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sceletaflores · 5 months ago

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isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court.

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty.

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing.

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour.

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy.

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.”

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all.

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay.

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!”

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him.

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor.

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him.

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’.

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys.

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door.

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark.

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh.

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe.

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs.

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–”

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you.

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly.

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly.

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust.

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you.

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you.

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt.

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

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icallhimjoey · 3 months ago

Note

Not to be a psycho but i delusionally check your blog about 3 times a day for a new part of All The Aces 🫶🏻

Not to be a psycho but this blog is the exact right place to be a psycho so ✌🏻 here you go, the last part of this lil series! Lmk your thoughts! Also don't forget: 18+ smutty adult themes etc Wordcount: 4.5K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was right, but there was a sour taste to it. Something a little rotten.

It was all sweet, all fun and games until, very slowly, it turned into something else.

He didn’t know when you’d reached the tipping point, but you were well past it now and very muchly not willing to admit you weren’t doing great.

Fucking stubborn. So proud and tenacious. It was really something. Weirdly admirable, but also impossible to manage. Joe said he’d wanted to find your breaking point, but you didn’t seem to be willing to stop bending, and Joe started wondering if you’d even snap at all.

Sometimes it was easy.

You’d be short with him, and he’d react in a stupid way to make you laugh, and then you would laugh, and the ice around you would melt away instantly.

But there’d be moments where nothing Joe would do was okay. In fact, all of it would be exactly the opposite, and you’d prefer to be left alone. To not be touched, or even be looked at. To maybe sleep in your own bed whilst Joe slept in his because then you could just avoid this stupid bet all together.

There was something nice about the control still, Joe thought. But he also wasn’t sure if he knew he could handle the responsibility for much longer.

When he’d told you he didn’t want you to come just to see how long you’d be able to go without, there was a mental image of you reaching a point of begging for him to let you. And then, he could be the one to give you permission. That’s what he’d envisioned and ultimately, what he had wanted.

But... you weren’t begging for shit.

Izzy started noticing a difference after about ten, maybe eleven days. How you held onto frustration a bit longer than you usually would. How you’d snap a little sooner too.

She’d frown at you and ask, “Are you all right?” rhetorically after you’d forcefully kick her shoes aside that she’d left in the middle of the doormat by the front door.

You’d sigh and mutter, “Fine. Sorry.” Before you’d make the mental decision to be kind and friendly to your best friend because she hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t her fault that you felt like you were slowly going insane.

You felt a little pathetic.

You’d not even made it a fortnight before you’d started avoiding Joe.

You stopped asking him if he’d come over to yours for dinner. Stopped double tapping his messages to send him little hearts. Stopped replying to his double chin selfies with ones of your own.

You didn’t like Joe any less.

But being around him became something risky.

And Joe hadn’t expected for himself to become a risk.

It was stupid.

It was absolutely crazy, actually.

You wanted to quit your job.

You also wanted to flip your desk, set the sofa on fire, and move to another country.

Your hands constantly itched to do something.

How many feelings was a person able to have at once? Because there were about 26 feelings happening in the middle of your chest simultaneously, and they were seeping into your limbs where you weren’t able to process any of them properly and it was making you angry.

You couldn’t cheat.

Even though you wanted to.

Badly.

But if you were one thing, it was stubborn, and you’d started pushing Joe away when he’d take you to the verge of an orgasm, just to have the overhand. To feel like you were in charge still, even though whatever you thought you held in the palm of your hand was starting to leak through your fingers.

You were not having a good time.

And so you decided that Joe also wasn’t allowed to have a good time anymore.

Joe’d initiated sex three nights in a row, and all three times, you’d avoided his advances.

Shied away.

Moved just out of reach.

And the first time, Joe thought it was sort of cute. He’d said, “My poor baby,” and had chuckled a little before leaving you alone.

The second time, all he could really be was sweet. Be polite. If you said no, you didn’t want it, and so that was your choice.

But the third time, Joe quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Is something wrong? Have I… did I break you?”

His attempt at humour got dismissed. You didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. Just looked at your phone and flatly said, “No. I’m not made to be broken. But, it feels more fair like this.”

“Huh?”

“If I don’t get to have any, you shouldn’t either.”

“How is that more fair, exactly?” Joe’d tried moving in on you, hand sliding over your stomach, body scooting closer to curl all around you.

“I don’t know. Feels it, so…” You didn’t move. Kept your eyes on your phone and pretended there weren’t soft circles drawn into your side with a slow fingertip.

“Okay,” Joe chuckled silently, “But I never said that I didn’t want to–”

You clicked off your phone and interrupted, “Well, tough. Deal with it.”

Your phone got placed onto your bedside table, and you started moving to lay on your side, facing away from him, wriggling out of his hold as you did.

Joe let you get comfortable before he humorously said, “I actually think… yea, I think that this could mean that I’ve won. I’m right.”

“You’re not right.” You deadpanned, eyes already closed, ready to ignore Joe behind you and go to sleep.

“But I am.”

“No.”

“Explain how.” Joe curved another hand over your hip, but you were quick to move it aside.

“No.”

God, you were being impossible. It was a shame that this was funny to only one person in the room – it would’ve been way more fun if Joe’s giggles would’ve kick-started yours, but you stayed silent.

“Well, all right. Let’s spend some quality time together then. I’ll do some good foreplay for you, hmm?” Joe was fucking around. “I want to… baby, I want to do a fun activity together. Be close to you. Give you some appreciation, learn about you, I–”

“Fuck you.”

Joe was using every word you’d uttered that night with Izzy against you now, and listen: you were not wrong.

You were right.

Joe had just gone and changed the game, that was the real issue here, and now you couldn’t even look at his hands without feeling a pulse in your underwear.

How the fuck was that fair?

It wasn’t.

And so Joe was a risk now.

It was all fun and games until Joe realised it maybe had only been fun and games for him. You were still playing, still following the rules, but how could Joe still enjoy this if you weren’t?

When Izzy was the one to invite him over to your shared flat instead of you, he felt his defeat sit heavy in his chest.

He was going to have to admit he’d been wrong and, for his own sake as well as yours, was going to have to admit to it. He was ready for things to go back to normal, if that was even possible.

When you’d walked in after work that evening, one of your belt loops got stuck on the doorhandle before you’d even taken off your jacket.

“Shut up!” You spoke into your flat before anyone had even said anything. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t, but you repeated it in your head like a mantra – I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. You’d have dinner with Izzy to be a good friend and then you’d see if you could calm yourself down enough to actually get an early night.

You knew you needed it.

You likely wouldn’t be able to, though. Hadn’t been able to for a few nights, and it was really starting to fuck with… well. Everything. One thing would go okay, and then two thousand things would go wrong, and you didn’t have the mental capacity to process, let alone deal with, any of it.

Everything was overwhelming.

You needed to soak your whole person in a hot bath for two weeks to reset your brain, you thought.

You got no reaction to your shut up, and when you walked into your kitchen, you saw why. Izzy was crouched down in front of the oven next to Joe.

Surprise.

You hadn’t expected Joe to be there. Hadn’t anticipated to hear his soft voice explain oven settings to your best friend as you’d barged into your flat in the worst mood.

Joe was showing Izzy how he’d set the buttons on your oven the last time, when he made a pasta bake that turned out exactly like the picture from the recipe. Especially amazing, because rarely did pasta bakes even make it onto plates to be served in your flat. Your oven was an old thing that needed careful handling. Couldn’t turn it on and trust it to do its thing on its own; your food would either burn or not cook at all.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you asked, and both of them turned their heads to see you frowning down at them, your hand rubbing at where you’d just been yanked back into the door.

“What happened?” Izzy asked, half paying attention to the oven still, but she sounded genuinely confused. Moreso when she actually turned her head and looked at you.

“Nothing. I said I’m fine.”

You hid the belt loop you’d just nearly ripped from your jeans on the door handle from view for fear of them commenting on it. That would just piss you off more.

But then Izzy wouldn’t stop looking at you from her crouched position by the oven, so you were quick to add, “Bumped my hip. What’s he doing here?”

That made Joe burst into laughter as he got up and stretched his legs.

You didn’t join in.

You hadn’t invited Joe over.

Your serious face made Izzy frown at you a little as she got up, everyone at eye-level now.

“Joe helped me cook us dinner…”

“Oh. How nice of him.”

Izzy turned her head to look at Joe and hesitated a little before she said, “I know I’m the best friend, but, can you maybe...” she nodded her head in your direction.

Joe scrunched up his nose and shook his head.

"Nah. She said she’s fine, didn’t she?"

Smug bastard.

"I am."

They both looked at you.

"What- leave me alone. I’m fucking fine!"

No one had even said anything, but you were stomping out of the kitchen anyway. Maybe dinner could be a thing you just didn’t have tonight. You’d have some self-loathing with a side of slamming doors instead, and it would satisfy you all the same.

After the door to your bedroom slammed shut, you let your fingers slide into your hair where you gripped tightly, just for a second.

Took a few deep breaths, just to calm down.

What would be good right now?

No.

