#so lowkey rip on that :P

[t3chborb]

On today's episode of "T3chborb shows up in DMs of fanfic writers with inappropriate ideas":

... Nah fr, this started as a solo art project, but then I thought the concept was too good to be left in only image form, so I poked @ya-zz about it, and... here we are LOL. Another artist/writer team up :P

... And goddamn did @ya-zz go all out with the fic. Over 5k words of Ramram goodness. Go read it and give her some love :P Here be the link ;)

As for my part, full pic is HERE, though I suggest you visit the fic first, so you don't get spoiled on the surprise~

[ninkaku]

anyway hear me out: more pm dazai, give it to me pleeeaaase and thank you. two ways to go about it: normal pm dazai from 15-18 (i tend to write him there in his more settled range of 17-18) aaaand the au in which he never left. there are also like, multiple branches of that too but basically what i'm saying is: i'm eyeing more threads for his shenanigans and insane well thought out plans that puts the fear of god into his enemies :p

[answrs]

as long as we're on the subject of subeta/msa fanpets, I have a Chloe, Duet, and Tome Tomb I used to have a WHOLE bunch of ideas sketched out for (they're somewhere in my subeta overlay tag I think) that I decided to take a look back at tonight and cut down to 2 each. (Tome Tomb was always gonna be the experiment pet, look at that lil guy and tell me it's NOT perfect)

leaning 90-10 celinox (bottom) for Duet, and 60-40 harvester (top) for Chloe

also:

[todayisafridaynight]

I keep seeing those "character without trauma" depictions and they seem like fun but I can't really picture it for most of The Faves... I guess Arakawa would've stayed an actor and Mine would've stayed at his company (or who knows, maybe he would've pursued baseball instead to begin with), but other than that I'm coming up blank...

its hard to imagine traumaless depictions when A Good Portion Of Characteristics are a product of trauma tbf 👁️💋👁️

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

[guessghost]

so down bad, I want to write poems for her

[mattsfavoritestar]

ICEBREAKER , chris sturniolo

synopsis… inbox request !

warnings… toxic!chris, exbf!chris, hockeyplayer!chris, mentions of violence, mentions of cheating, minor mention of bloody injury, degrading, little bit of manhandling (good way dw), hair pulling, spanking, rough fingering, rough sex, unprotected p in v, lowkey public sex

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

“my ass feels like it’s going to fall off” you say as you rub your hands together for warmth. you already knew how cold the ice rink was yet you still decided to wear a skirt, thinking that your fleeced tights would keep out the frosty air. “i don’t know what’s more stupid, the fact that you wore a skirt or the fact that you’re wearing it for ch–“.

you quickly covered your friends mouth as you felt blood rush to your cheeks. “i'm not wearing it for him! i just thought it looked cute,” you grumbled. that was a lie. you did wear it for chris. you remembered how much he loved seeing you in one (as much as he loved the easy access). “okay, look at me.” your friend says as she grabs your shoulders.

“we caught him texting other girls, remember?” she says. you frown at the vivid memory. he had you wrapped around his fingers with that stupid smile and his baby blue eyes. you found countless of nudes (which weren’t yours) in his camera roll along side the many dirty texts to multiple contacts, yet he still somehow looked somewhat innocent in your eyes.

“now c’mon, we’re here for your brother not him” she says before walking towards the entrance. as you followed behind, you gave yourself a mini pep talk on how you were gonna completely ignore his presence and focus on your brother. you were so caught up in your head that you didn’t realize someone walking into your direction. right as you collided into his chest, the stranger quickly steadies you by your waist.

“careful” he says with a smile. you noticed the jersey being a number 12 with the opposing teams color. with a quick apology, you removed yourself from his hands and made your way to the arena. little did you know a fuming chris caught the whole interaction with a deathly grip on his hockey stick.

“another goal for the boston bruins!” the announcer shouts as the crowd roared. you were jumping as you clapped for the team. so far, the game was going smoothly with barely any penalties. a glimpse of chris’s number 3 jersey catches your eye. you watched as he rushed to the puck with determination. on the opposing team, number 12 surpasses him and hits the puck to the opposite direction.

it seemed like chris didn’t care for the puck anymore as he raced towards number 12. a series of gasps follow as chris harshly shoves him to the floor. the game pauses as the players watch chris rip his helmet off and toss it. he climbs on top of 12 and takes off his helmet then delivers him a punch to the face followed by another. and another.

the referee blows the whistle multiple times but the screeching sound fell deaf to chris’s ears. you saw your brother as well as number 2 race over to pull chris off him with a slight struggle. chris pushes both of them away from him then gets off the ice with an angered expression.

his coach meets him at the gateway as he yells at chris for attacking the opposing teammate. the entire time his coach is lecturing him, chris was looking around the bleachers. then his eyes locked on you. his face was flushed from the cold mixed with heated anger and his hair was damp with sweat. a small smirk found its way to his lips as he watched you practically check him out. you couldn’t lie, your body was providing you with a warmth that went straight to your core.

chris breaks eye contact as his coach tells him to go cool off in the locker room. “alright ladies and gentlemen— we’ll be back after a brief intermission” the announcer says as players start to exit the rink. you looked over to your friend— who was distracted by trying to get a close up of number 12’s bloody bruised face. you slipped out of the bleachers then left the arena in search of the locker room.

your heart hammered as you slowly opened the door. you haven’t spoken to chris in a week, which was the longest you’ve gone before giving in. the lights were dim and the room was quiet. you knew chris was in here since his gloves were laying on the bench in-front of you. “chris?” you called out cautiously.

you jolted as you heard a locker door slam shut followed by a heavy sigh. as you drew closer to the sound, you saw a trail of chris’s gear leading up to where he stood. he was leaning on the lockers with his head tilted up as he breathes rapidly— as if he was trying to catch his breath.

“miss me already?” he says as a devilish smirk forms on his face. you said nothing as you pad over to him and analyze his hands—which were closed into a tight fist. you take one of them into your own and lift it to eye level. his knuckles were bruised and dried with blood, you were unsure if it was his or the other guys.

“why’d you do it?” you ask in a soft voice. chris scoffs then snatches his hand away. “why? you worried ‘bout him or somethin’?” he rebuttals. you sigh as you meet his eyes and search through them. you could never understand chris or why he does things like this but you sure as hell try to.

“saw you gettin’ familiar with him earlier so i thought i’d introduce myself” he shrugged. a frown painted your face as you recalled the countless of times that chris has gotten friendly with other girls in front of you. “but chris— we’re not together anymore” you reminded him.

you watched his eyes darken as an angered expression formed onto his face. you gasp as he harshly grabs your waist and pulls you closer. “yeah?” he says as he leans closer to your face, “didn’t i tell you that y’can’t ever leave me?”.

he flips you both over and roughly pushes you into the lockers. you’re body burned more then ever but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or arousal. probably both. “chris m’not here for this” you say trying to convince yourself more than him.

“no?”, he leans down to your neck and trials kisses up to your ear, “then why’d you follow me in here?” he whispered. you give him no response. a shuttered breath leaves your lips as chris continues to attack your neck with kisses and occasional bites. your fingers curled into his jersey, pulling him closer and causing him to smile against your skin.

you gasp as he suddenly flips you around to face the locker. you felt him tug your tights down along with your underwear. the cold air against your skin made you shudder but it quickly surpassed as the harsh contact of chris’s palm connected to your skin making heated blood rush to that area. “said y’not here for this yet here you are in a skirt f’me— fucking slut” he scoffed.

you whined as he roughly grabs your hair and forces you into an arched position, your bare ass against fully clothed pelvis. you felt two of his fingers swipe through your folds then slowly enter you as he towers over you, watching your expression as he tucked his his bottom lip between his teeth.

your eyelids dare to shut as your jaw hung open with not so quiet moans leaving your throat. “did y’think he could make you feel this way?” chris snarled. you replied with a near scream as he picks up the pace. your legs shook as an unexpected orgasm came over you. you didn’t know if the blood in your cheeks was from embarrassment of cumming to quickly or pure desire as you felt your body yearn for more.

chris laughs as he delivers you yet another sharp slap to your ass. he removes himself from you completely but before you could turn around, you felt his hands grip your waist tightly. you felt his throbbing cock prodding at your entrance, slicking itself with your arousal. you tried pushing yourself closer to him but he held you in place.

finally after what felt like ages, chris sinks into you slowly. “fuck baby— i needed this” he groans. your cheek was smooshed again the cold locker which contrasted to your burning skin. chris didn’t waste a second as he immediately picks up the pace, going deeper inside you everytime.

chris places one of his hands beside your head while the other nearly forms a bruise under his grip tightening. “look at you letting me use you— but y’not here for this, right?” he mocks your words with a small chuckle. your jaw hung open, your cries fell deaf to your own ears while a buzz replaced the lewd sound. with a slight whine, chris delivers one final harsh thrust then roughly pulls out.

he jerks himself off as ribbons of white painted your bruised ass. your legs shook with a dull ache, you were sure they would give out any second. you didn’t realize that he pulled out before you could finish but regardless, you wouldn’t really care anyways considering the lingering high from his fingers. loud banging at the door startled the two of you, “yo chris, coach needs you back on the ice!” a teammate shouted from the other side.

you were shocked on how you made it back to the bleachers on your own with your weak legs. “hey where’d you–“ your friend did a double take before taking in your appearance then giving you a disappointed look. a hockey jersey with ‘c. sturniolo, 3’ printed on the back that stopped mid thigh covered your clothes, leaving only your fleeced tights on display.

[namjooningera]

Ghost face Toji! and his little helper

Characters: Toji, y/n, victims

A/n: hehe. So I read some ghost face JJK ffs and I was just thinking that instead of y/n being the victim what if she helped ghost face instead? 😋 his lil helper. Also first time writing smut so :p

TW: ghost face, death of background characters (by stabbing), lowkey gore, reader is lowkey sociopathic/very much delusional, smutttt, cowgirl, size difference

“Nghhh! Toji! A-ah!” You whined, being bounced on his massive member, trying to claw at anything that would give you some comfort.

“Y-you can take it, yeah? And it’s ghost face, doll.” He gripped your hips and laid below you, as you bounced mercilessly on his cock.

