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Taking Over Me | Aizawa Shota x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

Tags/Warnings ~ Fem!Guardian Angel!Reader, canon typical violence, character injury, angst, hurt, comfort, fluff, medium-slow burn because Shota is bad at feelings, more tags to come as the story develops..

Note ~ Hi, Lovelies! Here's the next part of the story, I hope that you all enjoy! And if y'all could, please send some motivational vibes my way because I am sorely lacking! Anyway, I love and appreciate you all, My Lovelies! <3

You sit at the end of Shota’s hospital bed watching him sleep. It wasn’t long after arriving at the hospital that his translucent figure flickered harshly, then vanished. Much to your relief, his ghostly apparition’s disappearance only meant that his soul firmly planted itself back into his body. But sitting cross-legged at his feet, your eyes tracing the bandages covering his face, you still feel such a strong sense of failure. Along with the failure is a new, unfamiliar feeling.. loneliness.

The day passed with Shota stuck in a deep, medication-induced slumber. Doctors and nurses came in and out of the room to check on him. At one point, Hizashi came by to sit at Shota’s bedside and quietly cry for a bit. You had spoken some with his Protector, the being feeling it necessary to commend you on all of your efforts to keep Shota safe during the attack. Despite your feelings on the matter, you thanked the other Protector for their kind words. When Hizashi was told that he had to leave for the night, his Protector bid you farewell and you nodded your head to them as they left.

The hours tick by slower than you’ve ever felt before, but soon enough light from the full moon outside casts a wondrous glow in the room. You marvel at it as you sometimes do since beings such as yourself don’t require sleep. After a while, the feeling of being watched pulls your attention from the window. You look first toward the door, wondering if a nurse and their Protector had somehow sneaked into the room. Seeing no other being, you slowly turn your gaze to Shota’s face, eyes widening as they meet his partially opened ones.

“Do you sit at my feet like a cat every night?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he continues looking at you with lidded eyes. A cross between a scoff and a bewildered laugh leaves your mouth. You choose to ignore your confusion, obviously something about this lifetime is different, even if you don’t know what or why.

“I do not… Oftentimes, I stand at a window and observe the night… I can move if you are uncomfortable with my current position…” You offer, already preparing to stand.

“No… The static feeling of your presence is.. nice.” He whispers as his eyes slip shut, his breathing deepening to the usual cadence it takes when he’s asleep.

‘He.. he can feel my presence..?’ You ask yourself as you sit in silent shock. You shift back into your original position and wish that there was someone or some other being you could hurl all of your questions at.

~~~~~~~~~~

Both you and Hizashi’s Protector stand near the window as the two humans talk. Hizashi had arrived earlier this morning just before Shota woke up, so you didn’t have the chance to test if he could truly still see and talk to you. You now find the test unnecessary with Shota’s eyes occasionally drifting in your direction every now and then. By the nth time Shota’s dark eyes meet yours, you’ve had enough of your fellow Protector’s questioning looks.

“I am just as confused as you are…” You tell them, pulling your eyes from Shota’s to look at the Protector you’ve known for a good fifteen years by now.

“So, he can see you…” Akari states rather than asks, and you nod your head.

“When he.. when he was dying yesterday.. his soul separated from his body and we were able to talk to one another… I do not understand why.. and when he was brought here, and his soul re-bound itself to his body, he was still able to see and talk to me… The whole situation has left me truly.. puzzled…” You explain, finding it a struggle to get the words “he was dying” out of your mouth. The guilt and shame that you’ve had to repeatedly shove down worming their way back to the surface along with your confusion.

“That is quite peculiar… Is.. is this your first pairing with his soul?…” Akari’s hesitant question catches you off guard, and you look at them with a stunned expression.

“N-no, but.. have you had repeats as well?…” You whisper, desperate to know if this sort of thing has happened to any other Protector. It’s Akari’s turn to look stunned, and a look of relief washes over their features.

They cast a glance over at Hizashi before looking back to you with a small smile, “Only with Hizashi’s soul… This is my third lifetime as his Protector…”

Akari’s admission draws a gasp from your mouth, and you can’t help but feel relieved that another one of your kind knows some of what you’re going through. Feeling Shota’s eyes on you, you turn to meet his questioning gaze. You shake your head slightly, silently telling him that you’ll talk with him later. He stares at you for another moment before looking back toward Hizashi.

“This is my fourth lifetime as Shota’s Protector… I was beginning to think I was the only one experiencing this.. and I never felt the need to ask any other Protector about it… I simply figured that it was just part of the job…” Akari nods their head in relation to your words and casts another glance at Hizashi.

“What do you think is the reasoning for it?…” They quietly ask, as if voicing their question any louder would make everything fall away and send them off to another pairing.

Your own gaze wanders to Shota, a small smile pulling at your lips at his feigned annoyance over whatever Hizashi said, “I am not quite sure.. but whatever the reason may be.. I am just happy to be Shota’s Protector…”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s early evening when Hizashi takes his leave, promising to come back tomorrow morning to pick up Shota when he’s discharged. You gaze out the window as a nurse comes into Shota’s room and feeds him dinner. With his arms in casts, the nurse has to actually feed him and now that he can see you, you figure that you won’t hurt his dignity more by watching him be fed. It’s only when you hear the door close behind the nurse that you make your way back to his bedside.

Shota eyes you for a moment before carefully leaning his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes with a tired sigh, “You can sit down if you’d like.”

Wordlessly, you accept the invitation and sit cross-legged on the spot where he had made space for you at the end of his bed. Absentmindedly, your eyes trace the paths of his bandages like you’ve done a hundred times over since he’s been in the hospital. Sensing your eyes on him, Shota opens his and studies you for a moment or two.

“Stop it.” He demands in a firm yet gentle tone, and your gaze pulls from his bandages to meet his stern one.

“What?…” You question, slightly confused, and he lets out another sigh.

“Stop beating yourself up.” He clarifies before continuing, “You did more than enough to protect me back at the USJ. I put myself in this bed. Not you. Me.”

Biting your lip, you search Shota’s eyes for the blame you feel you deserve, but all you find is the firm resolve that was in his tone, “If.. if you insist…” You relent quietly, a bit of doubt still laced in your tone. Taking what he can get, Shota lets the matter go for now and chooses to move the conversation along.

“Earlier, when Hizashi was here, I assume you were talking to his..” Shota pauses to think about what to call you and your kind.

“The term ‘Protector’ works just fine, Shota… Most of us refer to each other as such, anyway…” You provide with a small smile, appreciating his effort to call your kind by the “correct” name.

“Okay, then.. You were talking to his Protector? I couldn’t see or hear them like I can with you, but I figured you weren’t just talking to yourself.” Shota’s voice holds the same tired, stoic tone you’ve come to know over the last thirty years, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.

“And, if I was talking to myself?… What then, human?…” You tease with a playful smile, and you can tell by the small, amused huff that Shota lets through his nose that he’s hiding a small smirk underneath his bandages.

“Then I would assume that we both have brain damage,” he jokes, albeit dryly, but you’ve always found humor in his brand of comedy.

Your giggle gives an ethereal echo and you shake your head at him, “Their name is Akari… I suppose they could be considered a friend… At the very least, they are somewhat of a coworker to me by human standards… I have interacted with them quite a bit since you became friends with Hizashi… They informed me earlier today that they seem to be in almost the same situation as I…”

Shota gives a slightly surprised and intrigued look before an almost dismayed sigh leaves his mouth, “I can’t believe I haven’t thought to ask until now… What’s your name?”

A small, amused laugh passes through your lips, “Considering that you were not even supposed to know of my existence, it is quite alright… Most of us do not have names and some will choose a different name for themselves with every new pairing… The name I have chosen for myself is Y/N…” You inform him before giving your name with a warm smile on your face.

Shota repeats your name quietly to himself as if testing it on his tongue, and something about hearing him say it makes you feel warm inside. Your mind doesn’t have time to question the feeling when he speaks again, “So, what is this ‘situation’ that you mentioned?”

You find yourself hesitating for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain the whole thing to a man who lives almost religiously by logic and rationality. You suppose that since he took to finding out about your existence so well maybe your next words won’t sound completely.. insane.

“Let us start with how long I have been protecting souls…” You begin gently, hoping that he can manage to put aside whatever his beliefs or disbeliefs are about concepts beyond the human plane of existence.

Once you’ve finished explaining your entire confusing and strange situation, a long silence follows. The look in Shota’s eyes is hard for you to read as he stares down at his lap, so you’re not sure what he could possibly be thinking. Feeling like you’ve finally pushed him over the edge of thinking he has truly lost it, you silently stand and move toward the window. You watch the sun slowly dip below the horizon as the silence continues. You hear movement behind you and your intuition spikes causing you to whip around to see Shota slowly standing up from the bed.

“What are you doing?… You should be resting still, Shota…” Your confused and concerned words do nothing to stop Shota from shuffling his way to your side. When he gets to the window sill, he leans lightly against the wall and gazes outside for a few moments before looking at you.

“Let me get the facts straight,” he starts, quietly. “You’ve been protecting people for thousands of years, without the need for reason. In all that time, you never protected the same person more than once until me. You also believed that you were the only one experiencing this until your talk with Hizashi’s Protector. Even so, you still don’t know why this is happening. Does that about sum everything up?”

‘He doesn’t sound like someone who believes they should be locked in the psych ward…’ You think with a hesitant smile before speaking, “I believe so… Listen, Shota.. I know how all of this may sound to a human… You are probably still wrapping your head around my very existence and being able to see me… But I.. I feel just as confused and disbelieving as you do…” Your smile falls as you speak, your expression and tone something of uncertainty as you turn to gaze back out the window.

Shota sighs as he steps away from the wall and comes to stand right up against your ethereally glowing body, your shoulder phasing slightly through his as he follows your gaze out the window, “It is a lot to try to understand, but living in a world where humans are born with superpowers.. it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to believe in other forces at work out there in the universe.”

You turn your head to look at him in shock before a small huff of a laugh slips past your lips, “I have gotten to know your soul pretty well over the last five hundred years, Shota.. gotten to know that no matter the lifetime, who you are does not change like your name or appearance does… So, I am surprised that you are being so open-minded about this… You never were one for ideals like religion or higher powers or unseen beings… So, where has the real Shota gone?…”

Shota lets out a small, quiet chuckle at your slightly teasing tone, and turns his head slightly to meet your eyes, “I’m actually pretty open-minded when it comes to a lot of subjects. I just find that my time is better well spent focusing on what’s tangible in this world rather than what hasn’t even been proven to exist, that’s all.” He retorts in a tired tone that doesn’t match the teasing glint in his eye.

You playfully roll your eyes with a soft giggle before giving a small shake of your head, “Ah, I see… Well, all teasing aside, our situation may be odd but at least now I can warn you of danger easier… Though, I will try not to be a nuisance…”

Shota lets out a quiet huff as he turns to start walking back to the bed, “Don’t worry about being a nuisance. Between being Class 1-A’s teacher and being a Pro, seeing and hearing you will be significantly more helpful in tough situations.” He says as he carefully gets onto the bed, a quiet groan leaving him as he lays back.

You let out a quiet and affirmative hum as you follow behind him, then take a seat at the end of the bed by his feet when he makes space for you. You watch as he gets as comfortable as anyone could get with injuries like his when his eyes meet yours. You silently question the embarrassed scowl he’s shooting you until the realization hits you. You mumble an apology before quickly shifting your gaze to the window. Among the many little habits you’ll have to break now that he can see and hear you, just watching him for the sake of observing him is going to be the first.. and the hardest.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Hizashi bursts into Shota’s room sputtering apologies for being twenty minutes late picking him up. Shota just brushes him off with a grumble of feigned annoyance while you and Akari giggle quietly to yourselves. A nurse comes in shortly after Hizashi’s arrival, pushing a wheelchair up to the side of Shota’s bed. Shota immediately begins protesting having to be wheeled out to Hizashi’s car, insisting that he can walk just fine.

“I know I said I would not be a nuisance, but listen to the nurse, please Shota…” You say a bit firmly as the timid nurse tries explaining to Shota the hospital’s policies.

With an irritated huff, Shota reluctantly moves from the bed to the wheelchair, grumbling slightly under his breath. You smother a giggle as you take in Hizashi’s shocked expression, the blonde clearing having expected more of a fight from Shota. However, the giggle slips free some when you catch the brief glare thrown your way from Shota as the nurse pushes him out of the room.

Hizashi stopped by UA so that Shota could talk to Nezu and go by Recovery Girl’s office. Despite the insistence from Nezu, Hizashi, and yourself to take off a few more days, Shota firmly stated that he would be returning to work the next day when classes resumed. During the walk to the infirmary, you couldn’t help the displeased feeling that had settled over you from Shota’s stubbornness. As a Protector, it’s normal to disagree with decisions that could impact the well-being of the human one is paired with, but this felt like.. more than that. Sighing to yourself, you choose to not overthink your feelings so as to not add more confusion to your already puzzling situation.

You and Akari stood by the window of the patient room while Recovery Girl examined Shota’s injuries. Luckily, she determined it safe enough to use her Quirk on Shota, even if it didn’t heal Shota as much as he may have wanted it to. By the time it was said and done, he was still bandaged up like a mummy, but at least his casts were able to be redone so that he could use his fingers. As you and Akari silently followed your humans to Hizashi’s car, you still hadn’t been able to shake your displeasure.

Finally getting back to Shota’s apartment, you stood behind him as he deflected every one of Hizashi’s attempts to stay and help. A bit dejectedly, Hizashi bid Shota goodbye, while you just silently nodded at Akari, still mostly lost in your thoughts. Once Shota shut the door with a tired sigh, you wordlessly made your way to the dining room window. It’s one of your favorite spots in the apartment with its view overlooking the city.

“Are you going to be silent and brooding for the rest of the day?” Shota asks, his tone is tired and slightly irritated as you hear his socked feet shuffle toward the kitchen. You feel a mixture of emotions as you tamper down a spike of irritation, your confusion over your situation only increasing.

“You should eat, then get some more rest since you insist on returning to work tomorrow…” You say in an even tone as you continue gazing out the window. You realize that your wording most likely comes across as petty, and maybe you want it to since he ignored you back in Nezu’s office. You hear Shota open the refrigerator and let out an irritated sigh, rummaging around for a moment before letting the door close a bit harder than necessary. You turn around to face him at the sound of condiments and jars inside the refrigerator knocking around.

“My students need to see that I’m okay. What they went through was terrifying, even for Pros like myself. None of them deserved to experience a villain attack like that before their careers have even started to begin. It’s my responsibility to be their face of strength-” Shota angrily defends his decision, most likely easily riled up from pain and exhaustion, but it only serves to irritate you more and cut him off.

“I understand that, but it is my responsibility to make sure no harm comes to you, even if the threat to your well-being comes from you… You need more time to recover, Shota… You are not ready to return to work in your condi-” You say firmly trying to maintain an aura of calm until he cuts you off.

“But in the end, it’s my decision! Your job is to silently protect me when it is necessary. I’ve made it through the last thirty years of decision-making based on my own judgment just fine, Y/N. Me being able to see and hear you now doesn’t change that.” Shota snaps, and you can’t help but feel taken aback and.. hurt. There are a couple moments of tense silence broken only by the sound of Shota taking a few deep breaths.

Your mind is once again reeling from how deeply you feel your emotions, but outwardly you straighten up and slip into emotionless professionalism, “You are correct… I apologize for overstepping, it will not happen again…” You state before turning back toward the window, ignoring the pain in your chest. You can feel Shota’s eyes on you, but neither of you says anything more, not even when the ethereal glow of your body flickers and dims a bit.

Divider Credit ~ @cafekitsune

jerome smut with a chubby/curvy bimbo reader plsss💖💖💖

Ofc!! Lmk if you want me to re-do it <3

Good Doll

Pairing: Jerome Valeska x Bimbo!Chubby Reader

Word count: 384

Warnings: NSFW! Praising kink, somewhat abuse, choking, dom jerome/ sub reader, orgasm control

A/n: Hehe first Jerome smut..eh sorry for the mistakes

You were on the couch watching some show that came on when you heard a loud groan and a closed door come from the entrance of the house. Getting up quickly to go check if Jerome was home, assuming from the noise. You walk towards the kitchen where ruffling was coming from, things being thrown on the floor or outside, clatter noise.

“Honey?” You call out as you get closer to the noise.

Entering the kitchen you see Jerome, leaning on the marble counter with his hands on his forehead.

“Go away” he mumbles, slowly coming out with a sigh of frustration.

You get closer to Jerome trying to comfort him, but as soon as you raise your hand to put on his back he gets up looking at you with annoyed expression. He traps you with his arms by your side, with his face close to your ear breathing deep into the side of your neck.

“When I tell you to do something..you do it, doll” He says as he moves his hand upward on your thigh, squeezing it harshly.

He removes his hand, turning you around roughly, moving his hand to your throat, pushing himself on your ass. If he loves anything about you it would be your body and ass..god especially your ass, he’d always compliment how perfect it was shaped. Pushing your sweat pants down along with your underwear, then putting his fingers inside you making sure that his doll was ready for him. He finally thrusts inside you making you scream from pleasure, allowing you to take his cock fully in you, pounding deeper while also holding on to your hair so he could hear your beautiful moans.

“God you are such a good girl for me, allowing me to use your body as I please and want” he groans, laughing slightly afterwards.

“Jerome-“ you cried, feeling your close coming in only such a little time.

“Hold it! I'm not done” he says, thrusting more into you now removing his hand from your throat, allowing you to bring your head down, breathing, holding back as best as you can.

He went on till he reached his climax along with yours, reward you the next day with a diamond necklace for being such a good doll for him.