Besides that.

What else would be good right now?

Change.

You could change into a softer outfit.

Be gentle to yourself.

No one else was going to be, so you might as well.

You’d only just taken your top off when the door opened behind you.

You knew it’d be Joe, so you ignored it.

Softly the door got closed again, and Joe turned to lean against it, hands behind his back, head tilted back as he looked at you.

“Hey,”

“What?” you snapped.

“Have you eaten today?” Joe’s voice remained soft, not affected by your moodiness at all.

“Had a fat lunch, thanks for asking.” You wiggled out of your jeans and found a pair of soft joggers. You changed without looking at Joe, and then, when you finally did, you saw him look at you like he knew exactly what was going on.

A small, little smile that said, “You’re only acting like this because of what I asked of you.”

Eyes sort of twinkly that said, “And you know that we both know what the problem is.”

And Joe wasn’t totally wrong, but also definitely not totally right. You were feeling the way you were feeling for lots of reasons.

Joe looked at you like that for exactly long enough for you to snap, “What?” at him.

Then, he suddenly frowned.

“You been avoiding me?”

“No.”

“I think you’ve been avoidning me.”

“I haven’t.”

You suddenly heard the front door open and close, and Joe saw how you paused to listen.

“Izzy,” Joe simply said by ways of explaining, like he knew she’d be heading out. Which made no sense - they’d just made dinner together.

But you hadn’t witnessed the way Izzy had looked at Joe when you’d stormed out of the room. Hadn’t heard how Joe answered her unasked question by saying, “We’re playing a weird game, it’s been... it’s been a while.” He said it like he knew it was ridiculous, and it got followed by an uneasy weird silence that provoked him to add, “You said you didn’t want to know what we– how we–” Izzy’d raised her hand, stopping him before he could say more, had then told him to fucking finish the game already, you fucking weren’t children, and Joe’d laughed that maybe Izzy didn’t want to be in the flat for it.

Izzy made the executive decision to have her dinner elsewhere then, face scrunched up in disgust as she opened the kitchen cupboard that held all the plastic containers you owned, ready to put whatever was in the oven away for another time.

She reminded Joe of the behind-closed-door rules before pointing him towards your room, sending him on his way like an irritated mum would.

Before you could really think to ask why Izzy’d left, Joe gave his chin a little tilt and distracted you when he said, “Remember when I thought you were cheating before… You’re kind of cheating now.”

And you had no time for childish silly games. Joe could leave and take his dinner with him. Come back later when you felt like being around him again.

“Joe, stop being annoying, I’m not–”

“No, no. That wasn’t a question.”

You gave an annoyed huff and dropped your shoulders whilst your face fell too. If Joe wasn’t going to let you tell him how annoying he was being, he was at least to observe by your body language how annoyed you felt.

But then Joe stepped forward, and used the back of his hand, backs of his fingers, to slowly caress a soft line down your face. He barely touched you, but the little trace that did catch your skin, sparked immediate goosebumps.

Your breath hitched a little at the sudden softness from him, and you felt yourself sway on the spot.

“This all it takes?” Joe made his voice sound all soft, a little innocent, like he was just being curious as he watched your eyebrows knit together.

“No…”

Yes.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

No.

Joe let his fingers curl around your neck, and your head dropped to the side as your eyes closed, your imagination wandering somewhere dangerous now, and fuck off, you were supposed to be mad at him. That little desperate noise wasn’t meant to slip from your throat.

“What about this?” Joe quietly wondered as he moved in closer and let his lips softly brush the skin on the side of your neck.

You thought you went deaf for a second.

“Hmm?” Joe hummed in question when you failed to answer him, and you couldn’t actually get any words out, because you just knew every word would come out all shaky, like it would ache to speak at all.

All you managed was a tiny shake to your head as you tried swallowing down the hazy feeling that was making your mind run a mile a minute.

Joe lowered his voice as much as he could when he followed up with a little confused, “No?”

He saw how you frowned, the smallest of movement in your brow, and for fear of you trying to pull yourself out of whatever you were slowly sinking into, Joe let his forehead touch yours.

You knew what he was doing.

“No, you can’t...” you breathed against Joe’s mouth.

“Can’t what?” Joe kept you in place, hand on the back of your neck still, eyes closed, forehead to forehead.

Joe could feel how you were trying your best to hold onto your last little bit of resistance. However, a short strengthening of his grip was enough for it to ebb away, and Joe pretended for your sake that he couldn’t feel you shaking like a leaf.

“Can’t let me...” Lose, you wanted to say, but you faltered, and Joe used the opportunity to sneak a kiss. He went in for a soft little romantic one, something small to maybe make the words come back to you, but the moment that your mouths touched, you lost all inhibitions and immediately slapped both hands around Joe’s neck to pull him into you forcefully.

Joe let a surprised little noise escape him.

He hadn’t expected this hunger from you, which he quickly realised was actually so dumb. He’d left you starving, and then you added to that by not feeding yourself. He should’ve seen this coming from miles away.

It was perfect, too. He knew it meant he could manoeuvre you to right where he wanted you to be.

See if you’d beg.

Or at least, ask nicely.

With a soft palm to your stomach, Joe started pushing you back towards your bed, and he thought it wouldn’t be so easy, but it was shocking how you were forcefully pulling him with you. How you let yourself fall back onto your mattress and held onto Joe to ensure he’d go down with you.

You’d been avoiding Joe for this exact reason.

One little finger of outreach made you grab onto his whole being.

And Joe simply went with it, obviously.

Went with you hurriedly squirming out of your clothes with fumbling hands.

Went with the legs that wrapped around him, ankles hooking him right into place with no escape.

Went with the urgency with which you kissed him, and let himself get lead to that same spot, where your energy linked up and matched, and soon, you both were just failing limbs and panting open mouths as Joe was quick to push himself inside where he found you were more than ready for him, like you’d been waiting.

Which, yea, that checked out. You fucking had been.

“Oh, shit,” Joe groaned, and immediately had you moaning.

He’d missed those moans.

Not that he’d gone so long without, but you know. If Joe had things his way he’d hear those same noises at least twice, maybe three times a day.

There was nothing soft about how you were handling each other.

Nothing soft about how you were both treating this like a quickie that you wanted to pay off for yourself before it would pay off for the other.

You kind of forgot about the bet.

Which made sense.

Joe was breathing heavily beside your ear, letting his mouth graze over the shell of it, and if he wasn’t also jackhammering himself inches deep inside of you, just that would’ve sent you into overdrive.

It was silly how quick you felt yourself getting close.

The second you fully registered it, you panicked a little.

“Wait, no, no, stop, I’m–” you almost auto-piloted the staving off, like you had been doing for a while now, but Joe was quick to shush you.

“Want you,” he huffed, struggling as you tensed up under him. He wished that didn’t feel so nice. “Want you to come.”

“No, the... the...”

The bet. The deal. The game. You didn’t want to lose. Couldn’t lose. Joe was wrong. He had to know he was wrong. He–

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying. That was going to help no one right now.

But Joe saw, and in a wild turn of unexpected events, he turned into the one that begged.

“Stop,” Joe whispered, hips slowing down just a smidge. Just enough to get you right where he wanted to get you. Where he knew it’d be so easy to make you tip over fairly quickly.

“I got you, please. Please, come for me– want you to, ah, want you to feel good. You can come. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m about to come, I wanna come together, please, you–”

You cut Joe off with a loud gasp that turned into louder moans you tried to swallow for fear of them turning into screams.

There it was.

You’d bent until you snapped.

Snapped right in half.

And, fuck, was it delicious.

If Joe’d had more decency, he would’ve maybe waited with his own orgasm. Would’ve maybe tried to make the moment all about you.

But Joe wasn’t a decent guy, was he? You felt how he came inside of you, body trembling on his forearms that pressed into the bed either side of you.

“That’s it, keep going. Come on, let go. Let it all out.” Joe cooed, like he wasn’t actively orgasming himself, using the softest of whispers directly into your ear as you uncontrollably convulsed and whined underneath him.

You’d never come so hard, you thought.

You’d also never burst into sobs right after an orgasm before.

“Hey, hey, hey, c’mere.” Joe was quick to pull out of you, dick still twitching as he sat back on his knees before pulling you up into him for a hug. You let yourself be dragged into a sitting position, immediately enveloped into both your boyfriend’s arms that squeezed you tight.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice slightly enthused with a light amount of loving ridicule. “What are you crying for, hey? You’re okay. You’re okay.”

And that was just the thing.

The release of everything you’d kept pent up inside had such an overwhelming effect that feeling just okay was more than enough to get you all up in your emotions.

And the fact that it made you feel silly and stupid and pathetic for it didn’t really help the case.

Joe let you cry like that for a minute, and just made sure to hold you close to his chest. Skin to skin. Sway side to side, all warm and safe, exactly where he wanted you. Where he’d gladly have you forever. Naked too, preferably. All vulnerable, just like this.

Perfect.

It took a long while before he felt you calm down and pull back a little, but when you eventually did, he moved back to take a good look at you. To really take you in.