Bodies laid on the floor near you two, blood seeping from them and staining the concrete floors. Beer bottles broken and medr over party supplies littering the floors.

You bounced on his cock around the dead bodies, the knife from your little hand dropping to the floor as you pressed your hands against his chest for leverage.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He chuckled beneath you, breathlessly, his bloody mask halfway off while he fucked up into you.

You stand at the streets of Shibuya, behind chains led by security, watching as celebrities walk past on the red carpet.

You try to squeeze past, to see your favorite movie actors, singers, models, pass you by on the red carpet. Looking as dazzling as ever. You’d like to be them. You need to be them.

It’s been your only wish since you were a kid. You rush over around the squads of people and paparazzi, trying desperately to get the attention of the famous people.

You watch as their heels click on the red carpet, brushing past like the watchers were nothing but dust. No care in the world but their own fame, and you desperately crave that kind of life.

The cameras, the lights, the people. It’s all you wanted.

Ever since you were a little kid, orphaned young and too early. You’d sneak down in the basement of the orphanage where you lived, where a small tv was, and you’d sit in front of it criss-crossed. You’d watch the actors, musicians, models and famous people on the tv, when they’d walk the red carpet, appear in the gala, make their name and grow fanbases. The way the cameras zoomed on them, and the lights framed their faces. The paparazzi that chased them with cameras, flashing lights and the way the celebrities would pose.

You tried everything to be like them.

Signed model contracts, auditioned for background acting roles, you sang and danced, even uploaded videos on social media.

And nothing.

You didn’t get famous, you didn’t have cameras in your face, and you didn’t end up on tv or the news. Well, except once.

You ended up on the news. Once.

You remember it like it was yesterday. The way the other kids and adults taunted you. Telling you you’d never be famous. At first, they gave you the benefit of the doubt. A cute kid auditioning? You might as well get the part at some point. A commercial or some small acting role, something. But you didn’t. And they laughed. Told you to give up and your little dream would never happen. You knew it wasn’t your fault you didn’t get the role, the people you bypassed you were those with connections and nepo-babies. You didn’t stand a chance.

But their taunting never stopped, they probably would’ve if you gave up on your little dream, but you didn’t. You continued plastering celeb posters on your walls, drawing stick figures of you on the red carpet, and singing in the halls of the orphanage. All because you thought, no, you knew you’d be famous at some point.

So they ripped up your posters, your drawings, and would hit you every time they heard you sing or saw you dance. They all thought you were pathetic, and the adults who ran the orphanage started to as well.

At first they didn’t mind signing up some cute kid for these random positions, auditions. Maybe your fame would bring more money to the orphanage? But the more you asked and failed, the more you tried, they got pissed off.

At one point getting physical with you, after calling you a delusional freak they started to smack you around just like the kids. Telling you to give up, and just try to get adopted like any other kid.

But when the adults came in to adopt, they’d meet with the kids to see if they were allegeable.

They thought nothing could go wrong with a cute kid like you, but when they met with you, they lost patience with you, hearing you go on and on about how famous you were gonna be. Showing them photos of your favorite celebs and explaining that you’d make it farther than them. You were only a kid.

“Umm maybe something more realistic? How about a doctor sweetie? Or maybe a teacher?”

You looked at them weird. “Doctor? Teacher? I’m gonna be famous! Actor! Singer!” You sang. And their smiles dropped.

But soon adults stopped asking for you and you became shadowed. Didn’t matter how many cute faces you made or how mature you acted, they’d never choose you.

You watched as kids got picked by happy families, and you grew older as you were left behind. But this just made your dream grow. You know all the best celebs come from darker backgrounds, so you’d probably end up the most famous, right?

But the taunting never stopped. And as years went by it just got worse. It became the worse when you finally got your hands on a signed celebrity poster. A signed one. Your favorite celebrity. You had snuck out of the orphanage to get it signed, and the woman was so nice to you.

She told you she believed in you. And that was the first time you’d ever heard that.

But when you came back with it, shining, your face glowing and a smile wide and happy. They took your poster and ripped it to shreds.

Ripped your signed poster to shreds.

Told you, you were an idiot, and your favorite celebrity was an idiot, and you’d come to nothing.

And how you ended up on the news for the first time? You set the orphanage to blaze. Set it on fire. Years of taunting and torture, you’d burn it all to the floor. And rise above everyone.

You remember the news truck running to you, one of the only kids left standing. Pointing the mics in your face and camera straight at you, the news lady asking you to give a statement, to tell them what happened, how you feel.

Everyone was looking at you.

Everyone was awestruck.

Your remember that feeling like it was yesterday. And you remember the excellent way you played victim in front of the cameras.

All those auditions, those practices when you’d act by script in your little orphanage room, or you’d watch tapes in the basement on how to improve your acting. They all helped that day, that day where you shined on camera, acted your heart out and made everyone’s eyes tear up in how emotional you were. How you explained that a fire started and took out so many of your friends. That you were just some lonesome orphan, a victim.

That same week you got adopted. Well, basically. You were taken in as a foster child. Turns out one of the firefighters at the orphanage that day heard your little ramble, and their heart was quenched. Took you home to their little family and supported you. That’s when you realized how much you could change everything around you with something as simple as acting.

So you acted normal.

And continued playing house.

Now your an adult, void of any job or networking, really. You had a high school diploma, but it didn’t really mean anything in the kind of jobs you wanted.

You lived in the attic of some dweeb you’ve barely seen, rooming with some girl who’s barely around. All you know is that she’s extremely nerdy, and always at some Internet cafe or in her room coding.

You also, couldn’t care less. As long as you got that lone time to plan out your next move, your next plan on how to become famous, your golden.

But you’re starting to lose hope. Even your roommate who you barely see told you to get a real job, that your government funding for being a former foster kid won’t do you much, long term.

Alas, you continue. After having your fun following the celebs and running after the limos they drove off in, you skip your way home. However, passing by a sketchy alleyway, your pulled in.

“Why shouldn’t I kill your right now?”

A deep very gruffy voice asks you.

“You seem like quite a fan. A first kill being a fan might draw some attention hm?”

You look up at him. “Excuse me?”

A mask covers his face, he’s wearing a cloak that covers his head and hair. But did that muscly hand around your neck, and the other holding you around your torso. You could scream.. for other reasons then just murder.

“So… which one is she?”

It turns out, Ghostface, he calls himself, is quite the noob in celebs and fame, news and all that. But you, are an expert.

It also turns out he’s a hired killer, someone made to kill certain celebrities, someone to… send a message. But being someone so closed off he doesn’t know anything about them, and doesn’t feel like doing his research.

“She’s right there. The one in the grey sweatpants and faking her reps?”

He was puzzled when you told him about your expertise in celeb gossip and knowledge. The way you knew exactly where a celebrity would be at the moment.

“First kill.”

Now, you crouch at the window of some elite gym. Ghost face is extremely lucky of you, you’ve done this before. Stalked them, so you know where the cameras are and where the blind spots are, too.

“Wait here, pretty.” He tells you, and his deep dark voice makes you tingle a bit.

You stay crouching at the window, peeking through as you watch this masked man follow the celebrity into the showers. You hear a cut off scream, as if he had muffled her mouth right away. And then he steps back out with blood covering his cloak.

He jumps right out the window, but instead of greeting you like regular he shoved you against the wall, and puts a cloth over your mouth.

“Sorry, lil’ stalker. Can’t have a witness around. But I’ll keep ya alive, for yer’ help.”

And you pass out.

The next morning you awake in some random motel. You can’t help but think last night was some unfortunate weird dream. But by the drops of blood that aren’t yours that stain your shirt, the headache you have from inhaling those toxins, and the man at the counter that tells you your “boyfriend” had carried you in here. You know it’s real.

Now, you’re at another gala. This time, you made your way in. You pulled some strings, and you were able to make it in as a server, helpers to the caterers.

You still think about what that masked man said, about how he was planted to kill certain celebrities, and make a splash in modern media. Some kind of show he wanted to put on. And honestly he was quite good. His first kill, which you helped with, has scorn the news and surprised journalists and the paparazzi. Everyone was confused and concerned. The first kill being in such a private place it made fans worry of their own favorite celebrities. The police searched for clues and evidence, but due to your help in blind spots of cameras and ways to scoot past security, ghost face was never caught. People all over the internet mourn the celebrity’s death, but don’t expect there to be another kill. However you know the truth. The man’s words. How she wasn’t gonna be the last. His message to media.

But you try to forget, and instead focus on making connections. You know the people here are in the big leagues, and if your able to convince them, maybe you’ll be given a chance.

That’s when you overhear some celebs talking. The extremely famous ones. The ones you’ve seen on billboards and trucks, movie posters and more. Your curious, especially when you hear them talking about an extra exclusive party in the gala, one in a private room.

You need to sneak in. And you do. You find out more about it and realize that only the highest of the servers go to cater that small private event, servers who wear a certain outfit to show they that only serve the best. That’s how you’re gonna get in. So you do the unthinkable. Well, it’s not like there was extra uniforms ying around?

So you find one of these special caterers, and break a bottle over their head. You drag their unconscious but live body into a closet, stealing their collared shirt and tie, and that special brooch that shows your elite. You lock the closet and make your way to the private exclusive room.

This is your chance. Your chance to become elite like them, to get on the news again, to be famous.

But as you open the door to the elite room, you hear screams. ‘Please let elite room for celebrities not mean secret celebrity orgies please.’ You think. But as you peek into the door, you realize it’s so much different than that.

When blood seeps through the carpet and spills, as you hear screams and see a certain familiar masked man slash one of the elite celebrities necks, they fall to the floor as they convulse, holding their neck but the bleeding continues.

They all fall to the floor one by one, and you’re stunned. Before you could leave, leave and pretend this never happened, the door is swung open by one of the celebrities, one who is apparently trying to get away, and immediately they are slashed. The blood splatters onto you, and you hold your hands up trying to stop the blood from continuing its spray onto you.

“Well look who it is.” That familiar husky voice says, holding up the head of the victim he just slashed. The blood oozes from his slashed neck, his eyes bulging out his head, eyes rolled back and almost in its skull.

The masked man drops the victim onto the floor.

