#it was during summer camp for tennis

[links-hella-fine-booty]

if you ever want to know how stupid I am, I went through a whole tennis competition and won without realizing it was a competition

[whowritessometimes]

Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

[apatheticrater]

Reposting this after rewriting it 💗 I was thinking about Art and the headcanon about him growing up Catholic and my brain went brrr and popped this out. Don’t mind anything that’s not correct about church, if it’s not obvious I have not gone to a church service before and only been in a few chapels. Hope you guys like this!!

Everyone knew Art Donaldson was a well-behaved Catholic boy. He grew up with his religious grandmother, went to church every sunday, and helped out at church camp over the summers he wasn’t playing in tennis championships. So how did he end up with you? The girl known around campus for being at every party with a new guy on her arm after each one, you were much better suited for the blonde’s friend, Patrick.

It’s a simple story really. You guys ended up in the same Gen Ed English course during freshman year at Stanford. The professor had you two group up to discuss your most recent assignment, and after a lot of flirting, you got his number and a date for that Friday night. It was unlike any other date you’ve gone on. Art was smart, respectful, kind, and didn’t expect anything from you. He picked you up on time, paid for dinner, listened to you talk, and asked questions about your life. And when he walked you back to your dorm, he was too nervous to try to kiss you. After that night, you knew you needed to lock him down, so you did.

How he ended up in this situation, with you bouncing on his dick in a closed confessional booth, no one on the other side, minutes after church ended, is a whole different story.

Art had been begging you to join him at one of his church services for weeks. He wanted you to come along at least once, and meet the people at his church that he talks to every Sunday. You were never really religious and didn’t want to go to church, but you saw how happy it would make Art and caved.

Sunday morning rolled around and you did your hair just right before throwing on your prettiest (and Art’s favorite) sundress with no panties underneath. You mingled like Art wanted you to, greeted all of the people he introduced you to, and smiled politely. It was once you sat down and started listening to one of the priest's readings that you told Art about your missing article of clothing.

“I’m not wearing any panties under this, by the way.” And you watched him very carefully after, biting back a smile at his, or more so his body’s, reaction. He shuddered, his dress pants grew tighter, and a heavy blush grew on his cheeks. It’s not that you guys haven’t had sex, but Art still gets shy around the mere mention of it.

He tries to focus on the service, but your words keep replaying in his mind. He discreetly reaches over and entwines his fingers with yours, a silent plea for you to behave. His thumb gently rubs over your skin, sending shivers up your arm.

You were the one to have taken his virginity, corrupted him completely, and convinced him to break his vow of chastity until marriage. He was still pretty inexperienced since you guys haven’t done a lot. And you knew he would be hard to convince into having sex in a sacred place, the house of God, but surprisingly enough, it was less hard than you thought.

As soon as the service ended he was dragging you by your hand to the bathroom but you quickly stopped him. ��So eager today…are you sure you want to be doing this here, honey?” you ask him, smiling coyly. He pauses for a second, glancing down at his boner straining against his pants before glancing back at you desperately. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, a clear indication of how affected he is. "Please, love. I can't wait."

“Okay baby, if that’s what you need, but let’s go to a different place. Somewhere a little more private...” You say before guiding him towards the confessional located in the back of the main room, away from the lingering groups that are still talking. You have the sense to check that there is no priest or clergy member on the other side, while Art starts to desperately pull down his pants and boxers. He immediately pulls you onto his lap after sitting on the small provided bench, dragging your head forward for a heated kiss.

His hands grip your thighs tightly, his touch urgent as he hitches your skirt up around your waist. He breaks the kiss to bury his face in your cleavage, his breathing heavy and ragged. His fingers find your wet heat, and he groans against your skin, his touch growing more insistent.

“So desperate today baby…” You say quietly, running your fingers through his hair and gasping when you feel his thumb find your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. His other hand reaches up to pinch and roll your nipple between his fingers. He's shaking with desire, his cock throbbing against your thigh as he fights to stay quiet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... I need to be inside you so badly,"

You shush him before lifting yourself up and sinking down on his cock, pressing your hand over his mouth to muffle his noises, knowing how vocal he usually is. “I got you, love, I know what you need,” you reassure him, your lips pressed against the shell of his ear. His hips jerk up, burying himself deeper inside you as he bites down gently on your palm. His hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he silences his moans against your hand.

You bite back your own moans as you slowly ride him, pulling yourself up and down on his cock, wishing you could muffle the wet noises coming from where your bodies connect. “You know I love your noises but they’re too loud…”

He nods against your hand, his eyes closed in bliss as he focuses on the sensation of being inside you. He rocks his hips up to meet your movements, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. "Mmmph, mmmph." Your hips move faster, trying to get you both off as quick as possible to lower the risk of being caught.

Art’s face contorts with pleasure, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrusts up into you, matching your rhythm. His breathing grows harsher, his muffled moans louder against your hand. His body tenses beneath you, a sign that he's close.

“Let go f’me baby…Jesus– fuck…” You moan, unable to hold back or keep yourself quiet. “Always so pretty when you do…” He lets out a muffled shout against your hand, his body convulsing as he spills into you. He buries his face in your neck, his breathing hot and heavy against your skin. After a moment, he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of love and guilt.

You smile and pull him into a kiss, helping him ride out his high by grinding down on his lap. He kisses you back eagerly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you even closer. After a moment, he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. He lets out a shaky laugh. "We really shouldn't be doing this in a church... But I'm glad we did."

You smile and press another kiss to his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Surprised I even got you to do this…” You look into his eyes, a mischievous smile forming on your face. “Buttt…I still haven’t cum…”

His eyes widen briefly before he grins wickedly. He stands up, lifting you with him before gently setting you down on the bench. He drops to his knees, pushing your skirt up and spreading your thighs. "Well, we can't have that, now can we?" Before you can answer he starts tonguing my your, making you slap a hand over your mouth as your head falls back.