hi can you do headcanons on yandere Elijah Mikaelson😘

Sure<3

Elijah Headcanon: Being obsessed Yandere!Elijah

Warnings: Violence, nsfw, stalking, yandere!elijah, possessiveness, controlling tendencies

A/n: I hope you guys like it!!…eh sorry for the mistakes

He would follow/stalk you every chance he could get but he didn’t think of it as stalking…just protecting you

He would often show up to the places that you are at sometimes being noticeable incase you wanted to talk to him

If you were out with a male of the sort he would send people to find out who that male means to you

Klaus would see him going out at random times and get curious but he would soon forget getting distracted in his own duties

He finally get the courage to go up to you bringing a souvenir with him such as flowers, favorite candy, etc.

If all things went well then he’d try to keep his nature to himself and what he does

You guys would go out on dates but if he had noticed any “little boy” looking too long or being disrespectful he would handle it later on

He would like to make sure everyone knew you were his and making marks were his go to hickeys, bit marks, bruises for when he went too rough

Putting his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him for him to whisper “you belong to me, understand?”

Elijah would get upset if you would try to buy something instead of letting him buy

He thought it as a way of tell him “I don’t need you”

He knew you needed him- he wanted you to need him, let him take care of you so you wouldn’t have any responsibilities to do

Elijah would often tell you that you can’t do this or that because it’s too dangerous having a sense of controlling in his voice

“You will do as i say and nothing less” holding you close to him making sure that you couldn’t go anywhere.

hello can you make headcanons about yandere klaus mikaelson (tvd)please 😊

Yee yes!!<3

Klaus Headcanon: Dating obsessed Yandere!Klaus

Warnings: NSFW!!

A/n: I hope you guys like it!!..eh sorry for the mistakes

You are his and only his

He would make marks, mostly hickeys on your neck, breast, close to your thighs

On some occasions he will make bite marks on your neck, letting everyone know you’re his

He will take you on shopping trips and buy jewelry that has his initials so he could see them while y’all are doing it

If someone gets too close Klaus would step forward and he would come with a threat

“Why don’t you closer, mate” “See what happens”

“Walk away before i give you something to look at”

“I always wondered what would happen first if someone would their teeth in front of them would they pass out or scream”

Somedays he would come home covered in the blood of people who have ever threatened you

You guys would have arguments because he would isolate from guy friends even friends you knew for years

But you came back when he would apologize with flowers, favorite candy, favorite jewelry, etc.

During sex he would make you say how he’s better than every other guy, which he’s not wrong

He likes making you a mess such as; giving you a cum shot and making sure you swallowed it, Slapping your ass making you begging for more, or fucking you so deep until you can’t take it

Waking up in the mornings would include; clothes layout for you, a note if he was gone, and breakfast downstairs for you

hello can you make headcanons about the yandere mikaelson family in love/obsessed with the same woman (reader)🥰

YES!!<3

Mikaelson Family Headcanon: Falling for the same woman Yandere!Mikealson Family

Warnings: Yandere!Mikealson Family, Jealousy, Possessiveness, etc.

A/n: I hope you guys like it!!…eh sorry for the mistakes….Maybe pt.2?

Klaus will be the first to grab your attention with his gifts and flirty charm, trying to win your affection

Rebekah would come in ruining the moment for Klaus causing him to have a temper tantrum, but not trying to lose it in front of you

She would take you on shopping trips allowing you to buy anything you want, including accessories that resemble her so they knew you were hers

Coming home you’d be greeted with Elijah at the stairwell

He walks to you seeing the necklace that Rebekah had given you around your neck

“I have a date planned for us, honey”

He says while leaning over to quickly take off the necklace without you noticing, through Rebekah stands there dropping the bags to the ground, storming off.

Elijah would let you be until the dinner to get prepared as he does as well

Kol would come into your bedroom to find you reading

“May I ask what you’re reading, my darling”

He asks, standing over you looking at the chapter.

Of course giving him an answer, he lays beside you as you continue to read

Playing with your delicate hair

“Are you mine?”

He questions you

You smile as you turn the page not giving him an answer

A few minutes would past until it was time for the date with Elijah

Kol had left due to “boredom”

Getting ready Klaus would come into your room with a grin on his devilish face.

“Getting ready for something?”

Looking up at him then turning back to the mirror to continue brushing your hair.

Klaus gets closer pulling you towards his torso, dropping the brush on the counter of the sink

“You might be going on this date but just remember you are mine”

He says, leaving the room quickly not allowing you to respond

Jerome with a mommy kink??? And jerome with daddy kink headcannons (like he's a switch I know it)

Absolutely! <3

Jerome Headcanon: Jerome w/Mommy and w/Daddy kink

Warnings: NSFW!!

A/n: Omg im so sorry this took me awhile!! I hope you like it!!..sorry for the mistakes

Mommy Kink:

Most definitely Jerome would want to call you mommy during sex!

He would want you to be dominant over him and control his orgams or even tying him up

HE IS A HUGE MASOCHIST

You would like when you leave marks on him or punish him for disobeying you

He says things such as;

“Mommy please”

“Can I please cum?”

“I’ll be a good boy, mommy”

You didn’t believe him until he’s begging you to let him cum exchanged for him being “good”

Him being good never lasted

Mainly because he wanted to be punished again

Jerome being Jerome he would find it extremely hot when you ignored his begging and keep punishing him until he was worn out or until you decided you were done punishing him, putting him in his damn place

Daddy Kink:

Once the roles are reversed he wants you to call him daddy

God does he love when you beg and whimper for him to fuck you

“Please daddy”

“Fuck me daddy”

“Use me daddy”

There’s something about the goddamn name that made him want to fuck you senseless

You loved calling him daddy being as that was your favorite name for him

He would even make you use it out in public

Disobeying him in public was the one way street to public humiliation

He will make you get down on your knees and beg while calling him daddy, always keeping you there as long as he wanted to

He liked calling you “daddy’s slut” or “daddy’s doll” ooo or his personal favorite “daddy’s pathetic slut”

Hii could I request yandere poly stefan and damon salvatore hcs?

Ooo i like this!!<3

Stefan and Damon Headcanon: Poly Relationship Yandere!Stefan, Yandere!Damon

Warnings: NSFW!!

A/n: Lord this took my a while to get to lol. I hope you like it!..eh sorry for the mistakes

Damon would try to spend more time with you than Stefan

At times you had to tell him no because it wouldn’t be fair to Stefan

Like he cared

Having two Salvatore brothers by your side means no one would dare try to harm you 

Stefan would take you on dates to restaurants and buy you flowers

Damon would take you out to party and give you lingerie

When all three of them were in the mood they would share you but then fuck you separately so they would have you to themselves

Stefan would most definitely be an ass guy while Damon loved your tits

The favorite position would be Stefan fucking you from the back while you jerk off Damon as he watches your tit bounce

Stefan would give you the Aftercare

He loved this because it was only him and her cuddling

Damon didn’t really care for it

You guys would get together for dates at the Mystic Grill and talk about plans or revenge

When going out in public you held Stefan and Damon arms together so they got equal affection

Of course Damon would want more so he would pull you off of Stefan

Stefan would get upset causing an argument between the boys

They always wanted you to choose but you never did and just walked away until they got over themselves

Overall it is a half alright relationship

Hello

I got an idea, waht about this:

Jerome and his littel group, went for fun in some random school. They went into a class and just be there, the class was the one with reader in it. She dont notice the Littel group in her class and working on the paper.

She truns to her now dead sit neighbor to aks if they can open a water bottle for tham. He wonders why she didnt notice him,until someone say she has ADHD and was just hyperfoces on the paper.

He starts to like her and just takes her with her, and wondsrs how easy it woud be. As it was not so easy

Ooo..I like this very much. Lmk if you want me to redo it <3

I like you

Pairing: Jerome Valeska x Reader

Word count: 565

Warnings: Murder, mention of killing

A/n: I hope you like it!..eh sorry for the mistakes

“Alright fellas let's do this”

Busting into the school doors with his blazing gun shooting every student in sight. The sound of screams and cries coming from teachers and students running away. Jervis had quickly split and went up the school stairs toward the other classes. Jerome walked to the first class he saw along with Jonathan wanting to have some fun of his own. He banged the door with his gun trying to break it, rolling his eyes when he couldn’t.

“Just open it” Jonathan said quietly

Jerome grunts and opens the door harshly slamming it against the wall.

“Lookie at what we have here” Jerome says, dragging the end

He begins looking at everyone, pointing the gun at all of them, closing one of his eyes as he was choosing who to pick. The students had bent down underneath their desks, apart from one person who was working.

“You, come here”

He pointed to her partner. He looks up nervously fiddling with his hands.

“Why-wh-” The student say’s before he’s shot to the ground by the gun.

“Annoying”

Jerome rolled his eyes once again, annoyed by the fact that this was more boring than usual. Jonathan grabbed the teacher taking her outside of the class as she sobbed in her hands. Jerome walks to where the girl is sitting, beside her now dead partner, curious about why she hasn’t acknowledged him yet.

“Hey, can you open my water for me- god i just can’t seem to get this stupid things open” She says, handing it out across the desk yet not looking at her partner

Jerome looked at her confusingly. She knew he was there? Was she asking him? That’s when the student beneath him tugs slightly on his pants.

“What” he says roughly, almost losing his temper by the interruption.

“She has ADHD” the student says quietly, covering their body with their knees.

“oh-“ “Thank you”

He turns back to the fascinating human just in time for her to turn around to her partner, curious as to why he hadn’t opened it. Taking out her earbuds, taking careful look at the man who was standing beside her.

“Hello doll” Jerome says, smirking, pushing the dead student out of the way sitting in the chair.

“I- um” She tries to say, seeing the dead body then looking at the class. Beginning to feel uncomfortable by all the attention so she turns away.

“Come here” He says, holding his hand out.

She then lays on his chest while he strokes her hair letting it fall to his shirt.

“I like you..would you like to come with me and get away from all this?”

The girl nods standing up with him keeping her head down while walking, he grabs her chin pointing it up

“Look up darling” “Don’t let them see you weak”

She nods looking up. They continue walking out the class with Jonathan following behind, Jerome looking at him with a nod to call Jervis. The sound of police sirens started coming from a far distance. Fuck.

“Run to the car with me” He says holding her hand.

She nods and they start running to the car laughing. Jerome opens the door quickly for her to jump in then shutting the door quickly getting to his side slamming the door along with two of the doors slam behind them.

“Let’s go, darling”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you want to keep reading-

A few months in:

Y/n- Jerome

Y/n- Jerome

Y/n- J

Y/n- J

Jerome- What darling

Y/n- Chicken butt

Y/n- Ooh look McDonalds- NO WAIT” TACO BELL

Jerome- Oh god

Smut request for jerome valeska eating female chubby reader out and her calling him daddy????

Ofc!! Lmk if you want me to redo it <3

Good girl

Pairing: Jerome Valeska × Chubby Reader

Word count: 200

Warnings: NSFW!!

A/n: I hope you like it!!..ehh sorry for the mistakes

Jerome slowly began to devour your body with his mouth leaving bite marks and hickeys along your body. Finally getting down to your underwear ripping it off with his hand’s giving you a slight red mark on your thigh.

“God you been such a good girl” Jerome moans, kissing down to your clit then moving down more.

You tilt your head back in pleasure, closing your eyes with your mouth hanging open. Jerome kisses your pussy before entering his tongue inside of you letting it explore. He takes his thumb placing on your clit, circling it slowly, teasing you.

“Please please Jerome” You moan wanting more

He stops his actions letting the hand that was on your clit go down to your thigh squeezing it tightly.

“That's not my name, sweetheart” He says, squeezing it harder

“DADDY”

You scream from pain and pleasure

“Good girl”

He continues his action speeding up his tongue that is deep inside of you. You let the pleasure overwhelm you and almost come to your high.

“Come on doll” “Cum for me”

You let go of all the tension building inside of you moaning daddy repeatedly to him as you calm down from your high.

Oh my god, I loved your ej x reader storyyy, loved his possessiveness

I'd love to see more ej stuffff, I just don't have any specific story idea in my mind I could send in?

Preacher's Daughter (Prologue)

And I'd love to give it to you! I'm thinking of making the preacher's daughter into a series, maybe even a book on wattpad if you guys would be interested, let me know in the comments! Here's a little teaser for what I had in mind! I'm going to try and make Y/N as little detailed as possible, but I'm thinking of making this character into an oc, so stay tuned for that eventually! The oc will likely be what the wattpad story is on, but i will make an x reader version for here!

This little teaser is set before the events of the preacher's daughter fic, basically how Jack and Y/N met. It's not the full thing and less detailed, but I thought it was cute.

Eyeless Jack x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: None really, mentions of religion (Bible) awkward teenage interactions duhh.

Request: Yes / No

Jack had always noticed her. The shy, sweet girl that always had her nose in her text books, or her bible that she carried around everywhere in her mini backpack that served as her purse.

Y/N L/N was her name, Jack never understood why he liked her. He wasn't a religious person by any means, she was just... different.

All the other girls at the college they attended to were bitchy, or slutty, or just not his type. Not that he ever really minded that, he wasn't going to be the idiot that gets a girl knocked up at a party.

He chewed at the tip of his pen, not paying attention to the teachers recap of the lecture from the day prior as he already had finished his work. Jack was always like that, he did his best to get his work done early so he'd have time to relax and do what he wanted during his free time.

He watched her as she re-read her bible for seemingly the millionth time that semester. He wondered what was so interesting about that damn book. Did she write little notes in it like she did her schoolwork? did she have certain parts highlighted with those pastel highlighters she loved to use?

His mind drifted to her appearance, her H/L H/C hair sat perfectly, her white turtle neck blouse pressed with no wrinkles tucked neatly under her mid-calf length blue dress with white flowers printed on the soft looking fabric. Sat in between her collar bones, was always that silver cross necklace he'd never seen her without. She always looked so... pristine, flawless, perfect even.

His thoughts were interrupted when the teacher called for everyone's attention for new things they were going to be taught. He huffed and pulled out his note book, wishing that class would end sooner.

When the bell rang, three girls he'd seen around before, his roommates girlfriend, one of her friends, and a girl named Jenny, all ran up to Y/N. Bubbling and Gossiping about their latest excursions at the party they had went to the night before. They wondered off out of the class, but before Jack followed them out he noticed that bible, sitting abandoned at Y/N's desk.

"Must've forgot to grab it." he thought to himself before weaving through the desks and picking it up, carefully tucking it into his bag. He sighed and weaved his way back through the desks, exiting the class door and through the mass of students in the hall. It certainly wasn't an insane amount of people, but enough for the halls to be comparable to a zoo.

He eventually spotted the three girls, he watched as Y/N's two friends bided their goodbye's and headed to their respective classes. He moved quickly towards her, and tapped her on the shoulder, causing the girl to jump startledly.

"Oh, Hi jack." Y/n says, a warm smile on her face.

"Hey, y/n." He smiled back at her, starring into her e/c eyes for a moment before clearing his throat and reaching into his bag.

"You left this on your desk, I figured you wouldn't want to lose it." he hummed, holding out the small bible to her. Her eyes lit up in confusion before realizing she had forgotten it.

"Thank you, my lord I didn't even realize." She gently took it from his hands, fingers lingering on his for a little too long.

She swings her bag over her shoulders before unzipping it, carefully sliding the bible into its rightful place amongst the clutter in the small bag.

"It's no problem" Jack smiles, before adjusting his own bag.

"So um, can I walk you to class?" He asks, nodding his head in the direction of the classroom down the hallway.

She smiles and nods. The two walk down the hallway and bid their goodbyes before she walks in, Jack watching her from the doorway.

This is inspired by Hiruko_chan's "Your Tears Are Of No Relevance To Me" on ao3. It's the first Reader/ fic I've ever read and I'm at the first ending and teetering on the edge of reading the rest. Obviously I felt compelled to create a pretty (and grumpy) Snape from the story. I'd definitely recommend. The Spice level is like 5/5 so be prepared it is NSFW but the feels - man - and it's dark imo. Thanks for the fab writing Hiruko_chan!

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔒𝔣 ℜ𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔱

𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤: labor, Neice reader, angst, death.

The castle of Dragonstone was bustling with excitement as Lady Y/N, wife of Daemon Targaryen, was about to give birth to their first child. The halls were decorated with banners of House Targaryen and the sound of cheers echoed through the corridors. But within all the joy and celebrations, there was one person who was not happy - Y/N's mother, Princess Rhaenyra.

As Y/N's labor pains became more frequent and intense, she longed for the comfort and support of her husband. However, her mother made sure that Daemon was nowhere to be found. Rhaenyra had always been against their union, finding Y/N unworthy of her uncle's love and a hindrance to their family's legacy. She saw this as an opportunity to separate the two once and for all.

Y/N's maids and servants, well aware of their Princss's schemes, were hesitant to go against her orders. But they couldn't bear to see their lady suffering in pain without her husband by her side. So, they secretly sent a message to Daemon, informing him about Y/N's condition and pleading him to come to her aid.

Despite Rhaenyra's efforts, Daemon found his way to Y/N's chambers. The moment he saw his wife's pale and sweat-drenched face, he knew something was wrong. He held her hand tightly and whispered words of comfort, promising to never leave her side.