“I told you I didn’t want any witnesses.” He grabs you by the throat, pulling you into the elite room before slamming your head to the wall, pinning you there with his huge hand.

“W-wait! Wait don’t do this!” You beg. Your eyes scan the room and you see all the elites littered on the floor. Something in you pulses. Something you hope is fear or empathy, but it’s something different. Almost.. satisfaction. The people who’ve ignored you like the dirt on their shoes, people who you sweared to surpass. Dead, bloody, bodies on the floor like they were simple trash.

You accidentally let out a giggle.

“What was that?”

“Umm nothing, s-sorry.” You stumble, his hands increasing its hold on your neck. “W-wait! You- your doing this as some message to the public right?”

He stops, his hand still tightly around your neck, but he softens almost. “Yeah? So?”

“W-well I want.. I want fame. I can help! Like last time! If you let me live…”

You can’t tell what his expression is, hidden under the mask, but you can tell he’s confused, and a little amused.

“And what can you help with, little dove?”

“W-well I know all their info! Every celeb, really! I can nurse you.. I umm.”

“Nurse me? Info? I don’t need that, naive doll.”

“Wait!” You whine, fighting back. “I’ll spread your word. When they see me.. as the only one standing… the news will be everywhere. Asking questions.. and I’ll answer!” He stays quiet, and you know he’s considering it. “If you kill me- nobody will know it was you… but if I live, I can tell your story! How you killed all those celebrities in cold blood… The cold blooded killer Ghostface… I’ll relay whatever message you need me to say.”

His hand softens around your neck, but he still keeps a hold of you. The tip of his knife makes its way up your torso to your neck, right under his hand, where he pokes your skin.

“And what would you get out of that, little dove?”

“Fame. And my life… but fame. I’ll.. I’ll be on the news.” You sigh, almost of happiness at just the thought. “People will be looking to me.. the last standing victim.” ‘-like last time’ you wanna say.

He huffs. “As a victim, you don’t look very disheveled, do you?”

You look at him weirdly, confused, until he throws you down at the only spotless part of the carpet. You gasp, feeling your back thud against it, about to fight until he lands on top of you, pulling and tugging at your shirt.

“Yer’ sure cute. But look way t’satisfied with yourself to be a victim.”

“L-let me be your victim.” You sigh out, shakily. Hearing that, his hands rip your shirt off, and your arms go up to cover your lacy bra, whining at the intrusion.

He’s growling, obviously extremely satisfied with your little statement, and he’s shoving and tugging your pants down. “You’ll be way to disheveled after this- they’ll know you became my lil’ victim.”

“P-please.” You whine. You don’t know why, but his big muscly fucking body, that hand that had clasped around your neck had made you drip with excitement. He was just so big and so much taller, his biceps and muscles just busting through his cloak- god did it turn you on. He was like a monster. And you knew what was hiding in his pants was no less then terrifying.

He tugs down your lacy bra, bunching up your boobs as it bunches under your chest. He chuckles and tugs at your right nipple, smirking at your little whines and gasps as he continues to tug and twist. It leans down to swirl his tongue around your left nipple, giving it some attention, sucking softly and nibbling down a bit. If he’s this good with your nipples, you wonder how good he’d be with his mouth in other areas. However your getting restless, the biting and nibbling on your nipples becoming too much, as you slightly push him away so you can try and get a sense of what his figure looks like.

You start to claw at his cloak, which makes him chuckle, and he unclasps it to show off his tight shirt tucked into sweatpants. You force him to shrug down the cloak, staying around his elbows, as he pushes down his own pants.

You’re so excited. You’re basically day dreaming as he rubs you through your pink little panties. You just know that there will be thousands of news reporters and journalists wanting to interview you. Know your story, what happened. Then they’ll be the fans of the celebs who’ll look over to you for answers, who’ll go crazy at their favorites being murdered. But you’re there. There to anwser their questions and give false empathy, and hopefully, woo those fans as your own.

You’ll be famous over night.

“Come on doll, focus on me.”

You hadn’t even realized he had shoved your panties to the side, rubbing your clit and smooth tight circles. You whine out, back arching just a bit, you also noticed he had taken off his bloody glove, to touch you with his clean one.

His other hand, smears blood onto the side of your face with his bloody glove. He chuckles at how you grimace, the slimy substance dampening your cheek.

He rips that bloody glove off to rub at your nipples again, while his other hand rubs faster on your little clit, he chuckles watching you start to writhe more and try to push him off.

“Ah. Just wet enough, little dove.” His finger makes its way to your entrance, poking at it, gathering some of your essence before entering you. You whine at the intrusion. His fingers, are fucking big. And just one filled you up nicely. Grithy and tall, poking at your sides and your gummy walls.

“Cmon doll, open up.” He chuckles, starting to twist his finger. You whine and start to kick your legs, your head going to the side to try to avoid his burning stare, which you could feel through his mask.

Your eyes look at the bodies, the dead ones that litter the floors at your left. You look at one, recognizing his face. You remember when you had asked him for a photograph together last year. And you guessed perhaps you had pushed him too much, because he spat at your face and shoved you out the way. You grimace at the memory, but then smile at his dead body. He’s dead. And you’re getting finger fucked close to his corpse.

You cry out as the masked man adds a second finger and scissors it inside you, making room. You can’t help but wince at the thought that he’s making so much room inside you for a reason.

As he scissors you, he accidentally bumps into a spot inside you that makes you convulse.

“Ah? Right here? Little victim?” He stabs at the spot with his thick fingers, a bruising pace starts and you see stars.

“Don’t come. Or I’ll make you suck my cock, then you’ll have to explain to the cameras why there’s cum all over your face.” He chuckles darkly, almost amused at the idea.

“A-ah! P-puh-please!” You whine out, especially when his thumb dips into your wetness and starts to coat your clit, rubbing it softly.

“P-please..!”

You dont know his name. But you want to, you desperately want to, do you can scream his name.

“Toji, doll.”

“Toji!” You cry out, so close, almost there, your body quivering and pussy shaking. He wraps his hand around your throat, constricting your airways, chuckling as you claw at his hand that chokes your throat.

Tears start to leave your eyes at just how good he was making you feel, and at the terrifying feeling of not being able to breathe.

“Atta girl. Nobodies gonna believe you without some tears.”

He finally takes his fingers out of you, slick covering them and a string of your essence connecting his fingers to your entrance.

“So wet for someone who was jus’ begging for their life.” He laughs, but your too busy to focus on breathing then his words when he finally takes his hand of your throat.

He pulls down his pants, and god do you gasp. His cock- no, a monster. Flings out of its confines and dribbles with precum.

“Hah.. I guess you got me a lil’ excited too, doll.”

He pushes the tip to your entrance, you can see the veins circle his cock, the angry tip gushing and the slight way it curves.

“W-wait! It’s not gonna- it’s not gonna fit!” You cry out, almost begging him not to ruin you.

“Shut it. I opened you up enough.” He rubs at your clit with his tip, making you kick at him some more. Which results in him grabbing your leg and pulling you towards him. “Nuh uh uh, no running away little dove.”

He nudged his tip in, sighing in the feeling of your pussy already trapping his cock into your tiny entrance. He slides in some more, you can feel every dip and vein and curve of his cock. You whine and claw at his big chest and biceps.

“T-Toji..” Your pussy is crushing his cock, enveloping it and sucking him in, as if you were milking his cock.

He grumbles and turns the both of you over, lying down as he slams you down on his cock, you straddling his hips. You scream out at the sudden full intrusion, and he chuckles, eyes rolling back.

“Come on doll. I’m exhausted. Be a good girl and break yourself on my cock, yeah?”

You whine out, but agree, moving your small hands to his chest, where you slowly lift yourself up and slide yourself back down on his cock. You both gasp, and you do it again. This time you try to add some rhythm, moaning out as you bounce on his cock.

The harder you bounce, the more his mask starts to slip, and that just adds to your excitement. The more you see it slip, the harder you start to go, crying and writhing as you jump on his cock but you just can’t seem to stop.

Your wet gushing insides pull him in, and he’s in a fucking trance. Watching you bounce up and down, looking for some sort of stability or comfort. He laughs, pushing the bottom of your thighs up before shoving into you some more, bouncing you up and down while also fucking up into you.

��That’s it… that’s it.. the cutest lil’ victim f’me…” He babbled, basically pussy drunk.

None of you want this to stop. However, you both feel that chilly feeling of your insides twisting and convulsing, knowing the both of you aren’t gonna last.

“Cmon doll. Come with me.” He holds your hip and your thigh as he fucks up into you. “You’ll be a good girl and come for me, yeah?” He’s basically babbling now, drool leaving his lips, and you can see that by his mask almost completely tips over.

You whine, clawing at his mask. “P-please.”

He chuckles, moving your hands away from his face.

“Fine, since ya asked so- fuck- nicely. And guess we’re teammates now, h-huh?” He stumbles on his words as he feels you milk his cock.

One hand goes down to your pussy, swiftly pressing down on your clit and rubbing fast, as his other hand shoved his mask off.

You gasp as you see his face. Dark lustful eyes, his lips adorn by a scar, his cheekbones and entire face harmony. The way you know with one look you’d pass away, he could kill you with that dark and sinister, evil look in his eyes. And you come at the sight.

Your body convulsed and you cried out, back arching as he tugged and pinched your clit meanly, following you soon after, pulling out and spilling onto his stomach and yours.

He gasps for air and so do you, you whimper as you fall forward onto his body, shivering and still slightly convulsing. You can feel his heart beat, the way it pounds against his chest and the way he heaves for a breath, a groan leaves his lips.

His hand brushed your hair and pulls you up. “Come on little dove. You’ve got a show to put on.”

He pulls you up, but lays you back down. Your still gasping for air, your eyes barely open and your body trembling. You feel your clothes being put on, even the ripped shirt. He cleans off his cum with what you assume is his cloak.

You open your eyes finally, to see him putting his mask back on, which makes you whine.

He laughs. “Don’t worry doll, you’ll see a lot more of me soon.” He carreses your hair, almost whisking you to slumber, your only half aware that there’s bodies littered around you.

He disappears, or rather, you’re too tired to notice he left.

When you open your eyes however, it’s because of unfamiliar people in your face, you’re still trembling, blood on your cheek that isn’t yours and lights in your face.