He eats you out with fervor, his tongue delving deep into your pussy as he sucks on your clit. He curls his tongue inside you, scraping against your walls before returning to your clit. He repeats the motion over and over, his fingers spreading your lips wide to give him better access. “Fuck baby—” You moan breathlessly, gripping his hair tightly in one hand as the other grips the bench. “Forgot how good you are with your mouth…”

He moans against your flesh, the vibration pushing you closer to the edge. He reaches up with one hand to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your peaks between his fingers. He feels you tense up, your thighs shaking around his head, and doubles his efforts, eager to make you come. Your whole body tenses and it takes everything in you to not scream when he pushes his fingers inside you and hooks them just right to hit the gummy spot inside you that makes you cum almost instantly. He can feel your pussy spasm around his fingers and eagerly awaits the flood of delicious wetness that will follow.

It doesn’t take long before your cumming around his fingers, grinding down on his hand as you bite down on your own, muffling your scream-like moans. He continues to suck on your swollen nub, drawing out your release as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of your quivering core. Once you're finished, he gently cleans you up with his mouth before kissing his way back up your body, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "Better?"

“Much better.” You say softly, trembling slightly as you wrap your arms around his waist. “We should probably leave before your priest catches us,” You say while standing up, opening the confessional door, and making sure no one’s around. He follows you out, straightening his clothes and making sure you're decent as well. He takes your hand and leads you out of the church, casting one last guilty glance back at the building. "To the car?"

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Feel free to send me asks, even if it’s just to chat, I don’t know when exactly I will answer them because it can take me a bit to write and edit sometimes 🫶

[numberonecodwomenfan]

yall i have a summer camp au on the brain…. i just love summer camp settings for fics idk theres just smth about them. this is all platonic for now obviously because they are thirteen but if i ever actually write something for this i might show them through the years at camp and add in some romance :3

imagine: a picturesque overnight summer camp with lakes and pools, a sports area with tennis courts and a soccer field, a big arts and crafts pavilion, the works. it’s a nice camp, and fairly expensive, too.

simon’s dad had relentlessly reminded him of that. he had told simon how grateful he should be, that his dad was willing to sacrifice so much money to send his son away to such a nice camp. simon was thirteen, but he wasn’t stupid- his father only paid for camp so he wouldn’t have to deal with simon for a few months. it was his first year at camp, but he was already hating it.

johnny, on the other hand, was thriving. he had been going to camp since he was seven, when he met his best friend kyle. they were inseparable at camp, and during the school year when they were forced to separate, they called and texted constantly.

once the thirteen year olds had been split up into their pre-determined cabins, johnny noticed someone new. usually, his cabinmates were the same twelve boys he had known for six years, but the angry looking boy with bright blond hair and his nose buried in a book about insects intrigued him.

simon, as johnny would soon come to learn, was almost painfully shy. quiet but intimidating upon first glance, but much like the insects simon could rattle off hours worth of facts about, under the harsh exoskeleton he seemed… sweet, almost. sure, johnny would have to poke and prod and worm (haha, get it) his way into simon’s good graces, but he had a few months to do it.

[season-77]

Weekend Sports Camp!

Attention: This offer is as hot as our special guest. This summer, stay in shape with Evans! During our holiday camp, Shaun will show you what to do to look as good as he does. Here’s what you can expect:

Tennis - The first hits can be stressful, but unlike Wimbledon, you can throw your racket here.

2. Golf - Morning golf sessions with Shaun, improving your swing and technique.

3. Swimming - Swim as fast as possible to eliminate (sometimes literally) your rival.

4. Running - Conditioning workouts in a suit or tuxedo that will improve your endurance and make you run like a gentleman.

5. Yoga -Outdoor yoga sessions with a glass of champagne in hand to practice balance and a sense of equilibrium.

6. Cycling - Relaxing rides or cross-country bike trails for adventure seekers. Safety first – remember your helmet!

hmm… let's see it once more, anyway ... for safety reasons ...

7. Rock Climbing - Due to the temporary lack of rocks, we propose climbing the historic buildings of Oxford, of course in a suit.

8. Punting - Just look at him … do I still need to encourage you…

9. Stretching - Flexibility comes in handy in ehm ... many situations

Additional attractions:

Relaxation zone with massages and jacuzzi.

Opportunity to get autographs and take group photos.

Don't miss this exceptional opportunity. Reserve your spot today!

[badhockeymom]

Cup Besties talking

It's about this ⤵

And this ⤴

Can't recommend this enough if you know any Finnish. They were veteran dad and rookie son, winning the most coveted prize in the hockey world, one to start off his NHL career, one to finally get the crown on his before retiring.

This is just the beginning of the roughly 1,5 hour conversation of Teuvo as a guest on Kimmo Timonen's and Antti Mäkinen's podcast. Teuvo's deadpan sarcasm and his subtle chuckles that soften his wry chirps and self-mockery work like a charm, sending his forty-something hosts into fits of laughter.

May be continued but let me put this out there first.

Kimmo: Our next guest hails from Helsinki. He's full 29 years old, but still has the face of a child. He goes by the nickname Turbo, which I don't understand, because he isn't that fast. A produce of the Jokerit, he has got, among other accolades, the Finnish rookie of the year award. From Jokerit, he went to Chicago, where we won the Stanley Cup together in 2015. Nowadays he plays for the Carolina Hurricanes alongside Sebastian Aho. Welcome, my good friend, Teuvo Teukka Teräväinen, to the Kimanttia podcast!

Teuvo: Thanks a lot, (chuckle) nice to be here even though you forced me to come.

Kimmo: (laugs) For your information, listeners, I've tried to goad Teukka for a guest appearance for two or three years, but he has always, always declined before now. It's good, it's great to hear your voice, man.

Antti (co-host Antti Mäkinen): I was so sure that Teuvo has been on the show but it's great that you're there now.