You looked a right mess. Sort of embarrassed. Rosy, blotchy cheeks. Make-up smeared all over.

Perfect.

“Oh, you’ve got some,” Joe moved a finger up to move a sticky strand of hair from your face. “You’ve got some pretty here, hang on,” he joked, taking your warmed cheek into his hand. “Come here, I’ll get it.”

Joe had you giggling before you knew it, pressing little kisses to your cheek, jaw, chin and eventually getting you on the mouth where he kissed you one, two, three times.

Quick fourth time when he pulled back and saw how the embarrassment lingered on your features a little.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured when Joe give you the sweetest little pursed smile, which you immediately saw vanish upon hearing your apology.

“No,” he shook his head at you like you were a child.

You ignored it, wiping your face dry - or at least attempting it - with the back of your hand.

“For the dramatics.”

“No.” Joe stressed, taking over face-drying-duties with both of his hands, and you were so close to rolling your eyes at him.

You knew you were going to have to say it now.

Couldn’t wait for him to bring it up later because you’d knew he’d be a little shit about it.

There was no way he was going to mean about it now, and you’d best use that to your advantage.

“You were right,” you mumbled in your softest voice, just shy of a whisper, because these words didn’t need to be heard by the whole world. You looked at Joe through your eyelashes and gave him a small shy smile when you added, “Guess you won.”

And Joe fucking beamed at your words.

Had to bite his bottom lip into his mouth to stop from smiling so fucking hard.

For a moment you just looked at each other like that.

Twin smiles.

This was all he had wanted, Joe thought to himself, but then realised right in that moment that actually, he wasn’t right.

He wasn’t right at all.

And neither were you.

God, you were actually idiots.

You were both wrong.

So Joe scrunched up his nose all cute and shook his head a little when he said, “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong.”

Your forehead twinged with confusion.

You couldn’t be wrong.

You couldn’t be wrong about being wrong.

What?

Had Joe not just held you through shaking sobs as you’d cried?

Had he not felt hot tears fall and run down his shoulders?

Joe’d held all the aces for weeks and was now trying to sell you the idea that he’d just been hanging onto a bunch of random cards. A four of spades and six of diamonds and… was he saying that you were right?

“Are you saying I’m right?” you asked, pouting through your confusion and, shut the fuck up, it was just about the most adorable shit Joe’d ever seen. Made saying this next part real easy.

“Yes. Well, partially. You’re partially right.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and waited for further confirmation of you being the smartest person to have ever graced Joe’s life with your presence.

“Crossing the finish line is not the most important part. You were right about that. It’s not.”

Joe paused for effect, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

“The most important part of sex is not crossing the finish line...”

What Joe was going to say next would do good to make you like him more, rather than less.

“...but it’s making you cross the finish line.”

Oh. Shit.

Yea, more.

More.

You liked him more.

So much more.

“Both wrong...” You said it just to hear it, and it sounded nicer than anything else could’ve done.

“Both wrong.” Joe confirmed with a nod, his smile still there.

No aces.

No winners.

All random cards.

All losers.

You let all of that sink in for a second, giving yourself a moment to process what that really meant, and then you were quick to grab Joe by the skull and pull him right back into you, not unlike you’d done before.

With Izzy out the door, Joe could prove his own conclusion right a couple times more, and you’d tell him he was right every time he’d do so.

Joe was right.

Had been right.

But the both of you being wrong was so much sweeter. Tasted so much nicer. Nothing sour, nothing rotten. Just sugary kisses and honeyed sounds of pleasure, flavours and colours and textures that he wished he could bottle up and keep for the rest of his life.

Joe was right, but you were both wrong, and somehow, someway, this was the best possible outcome either of you could’ve probably ever hoped for.

This stupid bet.

Both wrong.

Right. But both wrong.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

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@hazelenys, @imjustjen14, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

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@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joe quinn x Y/N #joseph quinn x Y/N #icallhimjoey #bet!joe #double or nothing #all the aces

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mxstellatayte · 5 months ago

Note

could you do making matching bracelets with charles leclerc please?

i absolutely can <3 not gonna lie writing this one made me feel especially single LMAO anyways enjoy!

"no, baby, you fold it over that way and then hold this string, then pull with the other-" how your boyfriend could navigate a steering wheel with ever-increasing complexity and way too many buttons and switches to count and yet struggle to make a simple friendship bracelet astounded you.

"like this?" charles attempts to recreate what you just showed him with your own strings, your scarlet and baby blue knots much more neat than his own.

"close. so make the four. yep, just like that," you say, guiding him through the steps for what feels like the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes. "then pull that same string down, around, and through the four you just made. yeah, perfect. now pull on the blue string up and to your left. just like that. now do that again, then switch to the purple string to the right of the one you just tied on." charles follows your instructions, beaming up at you when he gets it right.

"did i do it right?"

"yeah, you did! now do it for the rest of the strings on the row, and i'll show you how to start the next one." the two of you resume working on your own bracelets, your fingers working much faster than his own thanks to your experience with making these for almost every single one of your friends throughout middle and high school. when you finish your own row and look up at him, your heart soars. charles' eyebrows are scrunched and his tongue barely pokes out of his mouth in concentration, and it's the cutest thing you've seen in your entire life.

"okay, i finished it. what do i do now?"

"do the same thing, but this time, start with the purple onto the red." charles follows your instructions, and eventually figures out the pattern, completing it on his own. your smiles match when you tie excessive amounts of overhand knots with the embroidery string onto each other's wrists, a wordless declaration of your love.

the press only figure out where you got your bracelet when they see charles' own in a post-race interview.

#mxstellatayte #formula 1 #f1 #stella mini writez #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 fluff #formula 1 fluff #charles leclerc fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #driver: cl16.

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prentissluvr · 1 year ago

Text

too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body.

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds.

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.”

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?”

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief.

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.”

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel.

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off.

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot.

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

part two here !!

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lovingjingyuan · 8 months ago

Note

Sunday with Layla reader again, please.

Since reader always busy with her study, she doesn’t acknowledge about her appearance. (hair too long and have eye bags)

And Robin aka his beloved sister, have to take care you. With a big smile, hand hold the scissors and…

Sunday: Come on dear, you look adorable than before.

Layla reader: … So embarrassed..

Your long hair now turn short, now only reach your shoulder… not long anymore, but he must say he need to thank Robin later..

You look adorable than before…

I was gonna post a Jing Yuan fic but I decided to finish that later. I was so busy with essays and make-up tests than going to a wedding.

Sunday is so handsome but he's more beautiful to me. But Sunday has a different type of handsome kind of compared to Jing Yuan or Blade handsome. He's like a beautiful handsome idk how to describe it.

It's very rushed I wrote this all in one sitting so I can sleep now and finish my other essay later ;-;

𓆪♡𓆩 - Sunday 𓆪(´◡`)𓆩

Sunday always noticed your lack of effort in appearance. Whenever he visits or sees you out you’re a tired mess. If he's extra lucky to have you pop by his Oak office, basically his mansion. But whenever he sees you your hair is a mess never cut to the point it starts to tangle. He couldn’t really bring it up scared to offend you because you had enough to worry about with countless studying and writing pages upon pages of paper for the Pencony Academia.

He does make small comments about it like, “You look more tired than usual.” You were always exhausted and under pressure.

He remembered when he first saw you. You took perfect care of yourself but ever since you entered the academy here you neglected your appearance.

He asked his dearest sister Robin to look over you for him. He was so glad she agreed. Ever since then your appearance slowly grew better.

One day Robin picked up the scissors and held strands of your hair. "I can't seem to room these tangles. You won't mind if I cut them right?"

Your mind went blank. You started to imagine yourself with short hair. You weren't sure because your hair was like your blaknet. Yet you knew these tangles were impossible to remove so you were left with no choice. Cut it.

…

Sunday's wings perked up when he heard a knock on the door to his private office. Robin appeared with a smile, "Look brother I managed to convince her to get a haircut."

Robin stepped aside presenting you to Sunday. Sunday said nothing, he started to blanket his mouth gap open slightly.

"so embarrassing..." You muttered on his breath, face flustered. Your hair ends only touch your shoulders. It was weird for you.

Sunday on the overhand was overwhelmed by your beauty. The way your hair now makes your features stand out more. Your eyes are more visible although he'll have to ask Robin to take care of those eye bags later; he adores you more now. You were so adorable he wanted to embrace you in his arms and kiss your cheeks.

Robin took the signal and left leaving you two alone. Sunday got up and walked to you letting his hands run through the strands of your hair. You assumed he didn't like it because he was silent. You stood there flustered and face red.

He pulled you into his embrace and kissed your lips. He was for sure going to thank his sister later.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader

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hannamoon143 · 5 months ago

Text

Remember that i'm always here for you

Genre: Angst,Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Han x fem Reader

Warnings: Anxiety/Panic Attac,mentions of cheating,crying,insecurities (think that's it?)