You’re on a gurney, being rolled away into an ambulance. Your eyes are a bit blurry but you see almost hundreds of people- and then there are the news reporters everywhere. They surround your gurney, the doctors weilding your not actually wounded body into the ambulance.

“Ma’am? Ma’am! Over here!” A man yells, pushing his camera in your face and lay the doctors, taking photos with flash on.

“Ma’am! What can you tell us about what happened? Ma’am?”

“Ghost… ghost face..” you breathe out, making all the reporters and journalists shiver with fright and widen their eyes.

“Ma’am? Ghost face? Tell us more about this cold blooded killer!”

There’s so many cameras in your faces, people talking, the cameras going off and flashing lights in your face.

“Ma’am! Over here!” A man snaps photos, a woman asks you questions, all the reporters and journalists following you and chasing you in the gurney until your put in the ambulance and the workers shut the truck doors.

The ambulance drives away, the siren rings and your ears and the workers ask if you can hear them, if you can answer some questions.

All you can think about was the lights. The people. The fame. How they all chased you down, like paparazzi.

“Am I.. famous?” You ask, a gasp leaving your lips.

“Well ma’am, you’re all over the news.” The doctor replied.

And you smile.

….

Thinking of doing a second part. But idk.

[kuiinncedes]

did one problem on this hw and i dont know how to do any of the rest 😌

[eccentricallygothic]

Coy

Pairing: Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You.

Description: Steve makes his shy girl call him Daddy <3

Warning(s): Stevie is lowkey a lil mean, m!dom, f!sub, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, missionary, doggy style, dick riding towards the end, spanking, hair pulling, age gap bc it's me, slight bondage idk, choking, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk. MDNI.

Type: Request for my lovely @chxrryhansen, here. 

MASTERLIST

❤️

“C'mon, just say it, baby” Steve wasn't sure if the annoyance in his voice was unclear or if you were just that stupid. 

“Nooo, Stevie!” You giggled even though you had been whining just a few seconds ago because of how much strength he had had to use and the endurance that had been required of you to withstand the entering of his monstrous cock in your tight little pussy. Yes, Steve had indeed fingered you before that. And yes, it still hadn't been enough to open up your tiny hole. 

Not for Steve, anyway.

“Oh—” he stopped to keep himself from saying something hurtful because you were too sensitive for your own good. “Just… fuck!” He abruptly cursed as your pussy responded to the twitching of his dick by clenching around it just when he was balls deep inside you. “Just say it for me, yeah, baby?” You were choking his dick out and his dick was in pain too. 

Only, your tightness and his girth made up a pain too nice for either of you to want to stop. 

Your face was flush and your heavy breaths were labored, the weight of his massive body pressing yours down into the mattress. “B- But it's wrong, S- Stevie…” It took him all his strength to not scoff at your words so he took his ire out on your poor little nipple that was trapped between his cruel fingertips. 

“Why?” Steve's hips nearly collided with yours when he gave you yet another heavy but speedy thrust. 

“B- Because you're not actually my Daddy, S- Steve— hnng!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt his breach intensify, the pangs that were being caused by the vicious jabbing of his hard, thick tip against your innermost spot on the brink of reaching your cervix. 

Steve's nose flared and his blue eyes suddenly flashed you an icy look. “Yeah?” His eyebrows went flat but the violent rocking of his body against yours didn't. The room was full of the gut-wrenchingly obscene sounds of skin slapping against flesh. “Who do you think I am, then?” 

It was getting harder to form proper words the more his cock caused for the burning knot to tighten between your hips. “Y- You… You're… AH!” Your arms that were coiled around his broad shoulders tightened against his neck to withstand how his huge hand rudely was squeezing your boob. “You're… b- bofi…” Steve's strength was no joke.

“And who says bofis can't be Daddies?” The golden haired man expectantly peered down at you for an answer but you were too busy moaning and rocking yourself against his cock as much as his heavy body allowed you to do so. 

“B- But…” Your small protest told him all he needed to know.

Steve didn't have time for this nonsense. 

A loud plop! sounded in the air and you blushed a deep shade of red despite your worked up state. Before you could word your complaint about why Steve had suddenly pulled out of your weepy cunt, the older flipped you onto your chest and roughly pushed what remained of your shirt -the beast had a thing for ripping your clothes off, good thing he made up for it by buying you prettier compensations- up your arms and around your wrists until they were bound above your head. 

New slick bubbled out of your opening as you whimpered and felt your hole blink in sensitive realization of the fact that now he wanted you to lay your face down and keep your ass up. Fuck. When he took you like that, there was absolutely nothing he couldn't make you do or say. 

After that, Steve had your throat in one hand and your boobs in the other, his muscular thighs fished their way under your trembling legs to collect them out of his way. His tip that had cooled down a bit made you jump when he entered you again and though the penetration was somewhat easier this time around, you couldn't help but whine from the stretch again. 

And then, Steve went into a crazed jackhammer mode. Your throat tickled and ached from the deep groans that crawled up your vocal cavity, ones that your position was forcing you to stifle into the mattress. The temperature of his cock easily returned back to its previous warmth. 

“Say it” he demanded as he squeezed your windpipe. 

All you could let out was a humiliating, breathless and incoherent guttural ‘aaaaah~’ as your body began to slide off his due to the force of his brutal fucking. The tip of your nose hurt from how it rubbed up and down the bedding.

“Tsk, messy little kiddie brat” his hand abandoned your boob to firmly claw around one of your thighs to hold you in place to ensure a smooth pounding. “Needs Daddy for everything but acts like she doesn't” you could deny it to your heart's content and be as shy and ‘innocent’ as you pleased, but the way you moaned, messed yourself up and clenched when he said the dirtiest things was not lost on him.

Steve knew you liked it all just as much as he did. 

“Oh, my God—!” Steve squeezed your throat again because he did not like what he was hearing. Your lungs ached from the strain he was putting them under.

“Now that's a bit far, baby” before he shook in mirth and the vibration of his body shook your squishy walls, the sensation causing your eyes to roll until their undersides burnt. “But I guess that's okay too” your fucked out mind felt somewhat relieved. Maybe this would satiate him and you would not have to— “But that's not what I want to hear you call me tonight” your chest ached from the wheeze you let out when he finally let your throat go to smack your ass and you could breathe again. “Come on, now. Chop, chop” you cried out from the frustration. 

He was so mean.

“After all, Daddies take care of their kids. And I take care of you, don't I?” There was something in the way he worded it. You moaned out loud. His balls began to penetrate your stubborn opening. 

And then he crept his fingers between your legs and against your cunt. The grainy digits stroked your hardened flesh. And you knew at once, you had lost. 

It was impossible to hold back now. The taut dam of your building orgasm came undone and your toes curled as bittersweet relief exploded between your hips and down your legs.

“DADDY! OH, DADDY! OH!” You began to chant uncontrollably, feeling your knees shake as cold sweat trickled down the back of your thighs. 

“Now that's more like the dirty little slut that I've raised on this cock” when Steve really got into chasing his own orgasm, and he always did that after yours, the most obscene and sodomous things came out of his mouth. “Tell me, brat” since you were going through a mind melt, Steve smacked your ass to redirect your attention to him. “Will you ever try to deny your Daddy again?” His hand wrapped your hair around it and your body curved in a humiliating angle as he pulled you up to bounce on his cock now.

“N- No, no, Daddy, no! Never!” Your orgasm was turning into overstimulation and there was not a damn thing you could do about it.  

“Really?” You broke into a fit of cries when Steve began to pat-slap your clit. “Doesn't sound very convincing to me…”

“No! No, Daddy! I promise! I promise! I promise I won't, Daddy!” You were curved so far out that your head collapsed on one of his hard shoulders. Your chest ached from how violently your tits bounced up and down.

“That's my girl” The baritone of Steve's voice drilled into your mind as he looked down at you before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, one tyrannical paw settling on your chest to keep you from falling down, hips springing you up and down like a mindless little toy.

❤️

Everything tag 🩷: @rosecentury

I know it sucks, I am sorry. I have a very bad creative block these days but I am trying my best to clear out all requests <3 

[gh0stsp1d3r]

hii not sure if your taking requests but maybe luke castellan x reader being enemies and luke gets jealous and fucks her?

A/n: I’d love to! I’m so sorry this is short, I lowkey had no clue what to do so I’m sorry ):

Warnings: p in v, enemies to luvers hehe, strong language.

MASTERLIST

“Luke, what the fuck is your problem?” You snapped, shoving his hand off of your arm. His grip had left a mark, you glanced down at it before looking back at him.

“Why were you all up on him?” He asked you.

“Uh, because I can be…?” You scoffed. “Why the fuck do you even care?”

He slammed his lips against yours, your eyes widening in confusion. But it was like it was natural when your lips moved against his, your eyes shutting and your hands moving to the back of his head. His hands roamed your back, before going to your front and shoving you back onto the bed behind you.

His lips were quickly back on yours as he hovered over you, hands working at his belt underneath him. He shoved his pants off, throwing them to the ground. He took your pants off before ripping off your panties.

You looked down. “Luke! What the fuck?!”

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He rolled his eyes at you, already lining his cock up with your soaked hole.

“You’re so fucking infuriating.” You groaned out as he pushed inside of you, your nails digging into his back.

“That’s not what your pussies saying.” He murmured, feeling your walls clench down on his length, a smirk on his face as he looked down at your face.

[itsbeeble]

Cheerleaders and Stereotypes

SUMMARY: Choi San isn't an idiot. He's also very patient. How long will it take for you to let him admit that he bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world?

GENRE: fluff, angst, smut

PAIRING: Choi San x afab!reader

WC: ~4.7k

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: reader is dumb, relationship is actually a little toxic I won't even lie, san tries to make reader jealous and it works, p in v sex, fingering, size kink, SIZE. KINK., softdom!san, big dick!san, um reader struggles to ride san idk, bulge kink, san lowkey mocks the reader a bit, insecurities, arguing, san lowkey is way too patient for reader, idk i think that's it

A/N: h-heyyyyy *chuckles nervously* Everyone say welcome back tumblr user itsbeeble! Everyone say thank you @from-izzy and @sanaxo-o for distracting me while I was writing and to ally for supporting me through a very very very very long writers block hahahahhahahhahhahha....haha...ha

Choi San, despite popular belief, was not an idiot. Not really at least. Unfortunately for him, he seemed to fit most of the stereotypes of a college athlete.

