” You push your hands through your hair, “Okay, fine. Yes. If we defected, and I knew you weren’t going to get yourself killed simply because you wanted to get your dick wet, then yes, I would agree to a friends with benefits relationship.”

He leans back, “Deal. We leave tonight.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Is it a good plan?”

Crosshair just smirks, “How many mouse droids can you call back right now?”

“...all of them, why?”

“Call them back, we’re going to rig them to blow up.”

Your jaw drops, “My babies-”

He rolls his eyes, “You have a better suggestion?”

“...no…”

“Great. Then get started. I’m going to come and get you tonight. We’re going to escape on one of the smaller ships.” Crosshair says.

“And go where?”

“Pabu.”

“I have questions.”

“My batch mates live there.”

“...I have even more questions.”

“They can wait.” Crosshair leans over to you and lightly kisses your temple, “You have work to do, kitten. I’ll see you tonight.”

And then Crosshair is gone, and you’re left feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.

[sa1nts-and-s1nners]

Remember, I hate you (pt.1)

Rohan x Savannah

content: tension, banter, close proximity etc (tell me if i missed anything)

pt.2

word count: 660

a/n: This is my first fic (that I'm publicly publishing) so if you have any constructive feedback I won't mind. We didn't get Savannah's pov in tgg so I wanted to explore how she would view Rohan.

Savannah took out a pin from her fancy updo when she heard a knock at her door. I thought he wasn't coming today

She walked slowly towards the door, letting the other person on the other side wait in anticipation. It's what he deserves anyway she thought to herself, ridding the image of his body close to hers the last time he'd shown up at her door

Not a lot of things excited Savannah. The occasional challenge with Gigi or mind games with her half brother were interesting and being the queen of the court, commanding the game with the ball was her greatest joy—until the injury took that away from her

but this? this was a hell lot more than exciting

"Hello, love" Rohan greeted her as she opened the door "Almost thought you weren't going to open the door"

"Almost considered it"

"You wound me," he said dramatically, gliding inside with a sly smile. "What made you change your mind?"

"Thought I could use some help with this" she gestured towards her hair that was riddled with bobby pins and god knows what else. A wolfish smile took over his face, his real smile savannah realised with a start, immediately ignoring the effect that it had on her

"Is the unconquerable Savannah Grayson bested by a few pins?" He asked, joining her at vanity as she sat down. God, she could hear the grin in his voice. She distantly wondered if it was a bad idea letting him into her room. Probably, but at the moment she didn't care. She craved a distraction, and he was exactly that—handsome, perilous, and intriguingly unpredictable. They'd made a deal anyway. A few late night meetings wasn't going to change their goals. They were made to betray each other in the end and nothing could be done to change that course. It made this moment all the more sweeter.

He started gently picking out pins one by one, being absolutely careless with the way his hand grazed her neck. He brushed his hand through her hair, separating the bigger knots before picking up the brush. Savannah tried to keep her breathing in control and avoided arching into his touch. She couldn't lose control like she did before ever again. This was a punishment and her damnation in the sweetest form.

He carefully divided her hair into sections, brushing each one with the practiced ease of someone who had done this countless times before. Yet, the focused intensity in his eyes made it feel like he was experiencing it anew. He was gentle, as if he was afraid of her hurting her. Which was ridiculous, he'd never held back before. She met his eyes in the mirror

"Rohan?" She'd learnt to read him just as well he'd learnt to read her and she knew the effect of saying his name would have on him. She loved it

"Hm?"

"Truth or Dare?"

He paused for a second before answering "Truth"

"Why did you come here tonight?" He'd told her that he had to stop visiting her because it was no longer a calculated risk for him. Savannah had no idea what he meant by that. He lived for risks and breaking the rules so his sudden change in behaviour was baffling but she didn’t dare ask him to explain—she couldn’t let him think she cared. But curiosity gnawed at her insides

"Can I switch to Dare?"

"No"

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe I didn’t want to be alone tonight." The closeness of his lips sent a shiver down her spine, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken intent.

His answer caught her off guard, and just as she was about to press him for more, he shifted the moment with a simple, loaded question: "Truth or Dare?"

She saw the challenge in his eyes and replied "Dare"

[observeowl]

Unwanted Marriage | Chapter 2 - Getting to know each other

Series Masterlist

Other than your family and hers, it wasn't that bad of a wedding. However, there were lots of interactions and formalities to be done which made you feel drained out once you entered her home.

You waited for 3 years to marry Marcus, and in the end, you married someone else.

You sat on the bed, reflecting on what happened today. You got married to a woman you met barely a month ago and have little to no interaction with. "What are you thinking about?" Romanoff entered the room unannounced, making you jump. "Nothing, just family."

"Don't worry about them, I have already taken care of everything." She said it so easily like it's something she does often. "You don't like my family, why did you agree to help them?" You asked. You can't imagine he was going to marry Stephanie willingly. "This was arranged by my family. Not me. But, you're an exception."

Natasha Romanoff, the most powerful woman in the city, is now at the mercy of her family.

"You don't have to care about Romanoff's or Y/L/N's. All you need to do is to be yourself."

Rumour has it that she became more brutal and cold-blooded in the business world after becoming disabled. No one dared to be close to her. After becoming disabled, those rich and famous people are reluctant to marry her anymore... But her eyes... are very attractive.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and said that you were going to take the first bath while anxiously leaving. Natasha only smirked, taking out her phone from her pockets and told her men to keep an eye on Y/L/N's family.

You told yourself you were going to take back that video from Stephanie no matter what. When you were done, you figured you might as well fill the tub for her so she could relax in it for a while. Seeing as she could handle herself, you went to settle the sleeping situation. There was only one bed in the room. You tried searching for some sleeping equipment and eventually found a cover you could use. However, it was at the topmost section and you were barely touching it when Natasha came out. "Are you afraid of cold?" You curse her ability to remain silent as the cover falls on you. "No. I'm going to the guest room." You said as she gathered everything. "We are already married. No need to be ashamed."

"That... that was an accident!" You couldn't even bear to look into her eyes as you remembered the embarrassing moment. "Brooke will clean up the room tomorrow. Just bear with me for tonight. Don't worry, I won't do anything to you."

===

You woke up the next morning and Natasha was already gone. Your phone rang in your bag and you rushed to get it before it hung up. "Y/N, do you wish to take back your video?" Just hearing her voice made your day turn sour. "Stephanie! What do you want do you mean? I have already married to Natasha Romanoff. What do you still want me to do?"

"Don't worry. Haven't I told you that I would give it to you? I'll send the original copy since the video has no meaning to me. Whether you believe it or not. I have already deleted the rest of the copies."

