#<- spoken like a person with time and will on their side

[artdcnaldson]

Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader

this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously

Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.

A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!

It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin. 

The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.

"Working late?”

The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”

Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.

“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze. 

“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”

He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass. 

“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”

A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”

You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.

It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable. 

Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag. 

“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”

You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed. 

“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.

The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”

Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer. 

How long?

You took another drink. 

“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.

“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”

His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking. 

“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”

You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.

“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly. 

You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”

A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”

He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn. 

“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”

That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”

He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”

Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”

“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”

Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.

It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse. 

“At the moment, yes.”

“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.

”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow. 

He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”

That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out. 

“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”

It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.

You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up. 

Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace. 

It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one. 

“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”

You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.

“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone. 

The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.

The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.

Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in. 

You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down. 

Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway. 

It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.

You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side. 

You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably. 

You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.

Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression. 

Second choice, second choice, second choice.

Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled. 

His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.

That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him. 

It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed. 

When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare. 

Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.

Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser. 

In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely. 

“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later. 

He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt. 

Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat. 

“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”

The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands. 

How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?

He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”

His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.

“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”

Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?  “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”

He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip. 

He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him. 

You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave. 

Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core. 

”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”

Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.

He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation. 

Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.

It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit. 

When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?

He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back. 

“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”

His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge. 

When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly. 

You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair. 

But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then. 

You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”

His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?

“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”

You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled. 

“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”

You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.

“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver. 

You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh. 

He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle. 

His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins. 

“Tell me you’ve missed me.”

Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.

”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.

He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.

“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”

He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.

You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours. 

When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.

His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies. 

“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”

It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.

He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder. 

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.

”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”

His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever. 

Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.

You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.

When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest. 

“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.

But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room. 

”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”

He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying. 

“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”

You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.

“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”

You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“

“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”

“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.” 

His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”

You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”

He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”

Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”

The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.

Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all. 

The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise. 

Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?

”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”

“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.

“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”

Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.

Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind. 

When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.

“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded. 

He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”

You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.

A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes. 

He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne. 

“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.

“Patrick—“

“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“

“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”

You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”

He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked. 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”

You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”

”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”

You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat. 

“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”

Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”

You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.

You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”

Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.

You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”

Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out. 

“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”

You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod. 

“Show me.”

Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”

You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”

You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever. 

“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly. 

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”

Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs. 

His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.

“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist. 

He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.

“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”

He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”

You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”

You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?” 

He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance. 

You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”

His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”

And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy. 

Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.

The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need. 

“Close,” you gasped. 

He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.” 

You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock. 

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“

You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth. 

When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep. 

Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly.  A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel. 

“I love you, you know that?” He asked.

You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves. 

“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.

He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”

“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest. 

He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.

It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”

You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.

When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him. 

You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air. 

When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place. 

Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment. 

When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.

On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls. 

The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.

You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones. 

Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him. 

You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.

He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”

The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.

At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early. 

As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word. 

You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.

#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader #changeover au #my writing

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 | 𝐂.𝐒 ♡

【Synopsis】 : You finally gain the courage to tell your sweet boyfriend you're a virgin... Now, all you gotta worry about is how he'll react.

『Word count』 :  5.73k

-> Genre: Smut. Slice of Life. Fluff. Angst.

Pairing: Boyfriend!San x Chubby!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Body image issues. Negative thoughts. Anxious. Dirty talk. San got a filthy fucking mouth. Unprotected sex (Don't do that). Soft sex. Slight rough sex? Crying. Overstim. Fingering. Breast play. Hickeys. Making out. Lube and condoms are used. Idk this was tooth rotten sweet, so enjoy.

Thank you, anonnie for this request, hehe ♡

Networks: @newworldnet @blossomnet

This is not beta read so if their is any mistakes ignore it hehe.

Masterlist | Navigation | Buy me a Ko-Fi ♡

Sometimes, when you gaze at the way your boyfriend smiles, laughs, or talks someone else's ear off, you really question how you managed to be with him. He was the centre of attention, the crowd player. Everything, confident and perfect. He was the man everyone wanted to be or be with. And then there was you. Sure, you have grown to love some of your insecurities, and getting older helps with that. But you still stand too long in front of the mirror, examining every part you wish to change, and you always make sure to dress to your size. You were chubby… had been all your life, so to have someone like San, be with someone like you, confused you on most days.

What was worse… You were inexperienced. Now, you know being a virgin in your twenties isn't new and is quite common in this day and age but the idea of having to tell your boyfriend, you're perfect in every way boyfriend, that you were still a virgin terrified you.  You kissed and made out before, but the minute he goes to touch you, you’ve recoiled away. Why is he even attracted to me? You’d think over and over again. Does he actually want me? You cried time and time again. It’s been almost a year into your relationship, and San has made nothing clear about how the sex aspect of your life should be.

Most men you’ve tried to date want to get into your pants either instantly or just not at all.