He was fit, that was without a doubt and he would not deny it. Six days a week in the gym after football practice did him good. Toned arms that hardly fit any of his shirts, the fabric stretching and nearly tearing every time he got dressed. Thick thighs that bulged against every pair of jeans or sweatpants, noticeable from the stands on game day and having girls swooning as he walked. Not to mention his ass. Had he not built up a brick wall called “confidence” the comments made about his ass would have had him blushing and covering his cheeks rather than smirking. 

God, that smirk. He flashed it casually to anyone who looked at him— students, professors, the crowd, the opposing team, the cheerleaders. It was a near unfortunate bonus that he was just as hot as he was fit. That stupid chiselled jaw, the dimples, and his tall frame. It’s irritating. 

At least, it’s irritating for you. 

See, being the supposedly stupid captain of the football team came with many stereotypes. 

Dating the captain of the cheerleading squad was just one more, even if no one knew. 

No one important, that is.

“Sannie,” Yewon was practically hanging off San’s arm, her manicured nails lightly scratching the tan skin. The sing-song tone of her voice made you cringe, the noise scraping at your eardrums and creating a dull throb in your already aching skull. Your back was turned to the pair, but San could tell you were likely trying to grow eyes in the back of your skull to watch the interaction. That stupid, casual smirk of his was trained on the newer cheerleader, her eyes big and filled with faux innocence. “How did you get so big?”

A poorly stifled snort from another girl on the squad, Sihyeon. A good friend of yours who knows exactly what goes on between you and San behind closed doors, and knows exactly what he’s planning. That little snort has you turning the daggers you call eyes onto her, the girls around her shifting uncomfortably at the now tense energy around you. 

Jealousy. That’s what San’s goal is and you know it. He’s pulled this trick several times before, trying to egg you on and expose the relationship that you’d chosen to hide. So he’d play stupid, that same act that everyone believes is a poor reality. The dumb, hot captain of the football team who can’t seem to get a girlfriend despite the girls falling at his feet for a moment of his attention. All he wants is for you to finally get jealous enough to rip that girl off his arm and finally stake your claim publicly. 

Unfortunately, you’re patient. 

Fortunately, so is he.

He smirks down at her, his arm grazing the skin of her lower back that her top doesn’t cover. You can practically hear her breathing stutter, and your grip on your pom poms tightens.

“Never skip a day at the gym, never skip practice, throw a good party on the weekends.” His answer is…lackluster at best. Your nose wrinkles, knowing he did it on purpose. The idiotic responses are for you, in hopes that you’ll turn around and yell at him for pretending to be a moron even though he’s one of the best students in the Kinesiology department. 

“You’ll have to coach me through a workout one day,” Yewon grabs San’s arm tighter when she sees you turn to face the pair. 

“Maybe I should take you up on that.” San isn’t looking at her, not even a brief glance down to acknowledge that she’s there. No, his eyes are trained on you. Daring you to say something, anything. 

Do it.

You know you want to.

Stake the claim.

You know I’m yours. Why not let everyone else know?

You open your mouth to speak, and he quirks an eyebrow at you. Do it, do it, do it.

“Kim Yewon,” the words are laced with venom and she goes rigid. “Break ended ten minutes ago.”

“I was talking to Sannie!” She glared at you, and you almost laughed. 

“Sannie,” you mocked, watching a pout form on your boyfriend’s lips, “has his own practice to get to.”

“Our practice ended half an hour ago.” He argued, toeing the limits of how far he can push you before you finally break. 

“Then leave.” 

“I don’t want to. I wanna stay and talk with Yewon.” He challenged. Sihyeon grimaces behind you, watching as San digs himself a grave not even he can climb out of. 

The two of you stare each other down for a few moments, a mix of emotions running through you. You know that he’s challenging you and trying to get a rise out of you, but you know better. You know you can’t challenge him like that without exposing your relationship— the one thing in your life that you want to keep to yourself for just a little while longer. 

You’re the first to cave, your shoulders slumping just enough to be noticed by San, and his eyebrows knit together. 

“Do what you want. Practice is done for the day.”

The two-story rental house you share with Sihyeon and a few other girls from the squad is eerily silent. The air conditioning and the sound of you quietly walking around your room are the only things keeping you from the thoughts in your head. 

Did San take Yewon up on the ‘offer’?

Did you take it too far?

Should you have just caved for him?

What if he’s sick of this? Of the secret meet-ups and the acting?

Something hits the window as you’re walking past it, and a loud squeak escapes you. You whip your head around just as, what you now realize is, a rock hits the window. Not a large rock. Small, just enough to be noticeable and visible to the naked eye as it tumbles back down to the front lawn. Another rock as you take the two steps you need in order to peer down and see San with a pile of rocks on the ground next to him, a fourth in his hand ready to be thrown if needed. He grins when he sees you, tossing the rock up and down a couple of times before taking aim.

You fling your window open, scowling down at him before he winds his hand back. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Choi San.” He pouts up at you, but all you do is glare. 

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Ring the doorbell, dumbass. Like a normal person.” 

Much to your annoyance, San just grins and drops the rock. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You lean against the window frame, arms folded as you run your tongue over your lip in thought. “Shouldn’t you be with Yewon?” 

You can see San’s nose wrinkle at the thought, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he makes his way to the tree he’d been using as a sort of ladder to get into your room. He’d been doing that since you met, since the first time you ever slept together. He’d never been a fan of the whole…front door tactic. Your father would probably hate him. He’d think San was no good, a troublemaker if anything. You would disagree. 

Maybe your relationship was more stereotypical than you were willing to believe. 

San’s shoes are louder than either of you had expected as he jumps down from the tree, grimacing at the noise he makes.

“If my neighbors didn’t know any better, the police would’ve been here by now.” You shuffle back as your boyfriend tucks awkwardly through your window. His large frame pushes against the frame, the vinyl creaking against him as it struggles to stay in one piece. His neck cranes to look up at you, his feet hitting the ground with another loud thump.

“Glad they know better then.” He pushes a hand through his hair, the silky black strands falling loosely over his forehead in spite of his best efforts. 

A moment of silence falls between you, and you take this time to sit at your dresser. Makeup wipes and cleansers are scattered in front of you from when you’d made a weak attempt at distracting yourself from, well, the problem you’d created. 

San sits on your bed behind you, watching every move you make. He sits quietly, like a child in a timeout chair. He waits, letting you make the calls. You never knew why he started doing that— started letting you take the lead in every argument, even the petty nonsensical ones.

“You never answered my question,” your eyes are trained on him through the mirror. He presses his lips together, loosely folding his legs.

“Are you really that upset?” The question is innocent enough, but it brings back the previous irritation from the field. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? My boyfriend is openly flirting with other people knowing that I’ll get pissed off. You flaunt that knowledge like it’s your fucking birthright or whatever. Do you really think I’m not gonna get upset about it?” You put your moisteurizer down with more force than you’d wanted to, shaking your dresser a bit. San flinches at the sudden noise, gnawing at his lip in thought. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Are you, though?” Your eyes are narrowed as you turn around in your chair. A momentary pause as San lets the words sink in. He’s patient. So patient with you, even when you feel you don’t deserve it. “You act like you don’t give two shits about our relationship, and then show up at my fucking window acting like nothing is wrong and that the world is all sunshine and fucking rainbows. You go out of your way to piss me off, make me angry at my own squad, just for what? So you can get a good fuck at the end of the day?” 

Sometimes you forget that, while Choi San is patient, that patience runs thin. 

He isn’t stupid. He knows that this outburst, this frustration, isn’t just at him, but the more you spit your venom at him, taking your anger and misdirecting it, the more his patience begins to run out. You can see it in the clenching of his fists, the ticking of his jaw, and the glare in his eyes. 

Unfortunately, you’re far too lost in your mind that you can’t see the way San rises from his seat on your bed and takes a step toward you. Then another, and another, and suddenly he’s right in front of you. 

“Sometimes I think that the idiotic front that you put on isn’t exactly a front at all—” You spin around, expecting him to still be on your bed. A loud yelp escapes you when you come face-to-face with his well-built frame. “Jesus Christ, San! Why the fuck are you right behi—”

“Shut up,” he says it so simply, so calmly that you almost think he’s not being serious. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” You snarl, and San scoffs. 

“Do you even realize why we’re in this situation to begin with?”

“Yeah, you were flirting with my fucking—”

“Don’t blame me for your fucking problems,” San spits out. Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “I’ve been going along with this stupid fucking secret relationship for who knows how long, and all I’ve gotten in return is you bitching about me wanting you to just come out with it!” 

“You know I want to keep—”

“You want to keep your love life private,” San interrupts and flings his hands into the air. “I get it. I understand, Y/N. That doesn’t make it suck any less.” 

“It isn’t just—” you huff, pressing your hand to your forehead in a poor attempt at calming yourself down. “It isn’t just the fact that I want to keep us private, Sannie. I just— I don’t—” 

Your eyes are welling up with tears, and you blink a few times to force them back. San pulls you toward him, his hand practically engulfing yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Your legs are on either side of his, and he laces his fingers with yours, resting them between the two of you. 

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart.” He murmurs, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Let me help you.”

You shake your head, and his chest rises and falls with a quiet sigh. “I’m just— I’m just so sick of— of everything.” 

San presses a little kiss to your forehead, tugging one of his hands free from yours and lacing it through the strand of hair on the back of your head. He doesn’t move for a few moments, placing another kiss on your forehead and then another. He waits for you to calm yourself and gather your thoughts. 

“Can—” your voice is quieter, a bit more shaky than it was just moments ago. “Can you kiss me?” San smiles, his lips still just millimeters from your forehead.

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” Your hips shift against his, and you drop your head against the column of his neck. Your breath is warm against his skin, and the scent of your shampoo begins to flood his senses. His hand tugs at your hair, drawing your attention back to him. “You’re absolutely insatiable, you know that? Tell me what’s wrong or I’m leaving.”