You checked the message she sent and you have no idea if both you and Romanoff were drugged when she got this video. How in the world did she get Natasha to have sex with you? "What are you looking at so focused?" Her voice came out of nowhere and your phone slipped out of your hands towards her. Naturally, she went to pick it up and you got it back just in time before she saw anything, hopefully.

"Good morning Mrs Romanoff." The kind-looking middle-aged lady whom you assume is Brooke, greeted you. "Just call me Y/N is fine."

"Alright. What do you like to eat? I can cook different things for you every day." There were already eggs and toast on the table as she brought your tea. "Thank you, Brooke. Has Natasha eaten?" You asked. "Miss has not eaten yet." She replied. "Then I will bring it to her later."

"We're so happy that Miss has married a beautiful and caring person." It made your cheeks flush and you stood up from the table. "Well... I'm full, I'll bring her food upstairs now."

You wondered why you were so initiative as you brought the tray up. You could have left her to her own device. There were people to serve her, why did you offer to do it? You knocked on the door before entering. "I heard you haven't eaten so I brought your food." You said as you set it on the table near her. There was an awkward silence as no one moved or said anything. "I'll- I'll head out first."

You rushed down the stairs past Brooke as you felt your heartbeat rising. She asked if there was anything wrong but you said there was nothing before running away. Brooke thought it was weird and went up to check on Miss Romanoff. But she was already dressed and ready for a day in the office.

Clint knocked on the door and entered, ready to collect Natasha and begin the journey. "Y/N has sent her resume to a magazine publisher owned by the Stark family and has an interview later." He reported. "Stark family?" She repeated. "Do I need to inform them first?" Clint asked. "No need, there's nothing to worry about."

Natasha, Clint and you were sharing a car when you asked about her knowledge of your interview at Stark News. "Brooke told me." She said casually as she was typing on her laptop. She wastes no time and continues to work even during travelling time. "Oh... Um... thank you for sending me."

"What did you say?" She finally turned and faced you. "Thank you... for sending me?" There has to be something within the sentence as she closed her laptop with a slam and told you to get out of the car. You question if you heard that correctly, but she only repeated what she said and told you to get there by yourself.

"Natasha Romanoff, you crazy woman!" You shouted as the car drove off and you were left at the sidewalk once again.

"There is no need to go this far Nat. Are you shy?" Clint teased as he looked into the rear mirror.

"Shut up!"

===

"Hello, I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You introduced yourself as you stepped into the Chief Editor's office, Tony Stark. And the first thing he asked was, "Am I handsome?" You were stunned for a moment. You had prepared yourself for some ideological questions, but not this. "Uh... yes..."

"It is you then!" You were shocked by the swiftness of his decision. "Actually, I am satisfied with your potential and experience, so this is just to test you."

Subsequently, someone showed you to your table and you were sitting there thinking that has to be the weirdest interview you've ever been in. That interviewer just now is a real narcissist. "Hello! Did you pass the interview?" Your tablemate moved her chair closer to you and asked. She has a long brunette hair with a cute smile. "I'm Wanda Maximoff. You can call me Wanda. We'll be colleagues then. How did you answer the question of the editor?"

"Did you also answer it? So what does the question mean?"

"Because the Chief Editor is so handsome, many people keep thinking about him. So he deliberately asks this question to determine those who are serious about work." You nodded your head as she explained. "How about you?" You asked. "Even though he is good-looking, I have my own admirer so I won't be affected by him. Besides, I don't swing that way. If you get what I mean." She winked at the end of the sentence.

"Newcomers, don't be lazy! Come and have these documents copied!" Someone with blonde hair gave us a file of documents without saying anything else. "She is the editor of group 1 which are all veteran employees. Those people like to bully newcomers." Wanda explained as she pointed towards the table they were gathered at. She took the documents from you, "You haven't officially started work yet, so I will go get this done!"

After saying goodbye to her, you received a call from Natasha. "I'm outside your company." She said and ended the call. You walked out and looked around but you didn't see her car anywhere. As you were looking, a car stops in front of you and winds down their window. And sure enough, it was Natasha with her few cold words. "Get in."

"This morning you chased me out of the car, why are you now so kind to pick me up? And in a secretive way?" You didn't wait for her reply and continued. "Forget it, to celebrate my success in the interview, I will treat you to a meal."

"Treat me to a meal?"

"Yes... why? Don't tell me you want to chase me out of the car again!"

"Y/N, it's not convenient for Natasha to go out, let's just-" Natasha cut Clint off. "It's okay. Let her treat me."

And so you were at one of the most prestigious restaurants and even managed to get one of their private dining rooms. Clint was telling the orders to the waiter when you waited and Natasha was typing away at her laptop. Suddenly, another waiter entered and whispered to the waiter's ears that Mr Lancaster was here and wanted to book the room you were currently in.

"This room is always reserved for Marcus! How come somebody is using it now?" You can clearly hear a woman's voice from out the door.

Without announcing, she opened the door and it was someone you recognised. "Ah, I thought who is the person blocking my way, it turns out to be you!" Natasha started analysing the situation.

"Maggie, long time no see. I never thought that you still love to follow behind Stephanie." Enraged by your remarks, she retaliated. "So what if I'm with her, we're doing great! Unlike you? Looks like you are living rather miserably, after being dumped by Marcus. You even dated someone disabled!"

"You!" Before you said any further, Stephanie stepped forward, covered her mouth and pulled her away. "Idiot, stop it! So sorry for Maggie's manners. Didn't think we would bump into each other here. Marcus, let's go."

"No need to apologise. This lady is just speaking the truth." You can bet that that was how Natasha charmed several men and women to swoon over her with her sweet and deceiving words.

"What are you stunned about? Where is the menu?" Maggie still didn't recognise who was in her presence and shouted at the waiter. "Sorry, I will prepare your room immediately, please come with me." He misunderstood her intention and replied with the wrong words. "What? Are we not better than this disabled?"

At this point, Stephanie had enough of her words and pulled her out of the room without saying anything. "What are you doing?!" She only managed to get one sentence in before getting slapped by her friend. "Stephanie Y/L/N! What are you doing?" She held her cheek and asked. "Do you even know who that person is? Natasha Romanoff! Do you think after what you did, he will let you off easily?"

"Na- Natasha Romanoff? I'm done for..."

You apologise for the commotion when they finally exited the room. "I've said it before. In my eyes, they are nothing."

===

Back at home, you changed into your sleeping gown and was looking through your laptop, someone knocked at your door and you automatically assumed it would be Natasha. "It's me, Clint." He said as he took one step into your room. "Maybe next time-"

"Next time we won't be eating out anymore. Don't worry." You understood where he was getting. "Thank you, Y/N."

Soon after, your phone started ringing and it was Stephanie calling you.

You: Hello?

S: Y/N, let's talk about what happened today!

You: Do we still have anything to talk about?