Teuvo: Yes, I always say to Kime that someday I'll come, and now I felt it's time.

Kimmo: Are you in Finland, Teukka?

Teuvo: Yes, a few days ago. I came straight to the cottage, it's nice to wind down for a few days here. Nothing special.

(They go on asking if Teuvo has watched the Worlds, he reminds the hosts that Canes were still playing when the games started.)

Kimmo: I wanted to ask, before we start going through your career, how long are you staying in Finland, and will you spend time at the cottage or do you have plans?

Teuvo: I usually head back to the States in the beginning of September, to settle down a little before the camp starts. In Finland, this summer will be quite busy, all my weekends are pretty much locked down, I have so many weddings and bachelor parties this summer.

Kimmo: Oh, you're getting married? I haven't got an invitation.

Teuvo: Yeah, multiple times. (Antti and Kimmo laugh) No, fortunately it isn't my wedding. They're nice events, but they do take up your time.

Kimmo: Yes they do, weekends come and go.

(Antti tells a story about a golf live stream during the covid lockdown, where Teuvo played against Patrik Laine. Both played well but in the end, Teuvo lost. He left the course with very few words, and after an half an hour, posted a pic of his golf bag on his Instagram story, captioned "Clubs for sale")

Teuvo: I remember that. It's what it is, it's never nice to lose.

Kimmo: (laughs) That sounds familiar because I've also sometimes played golf with Teukka, and the round has gone fine, and he says, I'm quitting this game.

Teuvo: Yeah... We've played tennis, too.

Antti: How do you do against him in tennis, can you hold your own?

Teuvo: Well, I don't think i've yet won Kime, at least on his home court.

Kimmo: Well now, there we heard the truth.

Teuvo: But now i have my own homecourt here at the cottage, you're welcome to challenge me here.

Kimmo: (softly) I must come over.

Teuvo: On my own court I haven't lost to anyone else but Henkka Kontinen who's a pretty good player. (Pro tennis player, doubles specialist, career high rank 1 in doubles)

Kimmo: Oh. I'll have to come and challenge you this summer.

Teuvo: You'll have to.

Antti: Hey, that guy is a professional at that tennis hobby of his, he does have an advance.