Idea/request by @l33bang24: Maybe like a misunderstanding from the Stray Kids point of view about the reader. Maybe say they believe the reader is cheating or something relatively close and they break up or whatever you think is best.

a/n: First,thank you for the great idea @l33bang24. It's not my best fic but i gave my best.As always feedback is appreciated.Now enjoy reading!<33

Han went along the street to get the food Minho ordered.Straykids was working on a performance and they all were tired after dancing for 4 hours so they ordered food.Han lost a challenge,and now he was the one to get the food. He didn't really mind,it was only a 10 minute walk from the jyp building if there weren't any papparazzi at the back door.He was lucky cause there weren't any reporters and stuff. Now he went along the street while writing his girlfriend y/n. He texted you everything.What he did right now,when minho stuffed tissues in hyunjins mouth,or when the tiniest thing happened. You and Han were in a relationship since 5 years now.You found it adorable that Han told you everything,and you also loved it when he was so excited to see you so he would hug you for almost 5 minutes when you both met.So that means you got a lot of long hugs because you two lived together.

So as han was done texting you about the challenge he had lost and that he had to grab the food for the boys now, he put his phone back into his pocket and looked at the people and stores again.Suddenly han saw a familiar face. Wasn't that y/n? You sat in a cafe smiling and talking.Han wanted to wave at you or go in and say hi,but he froze in his place when he saw who was sitting across from you. It was your ex Jake.Han just stood there and looked at you. His mind suddenly got really loud.

Why were you meeting him? You said said you would never meet him again. That horrible guy also cheated on you.And why were you constantly smiling? Why didn't you tell him that you would meet him?Was it a secret?

Han got ripped out of his thoughts when he heard some girls behind him whsipering "That is Han from Straykids! Omg take out your phone and take a picture!" He knew that he couldn't stand there any longer,because if someone saw him papparazzi would immediately be there,and also he didn't want you to see him.So he went away.He almost ran.He didn't even know where he wanted to go cause he wasn't even on the right way to the restaurant where minho ordered.He knew it was stupid to overreact like this.Maybe jake just wanted to be friends with you.Maybe he needed your help with something important.Maybe,maybe,maybe. He somehow found himself at the han river. He sat down on the grass. He forced himself to calm down,cause his anxiety was taking overhand now.God how he hated himself for reacting like this.He hated that his anxiety was taking overhand so often.He took his phone out of his pocket and saw a few messages from you and a missed call from minho. At that moment Chan was calling him and he picked up. He tried not to sound axious.

Chan: Hey han where are you, minho and hyunjin are screaming because they are hungry and- oh no changbin wants to eat felix cause he says he is dying because of lack of food. CHANGBIN STOP EATING FELIX'S HAIR.

Han couldn't smile at the behaviour of his friends like he usually did.He just suddenly decided to confront you in person now.He didn't know where that confidence came from.

Han: I'm sorry,something important got in the way,but i promise i will be there in like half an hour.

Chan: No please,i fear that Binnie will eat me too,don't leave me al-

Han hung the call up. He texted you if you were home.You immediately texted back that you weren't but that you would be in an hour maybe. He didn't know why but he drove to your apartment.He decided to wait for you. He got a little bit nervous when he noticed that he must have forgotten his key,and you locked the door so he had to wait outside.Suddenly he heard your voice. Wait,why did it come from the inside of your shared apartment?He jumped back a little bit when the door opened.

No.Why was your ex coming out of there? And why did you say that you would be home in an hour when you were home now?When you were home with your ex? As your ex said bye he almost bumped into han. When he saw him his eyes grew big.He quickly apologised and then went down the stairs immediately. Hans face was pale when you noticed him. So got yours.

"Hanji,what are you doing here? No wait please don't leave i can explain why jake was here- Hanji please!"

Han ran down the stairs.When he saw you in that cafe he was anxious but he maybe could have told himself that it meant nothing but now your ex came out of your apartment.And you even lied to him that you wouldn't be home.He got a bad anxiety attack.He didn't know why but he again ran to the han river.At some point you didn't follow him anymore. As he got there he fell down,hoping the view of the water would calm him down.It didn't. It started raining now.He got soaking wet but he couldn't care less. He couldn't breathe.He didn't even notice that tears fell down his cheeks. You were his everything.Why would you cheat on him? His anxiety immediately told him the ''answer''.

You always knew she would get tired of you at some point.

You never were good enough.

Did you really think she would choose you over a guy like jake?

Was this the end? Were you two breaking up now? No,he couldn't let this happen.You were his everything.But he knew he also could never trust you again if you two would stay together,knowing that you cheated on him.

As he felt like he would pass out because his breaths were stuck in his chest,His ears ringing,His mind a axious mess,he saw chan called again.Normally he wouldn't talk to anyone in this state but he felt so lost and didn't know what to do.

"Hey han where are you? It's been a hour and it's raining a lot outside."

Han couldn't reply.His breathing not regularly,his eyes ringing so loud.

"Han?"

"C-can't breathe."he managed to get out.

Chan immediately knew what was going on.He knew the members more than anyone.Han could hear the confused voices of his members when he assumed that chan left the room.

"Okay hannie,i have your location.I will be there in 10 minutes.just breathe with me okay?"

As chan was on his way he tried to distract han a little bit from his anxiety.He knew he couldn't talk about what was going on yet. As chan finally was there he immediately sat on the ground in front of han. "Just breathe with me okay?" he said to han. He also was soaking wet immediately,but he would do anything for his members.His family.Chan breathed loud and calm,and han tried to follow his breaths as good a s possible. When han was in a little bit better state Chan pulled him in for a hug and asked : "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Han trusted Chan with his whole heart and he knew he would never judge him so he told him everything that he saw and felt today.

After he thought about everything han told him ,Chan answered with a steady,calm voice: "Han, at first i totally understand why you are thinking this,and why you reacted like this.But what you have to understand is,that everything you think is more the anxiety in your mind speaking.Maybe everything is different than you thought.I know this is the closest answer but things are not always like they seem from the outside. But yes,maybe you are right and she is cheating on you.But i don't think y/n would do that.She loves you with all her heart,i saw it by myself"

Han knew Chan was right.Maybe it was like he thought.But maybe it was different.It was his anxiety that told him that there was only one answer to this. So he took a deep breath,looked at chan and then grabbed his phone.There were lots of messages from you.

When han walked through the apartment door you immediately were by his side.You both didn't say anything. As you both sat down at the kitchen table,you finally started talking.

"Hanji,i know exactly what you think and also that you think there is only one explanation to this but please listen to me. At first i wanna say that i would never ever do this to you.Cheat on you. What happened is that jake suddenly texted me that he needed to see me.At first i didn't want to agree but then he said why.I still have the ring that he gave me from his grandma.And he wanted to propose with it.To the woman he cheated on me with.So we met at the cafe but i forgot the ring so i had to go back to our apartment.And then he just came with me.I gave him the ring and then he went away."

Han felt guilty.Of course you would never cheat on him.He knew how much you loved him,but his damn anxiety always got him.

"And why i didn't tell you is because i was scared. Not like you think.I wasn't scared of you. I was scared because i saw how easy i am to replace.I thought that if i told you why he wanted to meet me that you would think about everything,and that you would finally see that you could have someone so much better than me.Someone prettier,someone richer,someone skinnier,someone with prettier hair,just someone better." you said with a forced smile but you had a slight trembling in your voice.

Han understood you better than anyone.Because he had the exact same fear.That someday you would wake up and see all the better guys.That you would leave him for someone who could give you so much more.Suddenly Han got up and kneeled down in front of your chair and closed you into his tight and comforting embrace.He needed the hug even more than you. His voice came out a little muffled cause he was talking into your sweater but you understood him anyways:

"Y/n.I love you so so much.I would never leave you for someone different.You are the best that ever happened to me.And for me you are the prettiest girl outside there.You are perfect in my eyes.But from now on please tell me everything also if you are scred.Then we can figure it out together,and share our thoughts and feelings."

You nodded with tears in your eyes.Han pulled away and brushed away the tears that were now falling down your cheeks.He kissed you very softly,and then he said one more thing,the only thing left to say:

"And y/n. Remember that i'm always here for you"

#stray kids #skz #stay #straykids #writing #writeblr #han jisung #stray kids han #skz han #han jisung x reader #straykids fanfic #stray kids fanfic #han jisung fanfic

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 9 months ago

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A lifetime of dates (part 1)

After being together for twenty years, Natasha and Katya have been on many dates in their lifetime. In this series, we see one from every part of their lives.

- Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova from the Forgotten Ghost series) - Wordcount: 1.2k - Warnings: bit angsty, but with a happy ending - This series will have multiple parts (6 or more) to celebrate my book Forgotten Ghost reaching 2 Million reads on Wattpad! We're kicking off with the Black Widow movie era (post Accords/Civil War) so this series will be out of order. Masterlist

A/N: thank you @nataliasquote for this idea! Couldn't imagine a more perfect way to celebrate 2 mil.

2016

''I can go without fries, you know?'' Katya said as Natasha turned onto the McDonald's parking lot.