Y/N's labor was long and difficult, but finally, the cries of a newborn filled the room. As they held their child, a beautiful baby boy, Y/N and Daemon's eyes filled with tears of joy and love. But their smiles were short-lived as they noticed Y/N's weak and pale state.

Panicked, Daemon called for the maester, but it was too late. Y/N had lost a lot of blood and her body couldn't take it anymore. In the arms of her beloved husband, Y/N took her last breath, leaving behind her devastated husband and their newborn son.

Daemon's grief was immeasurable as he held onto his wife's lifeless body, blaming himself for not being there when she needed him the most. And in that moment, he swore to never forgive his Niece for her selfish actions that cost him his beloved wife.

The news of Y/N's death spread throughout the castle, casting a dark shadow over the once joyful celebrations. Rhaenyra, whose jealousy and spite had caused this tragedy, was consumed by guilt and shame. She begged for Daemon's forgiveness, but he could not bring himself to forgive her for taking away the love of his life.

As the days went by, Daemon named his son after his late wife, a constant reminder of the love and sacrifice she had made. And though he would always miss Y/N, he found solace in their son, knowing that a part of her would always live on in him. As for Rhaenyra, she spent the rest of her days haunted by the memory of her daughter's death, a punishment she had brought upon herself.

ᏝᎧᏉᏋ'Ꮥ ᏰᏝᎥᏕᏕ

ᎷᏗᏕᏖᏋᏒᏝᎥᏕᏖ #2

It was a beautiful morning in Nueva York. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and the city was alive with its usual hustle and bustle. Miguel and his wife, Y/N, were sitting on their balcony enjoying their morning coffee.

Y/N was content with the peaceful moment, sipping her coffee and leaning her head on her husband's shoulder. Miguel's arm was wrapped around her waist, his thumb gently rubbing circles on her hip. They had been happily married for five years now and were expecting their second child.

Miguel was overjoyed at the idea of expanding their family. After losing their first child, Gabriella, in a tragic accident, they never thought they would be blessed with another. But here they were, happier than ever and eagerly waiting to meet their little bundle of joy.

'I still can't believe we're having another baby,' Y/N said with a smile, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

Miguel turned to her, a loving smile on his face. 'I know, it's a dream come true Cariño. I can't wait to hold our little one in my arms.'

Y/N's heart swelled with love for her husband. He had been her rock through everything, especially after Gabriella's death. She couldn't have asked for a better partner in life.

As they sat there, enjoying each other's company, Miguel's holographic assistant, Lyla, interrupted their peaceful moment.

'Sorry to interrupt, but you have a meeting in half an hour, Miguel,' Lyla informed him.

Miguel let out a sigh, not wanting to leave the comfort of his balcony. He was the CEO of Alchemax and had to deal with all the responsibilities that came with it.

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. 'I'll go get ready for my doctor's appointment.' she said before giving him a quick kiss and heading inside.

Miguel watched her go, feeling grateful for the life they had built together. He quickly finished his coffee and got ready for his meeting.

The day went by in a blur of meetings and paperwork. Miguel couldn't wait to get back home and spend more time with Y/N. As the clock struck 5, he rushed out of the office to head home.

Upon arriving, he was greeted by the delicious smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen. Y/N loved to cook and he couldn't wait to taste whatever she had prepared for them tonight.

He walked into the kitchen to find Y/N humming as she stirred a pot on the stove. She turned to him with a smile when she heard him enter.

'Hey, how was your day?' she asked, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

'It was good, but I missed you cariño,' Miguel replied, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Y/N chuckled. 'I missed you too. How about we eat dinner first and then spend the rest of the evening together?'

Miguel nodded, not wanting to waste any more time. They sat down at the dinner table and enjoyed their meal, talking about their day and making plans for the weekend.

After dinner, they settled on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. Miguel gently rubbed Y/N's growing belly, feeling the movements of their unborn child.

'I can't wait to meet our little Empanada,' Miguel said with a smile, leaning down to place a kiss on Y/N's belly.

Y/N chuckles and smiles down at him, running her fingers through his hair lovingly. 'Me too. I know Gabriella would have been the best big sister.'

Miguel felt a pang of sadness at the mention of their first child. He still missed her every day, but he had learned to focus on the present and be grateful for the blessings in his life.

They spent the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch, talking and laughing. Miguel couldn't imagine his life without Y/N by his side.

As the night went on, Y/N yawned and said, 'I think it's time for us to go to bed. You have a big day tomorrow.'

Miguel nodded, knowing Y/N was right. He kissed her forehead before they made their way to their bedroom.

Laying in bed, Miguel pulled Y/N closer to him, wrapping his arms around her protectively. 'I love you, mi amor,' he whispered, placing a kiss on her neck.

Y/N smiled, feeling content and loved. 'I love you too, Miguel.'

As they drifted off to sleep, Miguel couldn't help but feel grateful for the life they had built together. Their love had overcome all the challenges and made them stronger.

The next day, they went to the doctor for a routine check-up. Miguel was excited to hear their baby's heartbeat, while Y/N was a little anxious. After the loss of their first child, she couldn't help but worry about everything that could go wrong.

But as soon as they heard the strong and steady beat of their baby's heart, all their worries vanished. They were both filled with joy and excitement for the future.

Nine months flew by, and before they knew it, it was time for Y/N to give birth. Miguel was a bundle of nerves as he sat in the waiting room, waiting for any news from the doctors.

After what felt like hours, the doctor finally came out with a smile on her face. 'Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara. You have a healthy baby girl,' she said, handing the newborn to Miguel.

Miguel's eyes welled up with tears as he held his daughter in his arms. She was perfect, with a head full of black hair and her mother's beautiful features.

Y/N was wheeled out of the delivery room, looking exhausted but elated. Miguel couldn't wait for her to meet their little miracle.

They named their daughter Isabella, after Y/N's grandmother. She was a blessing, and they cherished every moment spent with her.

As the years went by, their family grew and their love only got stronger. They faced challenges and struggles, but they always stood by each other's side.

Miguel and Y/N were grateful for the life they had together in their comfortable apartment in Nueva York. They had everything they ever wanted, and most importantly, they had each other.

On a special evening, as they sat on their balcony, watching the sunset, Miguel whispered, 'I never knew love until I met you, Y/N. Thank you for being my wife and the mother of our beautiful children.'

Y/N smiled, tears glistening in her eyes. 'And I never thought I could find true happiness until I met you, Miguel. I love you more than words can express.'

As they shared a loving kiss, surrounded by the sounds of a bustling city, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together as a family. And that was all that mattered.

hit first and hit hard || challengers

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ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀, 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝘆

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴/𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪꜱᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ 3 ᴛᴏ 4 ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!

​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇩​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​: 7.9k

Part Two !!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙨

It seemed almost trivial when you'd joined your middle school's tennis team as a favor for a friend. She'd prompted you with positive words and affirmations that it'd "just be for the season" and "for fun". Tennis hadn't even crossed your mind only being mentioned for the celebrity players like Billie Jean King or Andre.... well, they weren't important enough for you to remember them. Or the championship with the silly name, "Wimbledon", at first when you'd learned of it you'd thought it was made up.

But it wasn't and you were set up for tennis during your middle school career. But to the shock of yourself and others—you were a fucking good player. You sailed across the court in "gym shoes" (which were really Converse) and baggy school-issued shorts. Being a twelve-year-old girl running around the court and playing fervently was surely tiring but you worked hard and long, strenuous hours.

Every time you'd trip over yourself trying to catch a ball on the other side of the court, you'd get up. You were determined to be good at something; tennis would be it. You didn't particularly know what fired you to work so hard, especially, at a sport you'd joined as a joke.

It seemed strange but lit a deep fire when you stepped on the concrete court, staring at your opponent standing opposite. The fire nipped at your fingertips when you picked up the heavy racquet and the neon atrocity that was the ball.

It made you feel powerful when you slammed, although not the best serve at first, the ball across the court in a serve that would ensue the rally and the pure enigma that followed—the breath of life that was tennis.

You'd worked pretty hard with your doubles partner, the friend who'd invited you, and you both had managed to snag your state female youth's championships doubles title for ages 12 to 14. To say you were pleased was an understatement, you were thrilled. You'd thrown yourself into the sport for the newfound love of it, and it got your parents off of your ass about joining stupid, fucking 'extracurriculars'.

The year after, you were put into the girl's circuit matches during the year and played throughout. Your intense training paid off so much that you'd shed the doubles-only path and managed to play singles. Somehow, by the chance of something holy, you managed to get to the USTA Girls 14s National Championships just before the start of your freshman year.

𝙎𝘼𝙉 𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙂𝙊, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2002

14 years old and deathly terrified, you waltzed to San Diego where you were sure you'd meet your fate (death), to lose to people you were convinced were so much better than you. Even though your love of tennis had thrived, you weren't dumb.

You weren't exactly the richest girl on the block, unlike most tennis players. Tennis, you'd learned that to be extraordinarily good or at least decent, with not a lot of raw talent, required lessons; lessons (the good, professional ones) cost a lot of money. You had benefitted from the fact that your school coach was very dedicated once she'd gauged your true love of the sport and soon forced you into a training routine that you dutifully followed.

But all of that didn't matter as you stepped into the stadium. All that mattered was the talent that you possessed, not the rich girls in their juicy couture, that you wished you could steal off of their bodies, their pristine Nike tennis shoes, or their stupidly expensive tennis outfits. You had yourself and your fabulous Wet Seal white skirt that you'd hand sewn so it looked pleated, sorta.

You walked around the stadium for a while, trying to find the locker room to place your stuff down before your match started. It was against some girl with the sorta name that reminded you of the state of Idaho with how forgetful it was. Nevertheless, you sauntered around the halls until you heard a loud, distracting clamor that came from behind you.

The sound of very loud overlapping voices clouded your mind as they all repeated the same name as if gospel:

𝙏𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝘿𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙣

You had turned your head slightly back to be met with a figure. A tall, beautiful girl entered your vision. And that was the beginning of the end for you.

She walked down the hallway with the entourage of players, adults, and coaches alike following around or behind her. Every step she took felt like the world shook around her, hair slicked back into a ponytail-braid, her outfit branded with some sports brand, and her face... A face that read of more conviction and drive than you'd ever seen in your short life.

You were still walking in an awkward position, head craned backward to gaze at the girl who was a few meters behind. She enraptured you, in more ways than one. It was strange how eye-catching she was, and she must've been popular too if she had everyone following her, or that was your thought process at least. Well you were thinking until from that stupid position you were in, you made eye contact with her.

Her deep eyes had met your own quickly, a flash of confusion on her face before it shifted back to its original stone confidence On the other hand, you had let out a small gasp of embarrassment (?) or some sort of flustered emotion, and scuttled along to the nearest door along the seemingly endless hall.

To your luck, it was the locker room, and even better it was emptier than a school library. Walking to the nearest bench you set your backpack down and let out a shutter, "Jesus Christ.."

You sighed and looked at yourself in the mirror, then began to change, and then you were ready. While you were lacing up your gym shoes, ACTUAL tennis shoes, your mind wandered to that girl again.

Tashi...it made your heart clench up and your palms sweat. Everything about today was beginning to make you panic, especially that girl, but you couldn't think about it much before your coach burst into the empty room. She hollered your name and her voice reverberated throughout the room— you blinked you were on the court and the stupid, forgettable girl stood on the other side of the 24 meters, doing whatever stupid, forgettable girls could do. You started your routine, blocking out anything that was deemed a distraction.

The match soon started, and everything seemed drowned out by you and the girl's grunts. The ball sailed across the net, again and again, but it seemed to be quite the easy game. The no-name girl couldn't backhand for her life and eventually, you caught her during the second set. The poor player simply couldn't take your, albeit shaky, jump serve and the ball barely skimmed the tip of her racquet.

You nearly felt bad for the girl, she looked so enraged when she lost. A forlorn battle cry left her lips, her racquet taking the brunt of the anger as it shattered. The girl's expression wrenched, she reminded you of a wounded animal being left for dead, or already on its way.

Bled out and begging.

Nevertheless, you bustled off the court and into the locker room, your coach had already congratulated you on your way out so you were stranded alone. The vibrant cobalt blue of the lockers almost blinded you upon entry but there were more pressing matters, there she was. "Good game," Tashi emitted, standing in the far back of the room. She looked less, terrifying than before... more human. A slight half-smirk or smile on her face flourished, it appeared almost natural.

"Oh! Thank you," You beamed, your smile widening at her praise, it'd felt like winning again. "It's my first time here so I was sorta hoping to win." A laugh escaped your lips awkwardly, slowly trotting over to where the other girl stood.

"I could tell, you looked as if you were about to like to shoot yourself or some shit," She chuckled drily, rummaging through her things while you stood there, like a statue. A very graceless statue.

"Yeah," You answered meekly with a laugh, though it sounded more like a squeak. You didn't know what about this girl made you sweat, you'd never heard of her, who the fuck was this bitch—Your stream of consciousness was soon cut off at the girl's gaze returning to you.

Tashi's expression had slightly toughened, but you chalked it up to being her opponent. She spoke once more, "Well, I got my game," She slung the huge bag over her shoulder and started on her way, before turning again to face you. "See ya..." She trailed off and awaited your name, giving you an expectant look.

Immediately you complied, sputtering out your name and watching the brunette's eyebrows raise in interest? Or that's what you assumed. Your name rolled off her tongue as she said it aloud, and then a second time to you, offering you that intense stare.

"Huh, well, see ya.." Then Tashi Duncan walked right out of the room. Something sparked in you as you saw the girl leave. You didn't know if it was loathing, admiration, or absolute fucking torment. Hell, to this day you don't know what it was. What you did know was that this girl was something; you wanted to be a part of that something. To be a part of her.

So you were.

𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙍𝙆 𝘾𝙄𝙏𝙔, 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙍𝙆, 2006

𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘊𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳

The sun beaded down on the courts on the day of the US Open. Unforgiving in its light as it scorched the earth's wide terrain, making sure anyone who left the house that day within the sun's climax would surely get a foul burn. But it didn't matter, everyone was there on the day of the US Open. The fourth and final title any tennis player would need to get a Grand Slam and it all took place in the 'Greatest City' in the world as some say.

New (fucking) York.

You'd finally made it, US Open. It was juniors, sure, but the US Open itself felt like a badge of honor. Being here, aged 17, was everything you worked for the past five years. You felt like it was your birthday, Christmas, and waking up to see the goddamn tooth fairy all in one day. You'd walked past your opponent upon entering the court. Something you'd mastered within the past years was the benefit of the poker face. You set down your bulky bag on your side of the court, got your racquet out, and stretched. Your mind went silent as everything was called to a hush.

There was no coin flip, everyone knew who was serving first. But the question was, who would win?

Tashi had always been the better of the both of you.

You both stood, at opposing ends of the court, staring at each other awaiting the next move. Tashi gripped the ball like a vice and gazed at you. It honestly made you feel naked but you didn't show. There was no place in your world right now to fuck this game up. THWACK THWACK THWACK

The ball took its beating as it wafted from end to end on the green concrete. The loud sounds of grunts and cries intermingled, the sheer forces converging.

When playing with Tashi it almost felt as if you were one. Just as you knew what move she would make, she'd predict yours. You gave her your backhand, and she yielded a forehand. Play after play, you both gave a fight worth seeing. At this point it became a game of endurance, to see who could persist under each other's brutal grasp.

If it was a game of who wanted it badly enough Tashi would've won every single time. But a game of spite? That's something you couldn't afford to lose.

It was the last game. Tashi had won the first one, and you had won the second after managing a dive for a ball for a drop shot, subsequently, skinning practically half the skin off your right knee. But it was all worth it. The third game started with the serve and then you played like hell. Your body was not yours in that moment, it was the games. Your legs pounded into the concrete as they sidestepped, swerving and twisting your body to keep up with the rally. It felt as if the rally had gone on forever. You just needed to tie the set and you'd have the advantage.

You could tell Tashi was starting to break, she looked undoubtedly tired but wouldn't let up. The last hit she gave, a loud THWACK was sent across the court and you plunged to get the ball, it barely touched your racquet... The stands erupted in applause for Tashi as an expression of euphoria broke out upon your opponent's features. She won. "COME ON!" A loud battle cry ripped through her as her tennis racquet tumbled to the ground and a smile broke out on her features. A grin had even broken upon yours, watching your best friend win

Rather than shaking hands as typical at the end of a game, you ran to the net, leaped over it, and enveloped her in an air-tight hug. It was returned with the same amount of vehemence, and a peck to the apple of your cheek.

You wanted to slightly cry or maybe even frown at the aspect of losing but you couldn't. Tashi's win was your win, right?

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It's getting hot in here

So take off all your clothes

I am getting so hot...

The music hovered through the air as you and Tashi danced along the dance floor. The party on Long Island seemed a bit daunting to you, going to a social event right after a grueling day full of a tournament in the sweltering sun. But you sucked it up, put on your fetching little dress with high heels, and danced your heart out next to your best friend.

The dresses swung around in tandem while Nelly blasted through the speakers, you laughed with her hooking hands together, spinning throughout the floor.

While dancing you saw the chick Tashi had played before the final, she was sobbing to her parents, looking distraught. "God would you see that chick," You muttered to Tashi's ear, a small smirk forming.

She looked back at the girl, eyebrows raised and a surprised smile. Tashi spoke your name, "I never took you for a bitch," feigning a scold to you, and held your gaze, before busting out in a laugh.

You followed suit, giggling as well. The Russian girl had cursed Tashi out at the end of their match, needless to say, she wasn't the friendliest girl.

"Karma's a bitch, Tash!" A laugh slipped out of your mouth as you practically leaned on Tashi, keeping up dance in between you two. She looked down at you, smiling at your answer with that signature Tashi Duncan grin. Not exactly a smirk, but not an earnest smile.