S: Today, Maggie was too anxious and she didn't know Natasha's identity (Behind the phone, Maggie was pleading Stephanie to help her.)

You: So what if she didn't know who she was? She's allowed to treat her that way?

S: ... Y/N, can you just let this incident slip, for my sake?

You: For your sake? Who do you think you are?

S: Y/N Y/L/N!

You: You don't have to be afraid what Natasha will do to you guys, cause in her eyes, you don't exist.

You hang up the phone once you said your piece. You were gradually learning to not be a pushover and stood your own ground.

Series Masterlist

[factual-fantasy]

30 asks! Thank you!! :}} 🦷

Leave comments on my artwork! :D Either in the comment section, in my ask box, reblogs or tags! Reading all the responses to my artwork is my favorite part of posting on Tumblr and is what keeps me posting! :}}

<XD I wanted him to be. But the spawn rate for female Eevees is 12%!! Heck if I'm gonna run around for hours on end looking for a female!

Besides, drawing Sylveon in a more masculine and chaotic way is fun! And having his backstory be that he evolved out of love for his friends, despite being a man, is a fun origin story! :))

Oh nono, art fight isn't for me 😅 I like to keep my characters to myself and don't tend to draw other peoples characters-

@milk-powrit

I had this idea in my head that big Koopas like Bowser cannot retreat into their shell. But regular little Koopas troops can. But I'm kind'a rethinking that.. I'm considering making all Koopas unable to retreat into their shells :00

Hmm... good question.. perhaps his citizens know, but other kingdoms do not.?

..Are you alright-

@jeysecretive

I'm sure I'm not the first person to come up with this idea, so I have no right to say you cant do it too. Go right ahead!

Of all the food related Pokémon I can remember.. Alcremie is pretty cute :)))

@kermit-ydafrog (Sent after this post)

.....For some reason I don't believe you Kermit-

XDD THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :)))))

@untitled-7613

:0 A logo? Where would I put it?

@foxdemon-loser

Aww! What a cute widdle fox.. 🥺💞💞

(In response to an ask from this post)

No problem! Thank you for the asks! :))

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

Today wasn't as bad as it could have been! Thank you! :)) I wish the same for you!

I think you're right about this. And yeah, involving money with my favorite hobby probably just isn't a great idea.. 😔

I haven't caught up with Octonauts recently, so I don't know who you're talking about.. <://

<XD For me its the opposite. I get so caught up in the routine of my usual candle run path that I forget to go out of my way to snatch up the winged lights-

:DDD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :]]]]

I'd prefer a cold shower personally! <XD

@anikakitty11

The baby..... 🥺🥺🥺🥺

@dooflizard

Oooo! Nifty! :00 Thanks for telling me about this! :))

@wolfie-777

Ah nooo, I have no plans to do so! <:/

@olives-in-shadows

Something about this baby looks oddly mischievous...

@savetheearthbros

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DDDD I should totally draw them again sometime!! :000

@teemhauntsSorry for the late reply! Tumblr ate this ask-- I use FireAlpaca! :)) Its free and easy to learn for beginners, but has a lot of tools for the pros! But be warned, it can be a bit buggy at times-

Grizzly Bears! :DDD

@mason-gaylord

Awe, thank you!! :)))

@charactersnatcher

:DD THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :}}}}

Man I haven't had pizza in a while- thank you! :))

I would prefer to be frozen actually! <XDD I don't take the heat well 💀

[nothing-tolose]

All Because I Liked A Girl.

Part 2.

Warning: death threats, panic attack (?), lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: still kinda short anyway but yeah here it is. english isn't my first language so pls pls i hope u guys can understand t____t love u guys sm xoxo

Part 1.

🇵🇸 Daily click.

You keep your phone on screen after you saw those comments on school's blog. You couldn't tell what's happening right now, too many comments made you so hard to search the problem. You bring that thing to everywhere; kitchen, living room, porch, or even to the bathroom.

It's been two hours since you woke up and you haven't showered yet. You were too focused on your school's blog. You sit on your dining chair with a cup of water in front of you, fingers still scrolling and searching.

'Why there's so much bad comments towards me? Why do people keep mentioning Ellie and Anne in between my name?'

You keep asking the same question in your head. You have no idea. Because, oh really, what the fuck is happening right now? You didn't even do anything wrong before!

And you stopped scrolling when you saw Anne's post.

11 hours ago

@annel1se-torres

oh.. i think.. people should be know about a girl who just stole someone's girlfriend, yeah? been hiding this for months but i guess today is the right time to tell you all. aaanddd this isn't about a gossip at all since it was happened to me:)

i would never understand why did she still can smile so brightly after she stole my gf, oops, i mean.. my ex. sorry my bad ;(

there's no girls supporting girls when the one have NO SHAME 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

anyway, have a good night everyone! <3

You froze. You figured out that her post was the problem of all those bad comments, and that post finally answered your curiosity.

Who doesn't know about Anne, though? Everyone knew her as an 'IT GIRL' or something like that on your school. She was dated with Ellie back then and broke up 5 months ago. Everyone always praising her like she's the perfect one, no one could replace her. Good grades, good looking, good personality. Oh, she got them all.

You were confused. It was 5 months ago, you started talking with Ellie 3 months ago, and started dating with her a month after that. There's a little big gap between their relationship with yours, right? Why did she bring up about that and saying that you stole Ellie?

Did she really talking about you? Or you were just overanalyzing? Absolutely not. She haven't been in relationship after her break up with Ellie. If the post wasn't about you and Ellie, then who?

People in her comments section were shading you and even mentioning YOUR NAME.

@bracchiosoreuzz

I THINK I KNOW WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT :0 her name starts with * right?

@annel1se-torres replied

@brachhiosoreuzz girl i know you're smart but shh 🤫

@butter-cheese777

i fucking agree w you anne, no girls supporting girls when the one have NOOO SHAAAMEEE FOR STEALING SOMEONE'S GIRLFRIEND!

@rainawastinghertime

lmfao, she's ugly tho why did ellie accept her to be her girlfriend? ugh she's not worthy to be compared with you, girl

@77-s18

ugly bitch always steal everything

@plhrmc

she should be dead fr i don't care what anyone says

@dont-lookat-m33 replied

@plhrmc hey delete that, you're going too far

@dont-lookat-m33

are you sure that she stole ellie from you? i mean, they started dating like around three months after your break up. think again, anne. im on your side if they were dating a week after the break up. she's already getting a death threat because of your post. not everything should be about you though.

@77-s18 replied

@dont-lookat-m33 guys it's her!!! use your real account you loser XD

You shouldn't have seen those comments, you should've just see the post. Those comments were worst than the first you saw before. The way Anne replied their comments, and didn't even care about the others. What's her actual problem with you? You both were never interacting before. All you know is Anne's post was absolutely a lie because you didn't even care abour her or thinking about her when you talking to Ellie for the first time until you dating with her.