It was dark, the only time they stepped outside their safehouse—or car, if that's all they had at that moment—if they could help it, but tonight, Natasha decided a date night was long overdue. Since they went on the run, months ago, there'd been none. There'd barely been any kisses or hugs either, let alone sex. They'd both been too depressed to do so.

But ever since they snuck onto a flight from rainy London to sunny Rome and started driving north in a stolen car, Natasha seemed a bit happier. Maybe it was the sea, or the sun giving her much-needed vitamin D, but when she saw the poster in the local supermarket advertising a drive-in cinema, she was adamant on going.

The movie wasn't important. The fact that it was in Italian even less—they both spoke it fluently. What was important was that for those two hours, their lives would be about something else than surviving the day. They'd at least try.

''It'll be quick, there's barely a line,'' Natasha insisted, already pulling up behind the last car in the short drive-through line. She reached up to ensure her hood was on and covered her face as much as possible, nervous now that they were no longer moving fast. Her eyes shot in every direction, checking all mirrors repeatedly.

''You're risking a lot for date night,'' Katya teased half-heartedly, wondering where this sudden motivation came from. She feared one of Natasha's fears had taken the overhand, especially the one that revolved around losing her.

''You said you missed french fries.''

That was both sweet and sad. Grasping at straws, that's what it felt like. Desperately doing anything to try and make the other happy, even momentarily. But french fries weren't going to fix anything.

Katya kept her concerns to herself, though. Nowadays, Natasha didn't want to be confronted with anything.

The guy operating the ordering system would never know Natasha wasn't a native Italian if there wasn't a camera. Her speech was fluent and without accent, and the girl at the pick-up window didn't look at their faces twice. Before they knew it, they were on their way again with an amazing-smelling bag on Katya's lap.

Finding the drive-in cinema was a bit of a hassle. Since they solely survived on burner phones and tossed their last one in a bin back in London, they couldn't pull up a GPS. But they found the location, bought their tickets the same way as buying food at McDonald's—through the car window, with stolen cash—and found a parking spot at the back of the field.

It was too dark for any of the surrounding cars to see who sat in this one. It was perfect.

Katya reclined her seat and unpacked the brown paper bag on her lap, handing over Natasha's portion of fries and a milkshake. The redhead was less eager to relax, but tried to, flicking her eyes away from the surroundings and to her freshly fiancée-turned-wife. It was the smell of the food that reminded her exactly of how hungry she was.

''Thanks,'' she said, in the same monotone voice she'd used for months. Katya just smiled back.

The movie started shortly after. The days had been a blur lately, but within seconds, Katya was reminded that it was the week of Halloween when she recognized the first scenes of the movie, Friday The 13th. No movie would ever scare her. Straight-faced, she watched the scariest of them. They could never relate to the horrors she had seen in real life. That's probably part of the reason she couldn't focus on this one.

The silence between her and Natasha felt weird, like it had for a while now. Their silences never used to be weird. In fact, most of their time spent around each other happened in silence. But so many unspoken things, so much sadness, hung around their heads like a raincloud. The rain never fell, but the cloud went wherever they went, pressing, looming overhead.

No matter how many times she said that the past no longer mattered, Katya knew Natasha still beat herself up over everything that happened. Choosing the 'wrong' side in the fight around the Accords, therefore not being there to prevent Katya from being brainwashed again. Putting their relationship in jeopardy in the first place. The big, ugly scar on Katya's shin that reminded Natasha of the literal hurt she caused.

''Natalia?'' Katya muttered, glancing at her face. It was so dark she could barely see it, the screen too far away to provide any light.

''Hm?'' Natasha didn't look away from the screen, placing another fry in her mouth. Her movements were on edge, restless about being around so many people.

''You know I love you, right?'' Katya saw her jaw pause. Another thing they didn't do often anymore; say they loved each other. It was worrying how quickly usual things became unusual. ''Things are shit, but it's you and me, always. And that's enough for me.''

Natasha swallowed thickly, because of emotions or not, and turned to face her. For the first time since everything went down, Katya was blessed with a look that she realized she'd taken for granted. That look that said, 'I love you more than anything in this world'. A less intense version of it, but it glimmered in her eyes in the dark.

''I know. I love you too,'' Natasha said softly. She tried a smile, barely reaching her eyes. But her words were sincere, and Katya's pathetic heart skipped a beat. ''Always.''

The air in the car lightened, the raincloud started to thin, and Katya smiled, placing her hand on Natasha's underarm. They were still them, incredibly in love, just disconnected from each other at the moment.

''Thank you for doing this for me,'' she whispered, as the people in the cars around them screamed at a jumpscare. Natasha tensed up again, but Katya knew the best way to return her focus to her. ''Can I ask for one more thing?'' She waited until her intrigued wife nodded. ''Kiss me?''

A genuine smile flashed across Natasha's face. She put her fries down, took Katya's face in her hands, and kissed her. It was nothing like the short pecks they shared lately. The press of her lips was tender, but the way they moved against Katya's felt desperate too. Desperate to tell her what her words couldn't. Desperate to keep her. It hurt in a good way.

They were both out of breath when she pulled back.

The raincloud had disappeared. Both their smiles came from a place of real joy. Katya missed the warmth on her cheeks when Natasha removed her hands and was quick to snatch one of them up, intertwining their fingers. Without a word, as synched as they both were, they burned back to the screen. But not without cuddling up to each other first.

Scooting closer to the middle console, Katya rested her head on Natasha's shoulder, feeling a squeeze of her hand down in her lap. She'd craved this, as touchstarved as she was. For an hour longer, they could fool themselves that all was right in the world. That they were just two lovesick newlyweds on a date.

Katya already knew, but this gave her more faith that they'd be alright. And who knew, maybe they'd be in Italy again some day, under better circumstances.

#katandnat #katyaromanoffpetrova #natasha romanoff #forgotten ghost series #natasha romanoff x fem!oc #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader

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cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 5 months ago

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Supply Run-Natasha X Reader

Special Thanks to @tragedy-of-commons for looking over the fight scene!

You ran through the streets of rivet town, dodging past the Fragentum corrupted creature’s as best you can, avoiding them where you could, and blocking their path when possible.

You had to get these supplies back to Wildfire.

Nat needed them for the sick and the injured.

One of the robots swung its chainsaw, narrowly avoiding taking your head off as you slid under it.

Thinking quickly, you knocked over a stack of boxes, blocking your path as you continued to run.

You were close, all you had to do was get across the bridge.

The stairs were right in front of you, you just needed to get up them and get across the bridge then you were home free.

Getting up the stairs was easy, you were up them in a flash.

However, getting across… not so much.

There was a Fragentum monster at the other end.

It was made of glowing blue ice that, even from across the bridge, radiated a cold that cut through your clothes. Not to mention, the dangerous looking halberd that could cut you in two if you made the wrong move.

But you had to get past it.

The only other way off the bridge was to jump and… well, you liked being able to walk.

So, that left you with one option.

You walked towards the creature, removing the satchel Nat gave you and gently placing it on the ground.

The beast began to march towards you, Halberd at the ready and the bone chilling cold growing sharper and sharper with every step you took towards it.

You closed your fists tight.

Time to see if growing up down here and those pointers Oleg gave you paid off.

You began to run at the creature.

It did the same.

This was a gamble.

You readied yourself for what you hoped would come next.

These types of Fragentumn creatures had a pattern they liked to follow.

A pattern this one followed to a T.

The Fragentum monster swung its down halberd, in response you sidestepped the strike, the weapon burying itself in the ground. Acting quickly, you stepped on the haft of the weapon, keeping it in place as you pulled back a powerful left overhand and then fired it into the icy creature's face, sending it spinning away without its weapon and leaving your hand covered in frost. You did not have time to care about this as the monster was stunned, giving you the perfect opportunity to capitalize on its weakness.

Rushing the beast you dodge under the wild strike it made with its fist and hit it with an uppercut, sending cracks spider webbing across its face and sending it stumbling back where you kick it in the side of its ribs, forcing it to crash into the railings of the bridge over the entrance of rivet town. Next you pulled the monster of the railing before grabbing it by the head and slamming it into the side of the railing, creating even more cracks and sending into the ground in a heap before following up with a vicious kick to the chin that sent it to the ground before stomping on the head, shattering it like glass under your boot.

As the creature faded away you leaned on the railing, panting.

“That was way too close.” You muttered to yourself through panted breaths as you leaned on the railing, ignoring the stabbing feeling in your hands.

Still, you had Nat her supplies.

Now all you needed was to get back to town, then you can get checked out.

And probably chewed out, but it always came from a place of love.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“-And that, my good friends in The Moles, is why I am- OW! -Sitting here, having pieces of ice taken out of my hands. Now, what did we learn?” you asked the group as Natasha continued to remove the shards of ice from your hands.

They were not particularly deep, barely piercing the skin, however, the cold of them mixed with the heat of Natasha’s clinic, made your hands feel especially tender.

Hook was the first to speak.

“You should be ready to sacrifice life n’ limb for the greater good!”

Immediately you and Natasha both made a very clear buzzer sound and said “Try again!”

“To get better at fighting monsters?” Hook asked.

Another buzzer sound came from you and Nat.