You can’t fight the little whine that’s pulled out of you. Not that you wanted to. You wanted him. You wanted Choi San so badly that it hurt.

“I was— I was mad because I didn’t want…” You can hardly form a sentence, too distracted by the gentle tugs at your hair and the way San’s other hand has drifted to your hip, drawing circles underneath the fabric of your sleep shorts. 

“What didn’t you want, sweetheart? Tell me.” San pulls your head away from his neck, holding back a grin at the near-glazed look in your eyes. 

“I didn’t want to be part of anymore…stereotypes. We already fit so many, I just—I just wanted to hold that one back for a bit longer.” You whine, your lips falling into a pout that San just wants to kiss away. Instead, he smiles. 

“Was that so hard, pretty girl? So much fighting just for a silly little reason like that?” Your pout deepens, and he sighs. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And nothing is gonna change that, no matter how many stereotypes we fall under. You understand?”

“Yes,” San smiles, stroking your hip and squeezing it.

“‘Yes’ what, baby?” Your eyes are glossy now, your lips parted slightly in your daze.

“Yes sir.”

Despite San’s patience running thin, he always recovers it with ease. Patience is what he’s known for in class, on the field, in your relationship, and in your bedroom. 

He can edge you for hours, cooing at the way you beg for him, beg for that sweet release, for just one more finger, please just one more.

“Pretty girl,” he strokes your cheek, letting his hand slide down your spine to rest against the small of your back. You’re writhing beneath him, trying desperately to bring your hips up just enough for him to hit that sweet spot inside of you but failing miserably. “I don’t think you can handle anymore.” 

Only two of his fingers sit inside you, but it’s more than enough to stretch you out, to provide you with the stimulation you need to go right over the edge—

“San—sir, please.” Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head tightly, nails digging into the fabric so tight you’re afraid it might tear. “Pl—Please lemme cum, I prom—promise I’ll b—be good. Please,” You’re nearly hysterical, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he plunges his fingers in and out of you, his thumb dancing over your clit but not quite giving you that extra stimulation. Not that you need it with the way he grinds the tips of his fingers into the spongy spot just within his reach. 

“You wanna cum that bad?” San leans down, his chest pressed against your back and his lips right up against your ear. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that. Beg for it. Scream. I want everyone to know that you’re mine.” 

Patience is a virtue you haven’t quite learned yet. What you have learned? You’re extraordinarily good at making Choi San cave for you. 

“Sir,” you plead, pushing your hips back against his hand just enough. There’s a burning feeling in your stomach, the knot winding tighter and tighter until you almost can’t take it. “Please. I’m so so—sorry for yelling. Please I’ve been so good for you. I can take it. Please let me take it. Want you s—so bad. Want you to ma—make me cum. Want you, Sannie! Please, please make me cum. Want you to fuck me so bad, ple—please!” 

For a moment, San’s hand stills inside you. For a moment all you can hear is your desperate whining and your boyfriend attempting to steady his breathing. 

Then he’s ripping his fingers out of your sopping cunt and rolling you onto your back. His frame looms over you in a way that has your body quivering with anticipation, eyes searching yours for…something that you can’t figure out in your lust-filled haze. 

“Such a pretty girl,” San murmurs, pressing his palm at the base of your stomach, one hand nearly covering the expanse of it. “So small, so good for me. So good for Sannie, hm?”

“Yes!” You grab his wrist, nails digging so tightly you’re afraid you might draw blood. “Please, wanna be so good for you Sannie!” 

He sighs, prying your hand away from his wrist and pinning it to the mattress. “You say that, but I don’t know if I believe you.” 

A sob pushes out of you, your back arching into him. He catches you before you can lower back down to the bed, his arm looping around you to keep you pressed against his chest while he sits back. You’re right where you started— on the bed, straddling him with tears running down your cheeks— but this time you’re both completely undressed. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, little twitches being the only indication of any impatience. You try to roll your hips against him, trying anything to get that friction back. San clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, stilling your hips with one hand. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

“I—I will!” You grab his shoulders, leaning your face up to his, trying desperately to kiss him— to do anything that might sway his decision. “I’m sorry, sir! I promise I just— I just wanted—”

“I know,” he kisses you gently, smiling softly, deceptively. “I know you just wanted to cum all over your Sannie’s lap. Been edgin’ you for so long, haven’t I? You deserve to cum for being so…patient.” You let out a relieved sob as San releases your hip and grabs his cock. He guides it through your folds briefly, soaking it in your arousal and pumping his hand up and down his shaft to thoroughly lubricate it. “You’re gonna prove to me that you can be good, baby. Okay?”

“Yes, yes Sannie!” You lift your hips just enough for him to align his tip with your entrance, almost starting to cry again at the feeling. He helps you sink, knowing that two fingers weren’t enough for you. It never is. No matter how much he fucks you, it’s always a tight fit for you, not that you ever complain. You never complain about how big San is compared to you. He’s caught you drooling over this size of his dick more times than he can count, usually trying to talk you out of riding him out of fear of hurting you. But not today. No, today he’s giving you exactly what you wanted. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” He encourages. “Fuck yourself dumb on Sannie’s cock.”

The look in your eyes becomes almost animalistic. You shift your body a bit, steadying your hands on his shoulders, and lift your hips until just his tip remains inside of you. San can feel the way you’re clenching around his tip, knows you’re doing it intentionally, and he lets his head fall back. 

When you sink intohim for the first time, you emit a strangled gasp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your nails digging into your lover’s shoulders.

“F—Fuck Sannie!” You bite down on your lip, lifting your hips again and dropping back down. “Mmph—fuck you’re too big!”

“You wanted this, sweetheart,” San tells you, rolling his head to the side and groaning as you continue to struggle with riding him. You try so, so hard to build a steady rhythm, but your legs are shaking and your breath is already gone. “I thought cheerleaders were supposed to have good stamina.”

“No—Not when their boyfriend has a f—fucking huge dick!” You cry out, giving up and grinding your hips against his. The steady rolling of your hips relieves the burn just a bit, and you moan as the tip of his cock grinds into that spot with more strength than his fingers did just minutes ago. “Fuck, I can fe—feel you in my stomach!” 

San lifts his head at that, a new hunger in his eyes and he leans you back. You slow your hips at the sudden movement, furrowing your brows while you watch him. He kisses his teeth and places a firm slap on the side of your hip. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” He grips your hip tightly in both hands, forcing you to keep riding him. “Keep going, sweetheart. Keep going until I tell you to stop.” 

You do, your hips picking up a steady pace with the help of one of his hands to guide you along. His other hand presses against your stomach, and you hear his breathing hitch.

“Baby,” he takes your hand from his shoulder, squeezing it gently as he guides it to where his hand was previously. “Feel right here.” 

You hesitate just a moment, and he looks down at you, smiling encouragingly. 

Then you feel it. 

The bulge in your stomach where the tip of his cock reaches as far as it can possibly go. 

“You feel that, baby?” San presses your hand down and you both let out a simultaneous moan at the feeling. The white-hot pleasure builds back up in the pit of your stomach, the loosened knot returning with renewed fervor and you know San can tell. You know that he’s close too, his hips thrusting up to meet yours halfway. “God, you feel so good. How did I get so fucking lucky, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. The pleasure is blinding. All you can feel, see, hear, and smell is San. He clouds your thoughts, your senses, your very being. The pleasure is winding up, drawing that knot tighter and tighter and tighter—

“C—Cumming, San!” You arch into him, and he holds your hip to keep you moving. “Fuck, fuck I’m cumming!”

“I know, pretty girl,” he grunts, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I’m close. Keep going baby, wanna cum with you.”

Your hips are moving slower, your muscles burning and you can’t stop yourself from forcing San back until he’s laying against the bed. Your hands find purchase on his chest, sweat beading on your forehead with the effort to keep moving, to keep riding him until you’re both forced over the edge you’d been begging for. 

San’s thumb drifts across your hip, finding purchase on your swollen clit and rubbing sloppy circles into it until you’re sobbing again, sobbing his name and begging for that sweet release. 

When it hits you, it’s blinding. Stars spark behind your eyes, your head tossed back and sweet cries pulled from the depths of your chest. His hips thrust into yours one more time, his eyes trained on how you arch your back and twitch with your release, and then he’s cumming. Thick globs of cum fill you up to the brim, seeping out from the seams of your cunt and mixing with your release. You let yourself collapse against his chest, practically gasping for air and shaking from the effort of riding him.

“You finally got what you wanted,” San murmurs, resting one of his hands on the small of your back as his cock softens in you. “You finally got to ride me.”

“Never…never doing that again,” you mutter back, placing a kiss on the base of his neck. “Absolutely…not.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting this happen.” San is grinning ear to ear as he drives you to campus, his free hand holding yours tightly. You purse your lips, refusing to admit defeat.

“This doesn’t mean I want everyone knowing—”

“Bullshit,” San interrupts with a grin. “You want everyone to know that I bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world.”

“You didn’t bag shit, Choi San. And if you say that you ‘bagged’ me to anyone on the football team,” your eyes turn to daggers as you jab a finger into his shoulder, “I will end your bloodline where it stands. Your mom can say ‘bye’ to any chances of a grandchild from us.”

San grimaces, but it’s replaced by a radiant smile as he pulls into the parking garage closest to your building. “You can make as many threats as you want, sweetheart, but you and I both know you won’t risk that. You love getting fucked after dealing with Yewon every day.” 

He opens your door for you, beaming as he helps you out of his car. 

“I’ll make you a deal, sweetheart.”

“Will you now?” Your response is sarcastic but San ignores it.

“You let me show you off as much as I want, and I bitch out Yewon today.”

You don’t even have to think about your response, a grin replacing your scowl.

“That sounds like a damn good deal, Choi San.”

“Sannie!” 

Yewon’s grating voice has never sounded so fucking heavenly in your ears, knowing exactly what’s going to happen next. San is already at your side, rifling through your bag for the extra granola bar he knows you have. He grimaces at the sound, his eyes almost begging you to help him, but you shake your head.

“You dug your own grave, Sannie.” A quick pat on his shoulder and his fate is decided for him.

“Yewon,” he greets the girl, continuing to rifle through the bag. “Can I help you?” 