It was your first time getting really really bad comments and death threats. You were definitely scared. Firstly they said they'll spit on you on Monday morning if you show up, and now they wishing you dead.

You can't stop scrolling and reading the comments, it gets worse. God, they made you scared to death. Your body starts to shaking, your hands too. You hold your tears.

Your phone buzzed when you were about to see more comments on Anne's post. Lauren calls you again.

"Hey, I just found the–"

"Lau, I.." You couldn't talk, words suddenly disappeared. Lauren can hear your breath, and you were panting. "I saw those comments. They–"

Lauren went silent, she took a deep breath, "Would you close the blog right now? Please?" Now she sounds more softer than the last call you had with her.

You nod slightly.

You swear to God, you can't hold your tears anymore. You were too scared, scared of what will happen next. What if they really spit on you? What if they give you a disgusting stare on you? And what if—

Then you cried.

You hear Lauren's voice from the call, "I'll be there in five minutes. Just sit there where you are and don't go to somewhere else." And she hang up.

Of course you're not going to anywhere. Your feet were limp, you couldn't do anything except crying.

Your phone screen was on, you can see the notifications on the screen there.

messages request from ssalxxxx

god i really hope you the worst

she's dating with you because she just wanted to make anne jealous

poor girl

messages request from qwrtxxxx

ellie was never happy with you and anne is better than you, girlie

i'll be waiting for your funeral 💘

You shut your eyes, you don't want to see it. But hey, remember that curiosity killed the cat.

messages from els <33

babe are you okay??

taglist: @backedbeansh

[spenglersweetheart]

IDEA IDEA IDEA

In the second movie, reader joins the ghostbusters again after they disbanded in the first movie and it seems everyone forgot how capable they actually are and the attitude they can have when catching ghosts

:0 oooh i can do this

─────────────── ✦ ───────────────

You Forgot How Capable I Was

there's definitely a reader but this is all platonic!

WARNINGS : none!

─────────────── ✦ ───────────────

YOU WERE MORE THAN HAPPY TO BE BACK WITH YOUR buddies working again. You were happy that the Ghostbusters were officially back together, back to working and catching ghosts. You were getting sick and tired of the teaching job that you had. You didn't mind teaching kids, you loved it. But sometimes, that was exhausting. So much more exhausting than catching ghosts.

But, there was something definitely off when you started back. You could barely help anyone. Or, the others wouldn't let you help them.

Whenever there was a call, they wanted you to stay behind. You didn't know the reason for this. The first time they banded, you were allowed to call on calls with them. Well, at least you could file the samples. Until that was pretty much taken away. So, sometimes you were stuck with Janine. And that wasn't a bad thing.

But you missed the adrenaline of ghostbusting. So why wouldn't they let you go with them?

There had been a call somewhere on 42nd. They four were pretty much three now. Peter had caught the flu and he couldn't go out on the bust with them. The fact that you had to beg and plead for you to join them kind of hurt, but at least you got to go on this one.

It was a bookstore. It was closed for the day because of the weird things that had been going on in there. It was pretty huge, and you had suggested to split up so that you guys could cover more ground. They pretty much looked at you like you were crazy, but they eventually agreed.

You covered one part of the bookstore. You happened to sense something on your PKE meter when you passed a bookshelf. You check in between the horror section. There it was.

"Guys," you say into your radio, "I found it, I'm gonna hold it off."

"Wait until we get there," Egon told you.

"By the time you guys get here it'll go away," you sigh, turning on the proton back.

"Y / N ..."

"Egon, I got it," you grumble, before shooting the ghost.

You weren't listening to them. Not after they pretty much forgot that you used to be a Ghostbuster, too. You keep the ghost stunned. You manage to glance behind the steam, spotting Ray on the other side of the aisle.

"Ray, I got it," you told him, bring the trap over.

You're calm. It's the three others that are slightly freaking out over you. You couldn't believe that they did that. You didn't know what had gotten into them. So, you had to prove to them.

Ray slides the ghost trap over, and you actually put it in the trap. All by yourself. Without any of the others' help.

Egon and Winston made it over to you not too long after you put the ghost in.

"You did it," Winston said to you.

You look behind you. "Yeah, of course I did," you replied, "I've known how to do this. You guys just forgot how capable I was."

You pretty much push past them, knowing that this would probably be your last bust in a while.

"We're sorry," you hear Egon's voice say.

You turn back around. "Why did you guys keep me from helping?" You ask, "I've done this just as long as you guys have. I was so happy to finally be together again as a brand. As a family. And you guys just ... I dunno."

"We were worried," Ray admitted, "Because we know how much you liked that job as a teacher. We didn't want something to happen to you. Especially because those kids love you."

You frowned. That was actually a sweet gesture. And you knew that you couldn't be mad at them forever. "Wait ... Really?"

"Really," Winston told you, "We didn't want their favorite teacher getting hurt."

"Well, that's very sweet of you guys. But, I will be fine. I have you guys. You wouldn't let anything happen to me," you explain to them, "And I wouldn't let anything happen to myself."

The other three were quiet for a while. Maybe keeping you from doing this kind of job was the wrong decision for them. You were actually a great addition to the team, and they loved having you.

"So, am I back on the team?" You ask.

Ray gives you a nod. "Welcome back to the team, Y / N."

[m1dnyt3-w0lf]

Good Puppy Part 5

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

⚠️WARNING: NSFW IMPLICATIONS⚠️

Summary: Awkward

Breakfast was awkward. Pretending to love Miguel was one thing. Pretending to love Miguel after grinding on him and then getting off to the thought of him was a whole other issue! You swore your cheeks were in a permanent blush since that moment. You did your best to keep your attention on your family, but your mind kept wandering.

The grip of his hand.

The ragged breathing.

The desperate tone.

You wanted it to happen again.

“Junebug, dear, are you listening?” Your mother’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You look up from your plate of pancakes to your mother. Everyone’s attention was on you.

“Oh, sorry, I zoned out. What happened?” You ask, feeling your cheeks heat up from embarrassment.

“The twins had the bright idea to camp outside! We’re going to make it a family thing!” Your mother recounted excitedly. “Will you come shopping with us while the men set everything up here?”

“Sure!” You reply with a smile. Time away from Miguel sounded like a godsend. Maybe then your mind wouldn’t be so horny.

“Here,” Miguel rumbled as he handed you his card, “I’ll pay for it.”

He has a black card?! You thought as you tried not to drop your jaw. You've known him for how long, and he never told you?! Why was he showing it off now?!

Was he trying to impress your family?!