Hook sighed.

“Is it not to go to Rivet Town and not to pick fights with monsters?”

“Correct! That is one gold star for you!” you and Natasha exclaimed with a smile.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Soon after, Hook and her gang left the clinic. Though, not without extorting some candy from Natasha first.

“You really let those little rascals run roughshod all over the place, don’t you?” you asked as Natasha tenderly wrapped your hands in bandages.

“It's better they cause chaos where I can see them as opposed to where I can’t.” Natasha responded with a slight smile.

“Heh, can’t argue with that line of thinking, love.” you muttered as the good doctor finished bandaging your wounds.

“Good, because I’m right.” Nat said before kissing you on the cheek and pulling you up from the chair where you managed to take a few steps before beginning to stumble and almost falling.

Luckily, Natasha caught you before you did.

“Ugh, I feel terrible. What was in that ice?” you asked her as a sudden wave of nausea and tiredness came over you.

“An extremely concentrated amount of Fragentum Energy which you were exposed to for several hours.

“That’ll do it…” you muttered as you followed Natasha’s lead.

“You need a good night’s rest, you’ll feel right as rain in the morning.” Natasha told you as she shuffled along while holding you up.

“What even is rain?” you asked in your barely lucid state.

“The old stories say it's water that falls from the sky, much like snow.”

“Sounds weird.” you muttered as Natasha opened the door to the room the two of you shared.

“I agree.” Natasha responded as she dropped you onto the bed.

“Now then, you need to get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you in- WHOA!” Natasha exclaimed as she was pulled into bed with you and into a hug.

For a moment, the two of you were silent.

“Did you plan this?” Nat asked as she wrapped her hands around you.

“Fistfighting a Fragentum Monster? No. Getting you into bed so you get sleep? Yes.” you muttered as your tiredness began to take you.

“Dear, we’re still in our day clothes.” Natasha muttered as she began to grow tired as well.

She received no response save for soft snores.

“Sigh I guess… it’ll be… fine…” Natasha thought to herself as her thoughts began to grow sluggish and her eyes began to shut.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #natasha hsr #hsr natasha #natasha x reader #hsr natasha x reader #natasha hsr x reader

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theanticool · 9 days ago

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Charles Oliveira takes UD over Michael Chandler.

An outcome no one expected. Do Bronx and Chandler got the distance. The first four rounds of this fight were all Oliveira. He out kickboxed, wrestled and grappled Chandler for a solid 20 minutes. Had him hurt a couple times. Was working over the back trying to get the RNC. But he was exhausted in the 5th. Chandler finally found some offense in the 5th. He landed a series of overhand lefts (?) after being forced to switch stances because of leg kicks. Had Oliveira rocked. Oliveira tried to crash into him for a takedown but ended up with his face to the canvas and Chandler on top of him. Chandler then proceeded to throw like 10 straight shots directly to the back of Oliveira's head. (Chandler is dirty as hell. He did that earlier in the fight too, as well as grabbing the cage, inside Do Bronx's gloves, and poking him in the eye). Oliveira somehow weathers all of that to reclaim guard and then push Chandler away. Chandler goes for one last desperation swing but is exhausted. As he missed Oliveira dives on the hips, gets Chandler's back and drags him down to hold out to the end of the fight.

You aint ever getting that mcgregor fight guy.

#Charles Oliveira #michael chandler #ufc #ufc309 #results #mma

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marlynnofmany · 1 year ago

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Junkyard Playground

A regular whacking noise is not something you want to hear while strolling through a spaceship crash site that’s been reclaimed by forest. The locals had promised that nothing dangerous would come near us while we delivered their supplies, but clients had been wrong before. Also we’d already delivered the stuff, so maybe that promise didn’t cover the walk back. And anyway, even a timid herbivore can get wild when it’s tangled in debris.

Thinking of several unfortunate animals I’d known in my veterinarian days, I glanced down at Paint to see if she’d noticed the sounds.

Paint’s eyes were wide. She moved with more lizardlike twitchiness than usual, her head skipping side-to-side, scanning the bushes and twisted metal like she’d smelled something that wanted to eat us, but wasn’t sure if it had spotted us yet.

I stopped walking. In an undertone, I asked, “Do you want to take a different route?”

Paint froze, snout still moving. “Maybe.” Another whack sounded.

I opened my mouth to suggest a detour around the tallest chunks of hull, or whatever they were, when I heard something that made it all better.

Mur complaining.

“Oh, for the sake of sudden waves, aim to the left!”

The answering voice was more subdued, but sounded testy. The whacking stopped.

Paint managed to perk up and relax at the same time. “Oh, it’s them!” She took off through the undergrowth faster than was probably wise, given that her species wasn’t fond of shoes. I hurried after.

A big section of wall loomed ahead, made of something too smooth for alien moss to grow on. The voices were coming from the other side.

Paint beat me there. “Hey!” she said brightly. “I thought your delivery was in the other direction!”

I caught up, swinging around the corner to find squidlike Mur perched on a hoversled full of small boxes — though with one conspicuous empty spot — while Coals stood nearby. He held a long cable in both scaly hands like he’d been whipping something with it.

“It is,” Mur said to Paint, waving a tentacle halfheartedly in greetings. “Local fauna stole a box.”

“Where?” I asked, looking sharply for anything that could have been on the receiving end of that cable-whip. But Coals pointed up.

Up to where the smooth wall gave way to exploded metal shapes, with a familiar white plasteel shipping box caught between them. No fauna in sight.

“It flew off right away,” Coals told me, pulling the cable back to sling it in an underhanded throw that rebounded off the wall with a familiar sound.

“Oh dear,” Paint said.

“Yeah,” Mur grumbled. “Luckily our client specified they’d be there all day, otherwise we would be very late.”

“Why not call back to the ship?” I asked, looking for something to climb, but coming up with nothing.

“That,” said Coals, throwing again, “Would be embarrassing.”

“Why?” I asked, looking at Mur.

He sighed, drooping back like a deflating balloon. “Both Trrili and Zhee volunteered for this delivery, but we’d already claimed it, and we told them it was fine.”

“Annnd,” I said, visualizing one of our insectlike crewmates stretching up the wall farther than I could ever reach. “They’d never let you live it down.”

“Oh yeah, they’d be insufferable,” Mur said. “I don’t even know if Zhee could reach it, but Trrili definitely could, and neither of them would let that go in a hurry.”

“I really thought I could get it with this,” Coals said.

“Can I try?” I asked.

He willingly handed it over, and I gave it a shot, having better luck with an overhanded angle that human shoulders were more suited to. I hit the box squarely, with a resounding whack from above and a cheer from Paint, but the box just rattled in place. I kept at it.

Finally my arms were tired and the box was still up there. “We might just have to call it in, guys,” I said.

Mur groaned theatrically while Coals wordlessly took the cable back to give it another go.

Paint looked around. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” she asked.

Mur ticked things off on his tentacles. “Can’t reach it. Can’t dislodge it. This sled’s height only adjusts a little. Nothing to climb up. Nothing to climb down. No friendly local fauna ready to give it back. If you have other ideas, I am ready to catch them.” He splayed his tentacles in a sun-ray pattern that looked more than a little sarcastic.

But as I looked at the misshapen metal hanging above us, and the lower curve behind us that could be climbed onto, and the nice sturdy cable…I had the seed of an idea.

“What if we swing up to it?” I suggested.

“What?” Mur asked.

“How do you mean?” Coals asked, stepping away as the cable fell after a particularly awkward throw.

“We can loop the cable over that part!” I said, warming to the idea. I pointed up at what might have been an internal hull beam once. “Then swing up like it’s a vine — or wait, even better!” I scrambled over to where a rectangular grate poked out of a shrub. Hopefully the plant wasn’t poisonous. “We can tie it to this!”

Paint cocked her head at a sharp angle. “Why?”

“To make a swing!” I said, grinning as I yanked it free. The thing wasn’t even that heavy; perfect.

While my alien coworkers watched, I set about making the most epic of playground swings from broken spaceship junk. The cable flew over the beam just fine. It didn’t even hit anyone in the head on the way down. Fastening it to the sides of the grate was a little tricky, but I was able to shove it through the holes and tie a pair of bulky knots underneath that probably wouldn’t come loose mid-swing. Probably.

I checked the area for anything especially sharp just in case. Flying off to smack into a wall would be bad enough without the chance of impaling myself on the remains of some spacefaring bathroom sink.

“Are you sure about this?” Paint asked as I clambered up onto the curved thing, towing the swing along with one hand.

“All the pieces look strong enough!” I said. I’d done plenty of tugging to be sure. “And the box isn’t really that high up, all things considered.”

Mur saluted with two tentacles, not moving from the sled. “Better you than me.”

“That’s the spirit,” I laughed. Getting into position was more of a delicate affair than I’d expected, since the cable didn’t reach quite far enough. Guess I’d just have to do a bit of hop-and-butt-shuffle.

“But—” Paint said anxiously.

Coals put a hand on her shoulder. “The physics holds up,” he said. “I don’t think it’s scary for a human.”