The disinterest in his voice didn’t deter her, not that anyone was surprised. The cheer squad watched the younger, newer, dumber member as she stumbled through her flirtations, complimenting him on things he didn’t need nor want to be complimented on while searching for a fucking granola bar. 

“Yewon,” San finally interrupts the girl, rising with the snack in his hand and glaring down at her. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not interested.” 

The shock on her face made you smile. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was a bitch named Karma. Or, maybe, you were sick of the shitty stereotypes that you always seemed to fall victim to. 

“But you—you always—”

“I was trying to make my girlfriend jealous of me, as shitty as that is,” San pinches the bridge of his nose and scoffs. “But I’ve already got myself a cheerleader, Kim Yewon. And she’s the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. Plus, she’s hot as fuck,” San grins at you, but you can only roll your eyes.

“I said no—”

“You said I couldn’t tell people I bagged you,” it takes him three steps to reach your side and grab your chin. “Not that I couldn’t call you the hottest cheerleader in the world. No offense, Sihyeon.”

“None taken,” your best friend waves her hand dismissively. “I’m just glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses.” 

“Shut up, Sihyeon.” You scowl, but San is quick to bend down, hunching at the shoulders to reach your height and kiss you firmly on the mouth. It’s a searing kiss, more than he said he would do in front of the squad, but you let him have his moment. 

You’d made him wait long enough.

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[sceletaflores]

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.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes @motopoppp @nhlfs @elaci @myahswrld @angelheavensblog @arianaroman @mcugurl @igotmajordaddyissues @redmoonsofvenus @tomorrowillmissyou

if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[blackmoonoracle]

BLACKMOONORACLE PRESENTS ...

PICK A CARD • OCTOBER PREDICTIONS

P I L E O N E

Soooo, you’ve definitely got a pretty decent release coming in during the month of october. I specifically heard the releasing of a karmic contract, so, I truly love that for you. You could be making a decision about a connection, it definitely feels like a past energy though. Some sort of cycle you’ve experienced with a particular soul over and over again. You put a stop to this though, I feel like you called it like it was. I’m channeling Vultures by Earl Sweatshirt and the beginning of the song literally goes. “I’ve been on the run, that’s why I go harder than you go. Plus I call em how I see em, maybe that’s why I’m all alone.” Season of the Witch is currently playing and it’s the part that goes “you’ve got to pick up every stitch” it feels like an energy of uprooting. I do feel like this pile has a tendency to hold onto people that don’t serve them in any way shape or form. Channeling Serve the Servants by Nirvana, in specific this part stands out:

“I just want you to know that I don't hate you anymore There is nothing I could say that I haven't thought before”

There feels like a specific intention in this pile to remove themselves from relationships that are dragging them down.

Something may be occurring that is causing you to let go of this connection, like something is going to make you realize you’re wasting your time. It’s not like usual either, it’s like this undismissable feeling of disgust and realization.

The mask is being ripped off, and in a very ugly way LOL.

I feel like whatever information you’re going to learn from this situation is actually going to help you develop better self esteem and turn a new leaf. It feels like a sigh of relief, this person possibly made you feel like you weren’t good enough, or were a bad person. I heard “I’m always the problem” and you’re going to realize that you aren’t and never were the problem.

I literally heard “reactive abuse”.

If you’d like to book a personal reading you can always dm me on here or instagram.

P I L E T W O

You guys are making social waves the month of october by setting harsh boundaries and restrictions in place with others. I heard “Look but don’t touch” I feel like there may be some kind of drama going on in october. I did hear workplace, so for some of you this could be career/reputation/workplace related drama and bs bubbling over. I see you taking things into your own hands and very critically thinking about the situation so you can make a solid decision that is balanced and fair. I also heard “in your favor” I feel like whoever this person you have issues with is doesn’t have a very good reputation. It’s almost like this person speaking so negatively of you constantly is really aggravating other people. Especially because you don’t really talk about them at all. You’ve pretty much moved on from whatever this is.

I heard “bitter ex friend” and I also heard “bite the bullet” and I heard something about a poison apple? Someone could have tried to use an apple in some sort of hex or spellwork towards you. It could be also that someone has poisonous intentions of trying to gain access to you and that you are putting that shit to a stop.

I heard scorpio, so this person could be a scorpio. I see you essentially making a judgment on this person socially which is going to cause other people to really see them in a different light. You could also be bringing context or clarity to some kind of situation, you hold missing information or you are a missing link in some way. I also heard complexity, so this situation could be very complex.

This new judgment will teach you to be more selfish with your time and resources so that you can create a genuine balance in your life.

Too much gratitude I heard, which is lowkey crazy? I think that what that means is that essentially sometimes you put shit on a pedestal. There’s a self worth wound being worked out in this situation tbh.

If you’d like to book a personal reading you can always dm me on here or instagram.

P I L E T H R E E

I see a new financial opportunity becoming available in the month of october for you, something unexpected. It could be in something with creation of some kind, doing and creating content possibly even? I see you handling business matters and phone calls of some kind? I heard admin, so some sort of administrative position? I also heard dream job, so for some of you this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity or for others this could be a really solid offer. I also heard high caliber, but I’m also hearing don’t work yourself to death. This group feels very capricorn type of energy, addicted to working, you love making money. I see where you’ve fought long and hard to get into whatever position is being given to you. I see where you’ve lost so much, in search of stability and I feel like you will need to face your shadow of lack and insecurity while in this job position or offer. It almost feels like some of you may try to eject yourself out of the situation because you’re scared or because it feels too good to be true? I feel like this is a good opportunity, but don’t get wrapped up in social liaison I heard. I feel like you have to learn to be comfortable with not fitting in or being like neck deep in a community. You’re meant to be a bit of an outlier at this current point in time because you are learning something new. You’ve already developed the social skills, this is about developing a deeper personal skillset that you can really utilize to drive you to your success.

I see this group really coming to terms with the past, and releasing either the fear of being seen for who you are. I’m also hearing “of being heard” a fear of being perceived for who you really are. You are healing your relationship to yourself, i heard “grotesque” you might be really mean to yourself a lot of the time. Like highkey you are very impatient and cruel to yourself at times and it lowkey sucks for you. I also heard don’t lose sight of what you have, this new opportunity is here for you to milk it for what it has to offer and then dip when things begin to culminate on a deeper scale for you. Some of you could really go through a deep spiritual awakening and learn what happiness truly means to you as a result of this.

If you’d like to book a personal reading you can always dm me on here or instagram

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS part 5 - LN

content warnings: FULL SMUT, cute sex, oral (fem receiving), unprotected - MDNI !!

this is lowkey a filler chapter, so you can skip it and read part 6 if you dont want to read smut :) - i have kept the same taglist so if you have been tagged but dont wish to read this part please do skip <3

previous part -> next part

masterlist the playlist

“morning,” lando’s rough morning voice travelled through the hotel room as he saw y/n’s eyes open below him. during the night, y/n found herself wrapped around him, her leg slung over his whilst her head rested on his chest, her arm stretching over him, pulling him in closer.

lando had been awake for a while. he’d decided that today, they would drive down to max’s and try and talk some sense into him. he’d woken up to a text from P, telling him to come to the house and talk to max in person - she was equally as fed up with his foul mood and angry outbursts.

“how d’you sleep?”

“shush,” she hushed him, “still sleeping.”

“i was thinking we should go see max and talk to him in person. today,” he said, earning a groan from the half-asleep woman who rolled off him to lay on her back and stare at the ceiling.

“and i was thinking i could just change my name, cut all contact with everyone i know and live the rest of my life in the woods.”

“i don’t think that will work,” he said, laughing softly at her remark.

“yeah? i dont think your plan will work either so at least were both coming up with stupid ideas today,” she said, as he rolled onto his side to face her.

“you always look pretty in the morning,” lando announced, ignoring her insult.

“you always lie in the morning,” she replied. once again, he ignored her insults, moving to press a quick kiss to her lips. well, he intended for it to be quick, but before he knew it, she was straining her neck up to join their lips together again.

“i could get used to this,” he said, grinning against her mouth.

“not if max has anything to say about it.”

“y/n,” he groaned, still hovering above her, “im trying to be romantic and you’re talking about your brother, fuck him.”

“and fuck you instead?” she quipped.

“well, if you say so,” he hummed, taking the opportunity to kiss her again and shift his bodyweight so he was hovering fully over her, using his arms to hold himself up. she deepens the kiss, tracing her tongue over his bottom lip while burying her fingers in his curls to pull his face closer. his head drops to her neck, pressing small kisses along her skin.

“if you don’t want max to rip your balls off, i recommend you not leave marks on my neck, lan,” she said breathlessly, his breathe tickling her skin as he laughs.

“i’m going to fuck you so hard you forget all about your stupid brother and the things he said about you,” he grunted in her ear, lowering his hips to roll over hers. and for the first time that week, she couldn’t think straight enough to respond with anything other than a quiet moan.

lando slides down the bed, pulling at the waist band of her shorts as he goes, but looking up at her. she nods at him, and he pulls her shorts down her legs, discarding them off the side of the bed. her fingers lace through his curls, her eyes focused on his head tilting to the side to press kisses to the inside of her thigh. he nips down on the skin, sucking slightly, leaving bruises in his wake. at least max wont see those, she thought to herself.

with no warning, his face dived into her folds, her hips arching up, pulling him in closer. he parts his lips, dragging his tongue up to circle her clit.

“taste so good,” he muttered, “wanted this for years.” another moan fell from her lips, spurring him on. one arm came to wrap around her waist, holding her hips down. the other arm reached up, pushing her top up, his hand kneading at her breast.

“fuck, lan, keep going.”

her view is something she wish she could take a picture of and tattoo on her arm. lando’s veiny arm pinning her hips down, his jaw muscles peaking out as his tongue moves in a steady rhythm, his curls falling over his forehead, as his eyes glance up to see her facial expressions. the arm on her breasts drops down to her heat, parting her folds and his fingers pushing gently into her. her hips struggle against his arm, desperate for more.

within a matter of seconds, two of his fingers are twisting into her, hitting that spot that has her almost purring for him repeatedly. before she knows it, she cums around his fingers with no warning, legs shaking, loud moans filling the room. lando crawls back up her body, grabbing her jaw with one hand, opening her mouth and pushing his fingers slowly into her mouth. her tongue moving to lick up the length of them, tasting herself on his calloused fingers. the moment he retracts his hand, her hand is pulling his head down to hers, kissing him hastily as his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

he used one arm to balance himself, the other moving down between them to tug at his own shorts. he grabbed himself, rubbing his hand up and down and few times before sliding his cock through her fold, eliciting small whimpers from her as he hit her sensitive spot.