You returned it, getting lost in her deep brown eyes for a moment, it felt as if on the floor it was just you two. You and Tashi dancing, you didn't know, and maybe would never know, that Tashi knew how you looked at her at that moment. She merely just didn't care.

However, your moment was interrupted by her words;

"Come on, I'm thirsty," She announced, still giving you that impish smile. You only nodded, your wrist was soon snatched up by your friend and promptly yanked off the dance floor. You followed Tashi, finding a cooler nearby, she snatched up two drinks and then led you onto some chairs.

Tashi down first, sipping whatever fruity nonalcoholic drink and you sat on the arm of the chair, of course. You sipped your own drink and stared out in the crowd, but something, no, some guys entered your peripheral vision— they were walking straight toward you. At first, all you could get from the figures was that one was blonde and the other brunette. Upon further inspection, they were the two doubles players, Fire and Ice.

This caused you to nudge your friend with your leg but they'd already appeared.

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By some form of charm and fascination, you found yourself on the beach, smoking a cigarette and captivated by two young men. You came to find that their names were Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig and that they were undoubtedly head over heels. You had a sneaking suspicion they were already members of the Tashi Duncan Fan Club just based on their awestruck faces.

You sat on the rock next to your friend, legs crossed and head turned toward her before shifting to the ocean. A little smile had been laid on your features since meeting with them. They were so.. appealing. If that was a word to describe them. When asked earlier by Tashi, "Who was fire and who was ice?" There was no straight answer so you made one up yourself. "Y'know, I think I've figured you two out." You declared, turning your gaze to them. They both tore their gaze away from Tashi to you.

"What have you figured out?" Patrick inquired playfully, raising his brows unanimously.

"You're fire," You pointed directly at the brunette, "And you're ice." Then pointing to the blonde, a smug smile replaced the other as you took a puff of the cigarette. "Am I wrong?" Art chuckled at the assumption and shrugged, "I don't know is she, Patrick?" He asked his friend, matching your 'matter-of-fact' tone.

Patrick stared at you for a moment, his eyes sized you up, almost the way Tashi did. Confident, all-knowing. From the tips of your heels to the hilt of where your dress dipped into your chest, all the way up to meet your fierce eyes. He readjusted himself in his chair.

"That's up to you, Art." He replied, never breaking the eye contact. This time, Art didn't respond to anyone and only chuckled at the stupidity of the conversation. Though this didn't satiate you, before you could reply with another quip, your phone buzzed.

This caused your face to change as you whisked your shiny light pink Motorola Razr out of the strap of your heel to see who would be calling you—Your mother. "Damnit," You huffed, screening the call and clutching the phone. "Tash, it's my time to go." You started to stand up from the rock, as Tashi turned her head to gaze up at you.

"Your Mom?" "Yeah, who the fuck else." You muttered in annoyance, brushing off the sand that stuck to your leg. Tashi sent you a sympathetic look but she already knew this routine, it wasn't any new to her that your mom would want you back home. Especially, if she knew you were out with random boys.

"Hey, I gotta go, my mom's calling me." You announced to the rest of the company with an awkward grin and some weird hand motion where you limply pointed past them. "Aw really," Patrick whined playfully, "We'll miss you so much," He took a sip of his Coke with a smirk. "Do you really have to go?"

Art joined in, "Yeah, are we that terrible?" He asked teasingly, his lips upturning into a grin that mirrored his friend.

A slight flush had flitted across your face, the awkwardness replaced with a sense of sheepishness. Your reply died on the tip of your tongue as a familiar hug enraptured you from behind. "Oh don't scare her, she's shy. Aren't you?" Tashi jested, giving the boys a flippant glare, her head leaning on the crook of your neck.

You scoffed lightly and rolled your eyes, "No, just tired." A small huff left your lips as you leaned back into your friend's grasp, before turning around and hugging her back tightly. You loved your best friend deeply, she'd chosen you from the start and you still were in awe.

Pulling away from the hug, Tashi kissed the apple of your cheek as always and you grinned.

"Bye Tash," You chirped, finally leaving the sandy rock and onto the beach, passing by the boys before you were stopped by their silly farewells.

"Rude, no goodbye?" Patrick shouted, incredulously with a grin.

Art called out your name, "Bye, I'll see you at Stanford!"

You let out a small giggle to yourself as you skipped off back to your hotel. The boys stared at your figure as it got smaller and smaller, away in the distance.

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Later that night, while lounging in your room, watching stupid mindless late-night television there was a knock at your door. Perplexed, you walked over to the door and opened it to reveal your best friend.

"Tashi?" You asked tiredly, "What the hell are you doing here?" Your eyebrows drew together at her devious smirk, the way she looked at you made you think she was about to tell you something you really weren't gonna like.

"Well, you remember those two boys?" She inquired with her Cheshire smile, and you nodded slowly. "They want us to go to their room!" Tashi squealed, grabbing you by the shoulders happily.

Your expression shifted to one of confusion, "You mean they want you," You corrected with a thin, wiry smile.

Tashi scoffed, "No, they said 'Bring your hot friend too', " She moved her hands from your shoulders to connect with your own. "Please? It'll be fun I swear! They have beer!"

"Tash, I don't know about this," You pouted, trying to appeal that you didn't want to go, "Maybe we should think about this, I mean-" You were unfortunately cut off by her hauling you out of your room by your wrists.

"No, we're going, it'll be fun," Tashi stated with vitality as if it were fact rather than opinion. She pulled you through the corridors of the hotel, which conveniently, you learned, the boys were staying in the same one.

It seemed never-ending, the red and green carpeting looked dirty, and looking at the skeevy carpet did not help the unsettling feeling you had in your stomach. It just didn't make sense that they both wanted you there or maybe the idea of being desirable by guys that hot threw you off a bit.

"Tashi, please promise me that I'm not just being brought along so one guy doesn't hide in that bathroom while you fuck the other?" You look at her desperately, trying to search for an answer that registers in your brain. Tashi only ignored your question by giving you an expression that read, 'Shut up, you'll be fine'.

You've gotten that look throughout your friendship but it felt more militant now. So, you did shut up and kept on walking until eventually the red-carpeted trail ended at room 206, that was when Tashi released you from her iron grip and you two stood at the door.

The sound of the knock echoed throughout the empty hotel halls. There was silence and no one opened the door. The second time you knocked, more like pounded, but a knock nonetheless. Rustling and hushed voices were heard on the other side of the door, causing you and Tashi to both giggle a bit to yourself before the door was opened.

"Hi,"

"Hey,"

They welcomed you into the room, though they both looked reddened and disheveled. The room smelled like cigarettes and looked sloppy as fuck, but what would you expect from two teenage boys?

You and Tashi both took seats on the carpeted floor, and you brought your legs to a criss-crossed position while the boys took the spots across from you two.

"So, did you take like Mommy and me classes together or what?" Tashi asked teasingly, earning chuckles from around the circle. "You guys just seem like brothers."

Art laughed, "Well that's what the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy will do for you," A laugh simmered once more and you quirked your eyebrow.

"Shit, you guys went to boarding school for tennis?" A curious grin blossomed across your face, "I didn't know they had actually had those."

Patrick nodded his head, "Yep, I've been bunkmates with him," he pointed a finger toward Art, "Since we were 12."

You bobbed your head, "That makes sense," The beer can was finally passed to you and you took a sip. "You both definitely have a gayness to you."

Tashi laughed at your words as the boy's faces dropped, not expecting those words to spill from you. It was deathly silent other than you and Tashi's giggling.

"Well, are you?" Tashi asked between laughs, earning another loud laugh from the two of you at Patrick's smirk and Art's panicked spluttering to defend himself and his friend.

"No, we're NOT gay," He corrected with a nervous smile, "Just because people go to boarding school doesn't mean they're gay. It wasn't even all boys, there were girls too." Art seemed pleased with his own explanation but that didn't stop the onslaught of giggles between you and your friend.

"Okay, sure," You snorted, taking another sip of the beer before it was snatched out your of grasp by Patrick. You shot him a playful glare to only be met with one back.

"Though, does this happen often?" Tashi questioned the boys with a flirtatious gaze, "You bring back two girls to your room?" "Or do you usually..?" The words died on the tip of your tongue as you finished the sentence, giving them an expectant expression. A few seconds passed by with no one speaking until...

"Well..." Patrick started, making you and Tashi wheeze in amusement as Art immediately cut him off.

"No."

That was the beginning of the tale of how Patrick taught Art to jerk off. Though you didn't find the conversation all that interesting, hearing about juvenile masturbation wasn't the topic you wanted to listen to. So, you began to space out until the question was turned on the both of you.

"What about you two?" Patrick asked sleazily, a permanent smirk written on his face. "Ever get lonely so you both..." The sentence hung in the air as you and Tashi glanced at each other. You didn't want to answer that question as that was truthfully some personal information that may or may not be true; luckily, Tashi was better at these things.

"That's for us to know and for y'all to find out," She passed the beer to you and you graciously took it from her hands. You resolved to be a bit of an asshole and finish the beer.

"We're out of beer," You put the can down on the carpet and looked at the rest of them, smiling thinly. Internally you were hoping this meant going back to your hotel room and returning to watching infomercials, but unfortunately, that's not what happened. What happened is something that truly signals the beginning of the intertwining between you and these individuals.

Tashi stood up first, her gaze as heavy as lead as she looked down upon the rest of you. The mood of the room had unmistakably shifted into one you weren't sure of, she sauntered to the bed and sat down on it. Her eyes settled on you first as she used her finger to signal you to the bed. You stood up and followed her command senselessly, not knowing what exactly was going to occur.

The two boys had watched the interaction intensely, you hadn't noticed but Tashi did. She always did. Her eyes darted to the boys and then you and a mischievous glint highlighted in her eyes.

She grabbed you by the cheek and stared strongly into your eyes. Your already skittish smile turned to one of confusion as you were confused about what exactly your friend was planning.

Tashi leaned really close to your ear and whispered, "Let's give them the show of their fucking lives," and so you did.

Her lips crashed to yours and before you knew it you were making out with Tashi Duncan. One of her hands had slipped from your face to your ass, and she seized it causing you to exclaim slightly into the kiss but nothing to stop you from it. The intense kissing and touching went on for a while, and her soft hands slid on your exposed thighs as your own hands stayed stationary on her own cheek and waist.

Tashi had pulled away first, her lips pouted from the kissing, to look at you with that same bold gaze but it soon left you in favor of the people who were still on the floor. Your eyes followed her gaze until it landed on them as well; they looked absolutely hungry.

The way they both looked at you reminded you of ravenous lions hunting their prey in the wild. Your hand clutched at Tashi's hair when your mind came to the revelation that the way the boys stared at you made your body feel hot. Hotter than it already was from your make-out session with Tashi.

"Well, are you gonna sit there and watch or join us?" In a flash, the boys clumsily ran to the bed, Art on yours, Patrick on hers. As soon as Art could even lay his eyes on you, his hands and lips followed. Hot kisses were laid on your jugular, but it didn't feel too lascivious, it felt pristine. His touch was soft and once he had dipped his head all the way to your sternum (thank god you had won a tank top), he pulled it away and laid his lips onto yours.

Art's lips were soft and moved rhythmically against yours, you kept up fine and collected his downy blonde curls in your hands. You managed to obtain dominance in the kiss, legs slipping together and locking in with his, your body soon taking precedence over him. His hands moved up and down the small of your back, subtle sounds emitting from his lips that one could classify as moans. It made you feel hotter inside, a deep pool of something warm had clouded your entire bloodstream, only fueled by every movement from the boy who so desperately kissed you. It felt nice to be wanted.

With the eagerness of your own fling you'd forgotten there was an opposite party within your midst, and they were getting it on in the same manner. But what you didn't expect was for Tashi, over the lewd noises, to say anything during the liaisons.

"Okay, switch."

Soon after you removed yourself from Art, begrudgingly, and were snatched up by Patrick. Patrick proved to be the rougher lover, skipping the foreplay and immediately rushing into raw, teeth-clashing kisses that shook you to your core. His hands felt like hot wax over your body as he palmed your breasts and the other slipped into your shorts and onto the smooth skin of your ass, delightfully exemplified by the shortness of them. His kisses were desperate and borderline depraved, you'd never been kissed so passionately before you practically didn't know what to do. Yet you'd let him take the lead after a while, his hand had slipped up from your ass to beneath your shirt, toying with the back of your bra.

Unfortunately for Patrick, the moment was cut abruptly by Tashi, with her ever-persisting smirk, pulled away from Art and nudged him toward you and Patrick, seeing what would transpire. The blonde had slid toward your left and started attacking an open space left at the arc of your neck, leading the brunette to sway to your right side of your neck.

Your whole body felt like it was ablaze, the touch of them both was overwhelming, and the skin-on-skin contact from both boys discerned a deep feeling being dug from you. Your eyes had been wired shut since your switch over to Patrick; they fluttered open for a wink to see one of the most erotic scenes that wouldn't even be found in the chasms of your mind.

Tashi stood a few feet away drinking in the sight with an unreadable but smirking expression. You couldn't tell if she loved the sight because it turned her on, or if she loved that she had this much control over the three of you. Faces and bodies tangled and lips slowly traveled up to your earlobes, and your eyes shut once more as the sensation of the boy's lips traveled to your own within their trail. However, you soon pulled away as the sensation of two people kissing you at once wasn't really a turn-on.

Regardless, by the power of your two open hands, you pushed their heads together as they soon mindlessly locked lips, hands leaving you and they pawed at each other. Leaning back, you watched the scene unfold with ardent interest. This was almost as hot as experiencing it, you suspected as your own smirk spread across your features.

Their kissing continued for a while, you and your best friend watching the boys thoroughly lock lips. But, the moment was not to last, Tashi stepped over and took your wrist, drawing you away from the sinful scene and back into reality.

"Okay, we're done," Tashi announced, a quaint smile on her face while you appeared positively confused and flushed, "It's been nice."

The boys stopped their kissing shortly after to give you both a baffled expression. They both glanced among the two of you, their eyebrows drawn in a line as they tried to configure what the fuck just happened. Patrick always assumed, to this day, that Tashi was just jealous of not being the 'center of attention'. Art, on the other hand, found Tashi to be envious but not about what Patrick presumed about.

"But what about your numbers?" Art asked, sitting up and looking very alarmed. Patrick assumed the same position and expression, they almost looked like twins, if it weren't that they were distinguishable in every way possible.

Tashi paused for a moment, she looked to be in deep thought to the naked eye, but you knew her—she'd planned this. "Well, you'll play for them of course," The words rolled right off her tongue, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. Expressionless, you turned your gaze back to the boys as they looked stunned.

Tashi looked at you to continue, "Oh, uhm...Yeah, may the best player win.." Your cheeks started to burn once more from the mortification from whatever this tryst was finally setting into your brain. The other girl seemed pleased with your answer and toted you along to the door.

She opened it partly, looking them over with that stare, before saying, "We wanna see some good fucking tennis."

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𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

Hunger hurts

But I want him so bad

Oh, it kills...

Fiona Apple spilled from the shitty iPod you'd set up in a glass cup as a speaker, working on whatever homework was given to you in your classes. Outside of hitting a ball with a stick, you would like some life skills, so... well your major was something you could worry about later. All that mattered now was two things; Tennis and your friends.

Surprisingly, you weren't a complete social reject and you did have friends outside of Tashi and Art, but they weren't actually welcomed. Tashi could fake many things but fake friendliness? She couldn't bring herself to that low level.

Speak of the devil, Tashi waltzed into your room, clad in athleisure. "God why are you listening to wrist-slitting music," She inquired humorously, an impish smile playing on her face, "Lighten the fuck up, this is California."

"What the fuck do people listen to in California?" The slam of your textbook echoed in the small room while Tashi sauntered to your bed. You leaned back and soon your head was in between her knees and you looked up to her.

"I don't know Pitbull?" Her finger flicked at your nose and you flinched, groaning in the process. "Really?" You asked warily, finally standing up with a crack to the back, "That's news to me..."

The girl giggled at your fatigue and let out a sigh, "You're so lame," Rolling your eyes in response you sighed yourself and trained your vision on her. "So, what's up? Why'd you come from your 'precious time with Patrick', " You mocked, "To see me?"

Tashi scoffed, "You're so damn dramatic," She uttered your name with gusto, moving to make space as you dropped onto the bed. The silence was comfortable, the two of you laying there and staring at the popcorn dorm ceiling.

"I think Patrick is in love with someone else."

Sitting up on the bed, your eyes shot down to Tashi's face. Her expression wasn't even of sadness, anger, or anything you could gage as negative. She just looked bored. "What do you mean, 'in love' with someone else?"

She shrugged and looked away from you, "That's just what Art told me the other day after practice," The bed shifted as she turned her whole body to face you. "He mentioned something about Patrick just wanting this to be a sort of fling, or that he wasn't 'committed' enough for me."

A small scoff left your lips, and a skeptical look passed over your features. "How could Patrick not be in love or committed? It's you, Tashi, he's not gonna do any better." You proclaimed affectionately, trying to present a sense of hope for your friend but you knew the dramatic irony of all of this.

Tashi took in your words with a thin smile and nodded, then yawned. "I don't truly care, you know that," Your name fell from her lips, "I just want to rest now if that's fine with you." A reply didn't come from you as you watched her slowly descend into an unprompted nap.

The music still played softly through the room while you were left alone with your thoughts. You knew two things now; One, Art Donaldson was a shady bitch. Two, now he had made it your problem and you were keen on solving it.