“Oh, no, Miguel, we can’t ask that of you.” Your father says. Miguel only smiles. He looks so good when he smiles…

“I’m offering from my own free will.” He says coolly, gently taking your hand and placing the card in it. “Please allow me to show my gratitude for your hospitality” His eyes slid from your father to you, his eyes staring into yours intensely. “And for gifting me such a beautiful soul to love and be loved by.” A collection of “awe” filled the air.

You have never wanted to kiss someone so bad.

“Get yourself a fruit bowl, amor.” He says casually, eyes still holding your gaze. You manage to nod your head.

“Okay.”

“Can I get myself one, too?” Sammy asks.

“Sammy!” Your mother scolds.

“What? It was just a—”

“No.” Miguel interrupts curtly, never even glancing her way. Your cheeks were burning at this point.

It’s fake-it’s fake-it’s fake-it’s fake. You chanted in your head. It felt like you had to remind yourself a lot about that recently.

You were first to look away from the shared eye contact. Any longer, and you would've jumped him. You see Miguel turn away in your periphery. You clear your throat.

“So, when do we leave?”

“Junie, I will not ask again. Get the watermelon.” Your mother said sternly. Her voice sliced through your mindless fog and had your back stiffening. She only called you that when you were in trouble.

“Sorry, mom!” You hurried off for the produce section. You have been nothing but distracted since you got to the store. No matter how hard you tried, your mind seemed to trail back to this morning. You swore your mind was torturing you. It was like you were an addict experiencing withdrawal despite only having a taste. You groaned softly and rubbed at your eyes.

Focus, dammit. You mentally scolded yourself. You took a deep breath and began your tireless search for the juiciest watermelon in the bunch. Once found, you hurried back to where you last saw your family. You frown as you begin in a slow circle before picking a direction to hurry off to. One thing you hated about grocery shopping was always losing everyone whenever you went to do something else. You won't lie. It was quite annoying to have to go through. The endless up and down of the aisles, looking like a crazed person as you feverishly searched. You groan and take your phone out, only to pause at the message on your screen. A message from Miguel.

'We need to talk when you get back'

Was he discovered? Was he not able to continue this charade? Oh gods, was he going to talk about—

“You got the watermelon!” You were thrown out of your thoughts when Maggie took the watermelon out of your hold. You quickly pocket your phone.

“Oh, um, yeah.” You walk with her through the aisles. She gives you a look.

“You doing okay there?” She asks. You look at her and see the concern knitting her eyebrows together. You offer a smile.

“I’m fine.” You tell her. She looked unconvinced.

“Junie, I love you, but you’re such a terrible liar.” She says.

Say that to my relationship with Miguel. You thought before it gave you pause. Wait, no, what relationship?

“Junie?” Maggie tries again. Her hand was on your arm, both of you halting by the toilet paper. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I promise.” You say then sigh. “It’s just…”

“Just?” Maggie pressed. You huff.

“Miguel wants to talk to me about something.” You tell her. It felt nice to be able to talk about something about your fake relationship with Miguel. You pretended you didn’t have to remind yourself of that fact. “I’m not sure what it is, but I’m really worried about it.”

“Oh, Junie.” Maggie pulled you in for a hug. “I doubt it’s anything bad. Miguel loves you!”

“I don’t know—” She’s quick to brush you off.

“Please, you can see it clearly on his face and the way he looks at you! I’m surprised he could even keep his hands off you.” She says with a giggle. You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Maggie, stop.” You cover your cheeks.

“I’m serious!” Her voice comes out in a hushed tone. “I swear sometimes it feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes!”

“Maggie!” You gasped, your face red as a tomato. You gave her a light smack on her arm. She laughs.

“I’m serious! Really, don’t sweat it. He loves you. We all know it.” Maggie smiles, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Now, let's get back to mom before she blows her top.” You both giggle and hurry away.

Miguel stared at his phone as if willing you to respond back to him. He can’t keep up the charade. He couldn’t keep pretending to be in love with you.

Not while being in love with you.

He wasn’t sure how you’d react to his confession, nor was he sure if you’d share feelings. Since that morning, you’ve plagued his mine. He’ll admit, not in the most innocent ways, but he still couldn’t deny it. He really did love you. He didn’t know why it took him so long to figure it out, or why it took you grinding on his dick to figure it out, but he wasn’t about to go any longer without calling you his.

“You alright there, son?” Your father asked him. Miguel looked up from his phone and put it away. He shot your father a charming smile.

“Of course, just missing my girl is all.” My girl. It felt so right on his tongue. Just like how he hoped you felt-shock, your dad was right there! Miguel was quick to force his thoughts clean.

“I wish I could say it gets easier with time.” Your father said with a laugh, clapping a hand on Miguel’s shoulder and leading him to the backyard. “But I miss my wife every time I don’t see her.”

“Even while sleeping?” Miguel asks.

“Not at all, I dream of her in my sleep.” He sighs, making Miguel chuckle. “I am forever grateful I met her.”

“That much, huh?” Miguel asks him. Your father nods.

“Just as much as you love our Junebug.” He says. Miguel flusters a bit. Was he that obvious?

“I just hope they know.” Miguel says. Your father chuckled.

“Nothing like just saying ‘I love you.’” Your dad tells him as they rejoined Pete and the kids, who were busy setting up the tents. Miguel was surprised at how simple Your father put it. But was it that easy? Did you love him back? Or was all your blushing and hints just part of the charade? He really hoped it wasn't.

Despite wanting to talk to Miguel as soon as possible, your family somehow kept you both separate from each other. The most you were able to do was give him sparing glances as you passed by each other or met each other's eyes from across the yard. Dinner was a definite no. However, Miguel had quickly cut up his food, so his left hand was free to lay on your thigh and gently caress it with his thumb. The action left you so heated and surprisingly comforted. He wouldn't do that if what he needed to talk about wasn't good, right? You tried to focus on that thought rather than the darker thoughts that filled your mind.

Your mother had ushered everyone outside after dinner where your father had built and lit a fire. Maggie brought out the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. The younger kids cheered. Everyone took their places around the fire. Everyone was throwing jokes and stories, laughing, and having a good time. It didn’t take long for you to forget about everything. You found yourself laughing and jumping in with your own stories, unaware of the gaze Miguel was giving you. You gasped and turned to him suddenly, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Remember Brad?!” You asked with a laugh. The very name had him rolling his eyes.

“Don’t remind me. I still don’t know what you saw in him.” Miguel huffed.

“Who’s Brad?” Sammy asks with interest.

“Oh, he was my—” You cut yourself off. Shit, you forgot. How the hell are you going to talk about your ex?!

“Their boyfriend before me.” Miguel answers with ease. “Before they knew I loved them. Worst three months of my life.”

“You never told me you had someone before Miguel!” Maggie gasped. You chuckled a bit nervously.