Teuvo: Or used to be, he hadn't been playing for a full year when he defeated me.

~~~

So, that's just the first five minutes.

A little extra treat from the next segment:

Kimmo: I did some research about your junior years, and it said you started on Helsingin Kojootit (Helsinki Coyotes). Where's Helsingin Kojootit?

Teuvo: It's -- in Helsinki. (chuckles.) Like it says, Helsingin Kojootit, how didn't you pick it up from the name?

(Laughter, Antti is dying)

[alenvs3000w25]

My current relationship with nature. How it has developed/evolved? Who offered me “a sense of place,” as described in our textbook?

I love my current relationship with nature. Growing up I ski raced and played soccer so I would spend most of winter and summer outside. As I continued to get older I began leaning more towards skiing so was not spending as much time outside in the summers other than boating with my family. Then slowly but surely I stopped spending time outside. In my teenage years I had suffered a lot of injuries from sport that took me out of the playing season so there were times where I would be stuck inside all day elevating my leg unable to really move too much for long periods of time. This took a great toll on my mental health and I sort of drew inwards, emotionally and physically. These sorts of injuries happened three times in the course of my teenage years. Then COVID hit in my 12th grade of highschool. During this time of isolation I found myself going out into nature and taking up running as a hobby. Being outside and moving my body greatly improved my mental health during this time, I actually found myself craving to be outside, it seemed like the whole world had changed but that outside was stayed the same. The plants, the lakes, the trees. During my first year of university, in adjusting to the course load I sacrificed my time with nature until last summer. I began going on outside walks every day and I have continued this practice everyday. I love to be outside and don't feel quite like myself when I don't get time with nature. I have also taken up new hobbies that involve being outside including golf and tennis. I hope that my relationship with nature continues to evolve in the future. In terms of 'sense of place' I would say that my family has offered me this 'sense of place'. My whole family is from Montreal and I think a big part of our culture is being outside especially in the winter, primarily because there are so many outdoor activities in Quebec. so, growing up I adored the winters. My family passed on traditions of skiing at certain hills and in Quebec, telling my sister and I stories of how they grew up skiing there and how the nature, landscape, and overall environment may have changed since they were young. Teaching us how to connect with nature in a way that is respectful and enjoyable. Creating new traditions of road trips and bringing my Grandpa with us for him to also be an interpreter of his own memories and understandings of nature. Also in furthering our own understanding of the environment and in reference to the notions discussed in the textbook, we sought out tours and activities or practices we had never done before like snowshoeing where we relied on interpreters to pass on this knowledge of how you may camp in the winters, making fires with use of your surroundings, teaching us about the different kinds of trees and how people tap maple syrup etc. I hope to be an interpreter for my future children and continue to pass on these traditions and understandings of nature.

Blaze

0 notes

[alchemicalterror]

Hi! Since summer is your favorite season, what are your favorite summer-y activities? (And have you been getting to do them recently, or are you too busy with work?)

Hiking, fishing, hitting up the parks. Camping if there’s time off work; outdoorsy stuff - I’m in a tennis club and bowl during the chill seasons but damn if I don’t love the variety warm weather brings.

[totallyatwink]

Hi! I fear I am here far too late at the grand age of 21, my bad. I am thoroughly intrigued by the algorithm & the ability to build a unique feed. Hopefully this will give me motivation to draw & improve my art!! 🙏

Anyways a little about me; I’m an avid enjoyer of

Art, Anime, Manga, Webtoon, Reading, Greek & Roman Mythology, Crochet, Girls Kissing, Ren Faire, National Parks, Foraging, Herbalism, Music, Spellwork, Shin Ramen, Etc.

Fav Anime

Fruits Basket, Fairy Tail, Princess Jellyfish, Snow White With the Red Hair, Soul Eater, Little Witch Academia, & Banana Fish 💔💔 Also literally any Studio Ghibli or Makoto Shinkai film!

Fav Manga

A Sign of Affection, TGSWIIWAGAA, In the Clear Moonlit Dusk, Yona of the Dawn, Snow White With the Red Hair, Love Sick Ellie, Kase San and Morning Glories

Fav Webtoons

Your Letter, Not so Shoujo Love Story, I am the Villian, Devil No 4, Mystical, Honey Lemon, Gourmet Hound, All Haven Academy, School Bus Graveyard

Fav Movies/TV

Imagine Me & You, When Marnie Was There, Anastasia, Summer Wars, Your Name, HTTYD, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Epic, Bottoms, Arcane, Adventure Time, ATLA/LOK, PJO, Gravity Falls, Yellowjackets, Over the Garden Wall, Hometown Chachacha, See You in My 19th Life

Fav Games

Minecraft, FNAF, TLOU, Life is Strange, Until Dawn, Stardew Valley

Fav Artist

Noah Kahan, Hozier, Lumineers, Gigi Perez, Paramore, Glass Animals, Lorde, Mon Rovia

Current Songs on Repeat

Fable - Gigi Perez 🤌🤌🤌

Bathroom Light - Mt. Joy

To Watch the World Spin - Mon Rovia

Tennis Court - Lorde

Not ashamed to admit most of my reading takes place on AO3…Thanks to a reading assignment in 4th grade I became enthralled by the world of greek & roman gods. The two most memorable series for me are Percy Jackson & the Pegasus series by Kate O’ Hearn! Since then my taste has not evolved much, I am currently reading Gideon the Ninth & loving it!! 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

My art journey has been an interesting one, I have been drawing for as long as I can remember. I love experimenting with different mediums, one of my favorite classes in high school was AP Art! Currently I work the summers at a Day Camp bc I love being outside & working w kids, and the rest of the time Im a daycare teacher! My hope is that I can pull myself out of this art block & improve my skills (esp anatomy) Eventually I’d like to take some more art classes, my dream job would be working as an art teacher during the school year & as an art director at sleepaway camp over the summer! 🙏

If you’ve read this far THANK YOU!!

I’ll be posting some WIPs soon ✌️

[gsenvs3000w25]

Unit 1 - My Relationship with Nature

Throughout my life, my relationship with nature has been ever-changing. As a child, I was constantly immersed in outdoor adventures. I used to bike around my neighborhood through nearby forests, play tennis under the warm sun, and hurl myself into mounds of snow during the winter. These moments of playfulness in such vast environments captivated me. Nature was my playground, offering endless opportunities to explore and imagine.

Being able to play in the elements strengthened my connection to nature. The world felt enormous, and nature seemed to be the force that sustained and surrounded us all. The closest feeling I can compare it to is the sense of the sublime, the awe and wonder we feel when observing something profoundly beautiful or powerful, like a magnificent piece of art. That was what nature represented to me: something much larger and more powerful than myself, a source of inspiration and comfort.