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"Art!" The echo of your voice thundered across the Stanford Tennis Courts, provoking the boy to look your way. You stormed into the court with a dynamic expression and at first Art had waved to you with a grin on his features but soon gauged that you looked like you were about to bash his head in.

The distance between you two lessened and lessened, quick strides made til you were feet apart. "Art Donaldson, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Playing... Tennis?" He replied in bewilderment, a gesture to the empty court was made with his racquet that was still in hand. "What's up?" He seemed genuinely confused, which only fueled the wrath you held.

"No, Art, you're not playing fucking tennis, you're playing damn mind games!" Spitefully, you slapped the racquet out of his hand and maintained his gaze. A gloss of paleness overrun Art and his confused expression shifted to one of bitterness.

"Listen, whatever you've heard about-"

You cut him off, "No, what I've heard about is that you're spewing bullshit to both of my friends and I don't fucking like it." Art scoffed and rolled his eyes at your statement, "What bullshit is that?" He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That Tashi doesn't love Patrick and Patrick doesn't love Tashi," You replied with vigor, narrowing your eyes at his aloofness about your remarks. The blonde gave you a thin smile, "And?"

It took a great amount of restraint to not punch his face in as being an asshole is something you'd never taken Art for. "And? What do you mean and?" You paused for a beat to see if he'd respond, it stayed quiet. "You're fucking up both of our friend's love lives," You continued, "That's, oh I don't know? Wrong?"

He had looked like he was listening but still said nothing to you. "Well? Have you anything to say for yourself? About your actions?" This did cause Art to let out a long sigh and meet your eyes.

"I mean, what do you want me to do?" He asked you tiredly, "Watch my best friend basically leave the girl of my dreams for weeks at a time, to come back for only 5 seconds to then leave again?"

It struck a despairing chord within you when he uttered the phrase 'girl of my dreams' but tried to not let it phase you. It wasn't about you, it never was, it was about Tashi.

"Yes, Art! That's exactly what I want you to do," You groaned with annoyance at his selfishness, it amazed you how selfish this boy was. "You're supposed to push your feelings aside for your friends, Art," Admonishing him finally seemed to make him look even smaller in front of you as his shoulders slightly sagged.

He looked up at you for a beat, with those sad teardrop-blue, puppy dog eyes begging for pity. You almost gave in like last time, quarreling and then awakening up to find yourself in his bed the next morning, but it wouldn't be like last time. You were soft back then, you had to stand on business.

When you didn't budge he looked even sadder if that was possible but you kept your gaze on him, "I know it's hard to think of what would've happened if you'd won that match. At this point ask for a rematch if you're this desperate," You grumbled, but this caused Art to perk up a bit with, finally, a passionate look in his eyes to match yours.

"Oh, shut up," Art snarled, "You're so fucking hypocritical as if no one sees the way you look at Patrick. Or the way Patrick looks at you," A nervous flush soon reddened your face, you couldn't deny he was right.

There were flirtations here and there from Patrick but that was just his natural manner, or that's at least what you told yourself. It was normal that he'd walked onto you changing one too many times, or commented on every single fling you'd had since meeting you, or how... You stopped listing the reasons that his actions were 'normal' in your head as you were met with Art's harsh gaze. Which was quite frankly terrifying to be under.

So, you broke first and in one swift motion your hand was on his face and your lips crashed onto his.

Safe to say there was no more discussion.

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Waking up in Art Donaldson's bed is not one of your proudest accomplishments. It's transpired too many times for you to count but every time it happens you feel a little shred of your self-respect wither away. His body was partly laid on top of you and his head was buried in the valley of your chest. You observed how peaceful he looked as he slept, blonde curls tousled and messed up from the night before and pink lips perfectly pouted.

Everything seemed peaceful in these moments, it was even better than the pillow talk Art always seemed to have while you were attempting to get your sleep. Though in your mind everything was but peaceful. You couldn't seem to shake the ache of what Art had said the day before.

The girl of his dreams, eugh, it made you want to crucify yourself on a burning cross. You always knew the two boys were wrapped around Tashi's finger but you had convinced yourself you fit in somewhere right? That you were liked by Art? I mean he had to, you'd been both fucking for about a year since you'd gotten to Stanford! He'd always gotten jealous when you had other men around, he had to love you just as much...or at least a little? You were a person who existed outside the realm of Tashi's Tennis world... Right?

Clenching your eyes shut you let out a shuttering breath before reconnecting back to reality. You had to get out of this damn dorm room. You tried to slip out of the bigger boy's grasp upon you but it worked to no avail. He only whined and pulled you closer.

"5 more minutes," Art muttered and buried his face further into the skin. Sighing you drove him off of you harshly, leaping out of the bed and starting the search for your previously discarded clothes. This action caused an even louder whine from the male as he finally awoke from his tranquil slumber to observe you. He pouted at the sight of you leaving.

"Do you really have to go?" Art asked as if the events of yesterday had never happened, "I know your schedule you don't have any classes today." Throwing on whatever clean shirt of Art's that was available you didn't respond to him, too busy with your own thoughts. The lack of an answer only made the blonde pout more and he sighed dejectedly.

"You know I love you right?"

The blood ran cold in your veins, "Excuse me?" Your head whipped toward the bed-bound boy, an indecipherable expression on your face. This compelled Art to smile, taking this as a sign of you being shocked that he could love you, that this was the shock of happiness. Oh, how the blonde was so wrong.

"I love you," He said your name tentatively, every syllable dripping from his lips like sweet honey, "I've loved you since that day at the beach."

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you felt yourself consumed by an indescribable misery from inside. What sick joke was he playing on you? Lamenting on the lack of Tashi's love to express his to you? He was definitely playing with you.

"I... I don't know what the fuck you're playing at Art," Your voice trembled with rage, "But it has to stop right now." Art's once joyful expression shifted to one of confusion, something he seemed to love to do these days.

"What?" He asked, "I'm not playing at anything, I love you?" It sounded like a phrased question that caused you to scoff. You snatched up your shoes from the door and angrily put them on, ignoring the way he had started to call your name.

"No, the fuck you don't Art!" You shouted, silencing the boy in front of you, "You think you're always fucking winning and that you're the good one! That you're not fucking around with other people because no one would ever expect that of you!" Your voice quivered under the overwhelming amount of emotion you felt.

"God, I feel like I'm fucking shadowboxing here, you drive me fucking crazy." The tears felt cleansing against your dried face, "I can't keep playing this game anymore, Art. You're too much."

The room went noiseless for a beat, when you finally turned your teary eyes to Art he looked speechless. It stayed like that for a few minutes, the both of you staring at one another. His mouth finally opened:

"Are we talking about Tennis?"

The door slammed on your departure from Art Donaldson's dorm and you didn't see yourself coming back anytime soon.

​🇪​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇷​​🇹​ ​🇴​​🇳​​🇪​

Part 2 is here! Please read it!

Please like or comment, and thank you for reading <3

hit first and hit hard || challengers

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ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: the tennis girl weaves her way through simple lover's quarrels and one manipulative blonde boy.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦(?), 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 sleepy 𝘛𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘋𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ! ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇩​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​: 7.7k

Read Part One here!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

The days following your fight with Art were rife with silence and solitude. Sequestered alone in your dorm, you lay there either working on your piling homework or listening to 'emo'-esque music to help funnel your emotions, but that still didn't help.

As much as you hate to admit it the one thing that did was tennis. Wanting to avoid Art and even Tashi, you went as early as possible. Every morning since the fight for at least a solid week, you got up at 4:30 AM, dressed, jumped the court fence to practice for about 5 hours, and exited just as the other 'early' players showed up.

It invigorated you to be energized early in the day and you sometimes smashed the ball or even your racquet if you felt like it. Being alone wasn't a new circumstance for you but it was certainly novel as of late. You were so used to Art's presence on the court and in your life.

Dinners were spent together, and silly chats you two had were the norm for at least a year. Not to mention the bizarre push and pull with the romantic tension between you two. Even before Stanford, you'd labored to get his phone number, after begging Tashi for a few days and speaking to him on the phone constantly.

Though, the blonde seemed just as ardent as you in your aversion to one another. He had tried calling you multiple times and texting but it was fruitless. You'd picked up the phone once to only put it back down.

 ⋆★⋆

"I'm so sorry," Art sobbed, he sounded as if someone had stabbed him, "I'm so, so sorry." You said nothing and stayed neutral. You, unfortunately, picked up the phone after Donaldson had called it 23 times in the past 2 days, and decided the 24th would be the last. It was time to be the bigger person and end the fight between you two.

"Me too, Art." Muttering drily you heard his hiccups stop, and a loud sigh of relief. You could almost feel the weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

He whispered your name softly, "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I wanted to say what I thought you wanted."

A sharp pain shot through your chest as those lethal words left his lips and pure white-hot vexation replaced whatever emotion had been there previously. It was silent between the two of you, which confused the boy.

Art called your name but was interrupted, "You know what I want Art Donaldson?" You roared, "For your fucking castration to be slow and painful!"

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The poor cutesy, pink Motorola Razr was no longer a phone after the conversation and lay shattered on your floor for days before you finally felt bad and threw it out. Your new one, a hue of bright cherry red, felt much more fitting for this new lifestyle.

Tashi you didn't actually avoid, more like you didn't tell her what was wrong. If beating around the bush was a professional sport you would've left tennis ages ago. Every time you and Tashi would be talking, in your small instants outside of your room or the court that week, Art would approach and you'd immediately give these automated lines;

"Oh shit, Tashi, sorry I got an essay to write!"

"Oops! I forgot I had a thing I have to get to so.."

"It's what time? I gotta go walk my fish!"

Ausispously, these went unnoticed by Tashi because in every single one of the instances you slipped away back to your dorm and to your desolation, without as much as a blink from your friend. If you weren't so content in your loneliness you probably would have been much more uncertain or at least unhappy about her sudden disconnect from you, but chalked it up to Patrick being in town for a longer period.

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𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

The loud pounds landed dully against your door and woke you up immediately. Your body sat up and the sun's harsh blare into your tiny room flashed in your face, nearly blinding you upon waking up. You frantically glanced around your dorm room, seeing if it was something inside rather than external.

But no, all in your room were your postered walls full of music artists, art pieces themselves, silly photos of you and your friends from home (though most of those photos were overshadowed by Tashi's), and other miscellaneous items that sat around. In the small moment of silence between pounds, you began to slightly enjoy the pleasing sight of how pretty your room looked in the California dawning sun.

However, you were quickly slapped back into reality because the pounding had not ceased; seemingly getting louder if it was imaginable. What the fuck... That specific thought rattled through your foggy brain and your face contorted to deep confusion—even fear. Yet, you finally got the motivation to gradually inch toward the door, not even knowing who the fuck could be on the other side. The door rattled and shook explosively the closer you got until a hand to the handle.

The metal felt cool and smooth under your grasp. Soon flinching at the pounding and slightly wondered how your neighbors didn't get pissed off yet. But, you focused and opened the door.

Then there he was, Patrick Zweig, in all his glory posed in a mid-pound gesture at your dorm room door, staring straight at you.

"Hi,"

"Hey..."

Patrick soon pushed his way past you, walking into your dorm unphased. "Okay, just come right in.." You muttered, shutting the door behind you before turning to him. He stood in the middle of your room, inspecting it like he's the fucking DA. Nevertheless, he looked quite pretty as he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt with some dorky slogan and jorts—fit for California weather.

The silence was palpable between you two, Patrick seemed unbothered, almost jovial, and the signature devilish glint in his eyes. You, in contrast, glared at him like he was the spawn of Satan.

"Don't you look joyful?" Patrick chuckled, a playful smile soon following. Your scowl didn't budge but despite that, he came toward you with arms open wide, and enclosed you in a hug, "I'm certainly happy to see you." His words were muffled in the tangled mess that was your hair at this early of an hour. You hugged back briefly, then pressed him off.

"Pounding at my door at..." You glanced at the digital clock, "Jesus Christ, 7:15 in the morning?!" A small chuckle left Patrick again at his ability to get a rise out of you. You crossed your arms angrily and pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

"Well, I'm eager to see one of my two special girls," He quipped, leaning back on your window sill with a surprising suaveness. That had become his nickname for you and Tashi over the past months. His 'special' girls were his way of flirting with you and getting on your nerves all at the same time. Both he and your best friend found it hilarious.

"Zweig, you have a pretty fucking odd way of showing 'enthusiasm'," A scoff left your lips just as you sauntered to the bathroom that was tangent to your room. The brunette soon followed and leaned on the doorway as you started your routine.

"I adore you, pookie!" A shutter audibly left you when he drawled out the terribly cheesy nickname. That one was the worst.

"Bleugh," You gagged, "Jesus Christ, Patrick why can't you be normal?" Somehow you frowned even deeper if that was even possible.

The boy laughed in reply, "Because who would be around to force you to have some fun?" Patrick looked at you with those eyes, his pretty forestry eyes that have broken hearts all across the country, they were meant for you. It made you want to stare back with your own, basking in it like a summer's day. And that smile, god— his smile was the sun itself. If Art was the ice, Patrick was the fire, the sun. The sun's light could always melt the winter's snow, you assumed he was with Tash for that similar reason. Opposites attract.

You started to feel yourself blush, your mind overthinking and repeating thoughts that all were about him, Patrick.

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.

Hastily, you rushed to turn on the faucet and started to forcefully wash your face. Hopefully, it would wash away the shame that overtook the sudden rush of emotions for your best friend's boyfriend. Damnit, this is what happens when you don't get laid for a week... Scolding yourself internally, you washed your face and sighed to look back at him. As you expected, his eyes were still on you. But something had changed, the playfulness just wasn't there. It was something else, but you didn't have the time to place it before he looked away.

"So," Patrick spoke your name, "I haven't seen you for my entire time here, and..." He paused for effect, "I missed you."

You gasped dramatically and put a hand to your chest, "Me? Patrick Zweig misses me?" Teasing him with a smile, "What an honor! What's next, I get taken to the Dollar Tree?"

Laughter bounced off the small walls as the two of you were terribly unfunny and it was mutually known. It didn't stop you two from laughing at the stupidity of it. The laughter endured for a moment or two before it died down.

"But really," Patrick started to pull himself together, "I did miss you. Y'know how Art is these days, and Tashi only wants to talk about fucking tennis..." He stepped closer to you, close enough for his hand to slightly caress your free arm. "You're honestly my only friend right now..."

You laugh awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere from his own. Patrick was looking at you, you knew it, but if you looked now you wouldn't be responsible for what you would do after. Self-control was one of the better traits you'd taken from Tashi—you stepped away from his touch and smiled thinly.

"Oh come on Patrick," The shitty tile of your bathroom floor seemed more and more interesting as the seconds passed, "Tashi's just trying to help you." You knew what he was referring to as Tashi complained of Patrick's inability to listen to criticism.

Patrick scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, regardless didn't reply. He dropped the subject, realizing ages ago you'd always choose to defend Tashi over anyone else. He shifted back to his original plan.

"Okay, that's whatever, would you like to go out tonight then?" He asked, his original jovial tone returning, and suddenly like that, everything was okay. The bizarre tension was gone and you could meet his gaze with a knowing face.

"I'll think about it." That answer seemed good enough for Patrick, you witnessed a cheesy exclamation and a terrible fist pump to follow. You sighed at his absurdity but it finally got him out of your doorway as he sauntered back out to your room.

"Great! I'll see you at 8 tonight," He announced, walking toward the door and out the door before he could hear your faint, "Patrick I don't-"

It was suddenly silent in your dorm again. Which, you were grateful for as it meant now you had time to concentrate; you could possibly continue your new 15-step life plan of isolation and become the second-best tennis-female player of all time, Tashi would be the first. Or get black-out drunk tonight and forget all about everything. Each option was very crucial.

A few hours of homework later, you had determined two things like you had done a week ago. One, yes you did need to get black-out drunk, Two, you had to make more male friends that weren't your best friend's boyfriend or said boyfriend's best friend.

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The club was hot and sweaty, it felt as if it'd swallow you whole with the number of people who crowded around you. Dancing, grinding, touching. You hadn't drunk enough alcohol for you to start to enjoy this feeling so off to the bar you went. Patrick followed in tandem, keeping a good trail on you as he was the "designated driver", though you were sure that both of you were going home in a taxi that night.

Patrick ordered a round of 10 shots of assorted types of strong-smelling alcohol and smiled at you, though the smile made you queasy. It exactly mirrored Tashi's smile when she forced you to do shit.

"My favorite girl, pick your poison," The brunette snickered, taking in the blank features that had taken over. "Unless you're a pussy."

"Oh, I'm a pussy?" You raised your eyebrow in defiance, "Please, Patrick, watch and learn." Mirroring his confident smirk, you picked up one random shot and took it back. Then another, and another, and another... Soon there were only 3 shots left for your friend and your tongue started to go numb. The boy laughed at your efforts and followed your lead by taking the rest of the shots.

Shortly, you were on the dance floor, the colored lights seemed so much more welcoming and the touch of strangers felt like a blaze. You drunkenly danced with Patrick, spinning and moving against each other, hands above the waist for both of you as it felt anything but personal. Occasionally you two would make eye contact for too long and would just erupt in giggles and he'd take you for another spin. Patrick knew how to have fun and pulled you along for the ride.

During some Nelly Furtado song, you'd finally gotten fatigued of the club after who knows how long of dancing, drinking, and other illicit activities that involved a certain plant. You tugged at Patrick's collar of his shirt and he stopped his movement.

"Patrick," You slurred, "I wanna go home.." He looked down at your figure and nodded his head. Patrick led you off of the dance floor and finally outside of the club. You clutched onto his shirt on the walk to the car, which honestly felt like miles. Patrick filled the air with little comments about the people who had filled the club and it made you giggle. Though, as drunk as you were anything could've made you laugh.