“To be fair, it was nothing serious.”

“Nothing about that man was serious. I’m surprised he even had a job, what with his lack of responsibility and his tendency to slack off. Really, it was a godsend when they broke up. I was able to sweep my love off their feet and show them exactly how they should be treated.” Miguel scoffed. There was something strange about his tone.

“Now, Miguel, you aren’t still jealous of their ex, are you?” Thomas joked. You looked from your brother to Miguel.

“Is that true?” You ask. Miguel clears his throat and averts his gaze.

“‘Course not. I’ve got you, don’t I?” Miguel mumbled. You couldn’t help but smile. Whether this was fake or not, it was real enough for you. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“My big grumpy man.” You whisper, earning yourself a dust of pink on his cheeks and a soft smile.

“I’m not that grumpy, am I?” He whispered back, his tone playful.

“Not to me.” You say, gazing up into his eyes as you did so. Something flickered in his eyes.

“Get a room!” Thomas called, followed by a chorus from the rest of your family. You and Miguel chuckle.

“Maybe we will!” You call out, standing. Miguel was quick to follow. You waved off your family as Miguel led you to the tent you were both supposed to share. He pulled the flap back to allow you in, crawling in after you. You laughed.

“Can you believe them? I swear they’re all-Miguel?” You turned to see him looking a bit more somber.

“Amor, this is our chance to talk.” He says quietly. Your blood runs cold.

“Wh-what is it?” You ask, spluttering slightly at the sudden change of mood.

“It’s about us fake dating.” Miguel says, a pained expression on his face. “I can’t do it.”

His words were like a slap in the face. If you weren’t already sitting, you would have staggered. You felt your heart crack and break, each piece cutting your chest open like a shard of glass. You blinked at him as if he were a hallucination.

“What?” You hated how broken you sounded. Miguel physically winced and took your hand in his. His once warm hand now felt cold as ice to you. You tried to slip away, but he held strong.

“Amor, listen to me first.” He pleaded, his own voice sounding broken. “I can’t pretend to date you because I love you.”

Finale

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged/untagged!

@crocs-blogs @madschiavelique @eveandtheturtles @obi-mom-kenobi @thelaundrybitch @symmetricalkazekage @raphsmuneca @tojishugetiddies @theshrikeandcanary @someonesrealityshifting @wakanda-forever-andotherfandoms @awkward-platypus

[projectbluearcadia]

Work-Life Balance

Lucifer x GN!MC

[ Scenario: Not only are you Lucifer's student, but you are also his spouse. Only a select few are privy to the latter information, and both of you intend to keep it that way. Nevertheless... you do want to push his buttons. ]

Wordcount - 1242

The sound of chalk tapping against the chalkboard. The dusky Devildom classroom, lit by dozens of deep blue will ‘o wisps silently buzzing around the room. The feeling of the pen grinding against your writing callus as you hurriedly copied down each complicated symbol, struggling to keep up with the chalk. The smoky, familiar smell that greeted you as the professor made his rounds to check on everyone’s work. 

This is your magic classroom. 

“As you all seem to be comfortable with basic water enchantments, we’ll be moving onto section 2.4 today,” the black-haired male announces after he’s returned to his desk at the front of the lecture hall. The glare of the will ‘o wisps shimmers off his glasses, temporarily dying the lenses blue before you shift your head over another person’s. “Has anyone read ahead of the today’s lecture notes?” I have, because I watched you write them. “No one?” 

“I have, Lord Lu—er, Professor,” someone says timidly, and your professor gives the barest hint of a smile. 

“Then would you care to tell your peers what I’m going to teach for the remainder of today’s class time?” 

“Fire magic fundamentals.” A collective groan, one which the professor quickly puts an end to with a quick look. Although he is surprisingly forgiving, every one of Professor Lucifer’s students knows that he isn’t a man to be trifled with, and not just because he and his family have been personally hired by RAD’s President, Diavolo. 

“If you’re going to groan, I frankly have no idea why you’ve bothered coming to my class,” Lucifer says, taking his time to look over the room. “This is Sorcery 101, Magical Constitution and Control. If you struggle in one area, you struggle with all of them. I do not care if you all are used to the fire affinity. You will learn from the ground up, and you will learn it properly in this class. Understand?”

“Yes, Professor…” is the resounding, chastised mumble that flows through the hall. 

“Now, let us begin by disproving a few common myths about fire magic…” Lucifer begins, and his scrawl quickly covers the board as he draws a perfect inscribed pentagram. “MC, our human student, came to my office hours to ask about this when we covered section 2.1, raw energy, and I believe now would be an appropriate time to answer their question. They asked, ‘can I shoot a fireball if I just tell the energy to do that?’ Who would like to answer that question?” You shrink a little in your seat; of course he mentions that embarrassing conversation that definitely was not during his office hours. 

Lucifer turns and nods at one of the students raising their hand, and they say: “Yeah. Fire is raw energy.” 

“You are both correct and incorrect,” Lucifer replies, and for not the first time, you feel bad for the student, but it was more kind than him normally declaring an answer completely wrong. “Fire can be manipulated from raw energy very easily, but to say that it is raw energy is incorrect. How does fire appear in the human world, MC?” 

“Er, carbon combusts in the presence of oxygen… is the general rule,” you reply. Wait, does whatever the hell happens with the sun or event horizons or lava count? 

“That is one of the ways, yes,” Lucifer replies. Dammit! “Fire requires a fuel source, and similarly, magic activation for fire requires extra energy to combust and change form. In other words, there is a secondary, constant cost to fire magic activation, similar to other magic we have covered. I would say you waste about 1.5 times more energy using fire magic over raw power.” A few of the students shrink in their seats, clearly guilty parties. “Does that answer your question, MC?” 