But San wanted to wait. Heck, this man was prepared to wait for marriage if needed. He loved you the moment he found you lurking in the record shop his friend owns. Your love for music brought you two together, and on that same day, he found out your name. He had told his friend that he wanted to marry you. Of course, his friend thought he was stupid and in the puppy love stage, and the delusion would wear off. But here he sits, snuggled up next to you on the couch, stealing glances at your beautiful face almost over a year later, and he still believes to himself he was done. This was it. He found his person and was going to spend the rest of his life with you.

So why couldn’t you see what he sees?

He’s noticed the way you belittle yourself. Caught the way you stare at your beautiful curves in the mirror. Felt you shy away from his delicate touch… All he wants is to touch you and make you feel like the only person in the world. Be dotted and worshipped. Was that too hard to ask?

“San…” Your soft voice snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts, instantly looking over at you, even turning his shoulders slightly so he was facing you with his whole body.

“Yes, baby? You okay?” He knew the tone in your voice too well. He knew it was hiding your nerves.

“I…” You gulped on a thick ball of saliva. “I n-need to tell you something.” You were shaking at this point, having no clue what was coming over you to tell him finally. Maybe it was guilt that yelled at you not to cage him anymore and let him know the truth so you weren't a burden to him anymore. Or maybe it was the way you wanted to be honest with him. Let him see all the sides of you, even the ones you hated. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because deep down, you were over being a virgin, over not knowing what these magical feelings are that are spoken about in romance movies and novels… maybe you just yearned just as much as he did.

“Hey, Doll. You can tell me anything, okay? I’m here and I’ll be here no matter what.” He moved your legs so they were lying over his lap so he could shuffle closer to you before grabbing your shaking hands, holding onto them tightly. “What’s the matter, lovely?”

“I’m…I…” You looked away from his gaze, taking in a staggered breath as you finally whispered out, “I’m a virgin…”

The silence scared you, letting you hear your heart ringing in your ears. You felt like you were being caught on fire and had no control of the flames that were about to engulf you entirely. Then you hear San let out a sigh of relief. “Is that it, baby?”

His smile was bright, chuckling lightly, squeezing your hands tighter. You looked at him with confusion, feeling a sense of shame. Was he laughing at you? “What do you mean that it?!” You were completely dumbfounded by the situation now. This was not how it played out in your head.

“I thought you were going to say you killed someone, or worse, you were going to dump me.” He raked his hand through his hair. Sighing out another relieving breath, but this time it caught in his throat when you pushed his chest.

“Why the fuck would think I’d kill someone San!! and how is dumping you worse than murder?” You pulled away from him, pouting fake anger in his direction. You take your legs off his lap, curling yourself at the end of the couch. He tried to pry your legs away from your chest while you both laughed.

“If you were to dump me I’d scream on the top of a building to tell the world how I managed to hurt the most beautiful, kind-hearted, not to mention fucking unbelievably sexy woman in the world. I would feel terrible if I hurt you to the point you would want to dump me…” He suddenly stopped being dramatic with his rambles as he suddenly noticed your stillness and the tears swelling in your eyes.

“Y-you think I’m sexy…” You sounded so stupid being the only thing you took out of the whole confession. From your knowledge, you do not think you’ve ever heard someone say you were attractive, let alone sexy. San raised his brows with his lips stretched thin. He hooked his hand under the back of our left knee, tugging you forward so you were now snuggled up against him. His fingers grip your chin, bringing your face inches to his before taking his thumb so he could wipe away your tears.  

“The sexiest.” He whispered before pecking your cheek. “The way you smile makes my heart swell.” He kissed your other cheek. “The way you blabber on about whatever show we’re watching and your nose scrunches in the cutest way.”

“I don’t blabber…” You pout, letting him kiss your nose, making his scrunch. He tugged on your waist this time, opening your legs slowly until one was lying across his lap.

“Yes, you do… you also whine…” he kissed your cheek again. “And pout.” He kissed your jaw softly. “And moan…” his hot tongue dipped out of his mouth for a second to lick a little stripe of your neck, making you whimper out a sound you’ve never heard leave your lips before. “You can make the sweetest noises. and don’t get me started on these.”

He gripped your hips, tightly squeezing your waist. Something you are insanely insecure about. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about holding onto these love handles while I make the sweetest, filthy love to you?” His voice was smooth like butter, leaving a melting whisper in your ear. He finally grabbed a hold of you completely, pulling you onto his lap much to your refusal.

“S-san…I’m heav―Do not fucking finish that sentence or so help me god I will strip you down right now and show you how much I love every part of you.” he pulled away so he could hold your face with both hands, locking you in place so you were forced to look in in the eyes. “I do not care if you are a virgin. And I do not care if you have some more curves than others. I am so in love with you sweetheart. Every part of you is perfect in my eyes. And if you are scared of sex. Or unsure how to navigate it. I’m here. I’d be happy to show you, find the way your body likes it. Anything and I’m here. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“I…” Now you were really crying, making San bring you in for a tight hug so you could sob into his chest.