"Yes! The car!" The grip on his shirt tightened as you through one of your hands in the air in celebration, "I'm so fuckinggg... tired.." You dragged out your constants as you both made your way to the car. Ultimately, it was more like Patrick was walking and you slanted onto him, trotting along.

"Mhm," Patrick hummed, he'd kept one hand on your waist but you hadn't really noticed it. There were many things you didn't notice in your inebriated state.

Patrick, luckily, hadn't drunk as much as you and was sober enough to drive you home. You laid your head comfortably on the window as you observed the blackened city and yellowed road soar past you. It was serene, you and Patrick. It was the first time in the past week you felt a smidge above the bare minimum. Your head was hazy and everything felt so miniature; boxed in.

The ride home was rather reserved, with no one speaking other than you drunkenly giving him directions to your dorm. Eventually, after he had to call Tashi, he stopped in front of the building.

"We're here, Sleeping Beauty," Patrick murmured quietly, slightly nudging you with his hand. When you responded with a groan, he sighed and got out of the car. You perked up a bit and lazily followed his figure until he opened the door. The lack of movement signaled to Patrick that he would be the one to get you out of this car.

Patrick heaved you out of your seat, to your disdain, and he held you close as he closed the passenger door behind you. Your face was squashed in the curve of his neck. He smelt like really lovely cologne and sweat.

Looking up at him, Patrick met your gaze with his own and smiled, "Hi." You smiled back, "Hey.." His hand stayed trained on your waist and you felt that warmth. The fervor you felt that night in the hotel room. It pooled deep inside of you, and it made the stupid smile on your face grow even wider.

"What are you smiling at?" Patrick grinned at your behavior and his hand that had been unlocking the door moved up to cup your cheek. Both of you stood there under the cloak of the night sky, staring foolishly at one another. He softly said your name, "What are you smiling at, pretty girl?"

The tone of his voice was something you'd never be able to interpret in your lifetime. Forgotten among memories and the intoxication, you thought about what led to the position you were in years later, and next to that night in the hotel room, this seemed to be another flick to the dominos collapsing.

Patrick didn't wait for your response, his lips were already on yours. He felt needy in this kiss, it was long and passionate. Your eyes were clenched shut, the euphoria you felt from being so out of it momentarily leaving your body to replace it with stone-cold regret. The kiss was split when you finally pushed one hand to his chest.

"Patrick?" You muttered, "What the fuck?" Patrick's air sobered at your words. He looked at you, the mere panic very visible on his face. Had he fucked up?

"What?" The brunette laughed humorously, "Did I, erm..." He was searching through his lexicon to say anything that could save whatever the hell just happened.

The shame began to quickly devour you, a sickish feeling overtaking your senses. Whatever just happened mortified you to no extent. You staggered back from Patrick, finally meeting his frenzied eyes.

Your eyes started to gloss over and you cried. Tears fell freely down your face as you felt the humiliation slap you in the face. All of it. The humiliation of Art not even liking you, Tashi's carelessness this week, and then this. The culmination of the efforts from the four of you, kissing your best friend's boyfriend. Or rather he kissed you, but what was the true distinction?

"What the fuck Patrick!?" You roughly wiped the tears that continued to fall, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Patrick said nothing, only stared, so similar to his best friend.

"Jesus... The both of you!" You barked, "The both of you two fucking astound me." Your words were sharp and cutting bore into Patrick, apparently, that's what got him.

"What," His voice trailed off as his demeanor only heightened in puzzlement, "What do you mean both?"

"You and your fuck-face friend, that's who!" Your words blended together, as unfortunately, you were still pretty shit-faced. "You and Art fucking around with my head..."

Patrick tensed, "Art's fucking with your head?"

"Yes!" You replied, throwing your hands out in anger, "He's still in love with your girlfriend, and decided to fuck me on the side!"

Patrick's eyebrows raised, he knew Art was trying to manipulate the situation by trying to break him and Tashi apart but he didn't know that you were weaved in here too.

"That's... fucked up." He attempted to comfort you, very awkwardly.

"Yes, it is fucked up Patrick, almost as fucked up as you kissing me." You shot back venomously, narrowing your eyes at him. Patrick went quiet for a beat. He looked at you, looked away, and back at you. He seemed to be deliberating something.

"There's nothing fucked up about it," He finally answered, "I wanted to."

An involuntary gasp slipped from your lips. Your face contorted. "What?"

"I want you."

It felt like a gallon of cold water splashed on you. You stumbled back even further from the boy, your expression no longer confused but mortified.

Thundering down the sidewalk, you callously ran to where you didn't know. You heard Patirck's calls after you but they didn't matter. It wasn't as if he ran after you. The haze from everything that had happened still lingered as you ran. The thoughts bombarded your mind aimlessly, wondering what Patrick meant or what he might say to Tashi.

Tashi...

You'd raced so far that you were there at her dorm, which was seated right next to the tennis courts. Vision hazy, you tumbled into the building. It felt dingy and humid and walking through the corridors you tripped about six times and fully fallen over 3; that didn't stop you though from your destination.

By the grace of god, you handled yourself well enough to place three ordered knocks on Tashi's door, then slump to the floor with a deep sigh. Honestly, you didn't expect her to open the door. You didn't know what time it was but it was late enough into the night (or the early hours of the morning), that the rest of the world was silent.

Everything went silent for a moment as you stared at that wooden door. You focused on a dent in the door itself, right near the handle. You were so immersed in the indentation that you didn't notice the door hinged open.

"Well, well, well... look who it is," Tashi stared down at you with a slight smile. There she was.

"Tashi!" Your mood was instantly lifted at her company and smiled right back. The nastiness, the dread, and the remorse were lifted instantly once you saw her. She let out a sigh once she saw your state— your outfit was skimpy, mascara and eyeliner were smeared all over your face, and you looked like you'd cried a river.

"Christ," She sighed out your name, "Can't you have a good night?"

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You and Tashi lay on her bed peacefully, and you exchanged no sentiments in those moments. She'd washed you up from your sordid state and now she was tracing designs in the curve of your hip. Tashi laid her chin on your head and you nestled on her collarbone. This was a frequent situation for either of you, as, during tournaments during your adolescent year, nights were spent braiding each other's hair, swapping secrets with smiles, and just being girls.

"So, are we going to talk about it?" Tashi hummed, staring out into her own cluttered room. Smiling like a fool you replied, "Talk about what?"

"Art, he told me about what happened." She continued, her hand moved from your hip to your hair. Tashi threaded her fingers through it gently and you let out a giggle.

"Pfft, Art.. that stupid, dumb blonde," Laughter filled the room, and you drew your head away from Tashi to meet her. "He's just stupid, that's all."

Tashi held back her own laughter at your intoxicated words, "I see.." You nodded in confirmation and laid back down cuddled back in. "Well, I just wanted you to know that this week I wasn't trying to avoid you," She resumed, "Art just told me about your emotional state, and knowing you, I know you like space."

You hoisted your head again and sneered, "You'd believe that twink?" Tashi giggled and rolled her eyes, "I don't think you can say that anymore," She spoke your name in a scold, "But, yes I did, he's pretty fucking convincing you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Convincing my ASS," Your eyebrows drew together in irritation at the mention of the boy, "He's stupid, just like the other one.."

Dead air obscured the room again, the only sound being you and Tashi's breathing. The warmth you'd felt from the alcohol returned again, but it felt different. It didn't feel as murky or slowing, it felt good. Yet, the disgrace from earlier was still in the back of your mind. You knew the next day would hold so much bullshit for you and your friend depending on Patrick's efforts or if Art decided to tell Tashi whatever Patrick would recount to him. The involvement of the two boys had made everything so muddled.

"Tashi,"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you'll love me forever?" You asked quietly, finally breaking the tranquility. The voice you had dawned felt foreign to you, it was desperate, vulnerable. Tashi pulled herself away from you to meet your eyes. Her deep sharp eyes scrutinized you with an unreadable gaze.

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh it off with a dry chuckle.

"I said what I meant," You slurred in reply, a pout, "Will you love me forever?"

Tashi scoffed, "I'm not fucking Mother Theresa," She said your name with a mocking edge. "You're my best friend, I..." Tashi stopped to carefully phrase her words so you could understand in your blitzed condition. "I like you more than any other person on planet Earth."

Your pout formed into a frown, and you stayed silent. Tashi then exhaled wearily, knowing she'd hurt your feelings but didn't say anything. It was a staring contest that you wouldn't win. Tashi did like you a lot, more than she liked her family, friends, and her boyfriend. But she wasn't good at pretending—she couldn't pretend she loved more than one thing. She loved one thing, and one thing only; Tennis.

"Then I'll love you enough for the both of us." That response caught Tashi off guard and she blanked. "I'll love you seeds and all, Tashi Duncan." The announcement of your love for her wasn't on the list of things Tashi thought she would've heard tonight. A nervousness overtook her but you didn't notice, you just stared in determination.

"Seeds and all?" Tashi questioned, her demeanor shifted to something a bit fainter, similar to yours.

"Yes, Tashi, seeds and all," You said it as if it was the most common thing in the world and laid back down. A sudden wave of exhaustion had washed over you, it was so easy to fall asleep. Despite this, Tashi stayed awake and watched you. It wasn't uncommon for you to say sappy shit and for Tashi to combat it with banter, but this felt more amorous; for the first time in the girl's life, she felt confused.

Tashi glanced back down at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful and pretty. An involuntary grin graced her features as she lay next to you. Her face was inches away from your own, bringing her hand to brush away some stray pieces of your hair to simply stare at you.

"I love you too," The girl muttered your name, kissing the apple of your cheek, turning around to her side of the bed, and falling into a slumber soon after. Tashi had assumed you were sleeping and wouldn't remember it even if you weren't. But, unfortunately for her, you had heard.

Tashi Duncan loved you.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

𝘾𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙄, 𝙊𝙃𝙄𝙊, 2011

𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯

The hotel bar's music softly played through the speakers, setting a particular homely affection amid the room. A few people were there, tennis players and normal patrons alike, drinking or crying over their loss today. Cincinnati, Ohio was one of the last stops any of these players had of making it to the US Open but unfortunately, they didn't make the cut.

You on the other hand? The 15-step plan was in motion but this time you'd be first. Going pro three years ago was one of the best decisions you'd made, in your life. The dream was cradled in the palm of your hand. Young, beautiful, determined, the brands just ate you up.

Being sponsored by Nike, doing commercials for popular products, and selling out was pretty amicable. The celebrity that came with it was a sweet taste that you sunk your teeth in. People shouted your name on the street and begged for your signature, they wanted you. The only downside was that now and again you'd have to see him.

God, You thought, when was the last time I heard this song... Instead of nursing your drink, you glanced around the room, observing the players. You recognized some from previous competitions and some you'd played today. Suddenly, noticing how everyone had someone to talk to, it was exposing to be the lone person at the bar. At 23 and no man, for now, was a smidge uncomfortable.

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you...

While scanning the room, you saw her, sitting there with her computer propped up and sporting a shorter hairstyle. A jolt surged through you, you'd seen enough of her today, and you swiveled your head back forward. Another bad move, there he was. The blonde shaggy curls bedazzled you when he strolled in. Art Donaldson walked through the room and the world stopped turning.

Art walked into the bar in search of something. He just didn't know what. For the past few weeks since the Atlanta Open, he'd been on edge; for what he didn't really know. The looming task of the US Open had been teasing him for years, but he was young. He had time to play and win it, this year might just be his year. Though that's what he told himself. The US Open was what he was worried about. Yes, nothing more, nothing less, and absolutely not about certain brunettes.

Art made eye contact with you for a split second. A look flashed across both of your faces, both with varying feelings. Art's face showed an emotion of enchantment, like seeing a rare jewel. You looked like you swallowed sour milk. You shifted your gaze away from him and back to your drink. The alcohol stung your nose.

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger...

Do you have to let it linger?

A shiver strained through you, wondering if the universe was truly trying to get you to buy 30 mg of fentanyl and a bottle of vodka. Art you were used to, both of you were established and young tennis players, it was foretold the two of you would cross paths after that day. Every time it did happen there were formalities exchanged between you two, and then you'd take 4 shots of the choice of alcohol that night and cry.

Art peeked back at you once more before back on his path to Tashi. She was perfect, he had known that fact since the day he met her. Shoved on the pedestal, his fiance typed stormily at her computer, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

A smile grazed his face, "Hey," He sat down across from her. Tashi barely acknowledged him with a nod. Art sighed and tapped on the rim of her computer, "Hey Tashi..."

Tashi exhaled and lips thinned, "Hi, what's up?" She curtly replied, "I'm working right now on our deal with Nike," Art's confidence slightly buckled under her glare and apparent annoyance with him.

"Oh, well, nothing..." He trailed off with his smile being replaced with a slight pout, unfortunately for Art, this irritated the coach more. "Well, then get out of my face. You have a game tomorrow," She articulated concisely instructed him with a tone a mother would use, "A game you need to win."

Art straightened up a bit, winning was important, he knew that but he missed Tashi. His paranoia surely wasn't helping her curtness as of recently, but he was still relegating it to US Open nerves. He just needed to win and it'd be fine. "Okay," He agreed, "I'll see you upstairs?" The blonde was met with a quick nod, the sound of typing only emitted.

"I love you."

"I know."

Art left the table with a sullen expression on his features, but you didn't know that. Now you were focused on what type of wood the table was, to avoid thinking about when was the last time the three of you were in the same room. Maybe it's maple.... Your thoughts were soon cut off by a buzz from your phone. The iPhone 4 buzzed madly in your pocket and you pulled it out.

It was some random number you didn't have on your phone.

415-xxx-xxxx

𝘏𝘪, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.

𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 3𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

𝘖𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺.

A miniature smile begged to come onto your features, even texting you could hear the way he'd talk with his comforting, careful diction. But then the meaning of the message settled deep inside you. He wanted to meet you up? Why? Confusion replaced the thick nostalgia as the cogs in your head started to work. It confused you, but you were intrigued. Plus, what was the worst that could happen?

212-xxx-xxxx

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

Idily standing in the dingy ice room, you'd start contemplating your life choices. Specifically, the ones that led you to this moment. Why did you approve of this? Why did you go to that fucking bar? You're not even supposed to drink the day before a game. Oh, that's right, you remembered, Patrick Zweig.

♬☆♬☆♬☆

Earlier that day...

The cooling feeling of the concrete against your back felt like pertinent compensation after a day of sprinting around in the sun. You'd finally made it to the semi-finals after dominating through the bracket, some you'd played against during earlier tournaments, others were just painless to beat and move on to the following one. Nonetheless, the girl you'd just played had given you a run for your money. Not because she was good, but because you were distracted.

Tashi Duncan, coach of the FAMOUS Art Donaldson, observed your match. You'd noticed her when perusing the stands after the first game when you were looking for your friend who had come to cheer you on. Seeing her was the biggest mistake of your game, serve after serve it'd either be out or barely touched the net. It was utterly embarrassing and you'd lost the second game by 15 love. When it was the break you'd skimmed only to find her gone.

It pissed you off. Who the fuck does she think she is? You clenched your water bottle angrily, your knuckles shy of a shade lighter than normal skin tone. The spite of Tashi leaving your game (or so you thought) had lit that flame that you doused years ago. The flame of insecurity produced by Tashi Duncan.

You were relentless against the girl, hitting the ball with your full strength each and every time. An intense volley had occurred in the middle of the game, so intense that your opponent fell face forward in an attempt to catch the shot (she did not). The stadium was silent other than the loud sounds of your grunts and anger. It was hotter than the concrete you played on but just as hard. It pissed you off so much that when you won, instead of your normal self-indulgent bow, you smashed your racquet to the floor and a roar. The crowd scarfed it down, hailing you as a passionate and beautiful player, tenacious against competition.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go home and cry, but you were hustled off the court to where you are now. Stranded in the hallway and lying in your muddled emotions. It was now the men's bracket, but you didn't plan on watching anyone. Particularly Donaldson. Yet, trying to make it out of the vacant hallway, a familiar face entered your vision.

"There's the golden girl!" No words in a dictionary could express the face you made at that moment.

"Oh my..." You muttered under your breath, turning around to see Patrick Zwieg, in all of his sleazy glory. "What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here Patrick?"

Patrick laughed with faux hurt, "Aw, aren't you just a ball of sunshine!" He tried to get closer to you but you edged back. He gauged your expression and sighed, "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me..."

You scoffed in disgust, "Christ Patrick, seeing you is like seeing a dog with cancer, it should be put down already." The brunette's lips pulled into a smirk, he crossed his arms and gave an irksome look.

"Well, I'm not a dog," He corrected, "I'm a cat and we got 9 lives." An exasperated sigh left your lips, your eyes meeting his with a tiredness. After the mind-fuck of seeing Tashi, you had no bandwidth for Patrick's bitchiness.

"I don't fucking care, Patrick," You hissed, finally starting back on your walk. Patrick started to slightly slip from his confidence, he hadn't expected this. He usually was able to keep you around for a good banter but you'd genuinely just stopped it this time. To keep you from going he snatched your forearm, keeping you from going any further.

Your glare deepened, "Let me go!" He didn't budge and kept you in place, although you started struggling to try and escape his strong grasp.

Patrick spoke your name calmly, "I just want to talk..." He sounded like he was talking to a feral cat. Grunting and now starting to whine, you struggled in an attempt to get away from him and this conversation. "About what? How you fucked over my best-" You stopped yourself, the word 'friend' died on the tip of your tongue. You two weren't friends, you hadn't been for years. Patrick caught this moment of vulnerability and used this.