“...yes,” you reply, feeling a bit sulky, and Lucifer gives you the briefest snarky little smirk. Oh, he would pay for that.

~~~

“MC, I thought we agreed no more using my office hours,” Lucifer sighs as you knock on the open door to his room. It’s a quiet place, complete with a clean blackboard, a well-used box of chalk on its metal ledge and four chairs tucked tight against a long table against the wall. Lucifer’s computer sits open at his desk, facing away from you, but you know well enough he’s grading assignments right now. “You’re using time that other students need.” 

“And?” you ask, closing the door behind you. “I need you more than them, Professor.” Oh, that tone? You’re going with that tone? Here, in Lucifer’s office? 

“MC,” he says warningly, but you’re stalking up to his desk, placing your hands onto the polished wood as you bend your head down to Lucifer’s. “MC… This is not the time…” He doesn’t mean that, not in the slightest; you can hear his sternness slowly being exchanged for tenderness and desire, and you find yourself smiling as you bring one hand up to caress his soft, pale cheek. 

“Can’t you make a little time for your spouse?” you ask, and Lucifer blinks slowly at you, his crimson eyes melting further. He is melting in your hands like chocolate on a warm Halloween. 

“Darling, I love you, but I’m working,” he murmurs, returning your cheek caress. “Can’t you wait for me?”

“No,” you murmur, your lips practically touching his. Stubborn bastard won’t kiss you right now though, no, because that door could open, and then what? Some kind of student-teacher sex scandal? Oh, but the prospect of being caught is so dangerously tempting. You’d be lying if it hadn’t crossed your mind that you could live out fantasies most people couldn’t dream of, if not for Lucifer’s (and your) need for this to be kept a secret. 

“I’ve had a very long day,” he says, his eyes wandering across your face, then down your collar and lower, scanning you as if confirming for himself that you’re standing there. “And you’re pushing me, MC.” Well, that’s the intent, honeybunch. 

“You can take it out on me, Lucifer,” you whisper, “You know I can take it, and what’s the harm anyway?” 

Lucifer’s lips part, and he captures you in a kiss for a moment before you pull away, leaving him confused. 

“MC?”

“Thank you, darling; I’m all refreshed.” You straighten up from his desk. “Oh, did you think I was serious? I was only joking, Luci; we can’t do that here. Who knows what hapless student might bear witness!” You laugh a little at Lucifer’s annoyed face. He can’t argue with you on this either, because he knows damn well that you’re right, even if there weren’t a lot of students brave enough to use his office hours.

“...you’re welcome,” he replies with a slow, irritated sigh. “I should assign you 20 extra problems from the next unit.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“I think I will,” Lucifer says after a moment, a smile slipping back across his lips. “Due at midnight tonight.” 

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Perfectly,” he replies, returning back to grading papers. “In fact, let’s make it a test. It’ll be awfully difficult for you to write while your face is pressed against your answer sheet, so I’ll read it out to you, and you’ll need to tell me what the right answer is. If you fail, you’ll certainly need to come to me for some supplementary lessons.” 

Well, shit. That backfired. 

…not like you’re complaining though.

[mvltisstuff]

hello again, i’ve requested a few times (the feels and sweet nothing) and i was hoping i could request again? (i think i might add an emoji at the end bc i love your writing and will keep requesting as much as you allow ❤️❤️) anyway, i hope you’re doing well and things are going good.

i was wondering if i could request a buck fic where is partner is an artist and he finds a sketchbook of sketches of him and when he asks about it they talk about how pretty he is and how deserves to be appreciated and just making him feel super loved with it. thank you if you get to it and ofc no troubles if you don’t. take care 🥰

also is 🚒 good for a way to recognize me??

wasteland, baby! - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: omg you always have such creative ideas! i love receiving requests so always feel free :)) 🚒 = ❤️‍🔥 i also won’t be posting as frequently for the next few weeks due to finals, but after that i’ll be posting a ton!!

buck had come over to y/n’s apartment after his shift for dinner, and the scent of thick acrylic paint and primer had stung at his nostrils. he began to love the smell, as he knew that it meant she was around. he had let himself in with his key, taking in all of the perfectly placed plants and artwork on the walls.

she had a canvas that was almost complete, with just a few finishing touches. buck had walked over to it to examine. her talent was extraordinary. he knew it was out of this world, and the way she was so proud of her pieces his made his heart swell up with love.

“hi, buck!” y/n says, beginning to walk out of the hallway from her room to her art. she was wearing a pair of dark green pants and a white t-shirt which somehow complimented her beautifully. her face had small specks of blue and red on her cheeks and black and grey streaks on her shirt. “sorry it’s such a mess in here, but doesn’t this look great?”

“no, don’t worry about the mess, but how long did that take? it’s amazing!” buck stutters a big, not being able to comprehend how art like that could come out of her hands.

“thank you, love,” she replies, taking his belongings and placing them down for him. “how was work today? anything good?”

“just a normal old day, but you know it’s the 118.”

“it is never normal at the 118,” y/n smiles and gives him a cheek kiss before going to wipe her face off. buck goes to sit down in her living room on the couch, and she follows behind him with a quick change of shirt. she placed a small pizza in the oven to cook for them, and cuddled up next to him while they told each other stories about their day.

“it was wild, y/n,” buck starts. “i mean this woman literally rose from the dead after like 15 minutes, after being under a street. oh! you’re going to love this- and we saved some puppies in a sewer.”

“oh my god, are they ok?”

“they’re all fine, but i’m not sure if we are right now.”

“what do you mean?” she asks, slowly and carefully.

“you don’t smell something burning?”

she takes a deep inhale and looks over to her smokey kitchen. it wasn’t too bad, but definitely enough to make it inedible. “shit! fuck, i forgot about it!” she says, bouncing the pan up and down while trying not to burn herself.

y/n was busy discarding of the pizza when buck looked over at her with joy. he had a cheeky smile on his face and was laughing at the forgetfulness of both of them. he looked back down in front of him and the coffee table, and he saw a book that y/n always has on her. she brings it to work, to her family, anywhere she goes, she has it. it was her beloved sketchbook, filled with hundreds of small doodles and big pieces. buck has seen a lot of things in it, admiring each one before he comes across a bookmarked section.

when he flips the pages of the book, he notices that the person that is sketched and shaded looks particularly familiar. he makes note of the sharp nose and soft, but hard jaw. he sees the famous birthmark on the side of his face. he’s never looking right on, though. he’s always focused on something or has a light grin on his face. buck knows these are of him, but he doesn’t think he had any importance to be the top drawing in her book.

y/n walks back in to greet her boyfriend, “i think we might just have to ord-“ she looks at the sketches that she had put on that paper. a heat rose up into her face, reddening her cheeks and making her feel a sense of embarrassment.

“a-are these me?” buck asks, quietly. y/n nods, slowly, praying that she didn’t make him uncomfortable and that she will see him again tomorrow. “i-um..”

“you don’t have to say anything, buck. i never meant for you to see those and if you don’t like them, i’ll never do it again i swear. you just, you’re so beautiful, buck. and i love to draw beautiful things.”

“i just don’t know what to say, these are so good. i feel like you know me more than i know myself,” he says, chuckling a bit.

“you like ‘em?”

“i love them,” buck says.

“good, i just couldnt stop myself. you are always so pretty, no matter what and i want you to know that, so i tried to convey it through this. i was going to show you eventually, but i wanted to do more.”