As I’ve grown older, my relationship with nature has evolved. While I still feel the same sense of the sublime when I find myself immersed in its beauty, those moments happen far less often. University life, coupled with the demands of living in the digital age, has made it difficult to maintain the same intimate connection with the outdoors. My days are often filled with screens, deadlines, and responsibilities that pull me away from nature. I mostly notice this shift when I do make the effort to step outside and reconnect with nature; it feels like returning to a part of myself that has been neglected.

Despite this, certain experiences and people have continued to offer me what our textbook describes as “a sense of place.” My father, in particular, has played a significant role in shaping this connection. His love for the outdoors was infectious, and he was the one who introduced me to biking, hiking, outdoor sports, and simply observing the beauty of the world around us. 

Additionally, specific places hold deep meaning for me and help reinforce my connection to nature. For the past three summers, I’ve worked at a summer camp set on one of the most beautiful properties in my neighborhood, an expanse of lush forest, an open field, and a trail leading into the ravine of the East Don River. Spending every weekday immersed in this landscape rekindled that awe-inspiring feeling of the sublime and brought back the nostalgic “sense of place” my father nurtured in me as a child.

While my relationship with nature may not be as constant as it once was, it remains a vital part of who I am. I’ve come to understand that nurturing this connection requires intention and effort, especially in a fast-paced, technology-driven world. By seeking out opportunities to immerse myself in the natural world, whether through a hike, a bike ride, or simply working at camp, I hope to continue fostering my sense of place and preserving that feeling of the sublime that nature has always inspired in me.

This photo, taken at camp this past summer, captures a moment that evoked that awe-inspiring feeling.

Thornhill, 2024

[hertapiastri]

hi emmy!! first of all, so nice to meet you and be mutuals!! i was actually so excited when you followed me back because i've been wanting more indycar mutuals that series is everything to me lately, i'm still living off a high, i miss it!! plus siiiiiiick url, those are both my boys so i love that!! 🫶

some fun get-to-know-you questions for me and your followers!!

what first attracted you to motorsports?? (for indycar and f1!!)

if you could go to any race (indycar and/or f1), which one would it be??

what olympic sport would you LOVE to play (you don't need to be good at it in real life, which one seems the coolest to you)??

such a pleasure being mutuals!! and can't wait to get to know you a bit better :)

OMG!! I was soooo excited when you had followed me so this is amazing!!! And it’s nice to meet you as well!!!

The reason I got into f1 is a bit embarrassing… so I’m a writer and at the start of last year I had wanted to expand my writing genre because I’m normally write fantasy novels but I wanted to explore a bit and one of the genre that I wanted to write in was romance, specifically sports romance. I was having a hard time figuring out which one I was going to pick, like I’m a big NFL fan also I’m a (casual)fan of tennis but one day I was scrolling on TikTok and saw someone had posted a video of Checo reacting to Seb retirement video on DTS and thought that it looked really cool so I watched it and thought it was great and when I saw that the season was about to start, I got a subscription to F1tv and have been in love with the sport since then. And then since I loved f1 so much I decided to give IndyCar a chance and I’m in love with them both🥰 (funny enough I never ended up writing that book 😭)

My dream is to eventually see the triple crown races in real life and not on my couch so I would love to go to the Indy500 and the Monaco Grand Prix but I would also love to go to mid-Ohio because it’s my home race and sliverstone because it’s one of my favorite tracks!

Tennis 100%!!! My mom was a tennis player in high school so we would sometimes play together during the summer time in the evening plus one summer I did a week long tennis camp and it was very fun!!! 

Also thank you for the compliment on my username and a little fun fact I pick Colton as my number one driver when I got into IndyCar not because he was a great driver (which he is) but because I have his dad car! It’s from his CART days and my dad had bought it back in the day and when I told my dad I was going to start watching IndyCar he gave it to me:) it seats next to my racing Barbie!

[spicykaraage]

Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Kazuya Tokugawa

[PROFILE]

Birthday: July 27th (Leo)

Blood Type: AB

Birthplace: Ehime

Relatives: Grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, older sister

Father’s Occupation: Diplomat

High School: Unknown

Grade: Second Year

Committee: Student Council (president)

Strong Subjects: Physics, geology

Weak Subjects: Art

U-17 Training Camp Position & Rank: Second String | Court 1 ➜ First String | No.4

World Cup Team: U-17 World Cup Japanese Representatives

Favorite Motto: “To see what is right and not to do it is want of courage.”

Hobbies: Snowboarding, yachting, watching dolphins [TP]

Favorite Color: Ultramarine

Favorite Book: The Analects of Confucius

Favorite Food: Japanese food (especially natto), protein, tomatoes [TP], chicken breast [TP]

Favorite Anniversary: The day he won his first trophy

Preferred Type: He doesn’t think about it

Ideal Date Spot: Yachting in Auckland Harbour

His Gift for a Special Person: “I would like to discuss and decide it with you.”

Where He Wants to Travel: Marina del Rey

What He Wants Most Right Now: A new snowboard ➜ A wetsuit [23.5]

Dislikes: Carbonated drinks, popping candy ice cream [TP]

Skills Outside of Tennis: Waking up early, fingertip handstands

Routine During the World Cup: Early morning running

[DATA]

Height: 189cm | 6’2”

Weight: 79kg | 174 lbs ➜ 71kg | 156 lbs [23.5]

Dominant Arm: Left

Vision: 1.2 Left & Right

Play Style: All-Rounder

Signature Moves: 10 Ball Strike, Black Hole, Premonition (not a technique), Howling, Sixth Sense, Divine Path of the Asura

Equipment Brands:

Racket: BRIDGESTONE X-BLADE FORCE 3.15MID PLUS

Shoes: Prince PRO HOLD TOUR IV CG

Overall Rating: Speed: 4.5 / Power: 4.5 / Stamina: 4.5 / Mental: 4.5 / Technique: 4.5 / Total: 22.5

Kurobe Memo: “After suffering a major setback, he rapidly improved to the point where he’s able to hit his 10 Ball Strike with ease. The biggest concern right now is if he’s severely injured after taking a blow in the abdomen from Byoudouin…” <Official Description>

[POSSESSIONS]

What’s in His Locker at the U-17 Training Camp [10.5 II]:

Wristband: He has a white and black one

Snowboarding magazine: An issue of Snowstyle. He is so skilled at snowboarding that he will spend whole winters just in the mountains. He buys a magazine every month during the season

Sports drink: He made it himself

Supplements: They change each day depending on his condition

What’s in His Travel Bag [23.5]:

Laundry detergent: He washes peoples’ clothes and will neatly fold them