"Friend? Please, she left you once you got better," He goaded with a sinister grin, "She couldn't stand that you could play and she couldn't."

The struggle became relentless as you started to shout for 'help' but it was useless. You were isolated. The best you'd gotten was dragging Patrick an inch or two across the floor, no escape was foreseen. A thin line formed on your lips as you glared.

"Shut up Patrick, don't fucking project your bullshit with Art on me,' You spat venomously, "He won, you're fucking losing, so what?"

Patrick chuckled drily, "Won what? The match? In case you forgot I won that-"

"NO!" You cut him off with a shout, "God no Patrick, he won at life. He's getting married to the girl you, and only you Patrick, lost because you're a dipshit." Face contorted into one of pure hatred for the man in front of you, and his hold finally slackened for you to draw your arm back.

Patrick rolled his eyes, "Newsflash, I slept with the girl I lost like.." He stopped speaking to count on his fingers, "Three weeks ago!" A triumphant and smug smirk graced his features.

"Great, so you can add home-wrecker to your tennis accolades?" You raised a brow and scoffed again, "You astonish me Zweig, you really do."

Patrick's grin didn't budge, "I aim to please," He did feel quite pleased with himself, and was even more pleased because he confidently believed you were jealous. Jealous that Tashi Duncan slept with him again and you didn't. He was sorely mistaken.

A heavy breath was taken in and you became focused. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to him, "Patrick, you may've fucking one that on match, let's say a battle." You began harshly, "But you didn't win the war, Art did."

Coming closer to Patrick to look him square in the eye, "Art is going to marry Tashi, he won. He will continue to win and be remembered." Patrick clenched his fists to try and calm himself, your words cutting in like serrated blades, "Who will you be Patrick?"

The question echoed throughout Patrick's mind, but you didn't waste time on his reply. Quickly, you stormed away after and resolved that the finest thing to do was to drink this moment away.

♬☆♬☆

A disgusted exclamation softly left your lips as you remembered that instant from today. Patrick always knew how to rile you up, to push your buttons until they'd break. At this point, you thought he enjoyed pissing you off. However, your internal monologuing was cut off by approaching footsteps. Darting up from the checkered carpeted floor, the blonde approached.

Art felt his palms begin to sweat when he saw your languid figure up against the vending machine. You looked so effortlessly beautiful to him, even when looking like you wanted to kill him. He sauntered into the small corridor and shut the door behind him.

Then, he pivoted around to face you. A hush swallowed both of you. It had been the first time you two were alone in around 3 years, at least. Art looked nervous meanwhile you looked disinterested.

"So?" You asked expectantly, "What did you need to talk about?" Art uncoiled and bit his lip. What did he want to talk about again..?

"Oh uhm.." He stuttered, "Hi, so..." Art desperately combed his mind for an answer, "I just saw you and I..." He coughed awkwardly and shifted his weight, "I just wanted to know how you were."

You took a deep breath and then let out a sigh, "Great, so you wanted to waste my time?" Art visibly flinched at your response and his lips twitched in apprehension.

"No, I just missed you," He asserted quickly, trying to meet your tone. Art's deep blue eyes met your own and something tugged at your heartstrings. "We both missed you."

"We?" A wiry laugh echoed in the room, "I don't think Tashi misses me, Arthur, but a cute way of guilt-tripping me." You cooed mockingly with a smirk. A sour expression fell across Art's countenance at the use of his full government name.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and; after a beat spoke, "We watched your name today," Art stared at you intensely, "You were good, but what fucked you up during the second game?"

You clenched your fists, annoyed that he had been there too. "I don't know, it's called none-ya."

"What's none-ya?" He asked, confused by your retort.

"None of ya fucking business, Donaldson," You shot, "We aren't friends, we don't have tea parties and talk about fucking tennis."

"Well," Art started calmly, holding himself together, "Why don't we talk about anything but tennis?" You smiled fakly at his offer and stepped toward him, the height difference not really being too big, close enough to meet eye to eye.

"Then why the hell are we talking, Art, if we're not talking tennis?"

Art was silenced by your reply and stared down at the floor. He understood why you were acting the way you were, you were hurt. Aching. He would be too if he were in your shoes. The boy knew it wasn't him that should be talking to you. If anything would be solved between you and him, it'd first have to be solved between you and his fiance.

So, he looked back up at you, "I don't know why are we still talking?" The way Art said your name triggered some deep-buried emotions you had killed many years ago along with your insecurities. It was the seductive, whiny nature of Art Donaldson that kept you awake during the hard, lonely nights and right now it was your reality.

The space between you two was barely existent, lips almost touching... Your phone buzzed. The moment was ruined instantly and you quickly plucked out your phone. It was your coach, texting you verbatim to 'GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, NOW!' with five angry emojis.

Art's eyes searched your movements as you read the message. He was so intent on solving or fixing things with you tonight that he hadn't acknowledged that other outside forces could interfere. When he saw you play today and then back at the bar? It fell into place for him, he just had to have you again. He had to. He deserved it right?

You shoved Art aside and opened the door, focused on now going to sleep and preparing for your game tomorrow. Simply put, you didn't have time for stupid boys like Art Donaldson who wanted to play tennis with two balls. It was ineffective.

But, just as you were down the hallway he shouted, "Tashi misses you!" You ignored him, "She told me to tell you."

"Tell her," Turning around so he could directly hear you, "Tell her that she can go fuck herself, and," You had stopped speaking, storming off to right in front of the man, "Go fuck yourself too." It was easy to snatch the collar of his old grey hoodie and capture him in a kiss.

The clash of lips was a brutish one, Art being caught off guard and you kissing forcefully as if he was the last thing on earth. His hands traveled to your jaw and let you take control of the kiss.

It was a longer one, almost juvenile, letting yourself clash teeth or slightly push up against him. You finally pulled away, his bottom lip sliding through your teeth slowly, keeping eye contact while it bounced back in place.

The both of you were flushed a deep crimson, now both frustrated and sexually frustrated you let out an exclamation of anger and strode furiously down the hall, into the stairway.

There left was Art, his attempts hopeless and now he was alone. His hand shakily rose to his lips where you had just been. Fingers gently grazing his lip before letting out a shaky sigh. It'd been forever since he'd been caught so off-guard, it shook him inside. You always did, pushing his own buttons instead of yours. Art was always susceptible to your touch and words.

Yet, frowned when he thought of the way you had spoken to him tonight. You had become so jaded, so much more.. mean. It reminded him of how Tashi used to talk back at Stanford. Before the injury. How confident she was, somehow more than now, and how she had the world at the tips of her fingers. Art silently wished he'd handled that day differently than he did. But, deep down, he knew he didn't. Art got what he wanted at the end of the day, wasn't that beautiful?

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

Hi! I really hope you guys liked this chapter, I really wanted to explore the character dynamics more and just flesh out the relationships. It'll get spicy, trusttt!

Please like or comment!! I would love to hear what y'all think or want for the plot, you guys were literally so, so nice in the last part!

Thank you for reading <3

🇹​​🇦​​🇬​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​:

@jackierose902109

@bloodyrevengedbullets

@ssababe

@skylerwhitwyo

heyy! so i’m kinda obsessed with trap (2024) and specifically josh hartnett!! please send in some asks of like any kind and i will absolutely write them!

★ summary — during a sweltering day at the horse races, anthony bridgerton finds himself rather enchanted by a sharp-witted, and competitive newcomer... however his greatest challenge turned out not quite to be their playful banter but perhaps something deeper than just that. ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem! reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. n/a ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.8k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. fluff? not really. idiots in love except they don't know they're in love...? anthony being anthony?? ★ authors note: excuse my god horrendous writing, i fear i have just come back from a 2 year hiatus and well.. it seems as if all my writing sense have bene diminished into the ends of the earth. also mutuals. i need mutuals please, i need to be insane to someone.

Anthony always enjoyed a heartfelt competition.

Perhaps a bit too much for the likings of others, but it always seemed to be infused with his blood. It all came so naturally to him; there was no need to try. As a young boy, he would compete with his brothers, Benedict having quite a hearty laugh when he would fail to beat him in whatever makeshift game they conjured up. It made it worse for the already tense gentleman because his annoying, bothersome brother would never stop bringing out how he was younger than Anthony during such times.

But he was not a quitter. He never was, and he decided that he never shall be. Anthony perpetually told himself that, and the results always ended up in his favor at the end of the day. Just as victory appeared within his reach, he let it go once more, easily slipping through his fingers in the subsequent round. Anthony has always been perplexed as to why this pattern only ever appeared to surround him or why he only noticed it within himself far too much. 

It seemed quite the same when it came to his love life as well. Taking away the winning part—he never quite seemed to win. Conceivably, Anthony never thought he could truly love someone with his entire being; the sensation felt so foreign and despicable to think about. An acquaintance, he supposed, was something he could settle with. And yet, an admirable acquaintance proved hard to find in this economy. The number of women that lined up for a dance, a date—whatever it may be, were all too simple-minded, credulous, or even dumb, if Anthony really thought about it. None of them appeared to be a suitable partner.

Those thoughts haunted him day and night throughout the season—the wonder if he’ll ever meet anyone well-suited for him, he pondered to himself. Anthony deemed himself rather fortunate that he was a busy man, bustling about a handful of places in need to complete the tasks firsthand. When he had his hands full with some problem, even if it may be pointless, occupied his mind enough for him to forget about his marital issues. Taxation never seemed more interesting to him.

Conversely, he found that it bothered him most during social events. Whereas his problems stood face-to-face against him, sometimes it felt as if it were a direct punch to the gut. With the remaining eligible ladies dwindling, his temper for it all only grew to being far more annoyed than anything else. Any other year, Anthony would’ve respectively enjoyed the horse race that he attended within the company of his brothers, but at this time, his mind had been elsewhere as he mindlessly stumbled his way around the course grounds.

There were a number of people that stood around him, chatting expressively with one an

other. Ladies whispering in hushed tones, their husbands gathered amongst themselves, likely betting against one another. Anthony couldn’t help but to do so himself—a solid bet did him well most days. Although, perhaps, he wasn’t the brightest when it came to the subject despite betting upon the favoured horse.

Anthony tugs heartily at his neckpiece, adjusting the pressure against his throat as it pressed in such a peculiar way that he began to pay some mind to it. He adjusted it so that it was allowed to rest lightly, not entirely choking him out anymore as it had done just moments ago. The effort ended up being weirdly abominable.

Peeved, bothered, and sweaty, he decided sullenly the lemonade that the event offered would not be such a bad idea to him after all. Refreshing was the only word that happened to catch his mind as he politely hurries his way towards where the stand had caught his eye as he made his way into the event. It seems as if half of the people there had a similar idea, heeding from the lengthiness of the line. He could perhaps find some place else to get some refreshments, but if Anthony is being honest, the idea of continuing to walk in this heat whilst unknowing if there even was anything waiting for him out there, wasn’t one that he would immediately jump to. And so he begrudgingly waits.

The sun beats down harshly upon him, and he tirelessly slides off his top-hat to appease the sweat that had begun to cling onto the sides of his forehead. Anthony dabs the beads away silently with the cuff of his coat when no one else is paying any mind to him. He liked to call himself fortunate as the line dissipates fairly quickly, and it is only a few minutes later when he finds himself nearing the refreshments area.

“Cooling, is it not?” 

It takes Anthony a beat to realize that the sudden intrusion of the voice is addressed towards him. He swivels his head, pivoting himself so he can adjust to the sudden change in position to locate where the sound had come from. He is quick to answer the question as the fine-looking lady standing next to him stares right back into his betrothed soul.

First impressions always stuck near and dear to Anthony, and while usually it would be noted of their personality and not much else, he finds himself in a different situation to the norm. The first thing he notices happens to be the alluring eyes, mysterious with a gaze that would unsettle any person, man or woman. But the expression read differently, a polite smile stretched upon the delicate skin, her fair hair conditioned beautifully for this particular sunny day. Anthony is quick to return the smile, as he had done so many times before in the past. He could regard it as a daily occurrence now.

“Indeed, it is.” His response is considerate, his voice moderately even; it’s as if he were trained for this. And Anthony supposed he quite literally is trained for it. “Especially on a day as sweltering as this.” 

He can faintly hear in the background a man grumbling incoherently about keeping up the line, and he apologetically (although he doesn’t feel very apologetic) responds to the not-so gentleman behind him. He hastily picks his glass, an internal groan erupting in him when a couple of drops spill onto the earthly grass. At least it had avoided his clothing by its means. Anthony had already begun to walk away, lemonade secured, when he noticed the same lady who had engaged him in a brief conversation engaging in the same direction that he was headed. 

“Such events are quite amusing,” Her words are delicate, but they are firm enough for Anthony to know that she stands her ground. She stands ever so beautifully, firm but beautiful, letting her dress flutter slightly into the soft breeze that washes over the course. “I can not say that they were common in my homeland.”

Ah. So that is why Anthony failed to recognize her—a new citizen, or possibly just visiting some family for the season. After all, Mayfair was quite prestigious in its ways if you stood in the high rankings. “So I take that you are not from here?” He questions, even though he already knows the answer.

The lady shakes her head, the hair atop her head bouncing as she does so. “Not quite.” She responded appropriately. She rattles off some place that Anthony had surely never been before, and he nods upon hearing the answer. "I am here visiting, as my cousin kindly offered to host me, and who am I to decline such a gracious invitation?"

The words rolled sweetly off her tongue, as if she were making a harmonious melody. Certainly a clever tongue in her mouth, Anthony could think to himself. “Well then, I must certainly assume that you are here for the season.” 

It was an honest question. The lady looked to be in her earlier years of life, if Anthony really had to make a guess. Fair skin, beautiful features, and a voice as gorgeous as the waves in the ocean—what else would she be doing in Mayfair at this time of the year? It only seemed reasonable to make that assumption. He stands correct when she pushes her head down as an agreement, “Yes.” She says, yet she pauses for a beat before continuing her sentence, "Though I must say, it is quite a considerable departure from what I am accustomed to back home.”

"In a manner most agreeable, I trust?" Anthony says, and the lady smiles approvingly. It was quite a sugary smile, the sort that sat well within the presumably older man. It looked as if the course grounds had gotten crowded by tenfold since Anthony had turned his back, making the exertion towards the stands much harder than what it should’ve been.

“Well, yes.” Whereas, the tone of her voice contradicted what her words have stated. The lady’s eyebrows furrow for a mere moment, as if he were contemplating something of sorts. “Nevertheless, it is quite hard.”

He inclines his head. Anthony could somewhat agree with her words—the season was always stressful, a throatful of things to stress and worry about, a million matters to perfect to attract the best of the best. He had never felt too stressed, perhaps when he was swarmed with tasks to complete for the up-and-coming ball or party, but never on his performance at such events. Anthony believed that is why he suddenly threw himself in as an eligible bachelor, and the best if he may add, was so diminishing. "With a lady such as yourself, I must presume it is not exceedingly difficult."

The lady, which Anthony now realizes that he does not know the name of, blushes a shade of pink that could only be described as warm, like a rose pelting in the wind. She laughs graciously, accepting the compliment with ease. “I must confess, I am flattered, Mr…” Her words trail off as she too comes to realization with the fact she does not know how to address the young gentleman.

“Lord Bridgerton.” He introduces, his voice not in any way condescending as many others may take him on to be.

Anthony takes note of the way the lady’s eyebrows raise up in surprise, followed by the rather flushed look that began to tint at her cheeks. "Oh dear, I beg your pardon, my Lord." Tilting her head down hesitantly as if she were unsure of what formality would be the most appropriate. It almost forces a chuckle out of the Viscount.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Anthony continues on as it is only polite to ask so. 

"Mm, indeed. How remiss of me not to mention it beforehand…” The lady says, letting out a sort of awkward laugh that could be seen as rather affectionate. “My name is Y/n.” The lady states, followed by a surname that Anthony can faintly remember to be as one of the other Viscounts that lived in the city, although he couldn’t quite say he knew the name all too well. Certainly not one that he had talked to on the occasion.

“I see,” Anthony nods along, a faint smile tainted upon his lips before he even knows it himself. “Charming gentleman your cousin is.” He could not say if the man was truly charming, or a gentleman at all, as he had only read a couple lines about it from the Lady Whistledown paper that his family had received a couple of long weeks ago. 

“Charming, indeed.” The words were more so grumbled, as if she didn’t quite agree with the statement. “That is certainly one way to describe him.”

He chuckles at the disdain laced upon her voice. Anthony fairly enjoyed the new sense of emotion—most ladies he had the pleasure of talking with all embellished their compliments in spite of thinking the opposite. Being able to hear an objection that wasn’t sugarcoated heavily; Anthony would think that he notably liked the trait that distinguished Y/n.

The course grounds slowly appear into Anthony’s line of vision as the conversation dies down. The sound of chatter that did come from his or her mouth refilling his ears—excited husbands yelling bets at one another, ladies shaking their heads as so—the look that was etched on their faces would be one that Anthony could appreciate and find humorous.

"I must confess, some of the wagers being placed are rather simplistic in nature." Y/n cuts in through the stillness of their discussion beforehand. A nice conversation starter, but one that would rile many people up. "It appears as though none of these individuals have ever graced a racecourse before! How utterly rash of them to bet upon the favored contender solely because of his popularity."

He can’t help but be taken aback, although once again, her exaggeration was one that could be seen as comical. That is, before he had realized that he himself had also bet upon the favored horse, Nectar, which Anthony assumed the lady was talking about. For a moment, he wonders if her words are pure bullshit, if she was just making conversation with him. It is as if Y/n sees right through him.

“Oh my, do not tell me you have also fallen into the unfortunate trap of betting for Nectar.” Anthony can’t quite place what expression she expresses, but it does not look good. Disappointed, or perhaps pity. 