“Not a bit!” I agreed. “Here goes!” With that, I jumped into position on the grate, swinging forward at a speed that would have made little playground-monkey Child Me clap for joy.

I almost reached the box on the first swing.

Paint sounded disappointed, but she was clearly unfamiliar with the fine art of pumping the legs. Another couple goes, and I swung high enough to catch a hand on a jutting bit of something at the peak of my swing.

I hung there for a heartbeat, both arms looped around the cable, extremely aware of the long drop below me, then I stuck a leg out and kicked the box free. It was sturdy enough to land in one piece.

Before letting go, I made certain that I was in position with my other hand clutching the cable (with the appropriate amount of nerves).

Then I let go of the bar and fell.

The swing downward was much more adrenaline-ridden than the ride up, with a moment of freefall before the cable jerked taut and bounced me back toward my original launch platform. I held that cable in a death grip, pressing my butt into the grate hard enough to leave a waffle pattern that I would tell no one about. I almost hit my foot on a spar that I hadn’t gone near the first time.

But I made it.

When the swing finally slowed enough for me to drag my feet through the rubble, Paint ran over, full of praise.

“You did it! That was amazing!”

“Nice kick,” Coals added. He put the box onto the cart; not a scratch on it.

Mur moved out of the way. “We may just have to tell the others after all, because that was impressive.”

“Glad it worked!” I said, getting back onto my feet with only a little shakiness. “This stuff made a great swing. Pity we can’t take it with us.”

Paint craned her neck up at it. “You said this is something from a recreation center? Is it spacefarer training for acceleration?”

I laughed at that. “No,” I said. “Human training for being a human. Kids love these. They even have special seats for babies who can’t hold themselves in place yet.”

Paint looked horrified.

Coals just shook his head quietly while Mur did some chuckling of his own.

“That explains so much about you,” Mur said. “Come on, let’s drop this off then go tell Trrili. Maybe next time we visit a human settlement they’ll have one of these big enough for her to ride. She’d hate it.”

Coals nodded. “She would.”

Paint grimaced but said nothing.

I smiled. “I actually do know a place like that.”

“Of course you do,” said Mur. “Onward!”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eidw #humans are space orcs #humans are space monkeys #writeblr #writblr #which of those tags is the most useful anyway?#I never remember to research it #oh well #have a story!

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soapsbaby · 1 year ago

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Sweet Dreams

Kinktober Day Seven

Summary: Simon comes home late while you are asleep already but simply can't resist you. Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader Warnings: NSFW (mdni), Somnophilia (previously consented to) Word Count: 1000ish

He comes home later than he had promised you, it’s early in the morning when he finally quietly shuts the front door behind him, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat.

He is quietly cursing himself that it has taken him so long to get home, he would have loved to have you, finally get rid of all of that pent up frustration. Grab you and take you wherever in the house that he found you. No exchange of words, just pin you down and fuck you. You could talk afterwards.

But he is sure you are asleep by now, and he can’t blame you. It's late, you have work in the morning.

He walks into the bedroom as quietly as he can, careful not to wake you. It’s a full moon, bright enough for him to be able to see you clearly without turning on any of the lights. There you are, peacefully curled up, wearing one of his shirts. It’s way too big on your frame. Your skin is almost tinted blue in the pale moonlight.

He slides into bed silently, hoping the denting of the mattress doesn't wake you, but it doesn't seem to. For a moment he genuinely considers going to sleep, just waiting it out until the morning.

He could have you before you leave for work, fill you up before you have to go. It wouldn’t be the first time his patience had been tested, but something about tonight felt different.

Just a look… A look wouldn’t hurt, right? He gently pulled back the covers, revealing your ass to him. The shirt had ridden up over it and so you were only covered by a pair of panties. He silently swears under his breath. He is so desperate to touch you, to feel you.

It’s been so long.

He knows that he has the okay from you to do this, but it still feels wrong.

Still, he can't help his hand from reaching out, his fingers just barely grazing your skin, but it is enough to make his cock ache in his pants, eager to fill you.

God, he should have thought about this. Of course this had just made things worse.

You had allowed him to do this, you had encouraged him to have you in your sleep, yet the shame of how badly he wanted it now still almost took overhand.

Almost.

His fingers reach out again, this time he hooks them on your panties.

He knows he is on the border of no return, but trying to get himself to care is growing more difficult by the second.

The fabric slides over your ass and down your legs easily, leaving you even more exposed to him. He just leaves them halfway down your thighs.

"Shit…", he mutters under his breath, palming his cock through his underwear. He is already fully hard and cursing himself for it.

Every step he had taken had been too far, and now there was no going back. He had to have you.

Your pussy is so beautiful in front of him, so inviting, slightly glistening.

His fingers reach out, his middle finger parting your lips and feeling how wet and warm you are.

His finger slips into you so easily, he almost loses his composure thinking about how good you’ll feel around his cock.

He slowly works you open for him, adding a second finger.

There are quiet noises escaping your mouth, but you are still asleep, even as you slightly grind yourself against him, looking for some type of friction.

He uses his other hand to free his cock from his underwear, lining it up with your pussy.

You whimper quietly as he pushes himself inside of you, for a moment it seems like you are waking up, but he softly shushes you back to sleep.

“It’s okay.”, he hums. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, hand gently running through your hair.

“I’m sorry, Baby. Go back to sleep. I just need to have you right now.”

It surprises even him that this works, but you just mutter something and then your eyes fall shut again.

He swears under his breath as he pumps into you a few times, rolling his hips against your ass until he bottoms out inside of you. He is amazed at how easily you take him.

He does a few careful strokes, already feeling himself getting close. It’s been so long until he has been able to fuck you and everything about this situation, how forbidden all of it is, makes it even more difficult for him to not just burst on the spot.

You usually come around his cock so easily, he wonders if you can do it like this as well.

His fingers reach around you, gently shifting your sleeping body until he finds your clit, drawing small circles across it.

He wants to just pound into you, but he doesn’t want to disturb your sleep, so instead he goes steady, slow deep pumps.

A whimper escapes your throat, your breaths growing heavy as your body reacts to his touch.

“C’mon, Baby.”, he whispers, lip tucked between his teeth to keep himself quiet. He wants to hold back, wants to keep going for as long as he can, but he loses it when you finally clench around him, whining desperately as your orgasm makes you shake in his arms.

He comes deep inside of you, his face buried against your shoulder, taking in your scent as he struggles to keep himself silent. He keeps his cock inside of you as he can slowly feel himself getting soft again, plugging you up to not let any of his cum go to waste or make a mess.

Such a good girl, he thinks to himself, the aftershocks of his orgasm making him slightly tremble.

He gently pulls you into his arms, your back to his chest, pressing kisses to the back of your neck.

He is hoping that by morning he’ll still be inside of you.

#Simon Riley x Reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #somno tw #Simon ghost riley x reader #ari writes

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tethysresort · 11 days ago

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What do you really need to sew most projects?

If you look at those online sewing lists, they are ridiculous and expensive. You can get by with a lot less!

-sewing needles, get a pack that come in different lengths. If, like me, you are a klutz, get “embroidery/crewel needles” the eyes are larger so they are easier to thread. (Needle threaders are a cheap and easy solution too.)

-thread, get good thread from a brand like gutterman or coats and clark. I would recommend either polyester or a cotton-poly blend, but cotton will work fine too (just be aware that sometimes it shrinks in the wash…). You just need a spool of white and a spool of black for most projects (or in the color you wear the most) because the thread is hidden in the seams and just needs to not be “the one white spot in the seam of my new black pants”. Color match if you are putting on buttons or hemming or something.

-scissors. Any scissors will do, but a pair of fabric scissors will work best. Don’t use fabric scissors for anything else, especially paper - it screws up their edge.

-a fine tip sharpie and a pencil

-a packet of pins, I would recommend one of the 200+ piece packs that have the colorful round heads. Colorful is good because you are less likely to lose them in your work or on the floor and stab yourself later, many is good because there are times when there will need to be pins EVERYWHERE.

-scratch paper

-a normal ruler and a cloth ruler. Get a cloth ruler at least 5 feet long. Or, if you want to be really old school, you can use a piece of yarn as a measuring cord. (To use a piece of yarn or cord, put in an overhand knot at even increments such as every four inches or every hand width.)

-tape, any tape.

-fabric for whatever you have in mind to sew.

-safety pins, one of those multiple size packs. Optional but there are times when you REALLY don’t want it to come unpinned.

-tailor’s chalk, optional, any chalk works fine. It is useful if you are going to hem or need to make marks in places that will show later.

-IF you are making a pattern, get a roll of paper like butcher or newsprint paper. Newspaper taped together works fine too. Even Christmas wrap and computer paper will work! (Tissue paper, like comes with “real” patterns, tends to be a bit delicate.)

-sewing machines are awesome and speed up the work, but that is all they do. You can make almost anything with hand needles and thread.