“you sure you want this? there’s no going back after this, he mumbled in her ear.

“i never want anyone else for as long as i live.”

slowly, he entered her, pushing into her slowly. her face screwed up slightly from the stretch.

“you’re ok, you’re ok,” he reassured her, stroking the side of her cheek softly, waiting a moment before he retracted and pushed back in.

“you’re doing so well f’me.”

his began to build up his pace, the headboard moving with each thrust. y/n moaned out beneath him, grabbing his arm to stabilise herself. her noises encouraging him more, he grabbed her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his back, hitting new angles that brought out obscene noises from the two of them. y/n’s hands wrapped around the back of his head, pulling lightly at the hair at the top of his neck, his own hand moving down again to play with her clit. he could feel her walls tightening around him, pulling him closer and closer to his own finish.

“fuck, lan. don’t stop,” she cried out, her head rolling back on the pillow.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he remarked, his thrusts getting faster and faster with each pant.

“i’m gonna c-”

“i know baby, come for me, come with me,” he said, wrapping himself around her to bring them closer together as they both reached their orgasms.

he waited a few moments, before pulling out of her, flopping down on the bed beside her, both of their chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“stay there,” he said, kissing the top of her head before rolling out of the bed, and walking to the bathroom. he returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water, handing her the drink he then crawled back to clean her up.

when he did return to lay next to her, his arms instinctively moved to pull her in closer.

“so… when should we go and break the news to your brother?” he asked, grinning.

“id so nearly forgotten about him,” she groaned in annoyance.

“clearly, i need to try again,” he said, still smirking at her.

★ ☆ ✦ ✧ ✩ ✶

tag list: @harrysdimple05 @scopeiguess @hiireadstuff @landosgirlxoxo @natt9598 @phantomxoxo @val-writes @secretgal66 @ririyulife @littlehoneyfreak @leclercdream @mehrmonga @eviethetheatrefreak @thatoneembarrasingmoment @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @formula1mount @lottef1 @rayna-s @5starl1ght @cthgee @thesiduation @urfavsgf @littlehoneyfreak

[pinguwrites]

A Daughter’s Duty | Cillian Murphy

Pairing -> dark!cillian murphy x stepdaughter!reader

Summary -> You’re stepfather has made a habit of sneaking into your room at night to use you, even when you don’t want it.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: NON-CON, DARK!!, stepfather!cillian, age-gap (reader’s 18+, Cillian’s early 40s), Cillian’s manipulative and lowkey sexist and just overall disgusting, stepdaughter!reader, reader’s innocent, p in v sex, ddlg kink, use of daddy/little girl nickname, mention of periods, implied reader’s mother is neglectful, I got this idea off a porn video lol, mention of porn

Disclaimer: This is not a reflection of Cillian Murphy's actual life. This is completely separate and is not intended to harm him or his family in any way. DNI if you're a Yvonne hater. This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: Probably gonna make a part two of the first time they did it 🤭 which I guess will be called part one lol

“You awake?” your stepfather, Cillian Murphy, asked, lightly knocking. Your bedroom door was slightly open, and before you could even answer, he pushed it to the side, walked in, and turned the lock.

“Mhm.” You put aside your schoolwork and turned off the desk lamp. You immediately went to Cillian, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. He was warm, like always, and he immediately put his hands on your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing manner.

“Feeling alright? I know you just had your period,” he said, lifting your chin up. You noticed a dark look in his eyes, but you ignored it. “Do you need anything? Snacks? Heating pad? Massage?”

You shook your head. “Could we just cuddle?”

Your mother hated it when you two were close like this, despite the fact that she never tried to be affectionate with you. She was out now, however, partying at some friend’s house, so it’s not like she would know.

Cillian nodded and lifted you up, placing you down on the bed. He covered both of you with the blanket and started peppering sweet kisses on your face and down your neck.

“Little girl,” he cooed. “How did I get so lucky?”

You giggled. “How did I get so lucky?” you said in response, resting your head on his shoulder, when you noticed his fingers circling your clit through your panties. “Daddy, not now.”

He didn’t listen, and continued brushing his fingers against your clothing.

“I don’t feel like it,” you protested, trying to close your legs. “Can we do it later?”

Cillian still didn’t say anything. He crawled on top of you and planted a hot and heavy kiss on your lips, forcing his tongue inside, his hands slipping under your bra.

“Mmph!”

You didn’t struggle, knowing that your stepfather would never hurt you, but you did feel uncomfortable. Your pussy was starting to get a little hot, but even as your body reacted positively, your mind was still frazzled.

Cillian pulled away, a string of saliva attaching you both, until it broke.

He pinched your nipples through the bra and pulled on them, waiting for them to go hard. “Daddy!”

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning in to suck on your breasts. He licked them until he was satisfied, cupping them in his hands, leaving your bra with wet spots. It clung to your skin.

It did felt good. It always felt good, but it wasn’t about that. It was sweet, but it felt forced. Cillian had never forced you like this before.

“You just said you were feeling well,” he said, looking deep into your eyes. “You’ll like it. I’ll make sure.”

Cillian rubbed his clothed cock it between your legs, humping you like a horny animal. He let out quiet noises, holding you in place. Eventually, your panty got too wet, so he ripped it off, took off his own clothing, keeping his shirt on, and started grinding skin to skin.

“Yes,” he breathed out, sliding his fat cock through your folds. “So wet, such a pretty pussy.”

You whimpered. “Daddy, not now—”

“—Take off that damn shirt,” he growled. “Show me those tits.”

You hurriedly pulled your bra up, your breasts spilling out with a bounce that held Cillian captivated.

“Slap them for me,” he ordered. He held the tip of his cock and vibrated it on your clit, making you shudder in pleasure.

You did as he asked, trying your best to focus. As you tweaked and hit and played with your breasts, he watched, praising you, telling you what a good girl you were.

“You don’t do this for any other man, okay?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Cillian smiled sweetly at your response.

He positioned himself, pressing his body close to yours, your legs up and bent over his. You couldn’t move, all you could was push your hands up against his chest.

“Daddy, please, no.”

Cillian started thrusting. It wasn’t a very fast pace, but it wasn’t slow either. It had a rhythm, one he made sure got him as deep inside of you as he could.

He grunted. “So fucking tight. Need’a do this more often.”

You moaned, arching your back, a reaction you couldn’t help. “How often?”

“Every day.”

You stared at him, not sure what to think.

“Ah, I know. I know I said only once a week, but you know how Daddy gets. Remember what I said about men?”

You nodded. The first time he’d done this, he had sat you down. He told you that you needed to be taught about pleasure, and all things grown-up now that you were ready. He explained to you how men needed to fuck often, that it was a primal instinct, and that for him, you were the one he needed. He showed you how to suck his cock, how it felt like to be sucked in return — he even showed you porn.

It was a topic you had known little about. It was all so exciting and knew, and he made you feel safe and comfortable.

Well, except for now. You were rather uneasy as he pressed his body weight onto you, as his cock — that you always whined was too big — pushed in and out of you, stretching your walls, filling you up until you weren’t sure there was and space left.

“Ngh, y-you’re raping me, daddy,” you whimpered.

Cillian huffed, almost amused. He stopped thrusting, only for a moment, then he pushed his cock as deep inside of you as he could. You cried out, but he was too focused on the feeling of your walls clenching to notice.

“Ah!”

“Daddy’s raping you, hmm?”

“Yes!” you squeaked out, pushing your hands up against his chest. You were starting to feel a little sore.

“Where’d you learn such a big word like that?”

You didn’t answer, just kept struggling against him.

“Mmm, love it when you squirm like this,” he moaned in your ear. He grabbed your hands and put them to the side, only to completely drape his body over yours and let go.

You tried to push him off, but all you could reach was his back, and it was futile. A warm feeling coiled up in your lower stomach, and you knew you were about to cum.

“Come whenever you feel like, princess,” Cillian said, your pussy fluttering around his cock. “I’m not stopping till I feel like it.”

It wasn’t that it was hurting. It was just that you didn’t want it, at least a few minutes ago. Why couldn’t he understand?

“I know you don’t like it sometimes, but it’s your responsibility to please me. Just like it’s my responsibly to please you. You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

You could feel your pussy heating up even more, that familiar feeling slowly building up.

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

Your heart warmed at his words, despite how taken advantage of you were feeling.

“Daddy — please, ungh.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, “fuck, fuck.”

You both came around the same time. He took out his cock and held it by your face, his white cream spilling out on your lips, dribbling down your chin. Your own dripped down to the bedsheets. The ecstasy made you dizzy, but the good kind, and only for a moment.

“There ya go, sweetheart.”

Cillian wrapped you up in his arms. He rubbed his nose against yours, and then kissed it, his beautiful blue eyes filled with love and adoration.

“You liked that?”

“. . . I asked you to stop,” you mumbled, looking away.

Cillian sighed. It was one of disappointment, which made you feel like shriveling on the inside.

“But you liked it.” He ran his thumb across your cum-stained lips. “I would never have done it if hurt you. There was no pain, was there?”

“No,” you admitted.

“See?” Cillian paused for a moment, then chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “I would eat you out, but I have a feeling you’d say no.”

You glared, but to him it was adorable, not menacing.

“Alright, alright. How about we go downstairs and watch a movie? One of those princess ones?”

A smile made its way onto your face, though you tried to hide it. You were still upset.

“Fine.”

“Good girl,” he said, lowering his tone. He picked you up and held you bridal style. “But first, let’s clean you up, yeah?” He swiped a bit of his cum from your skin. “Can’t have you on the couch covered with this.”

Taglist:

@henrywintersdearestgirl

@shroombloom-rry

@meetmeatyourworst

@mrkdvidal1989

@nela-cutie

@obsessionandmadness