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 8 | Publication Date: 08/04/2011

He plays practice matches with Oni during his free time

He has a large motorcycle license and his own motorcycle

The Prince of Tennis II 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 09/04/2013

He is on bad terms with Byoudouin

He has taken a liking to Ryoma since he’s always wanted a younger brother. He’s lately been feeling a sense of rivalry with Ryoga since he feels as if he’s taking Ryoma, a favorite person of his, away from him

He was not aware of Ryoma or Atobe while he was abroad

The Prince of Tennis II 23.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 05/02/2018

The girl he had picked up on the beach is still in touch with him. He was forced to give his contact info and she messages him often, while he messages her back every now and then

He was in Paris before being invited to the training camp

The Prince of Tennis 20th Anniversary Book: Tenipuri Party | Publication Date: 08/02/2019

His ideal relationship is one where he and his partner are practically married

When he tries thinking of his ideal type, he gives up and states it’s too much of a bother

He, Oni, and Irie spend their vacations together. The previous summer, they had went camping together and discussed their thoughts and feelings about the World Cup around a campfire

He is the only person who will go along with Irie’s performances due to him being so serious that he cannot tell it’s an act

One of His Days Off at the Training Camp:

5:00am - Wakes up, stretches, then goes on a run

6:00am - Does laundry, cleans his and Irie’s room and tries not to wake Irie up

7:30am - Breakfast (a Japanese meal with natto and grilled fish)

8:30am - Voluntary strength training

12:00pm - Lunch (including a large quantity of bread that Irie baked)

1:00pm - Voluntary stamina training

2:30pm - Rests, puts a towel over a sleeping Ryoma

4:00pm - Bathes, looks after an overheated Inui

6:00pm - Dinner (sautéed chicken breast and tomato salad)

8:30pm - Gets a massage

9:00pm - Relaxes while reading yacht magazines

10:30pm - Prepares for tomorrow, then goes to bed

[writing-rat]

Caught

Pairing: Gabbi Broussard x Eleanor Levetan

Content Warning: 18+ content, masturbation, degradation, strap-ons, vaginal sex

Word Count: 1235

Summary: Gabbi gets caught masturbating by Eleanor... to Eleanor's instagram posts

-

Gabbi was bored, extremely bored. It was Summer and her brother was away. Eleanor was busy at tennis camp with Drea, who were friends still. She was happy about that admittedly as she knew that Drea and Eleanor were able to forgive each other and it had taught them both lessons. This led to Gabbi being alone, however. Sure, Eleanor did come over every weekend, but her parents were away, and there was only so much she could do. That’s when she went on Instagram, to check her girlfriend’s Instagram post. That’s when she saw a new post. It was a photo of Eleanor in basketball shorts, and it was either a sports bra or a crop top but it revealed her girlfriend’s boxers. She gulped as she kept swiping on the 5 image post. It was of her girlfriend playing mostly, but there were 2 where she was posing, and showing off her muscles. Gabbi gulped as she stayed in her bed, looking at the time. It was Friday, her girlfriend was coming at 3 pm. She decided she had time to masturbate since it was 1 pm after all.

She was laid down in her bed, soon propping herself up as she took off her own shorts, leaving her in just boxers and a sports bra. She then reached down into her boxers, slowly starting to bring her other hand up to her breast. She had positioned the phone so she could still see Eleanor’s Instagram post. She moaned lightly as she was rubbing herself at first, tugging on her own nipples. She was opening her legs the widest they could go, as she felt how wet she was. She was soon starting to enter a finger into herself slowly. She moaned lightly as she was looking intently at the post before she was using her mind. She imagined what she would do with Eleanor. She could be on top of her, fingering her or maybe using her dildo, fucking her hard. The last thought made her enter a second finger as her thumb rubbed her clit. “Fuck,” she moaned out quietly, throwing her head back. “Eleanor,” she grunted out as she was arching her back, her fingers finding her soft spot. She was soon starting to feel her orgasm coming on, before she saw a figure in her doorway, staring with a bright red face and an open mouth. Gabbi’s eyes were glazed over in lust as she was looking at her girlfriend, her voice becoming raspier.

Obeying, Eleanor went over as she was following her commands. She hated being in control after all. Sure, she loved it when she destroyed Carissa, Max and Drea, but after how she treated Drea and Gabbi during that time frame she didn’t want to ruin anything. She was soon over to the bed, waiting for more commands. “Was you perving on me?” Gabbi growled out. Gulping, Eleanor looked down at her with lust-filled eyes and was nodding. “I-I just walked in here thinking you would be napping or reading or watching a Goddard film but I didn’t expect you to be… you know. So I just stood there for a dew second listening before I heard my name,” she explained, which caused Gabbi to smirk. “Get on the bed now, head between thighs and praise your master,” Gabbi growled out. Eleanor blushed, gulping and quickly obeyed.

She started by kissing Gabbi’s inner thighs 2 times before she was licking Gabbi. Gabbi let out a groan of pleasure as she threaded her fingers through Eleanor’s hair, who whimpered as she was licking more eagerly. She was soon looking up into Gabbi’s eyes. “Can I touch myself, master?” Eleanor asked. Gabbi pretended to be in thought. “Do you deserve it?” She asked Eleanor, looking back into her eyes. “Yes! Yes, I do. I will do anything for you!” Eleanor begged. “Good girl. When I think of something, you have to do it. Got it? Now keep licking whore,” Gabbi growled out. Eleanor nodded as she was shoving her hand down her shorts, licking Gabbi like a starved dog. She was eager to please after all. She soon entered her tongue. Since Gabbi was so close before she saw Eleanor, she came quickly. Eleanor soon cleaned her up as she looked up at Gabbi, waiting for more commands.

“All fours now,” she demanded. Eleanor immediately did as told as she felt her shorts and boxers get yanked on. That’s when her bra came off too. Gabbi was behind her before she got a blindfold and put it on Eleanor. “You are gonna be used by me, and you won’t know what will happen,” Gabbi spoke, reaching into a drawer. She proceeded to grab her harness and then her dildo and connected them together. She soon grabbed a gag and put it on Eleanor who let out a surprised muffle. She was allowing it though, trusting Gabbi. Soon, she felt the tip of something rub along her back. She then realised what it was once she felt something trail up her back. It was a whip. She blushed, then let out a moan once her ass was whipped. She threw her head forwards, her moan was muffled sure, but it was still loud. “This is your punishment for being a little pervert,” Gabbi explained, a sadistic look in her eye. She knew Eleanor couldn’t see it, but she didn’t care. She then started to enter into her pussy gently, feeling how stretched she was. “You’ve been masturbating, hm?” She smirked as she was thrusting into her gently at first. Eleanor nodded as she was widening her legs so Gabbi could thrust better. Gabbi knew what she did, as she spanked Eleanor’s ass before she was thrusting into her harder. A muffled cry came out of the taller girl’s mouth, still muffled. Gabbi knew she loved it, however, as the taller girl was going hard and rough with her, moaning too as the toy was touching her clit. She was gripping her sides as she was rubbing her side with one hand, one hand trailing down to her breast and was rubbing her nipple. Eleanor was leaned into the touch as she loved how Gabbi was treating her. She felt dehumanised, which she didn’t mind.