#anti-enshittification #sewing #fiber arts

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romeo-golf · 8 months ago

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Food has become more than foreplay now

He's sitting in grey sweatpants, stretch-marked gut hanging over the waistband as he gorges himself again on pizza, beer, and doughnuts. His belly is swollen and tight, the pressure inside making breathing a challenge, and he's positioned himself in front of the mirror to make sure he can see it from every angle.

When he looks down all he sees is a semi-circle of furry flesh, rounding in front of him, ending somewhere just shy of his knees. He feels enormous and it drives his libido wild.

He's been edging for a week now, promising himself not to jack off until tonight, completing his 8,000 calorie a day target for the full week. His body yearns for it and as he finishes the last slice of pizza his wobbles his gut. The rhythmic motion of his blubber bouncing on his thighs, rubbing gently against the end of his dick, makes him feel like he's slipping into a trance.

More. He needs more. He imagines the sensation 10-, 50-, 100- pounds heavier. He feels the precum dripping out of him and reaches for the doughnuts. Pushing them in, one after another, like a crazed animal.

Food has become more than foreplay now. It's an aphrodisiac, a flirtation, a sexual endeavour that he simply cannot indulge often enough to satisfy the gainer-brain that screams at him. He tugs his clothes down his thighs and gropes the bulge in his boxers as he chews another custard-filled deep-fried sugar-coated treat. Those calories. This fat. The decadence.

The thoughts fill his head as he strokes gently, easing himself close to orgasm and just holding it there, luxuriating in the hedonism of it. The moment is too good not to share and he leans forward to grab his phone and balance it on a side-table just in front of the couch.

The sensation of his gut squished between chest and thighs is another erotic thunderbolt and after setting the camera to record he slouches back, pushing one hand deep under his overhand to finger the growing wet patch in the fabric.

"Fuck…" he mutters to himself while pulling his fat-pad buried cock out of his shorts and gently teasing it with his right hand, while the left gropes, wobbles, and fingers his excessively obese body.

He wants more. He needs it. He loses himself in thoughts of how impossibly huge he could be and then brings himself back to reality by remembering just how much he's eaten this week, how fat his fitness-tracker app suggests he'll be in 6 months from now if he keeps doing it. He doubles the figure in his head, knowing he'll do this all year, and feels his groin tense as the orgasm builds.

"470lb… 470lb… 470lb" the number flashes in bright bold text in his mind's eye as he feels his balls empty themselves up his body. Glazing his wide chest and swollen gut with a hefty load.

The satisfaction envelopes his body and he opens his eyes to see his reflection. Post-nut clarity doesn't hit like it once did, not when he just knows he'll do it again next week.

He wipes his hand down his gut to remove the jizz on his fingers and picks up his phone to save the clip and start sharing it with all the guys he knows will wake up soon and send him encouragement to keep going for another week of gluttony and growth.

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inbabylontheywept · 1 year ago

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An Honorary Troll

Breaker paused a moment, taking in the sight of the mage in front of him. The robes, the beard, the aloof expression - those were all typical.

The staff was not.

“You cast with that?” he asked, half impressed.

The mage swung the thing off his shoulders overhand and planted its blade into the dirt. It was the first truly threatening staff Breaker had ever seen. The blade on its end was almost as long as the haft itself, counterbalanced at the end by a polished lump of amber larger than a goose's egg. The damn thing looked more like a polearm than a casting aid.

Breaker waited a few moments to see if the human was going to respond to his question. He didn’t. Part of him, the proud part, was happy to finally be taken seriously. The smart part of him suspected he was going to miss the advantage of being underestimated.

Breaker unslung his massive warhammer from his shoulders, its half-slowed fall still weighty enough to be felt through the mages thick work boots, loud enough to be felt in both of their chests.

Then he blitzed the length of the bridge.

The mage’s eyes widened, his wizened hands beginning to twitch out a ward. Breaker knew there wasn’t time. The gap was too short. He was already beginning his overhead swing of the hammer, half falling, the full power of his speed, strength, and weight poured into one crushing blow. He knew that the secret to hitting a mage was giving them everything you had, as hard as possible, as fast as possible, as close as possible. The more time they had to think and react, the more dangerous they’d become, and the more time he had needed to chase and smash, the more tired he’d get. Thank the Gods this was gonna work. Extended fights were-

The wizard grinned.

A spell went off. Not a ward. Simpler. A small jet of flame shot out of the amber orb, rotating the blade to vertical in a fraction of a second. The wizard half relaxed as he planted the staff in the gravel, looking forward like a huntsman versus a charging boar.

Breaker knew he couldn’t slow down. He couldn’t dodge. The one mercy he could see was that the tip was aimed at his chest, not his gut. He’d rather choke on blood than rot from the inside. He closed his eyes before impact, not wanting to see the blade sink into him.

It didn’t.

He heard the crunch of gravel give way to the crunch of his nose as the mage threw a haymaker into his sidestep, staff moved helpfully to the side. He was half glad for the blow because it helped him get his center of balance back under him again. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to get a blow in with the hammer again, it needed too much time to build momentum, but he still turned to face the wizard, every instinct insisting that he couldn’t take his eyes off the little man for more than a moment.

He turned out to be right. If he’d turned his head half as fast he wouldn’t have had enough time to dodge the cudgel end of the staff, swung like a bat at the back of his skull. If he hadn’t been outmaneuvered at every step of this fight, he’d have assumed that swinging from the direction his bad eye was on was just luck. The fact that he knew it was intentional implied that his opponent had a level of martial expertise that even most knights lacked.

With no space to use the hammer, he used the next best weapon in his arsenal: His body. His leg snapped out hard, his massive height letting him connect the blow easily with the old man’s chest. He felt something give, and watched with some small satisfaction as the human went bouncing down the bridge’s center path

Well, he didn’t need an invitation.

He couldn’t move quite as the fast as he’d launched the mage away, but it was a close thing. The pause gave him time to get the momentum he needed to swing the hammer. He felt like an ox behind a cart, the weight behind building into something unblockable, undodgeable, un-

Unbelievable.

The little man ended his tumble on all fours, splayed like a tree frog. The hammer was already bearing down on him, too late in the swing for Breaker to change course, even as he watched the final twitch that signaled a ward was cast. The hammer slammed into the mages hunched back harmlessly, the force of the blow charging the ward like a magical battery. The maniacal grin the little man had worn ever since that first blitz widened half a step further, silver molars on full display, and then-

He flew. Rather than directing the force into some sort of attack, rather than buying himself time and space, the two classical friends of all mages, the little bastard directed all of his stored up energy downwards. The blast launched him up, bringing him from all fours at shin height to eye level in a fraction of a second. He probably would’ve headed up another six or seven feet if he hadn’t grabbed ahold of Breaker’s left horn. His upward momentum swung him full circle around it, his journey ending abruptly as he drove the armored soles of both of his decidedly un-wizardly boots into the back of Breaker’s skull.

If Breaker had been an ogre, or a nightkin, or even a giant, he’d have been out cold. But Breaker was a full-blooded troll, and the horns on his head weren’t just for ornamentation. If he charged a brick wall there was a coin flips chance he’d be the winner. The boots never stood a chance.

The wizard managed to get two more vicious, if slightly panicked kicks in before Breaker’s fists managed to catch up. They grabbed him by the collar of his coarse green robe and yanked him forward, over his shoulder. The old man looked slightly sheepish, dangling from the inhumanely large hands of his opponent.

Breaker cut to the chase.

“You could’ve killed me on the first charge.”

The mage nodded. There wasn’t a whole lot else he could do. His robes were caught so tightly in the troll’s grasp that they acted like a straitjacket.

“Why didn’t you?”

The wizard went for earnestness. He’d been told it was his saving grace.

“You did not deserve death. This is your bridge. I just could not afford the toll.”

The robe tightened further as the troll’s fist clenched.

“Do you wish that you killed me when you had the chance?”

The wizard snorted.

“Murder you, for the price of a goat? No. If I could make a wish, I’d wish I could swim.”

The troll let go with one fist, its thumb trailing back to its mouth. A large, sharp tooth clamped down on the meaty pad of the digit, drawing a thick bead of green blood. The wizard’s confusion blossomed into disgust as the ichor was smeared from his forehead to his chin.

“The fuck-”

His curse was interrupted by the troll.

“I have decided to make you kin. And my first gift to you, great kin, is to grant you your wish.”

The second fist, the one still gripping the front of the wizard’s robes, flung itself forward. The wizard barely had a moment to curse before plummeting into the water below.

Several seconds passed.

Breaker waited.

The wizard arose, sputtering, from the depths. He turned, trembling from the cold, the rage, and the sheer disbelief of what he was experiencing.

“It’s four feet deep.”

Breaker nodded.

“Yes.”

It was almost heartwarming, the way the wizard laughed as he began wading his way towards the far shore. Breaker’s hands gingerly roamed over the goose eggs growing from the back of his head, larger than his own horns had been when he’d passed the trials of manhood.

If nobody gave you headaches like kin, that little man was troll enough for a small army.

#humanity fuck yeah #muscle mage #i cast fist #if you can't beat them adopt them #troll bridge #wizard fight #hfy #sink or swim #fantasy #lighthearted #punchline ending

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