“Naturally, I betted upon him, it is a sensible bet, and he is a horse of sound character who shall undoubtedly finish with victory this afternoon.” He defends, the tone of his voice sounding rather offended at the plain mention of his unwary wager. Something deep down in him wonders if the lady was indeed right, if he really did not know what he was doing. Again, Anthony could not say he was educated well enough, and admittedly, he had bet upon Nectar due to the favorability of his win. “I have a well placed feeling about him.”

“A feeling?” Y/n’s eyebrow cocks up, the smile on her face now more jovial than polite. “Or is it the choosing of the horse that everyone has chosen? Well, I do suppose that adds to the list of husbands who shall be more than disappointed once the race has concluded.”

“I beg your finest pardon, I have made a strategic bet.” His words are more puncuated than before, suddenly relishing within the first person to truly give him some sort of competition that did not stem from his brothers or family, for that matter. “Nectar is a prized steed. He is quite well bred, highly trained, and, as many other people have shown, well favored.”

Y/n tsks, shaking her head as if she were scolding Anthony as his mother and father had done when he was a young boy. “I must assume you have not considered the quality of the racing course and the weather to assess the true potential? Although these sorts of events are not truly common back in my homeland, I do must say that many of these may just be common sense.”

She knows that her words are stretching the truth, that it wasn’t just common sense, but Y/n must admit that she took delight in having a friendly banter. She climbs up onto one of the wooden bleachers, sitting herself upon the heated seat, with Anthony following quickly behind her. “You see, my cousin had kindly explained to me the expectations of the race, and it is said that Nectar raced well at Doncaster; however, the track conditions were far from the same. A firmer course, if you will. While now, over here…” She pauses to wave her hand at the field of grass in front of her view. “It is much softer, and it is a rather humid day. He will much slowdown in the final leg, giving HighFlyer the much easy victory.”

Anthony scoffs. Foolish? Perhaps. Tinted with truth? Also yes. "Are you merely echoing the words your cousin imparted to you earlier?" He argues as well, Anthony never backed down from a challenge, and this lady was surely challenging him.

“And are you merely saying that I do not know about horse racing because I am a woman?” She tilts her head to look directly at Anthony; the grin that is placed strategically on her face was one that he could not argue with. And he is sure of that when he opens his mouth to bite back, but being blatantly unable to respond with something witty. Oh, that shit-eating smirk that was so easily disguised as a polite smile made Anthony oh-so infuriatingly upset. Upset because she knew what she was doing; upset because, well, he was moderately fond of that smile.

“We shall see then.” 

Famous last words, because well, he is proved to be utterly wrong. The course of disappointed groans that steamed through the crowd, which Anthony would not admit (but was a part of), as HighFlyer flew his way across the finish line were abominably loud. Nectar staggered behind him moments later, but not before the crowd had seen how winded he was by the heat and conditions. 

The lady behind him had laughed in delight, unable to celebrate fully before she must turn towards Anthony to shove it into his face. “I can not say that I have ever beat a viscount before.” Suddenly, all formality that was once there had been gone, destroyed, as if it had never been there in the first place. “I do suppose there is always a first.”

“And a last.” Anthony grumbles under his breath, in hope that Y/n would close off her ears to the harsh criticism. To his luck, she does hear.

“I must concede, you are just like the many men who claim to be gentlemen.” She replies, even though she seemed not to be very upset by the Viscount’s words. If that had been the case, it would have appeared as though Anthony had experienced numerous episodes of frustration—possibly humorous ones, but nonetheless, frustration.. "Unwilling to concede defeat, even when it lies directly at his feet." 

“I am able to concede defeat if the defeat deserves to be conceded.” His words are sharp, even though the smile tugging at his face says different to his own jumble of words. Anthony could not quite help it when he sees her eyes light up with something that he could not describe. “If it dares, look me in the eyes.”

“Ah, is that right, my Lord?” She questions, carrying herself with the confidence that he hadn’t seen in forever. An admirable trait indeed, if Anthony must admit. "Does not defeat gaze directly upon you as HighFlyer is crowned the victor of this afternoon's fine race.”

He sighs. Anthony was never one to be dramatic; he always held himself upright and, in his family's words, rather serious. Still, he had to admit that his gasp was a bit dramatic. “Ah… well.” His words trail off slowly, grimacing at the truth of the lady’s words. “I suppose you are… right this time.” The syllables were uttered slowly, followed by another huff of a breath that he could only feel to himself.

She laughs, that beautiful melody of a laugh. While in many cases, it would be regarded as an unpleasant sound unless it was done so delicately, hers was not delicate, nor was it ungracious. It was as if the notes from every music piece ever composed had all come together to form one masterpiece of a harmony, one that ebbed and flowed in all the right ways. 

“Oh rejoice! What a sound those words are!” Y/n breathes dreamfully. 

The track is far from empty, with many individuals walking over to congratulate the winner, while the others either mourn the losses of their empty wallets, or giggling gleefully over their new-found bundles of heritage. However, the bleachers were starting to thin out, leaving just a select few groups.

There is a sense that weaves through him as he ponders his next move. He could surely just stand himself up, mutter out a respectable goodbye, and leave, yet at the same time, he could not allow himself to just do that. Anthony seemed far better off conversing with this lady than with any other of the ones that he had danced or engaged with in the slightest. The thought made him laugh at his own stupidity, and yet;

"I cannot suppose it would be honorable of me not to inquire if you might attend the Hearts and Flower Ball with me. I trust you have heard of it?" Anthony asks, not just out of politeness but also the small amount of desire he feels for just a beat of a moment. One that felt odd and far too new in his chest, something that he had yet to feel in the weeks that had came, and the weeks yet to come. 

The lady showed a glimpse of astonishment, and Anthony wonders if he had made the right decision upon asking her about it in the first place. "My Lord, are you, perchance, inquiring if you wish to take me on a social outing?" Though even she could hear the tiny quiver that was woven, her voice seemed steady as she spoke.

“I… suppose I am, yes.” He stands with his head gently cocked to the right, extending his hand in consolation. Anthony can feel the regret seeping into his words as they were carefully placed, because God, if she came to deny his request, he was sure he could drop dead on the grass at that given moment. 

“I would love to.” And Anthony would not be able to stop the sigh of relief that washed over him even if he had tried. The tension that creased his forehead, all the way down to his calves, was quickly overridden with a sense of declaration. 

As he wove through the throngs of disassembling guests, waving courteously to the lady that he swore to uncover the mystery of, Anthony finally let himself pry out of dapper smile. For the first time in a while, he felt as if he were winning. Not just a kid-made, pointless game, but something much deeper than he could have ever imagined. Except, this time, he would not allow it to simply just… escape his grasp.

Sprinkles of Sweetness : S. Ge x Fem!Reader

[ In which Suguru Geto, the terrifying cult leader himself, has a Sanrio obsessed girlfriend! ]

< Masterlist >

< Request Rules >

Suguru Geto strides into the room with his usual commanding presence, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. The cult members fall silent, their hushed whispers dying off as they part to make way for him. To them, Geto is terrifying—an enigma wrapped in shadow. His very aura demands respect and fear, and they dare not cross him.

But none of that matters to you.

The moment you spot him, your eyes light up like stars, a bright smile stretching across your face. You bounce over to him, clutching a plush toy of Hello Kitty in one hand and a bag filled with Sanrio goodies in the other. “Suguru! Look what I got today!” Your voice is light and cheerful, entirely out of place in the dimly lit hall where his followers gather.

Geto’s lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. He’s always like this around you. No matter how grim or intimidating he appears to others, when you’re near, his hard exterior softens. “What is it this time, Reader?”

You beam up at him, not at all fazed by the heavy atmosphere in the room. “Look, it’s a Pompompurin keychain! Isn’t he adorable?” You hold it up with both hands, the tiny, golden retriever-shaped charm dangling from your fingers. You shift a bit closer, your Sanrio-themed tote brushing against his black robes.

The cult members exchange confused glances, unsure of how to react. Geto—THE Geto—the man they fear and worship in equal measure, is being shown… a plush keychain? And more than that, he seems completely at ease. It’s surreal.

Geto’s eyes flicker down to the keychain, and though his expression remains largely unchanged, you catch the way his eyes soften, just for you. “Adorable,” he echoes, his deep voice a little warmer. “I assume you bought more than just that?”

You nod eagerly and pull out a matching Pompompurin notebook, stickers, and even a small tote bag adorned with Sanrio characters. “They had a sale, and I couldn’t resist!” You start to chatter about all the different Sanrio items you saw, your voice full of excitement. “Kuromi and My Melody stuff too! But you know, Pompompurin is still the cutest!”

The cult members are frozen in place, unsure if they should leave or stay. Some look visibly uncomfortable, but none dare to make a move without Geto’s dismissal. You, however, are completely oblivious to the tension in the room. Your focus is solely on Suguru, as if nobody else in the world matters.

He doesn’t mind, though. In fact, he revels in it. You’re his light, his constant in a world that’s grown increasingly cruel. He doesn’t care if his followers think it’s strange—he loves it. Loves the contrast between your sweetness and the fear he instills in others. To him, you’re a precious reminder of everything good that remains, and your obsession with Sanrio is just another charming aspect to your character.

“Why don’t you show me more later?” he says quietly, ignoring the wide-eyed looks from his subordinates. “We have some business to finish first.”

You nod enthusiastically, but your smile falters just a little. “Okay, but don’t take too long! I want to show you my Pompompurin stickers too, and maybe we can watch a Sanrio movie together?”

Geto gives you a rare, genuine smile—the kind that makes the cult members’ jaws drop. “Of course. I’ll be there soon.”

You giggle and lean up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, completely unfazed by the deadly aura that usually surrounds him. “I’ll hold you to that! Don’t keep me waiting, okay?” With that, you skip out of the room, leaving a trail of cheerfulness in your wake.

Once you’re gone, Geto’s smile fades, and his expression returns to its usual steely calm. He turns to his cult members, the air growing thick with tension once more. “Let’s continue,” he says in a cold, authoritative tone.

As soon as you leave the room, the atmosphere shifts drastically. Suguru’s warmth evaporates, replaced by an icy, oppressive air that sends chills down the spines of his followers. His eyes narrow as they settle on the group before him, any trace of softness gone. He’s their feared leader once again.

“Where were we?” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

The cult members immediately snap back to attention, hastily resuming their report. They speak quickly and carefully, terrified of making a mistake now, especially after witnessing such a stark contrast in his demeanor. It’s like watching a predator switch from playfulness to cold calculation, and no one dares question it.

But even as they continue, Geto’s mind wanders briefly back to you. He pictures you sprawled out on the couch, surrounded by a sea of plushies and trinkets, eagerly waiting for him to join you. The image is so jarringly different from the reason he was holding this meeting, but it kept him from killing everyone in the room because they saw that.

He finishes the meeting swiftly, his orders sharp and unforgiving. The cult members scatter as soon as they’re dismissed, all too eager to be out of his presence. Geto doesn’t mind; their fear is useful to him. It keeps them in line, ensures that his plans move forward. But now, he has more important matters to attend to.

By the time he makes his way to the private quarters, he finds you exactly as he imagined. You’re curled up in the middle of the bed, surrounded by your Sanrio treasures—Pompompurin plushies, notebooks, and stickers covering every available surface. You’re humming happily to yourself as you arrange your newest purchases, your energy a stark contrast to the shadowy world outside.

“There you are!” you chirp, looking up as soon as you notice him. You reach out, patting the spot next to you on the bed, and he doesn’t hesitate to join you.

“You finished faster than I thought,” you say, your eyes sparkling. “Does that mean you’ll help me with my sticker collection now?” You hold up a few sheets of stickers. “I’ve been saving this spot in my journal just for us to work on together!”

Geto leans back against the headboard, his hard exterior melting away as he watches you with quiet affection. “I suppose I can spare some time for that,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You grin wide, immediately scooting closer so you can show him the best spots for the stickers. “Okay, so I was thinking we could start with these little ones here,” you begin, pointing to the cutest Pompompurin stickers with excitement. “They’re so tiny and perfect for the corners!”

As you explain your sticker placement strategy, Geto listens with a level of patience and interest that would be unthinkable to anyone else. To his cult, he’s a ruthless leader. But to you? He’s just Suguru, the man who’ll sit and help you organize Sanrio stickers because it makes you happy.

“Are you sure this one should go here?” he asks, pointing at one of the stickers with mock seriousness. “It’s a bit off-center.”

You gasp dramatically. “Suguru, how could you question my sticker placement?” You lightly poke his arm, pretending to be offended. “I am the expert here, remember?”

His deep chuckle sends warmth through you, and you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. Despite the horrors of his world, here, with you, everything is light and soft. You make him feel human in a way he rarely allows himself to be. It’s a fleeting escape, but one he cherishes more than anything.

“Fine,” he concedes, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “You’re the expert.”

“Thank you,” you say with a giggle, snuggling into his side as you place the last sticker. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

You finish the journal together, filling it with your favorite stickers, and then settle back, basking in the comfortable silence that follows. Your head rests against his chest, the soft sound of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful state.

“Suguru,” you mumble, your voice sleepy, “we should go to the Sanrio store together next time.”

He glances down at you, a rare warmth in his gaze. “You want me to go with you?”

You nod, eyes half-closed. “You’d look so cute with a My Melody keychain,” you tease, your words fading as you start to drift off.

Geto chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He doubts anyone in his life could ever picture him at a Sanrio store, much less with you hanging onto his arm, giggling over plush toys. But for you? He’d do it without hesitation.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low. “If it’s with you.”

As you drift into sleep, still clutching your Pompompurin plush, Geto holds you close. To the world, he’s a terrifying figure, the leader of a growing cult. But here, with you in his arms and your Sanrio treasures scattered around, he’s just a man in love with someone who brings color and sweetness into his otherwise bleak world. And for that, he’s endlessly grateful.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Cuddles During Movie Night

Fem!reader,non specified male character, established relationship (this is just very soft fluff)

(I don't know how I feel about this but I can't sleep so I'm writing, not proofread)

Work isn't easy for you, and while the day to day routine helps keep the wheels turning, some days are harder than others. You had tried so hard to keep things running smooth but everything seemed to go wrong today. You caught yourself typing and promptly deleting about a dozen messages to your boyfriend to vent about your day- but always backed out of it before pressing send. You promised yourself you would stick it out for the rest of the day and share it later on when you were home. Now, while pushing the front door open of your shared home, talking about what was bothering you felt like the last thing you should do. You push the door closed behind you with your foot and walk over to the living room, feeling the way your shoulders already slump in relief at the sight of your boyfriend. He turns away from the show he had been passively watching for the last hour or so; immediately knowing you needed a quiet night. He's off of the couch and guiding you to sit down instead before you can protest with a simple “you alright lovie?”. You shake your head no, and he sits down next to you- draping your legs over his lap and rubbing the soles of your feet to ease some of your tension. “You wanna tell me about it, or do you need a distraction?” You nod in agreement to the second part of his question, and he nods before sliding you into his lap- blanket wrapped around you and thumbs rubbing soothing circles to your hips. He changes the show for your favorite movie instead-presses kisses to your shoulder while you give your attention to the movie. “It's alright love, it'll be okay,” he murmurs against your skin and you sink further into his embrace. He presses kisses to your skin and whispers loving words until you fall asleep against his chest, your stresses of the day fading away to a warmer feeling instead.

Intro to me !! ♡

About Me:

Hi lovelies! Please, call me bunny. I go by she/her exclusively and most likely will only be writing from the perspective of fem!readers, unless stated otherwise. This blog will mainly be used for writing now, but I may occasionally have other things posted that I enjoy/relate to my writing.

Writing:

My current obsession these days is COD men, so requests about those characters are more than welcome! I have many OC's with their own storyline and everything, so I may also write longer stories involving them as well.

I am also currently watching the shows Lucifer, Supernatural, and The Umbrella Academy so requests about these will also be considered!

Requests

I take requests! If your request is not one of the aforementioned fandoms, I will still try to write about your request- just be patient as it will take research and time on my part.

Anon requests are accepted! if you would like to be anonymous but known by a specific emoji or nickname as your "name" please specify that in your request! Multiple requests from the same person is always welcome, so don't be shy to request multiple pairings.

I am also willing to do ships of you guys with a fictional character from a Fandom of your choice! just write a small description of yourself and what Fandom you'd like, and I'll pick a character and explain why I ship you with them! ♡

Rules:

please be descriptive in the pairing you have in mind. If there is something specific you have in mind or want to request a specific scenario/trope, I want to do it justice- so please be clear on what you're asking for!

I will NOT write anything to do with scat/feces play or blood play. I also refuse to do anything with necrophilia- so don't ask.

Please specify physical characteristics of the reader if it's vital to the request! Short, tall, thin, chubby etc. etc. if not specified it should be known I typically write female readers with midsize or chubby bodies. If you don't like that, you're free to scroll. All body types deserve lots of love ♡

incest will never knowingly be accepted- do not request this. If request includes an underage character or reader it will be fluff ONLY.

Smut and nsfw can be requested, but please try to be mindful of what kinks you request. I may chose to decline your request for any reason, and that's my right to do so.

Do not spam your requests! I promise I will do my very best to get to your request when I can, so please avoid spamming or dms just to insist on asking for me to write something

If we are not mutuals, please ask before dming me. Comments are always welcome, but racist/homophobic/religious discrimination will get you reported and blocked. This is a safe space, and negativity targeted to others will not be tolerated.

please credit me if you reblog or repost any of my work! I love mutual support so please give credit where it's due

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and thats all lovelies! I'm planning on writing something tonight (or just soon in general) so stay tuned for that!