She was soon getting close as she was gripping onto the bed. Eleanor leaned more into the strap showing she was close, which caused Gabbi to smirk. “Want to cum?” she teased, moaning herself as her clit was pushed against. Eleanor nodded, needily. Gabbi was thinking before she smirked. “You may cum,” she then added on. Eleanor gasped as she soon came all over the strap, pushing harder against it. Gabbi panted as she was soon cumming too, but kept thristing hard into the taller. The smaller was soon holding her gently, keeping the strap in. She was taking off her blindfold and gag as Eleanor winced at the bright light before she looked at Gabbi and smiled. “Thank you,” she spoke, wiping the saliva off of the sides of her mouth and kissed Gabbi gently. Gabbi smiled as she held her close and kissed back. “It’s no problem love,” she spoke gently and cuddled her. “We can clean up later, I just want to cuddle you now,” Gabbi added on. Eleanor nodded and closed her eyes as she was just wanting to nap anyway.

[schumi-nadal]

2, 4, 10!

(from fritzes)

Hello not-really-anonymous mutual 😆🤭

2. How did you come to choose your favorite player(s)?

This one was answered just here. 😉

4. Have you ever played tennis yourself?

Not really. I used to have rackets when I was a child and I would just play again the wall of the house, and I thik I played once on a court during summer camp. 🤔 I was more a football person anyway!

10. Do you have a favourite tennis fan(dom) moment from this year?

Already answered to this one as well and it's still the Fedal moment from the Laver Cup. 🥰

[irisrowes]

molly   gordon.     she/her.     cis   woman.      ›      spotted   at   the   met   steps   ,   iris   rowe   ,   most   likely   listening   to   hunger   by   florence   and   the   machine  with   their   airpods   pro   .   the   twenty-six   year   old   gained   quite   a   reputation   ,   known   to   be   -theatrical   yet   +charming  to   anyone   who   knows   them   .   you'll   easily   spot   them   when   you   hear   about   scattered   coffee   mugs   stained   with   red   lipstick,   midnight   tarot   card   readings   in   the   smoky   back   booth,   dried   floral   arrangements   swaying   from   the   ceiling,   candle-lit   dinner   parties   that   dissolve   into   seances   and   an   eclectic   theatre   backstage   full   of   various   haunted   knick-knacks    ,   followed   by   the   noir   29   by   le   labo   .   latest   nepoupdates   article   talks   about   theatre   heiress   iris   rowe   spotted   on   a   series   of   romantic   european   dates   with   best   friend’s   ex-fiancee   ,   but   i   guess   any   reputation   is   good   reputation   .

* ㅤ stats ㅤ … ㅤ *

full name:  iris rosalind rowe

nicknames:  rowe

gender:  cis female

pronouns:  she/her

sexuality:  bisexual

aesthetics:  scattered coffee mugs stained with red lipstick, midnight tarot card readings in the smoky back booth, dried floral arrangements swaying from the ceiling, candle-lit dinner parties that dissolve into seances, eclectic theatre backstage full of various knick-knacks, cigarette smoke curling around red velvet dusters, midnight games of poker in her paid-for-by-her-parents new york city apartment, late night train rides, waking up at midday, stumbling over fashion magazines littered over the bedroom floor

age:  twenty-six

date of birth:  12th october 1997 at 9.17pm

zodiac sign:  libra sun, pisces moon & gemini rising

residence:  brooklyn, new york city in a one-bedroom loft apartment that her parents pay for. iris lives alone but has a revolving-door of friends that come and stay with her for extended periods of time. the living room is always a make-shift bedroom. she used to have a kitten, whisky, but she ran away

occupation:  iris is forever changing occupations - she's been a florist, a medium, a psychic to the stars (the one brief summer she spent in hollywood with her father at sixteen), a thespian, an actress, an artist, an interior designer, a summer camp counsellor and a writer. she was the costume manager for her fathers' latest broadway play a shriek! a cry! but was quietly fired after she disappeared halfway during production to jet-set across europe. she's now putting all of her energy into writing her paid substack column: new york haunting.

* ㅤ appearance … ㅤ *

faceclaim:  molly gordon

piercings:  two piercings in both lower lobes and a cartilage piercing on her right ear

tattoos: a matching love heart on her ankle with her best-friend, 1997 on her right forearm, two cherries underneath the 1997, a tiny cross on her ribcage

style:  lots of black, lace, velvet, silky slip dresses, accents of red, mary-janes, velvet headbands, multiple heavy gold cross necklaces, an eclectic assortment of rings, ribbons, plaid, very bohemian when she's at the theatre, long skirts,

* ㅤ personality … ㅤ *

traits:  theatrical, charming, imaginative, bold, confident, loving, flighty, deceitful, selfish, irresponsible, dramatic, obsessive, vain, assertive, curious, captivating, cultured, dynamic, idealistic

labels / tropes:  the thespian

likes:  sitting in wine bars with her friends, tarot readings, creating mysterious scenes, parties, always being on the go, card games

dislikes  feeling restless, not being the centre of attention, corporate spaces, prolonged weeks of work

fears:  she's not afraid of anything

hobbies:  hosting dinner parties, tarot readings, seeing her psychic, attending plays, tennis, poker, pottery, whittling

* ㅤ family … ㅤ *

mother:  carolina tucker rowe, the leading actress of all william rowe's early broadway plays before she began co-producing productions with him

father:  william david rowe, renowned broadway producer, writer and director

siblings:  only child

pets:  previously: a kitten, whisky, and her childhood cat, sutton.

notable close relatives:  her aunt mabel rowe-myer, an acclaimed independent film director; her uncle christian rowe, an award-winning broadway composer; her aunt elizabeth rowe, a fashion designer who started the label rower; her aunt may tucker, an actress who starred in mabel's early indie productions; her grandfather benjamin rowe, an acclaimed broadway director

best friend:  iris' best-friend was actress maya valentine, who she had been close with since their years of secondary-schooling. the friendship ended the night of a tarot-card reading at iris' apartment - both their lips have been sealed over what has happened but there has been a notable lack of content featuring the two of them on their social media feeds

* ㅤ backstory ㅤ … ㅤ *

01. iris was born into theatre legacy - her grandfather was an acclaimed theatre director who brought his three children up in the theatre. her father, william, was the rising-star amongst the three of them. her parents met on the set of william's first play