“why me, though? you could draw anyone,” buck asks.

“no one else is you! you might have a pretty face and all but there is really nothing more beautiful than your soul. you are filled with so much love and sweetness and i’ve been dying to find a way to show you, because you are loved, evan. i love you and i wanted to put my two favorite things together. not a day goes by where i have anything but love for you.”

suddenly, the feeling in bucks chest is rising stronger, feeling like it’s going to burst. when it does, he has strong riptides of tears in his eyes. with a pure smile on his face, he passionately leaves a kiss on her lips, and he feels loved for the first time.

growing up, his parents never showed him love. he always begged for it from everyone he knew, and now he feels like it isn’t deserved. but someone, y/n made him feel like he will forever be worthy of love. and he will never forget how she fixed him for the best.

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe I first encountered this supposed explanation in the comments section of a fanfiction, so it is to be taken with a grain of salt, but I read that Shiro's design was primarily based on what the showrunners thought "looked cool". This includes the prosthetic grafted onto his person by his captors, the scar across his face, and the shock of white fringe in his otherwise naturally dark hair. And, I won't lie, his design serves its purpose. Shiro immediately draws the eye, and not just because of his usual placement front and center in the standard team line up.

It's reasonable for the sort of space soldier, G.I. Joe type of character the staff intended Shiro to be to have these sorts of physical characteristics.

It's also completely reasonable in a Sci-Fi/Action show for a villain as menacing and ruthless as Sendak to have a similarly distinct, eye-catching design. Such features as a sinister, gleaming, red bionic eye, and massive prosthetic arm powered by a core of glowing, magical electric energy pulsing in a line from shoulder to forearm stand out, are easily memorable, and make him instantly recognizable as a really Bad Guy.

The idea of Shiro being a sort of "light, heroic mirror" to Sendak, which the show introduced and continued to attempt to enforce all the way up to Sendak's death, sits incredibly uneasily with me, however. As I've made explicit several times, before.

Content Warning for discussion of sexual assault/rape.

We're shown the recurrent imagery of Sendak looming over and behind an incapacitated Shiro.

Shiro's instinctive response to seeing Sendak heading toward him is to back away out of fear before steeling himself and resolving to fight, if only to protect the Castle and an unconscious Lance.

The very first thing that Shiro says to Sendak is, "You're not getting in", to which Sendak replies, "Yes. I am".

Coran suggests that the Galra might keep him and Hunk as, "some sort of creepy pet to play with how they please", in an appeal to Shay and Rax for assistance concealing their presence on the Balmera.

There's genuine contempt in Shiro's voice when he asks Sendak, "What do you want?", prior to his torture at Sendak's hands.

Sendak delivers a stomach-churning gloating little speech after torturing Shiro via electric shock.

And, Rolo refers to Sendak as a, "real nasty bugger", a term that has an exceptionally crude colloquial meaning.

Now, maybe I'm a cynical weirdo who is reading far too deeply into this, and connecting dots that aren't there. But...

Shiro bears a much stronger resemblance to Berserk's Guts than the Takashi Shirogane from the original Go Lion! that he's named after. Guts is a famous survivor of childhood sexual abuse, having been sold by his adoptive father and purchased for use as a sex slave by an ugly hulking pederast.

There were obvious Neon Genesis Evangelion fans working on this show, and Rei Ayanami, the character that Shiro's story seems to reference with the sheer excess of clones created using his DNA, is also a victim of sexual abuse.

(There's even, arguably, influence taken from The Legend of the Blue Wolves, a relatively obscure yaoi OVA largely set at a military facility which trains soldiers and pilots for combat missions in deep space. It features an extended scene with a virtual flight simulator, and one of the two male leads is-- wouldn't you know it? Raped by an ugly hulking monster.)

Correlation does not imply causation, and perhaps the similarities are entirely superficial, and we're not meant to think too hard about them.

Yet, with the amount of scrutiny that a series as utterly wholesome and innocuous as Bluey is constantly under, I cannot buy for a minute that a series Netflix gave a TV Y7 rating to didn't undergo some level of screening to ensure that its content was appropriate for the intended child audience. Someone had to have asked the staff if bugger was the term they meant to use, aware of the disturbing, far less than child-friendly implications, and was met with a resounding confirmation.

Beyond that, extended proximity to even an imprisoned and inanimate Sendak sends Shiro spiraling into a psychological break down.

Shiro's intensely traumatic experiences in captivity, which his brain seems to have largely repressed in order to protect him ("It's all a blur.") would, by themselves, be enough to convince him that he's been broken and reshaped into something monstrous. His bodily autonomy was, unquestionably, brutally violated, and his innately altruistic, self-sacrificing nature was violently challenged when he was forced to kill or be killed for his captors' entertainment. His right arm was taken from him and replaced with a weapon, and he has the blood of who knows just how many innocents on his hands. He was, indeed, broken down in an attempt to reform him into the Galra Empire's "greatest weapon", and likely very much wars with himself over what he had to do to ensure his own survival, believing himself to be a monster.

What really stands out to me, though, is that this intense, primal terror and the accompanying feelings of "brokenness" and "monstrousness" only surface around Sendak. Despite also being associated with and direct causes of his trauma, neither Haggar nor Zarkon rattle Shiro to his core the way Sendak does.

Neither of them are insistent on drilling into Shiro's head how "broken" he supposedly is, as Sendak is shown doing over and over again. Including taunting Shiro over the non-consensual modifications to his body.

Harboring a deep sense of shame, and viewing themselves as something dirty, ugly, disgusting, broken, or even monstrous is an experience common among survivors of sexual abuse.

Having Shiro's physical condition repeatedly mirror his personal tormentor's would be sick and twisted enough.

Adding the context of rape or sexual abuse to Shiro's torment makes the creative decision to intentionally model his arm after his abuser's outright sadistic.

No one deserves to have a constant physical reminder of their abuser and rapist permanently attached to their person. And, attempting to paint Shiro as a "heroic mirror" to Sendak fails entirely when Shiro doesn't so much as get to best Sendak in combat once.

All of the points you've raised about the function and structure of prosthetics are amazing, informative, and highly appreciated. (The comment about Shiro's abominable floating arm looking like it wouldn't be able to support the weight of a grocery bag makes me laugh.) Sadly, there's a faction of the fanbase who are all too quick to fetishize that arm, like everything else surface-level about Shiro. I've seen a number of fics where its ability to be propelled a great distance with a single thought is used to pleasure a partner while Shiro, himself, is in a different room, where the arm is equipped with a vibrating function for use as a sex toy, and, of course, where the thickness of its fingers is sexualized for... the same reason the bulge in the crotch of Shiro's pants is.

(I beg this fandom to stop reducing this man to a seme stereotype because of his physical build and height. Nothing in his personality suggests that he would be anything even approximating that cursed archetype. Let him be a pillow princess, for God's sake, like he deserves.)

This reply took me forever, and I am sincerely sorry about that. I hope you find something worthwhile in this haphazard collection of thoughts.

And, "Sendick" is how I'm going to be mentally referring to that creep from now on.