02. her birth was a scandal - her father was married to lucinda wright, a family-friend, while engaging in an affair with his lead actress, carolina. iris' birth brought the affair to the limelight. it took years for his divorce to be finalised and her parents weren't married until she was six

03. iris' childhood was marked by instability. william and carolina often got into explosive fights that could span months. their house was often full of tension. there were periods of time where both would pack their bags and fly to opposite sides of the earth, leaving iris in the care of one of their siblings, her grandparents or a nanny. most of her childhood was spent in the theatre: backstage, front-stage, side-stage

04. her first role in film was when she was ten. mabel cast her as the leading child actress in a horror film - it was iris' first taste of what a bad review was; the tormenting from friends and reviewers followed her for years, yet, she liked the taste of being talked about

05. she attended a series of new york city prep schools through elementary and secondary. the year she turned fourteen she was caught drinking on school premises, leading to an expulsion and a six-month banishment to a swiss boarding school. iris loves new york and new york loves her; she concocted a plan for a second expulsion so she could return to her city

06. her teenage years were marked by rebellious behaviour that went unnoticed by both parents - underage drinking, inappropriate relationships, flying to france on a whim, overindulgent spending, returning home in the early hours of the morning

07. iris attended nyu where she miraculously and lazily got a degree in dramatic writing

08. iris spent her early twenties engaging in all sorts of side gigs and tumultuous relationships but now she fears she's truly in love & all it's all with the wrong person - her (former) best friend's ex-fiancee; she's stuck between throwing herself all in and searching for her latest obsession somewhere else

* ㅤ secrets & scandals ㅤ … ㅤ *

01. she's been spending all her time chasing her (former) best friend's ex-fiancee around europe - she's in love! she's writing sonnets for him! she knows its wrong but its what makes it all the more exciting - iris can't resist the chase of what isn't right

02. her (former) best friend didn't stop talking to her because of her current entanglement but because iris presented the cards of death at a tarot reading, reciting a foreboding future that left maya in tears - iris wouldn't stop, even when she was asked, even when she was laying into territory that made a mockery of maya's familial deaths

03. iris still lazily engages in her psychic readings but has taken it from the stars to the streets. she has a pop-up shop hidden away in madame piper's shop. iris knows its all a lie but she'll take money from anyone who is offering and tell them all the most gruesome, troubling tales she can think of - she sees it as writing practice. what makes it worse is that she takes the stories of her patrons and exploits it for her substack column

* ㅤ wanted connections ㅤ … ㅤ *

here.

[bottleofscapa]

Sarah and Nick (Part 1.1)

The best friend’s little sister

This is a story I wrote together with another author, originally in German. I got their permission to publish it here. It is written from the perspective of Sarah (my co-authors part) and Nick (my Part). Please excuse any translation mistakes and sometimes less than perfect phrasing, English is my second language.

This is all fantasy.

Content warning: CNC, manipulation, age play, bimbofication, free use

Nick:

I hear a clicking sound and know, that the camera on the entry gate just turned on after I rang the bell. Shortly after, a less than enthusiastic “hello Nick” sounds from the speaker and the wide steel gate swings open.

While walking along the broad driveway, I ask myself, what I’m actually doing here. I never got along with Ben’s parents. For them I always was the working class boy, that’s a bad influence on their son and had no business being at that summer camp 16 years ago - okay, that might actually be true. The only reason I was there was, because the camp wanted to boast with a program for the less fortunate - and yes, sometimes I was a bad influence on Ben. But hey, I never brought the cocaine. Well, most of the time, I couldn’t have afforded it anyway.

I came back home eight days ago and spent my time crashing on different friends’ couches, looking for an apartment and a job. At least this time I have a little bit saved up to keep myself afloat. Finding a job turned out to be a lot harder, than expected. Of course, skilled craftsmen are highly sought after, but any boss gets suspicious - and rightly so - when they learn, that you just didn’t come back to your old job from your holiday and spent the last year as a surfing instructor in the Caribbean. Holding courses during daytime, spending evenings at the bar. Sometimes as barkeeper, sometimes as a guest.

Deep in my thoughts, I reach the front door. The garden hardly changed since I visited the last time. The only difference is the Porsche in the driveway, that I don’t know yet. Looks like Maxwell got himself yet another toy. Ben is standing in the doorway and greets me happily, but before allowing me to enter, he suddenly becomes serious: “two things, mate: I told my parents, that you’re only staying two nights. That’s all I can offer. And you are supposed to keep a low profile.” He sombrely looks at me and continues: “be careful, my mother would love to catch you pocketing something! But now, welcome!”

He opens the door, letting me enter. I throw down my duffel bag and the large military rucksack, carrying all my belongings, take off my shoes and say: “just as it used to be! You‘re gonna help me with my stuff? I already had to lug it Alltage way from the bus stop.“ Bene grabs my duffel, I pick my backpack back up and follow him upstairs.

Sarah:

Just as I’m about to walk down the stairs, I hear my brother talking to someone. Your voice sounds familiar, but i can’t place it right away. Arriving at the bottom of the stairwell, I can’t believe who I’m seeing. But before I can welcome you, my brother snaps at: “no way you are going to leave the house like that, young lady!“ I’m wearing white shorts, a tight top, spotting a deep cleavage, as well as white and dark yellow stripes. But since it’s over 30 degrees outside, most people will be clad this way.

“Calm down, Benny“, I answer mockingly and give him a quick kiss on the cheek in passing. “And welcome back, Nick”, I add, while quickly checking you out. You look good, but you always did that. Your dark blonde hair is longer, than I remember and your skin is more tanned. Your white shirt seems washed out and your shoes walked through.

Then both of you pass me and vanish upstairs. Just as I’m about to grab an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, I hear my mother: “Sarah, darling, don’t forget your tennis lesson today”

How could I? For more than ten years, I got a private tennis lesson, each Monday and Thursday. “Of course not”, I answer with a forced smile, grab the convertible’s key and get on my way to a friend. But the entire drive, my thoughts circle around you. What did you do while being away for so long? And your smile…..even back then, it meant trouble. I highly doubt, that changed, even though both of you got more responsible with time.