“Maybe not tonight or next week. But whenever you are ready. We can try. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.” He kissed your forehead softly, letting you slowly calm yourself down. But as you shifted side to side on his lap, you grew impatient. You loved the fact San was willing to wait, but on the other hand, you were frustrated with yourself, and with the situation you had put yourself in…

And so the waiting began. At first, you were nervous that your relationship would shift, and things would become awkward between the two of you. But San acted like nothing happened. He didn’t treat you any differently, unlike other men had in the past, and he didn’t bring it up until you did first. A couple of days after the conversation, you tried your luck when he was cooking. You were enjoying each other's company when you gave him at first a nice innocent kiss. But as your heart rate picked up and his lips became sloppier on yours, you thought this was it. But then the doorbell rang.

Turns out Wooyoung needed San for an emergency… of course, he did.

You tried another time, but then you felt a sudden cramp that let you know that Aunt Flo was coming to visit, so that was a quick turn off. It was only four weeks later after the conversation that you finally got tired of waiting and was going to do everything to have your chance. So on a quiet Sunday evening, where it had been raining all day and the winter weather was quickly setting in. You snuggled up with San in bed. He was on his phone watching whatever he could find while you were not so focused on a book you were reading. You had read the one page in front of you for about an hour before giving up.

You shifted slowly, moving closer to him, simply saying you just wanted to see what he was watching. So you too sat for another twenty-odd minutes while he showed you the brain rot known as his TikTok. Your fingers rubbed slow circles in his chest while you nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck. You were content for a moment, just sitting in his presence... That was until you felt Sans's hand drag slowly on your hip and back, just lovingly caressing you. It made your face heat up. Such a simple touch that you would normally shy away from or recoil. But not this time, these few weeks. You had tried your best to be more physically affectionate with him.

And man, did you find out how much of a cuddler Choi San is.

His new favourite thing was to hold you tightly while you both slept. Bye-bye shiba, you were his new plushie to latch onto all night long. When you cook, he would come up behind you and pull your ass against his crotch by your hips, giving you a soft kiss on the side of your face while whispering ‘I missed you.’

You didn’t think San could get any more desirable but, low and behold here he is.

“Baby?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, making you tilt your view to see his dark eyes staring down at you. “Where did you go? Wandering in space again?” His chuckle caused even more blush to riddle your feature, tainting your ear now in a deep red.

“It.. uh. It’s nothing just thinking…” You couldn’t possibly tell him you were thinking about him in a not-so-safe-for-work way. Just the pure scent of him was driving you insane. Your fingers laced in his shirt as you looked back at his phone but you were looking at what was on the screen but instead, dazed off, deep in your mind, replaying the way San kissed you the other night. The filthy but caring words he whispered as he touched you softly. Your mind, body, and soul were craving to feel that again...

And San seemed to notice. He knew you were scared about intimacy, and he wanted you to tell him directly when you were ready. But unlike your shyness, your lover boy knew how to read you. He knew you were scared about intimacy, and he wanted you to tell him directly when you were ready. But unlike your shyness, your lover boy knew how to read you. He knew the tension of your body. The way you were holding onto him was a little tighter than normal. The way he spoke, you were too busy in your mind to notice. He could also see the way your thighs were clenched so tightly together, trying so desperately to give you some relief. You were horny and you didn't know how to tell him.

But he could help you...

"Princess? Baby..." He cooed, gently drawing circles down your back. You look up to him with wide doe eyes, lust dripping from them. Your fingers tangled in his loose shirt while your heart rate jumped, suddenly feeling hot and bothered.

"Y-yes, Sannnie..." You gulped, shifting slightly. He let out a light chuckle, dropping his phone onto the bed somewhere. He wrapped his arm around you so he could pull you onto his lap, letting you shift your body until your thighs sat nicely on either side of him.

“Is there something you want to tell me, sweetheart?” His voice was low, sensual… His hands were firmly placed on your hips but did nothing to move you. No, he wanted you to take the lead.

“I…I, uh…” You shifted again, moving slowly from side to side to try and get comfortable. Your eyes were wandering around the room trying to look anywhere but San. His grip on your waist got tighter as he felt your hot core rub against him at just the right pace. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he doesn’t know if he would be able to control himself.

"Sweetheart, if you keep grinding yourself on me, we're gonna have a problem." He choked through a bitten lip, making your eyes suddenly draw to where your hips met his. You could see a very obvious bulge straining his sleep shorts.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean—Baby I need you to shut up and kiss me, okay?" San interrupted you holding your face. He gave you the biggest smile as you took a breath and finally placed your lips on his. You felt the tingle and twist in your gut tighten. The feeling you had been chasing was now knocking at your door, and you were ready to finally let it in.

"S-Sannie—Shh kissing time..." You tried to speak, but San's mouth swallowed any noise from you, making you aware that his tongue wanted to slip inside. You had no clue what to do, but you decided to let your body take the lead. Leaning in, your chest was pressed firmly against Sans, and your hips started to move slowly with the help of Sans's hands. Your fingers laced into the ends of his hair, tugging it to draw a whine from your lover.

"Fuck, baby." He nibbled your bottom lip, whimpering out. He could feel the heat from your core through the thin fabrics of your sleeping attire making him almost just say fuck it and flip you over so he could ravish you his way. But no, he needed you to take the lead, even though it was killing him. You let out a big sigh through your nose, growing frustrated with every grind. You needed more. You craved more. You needed him to touch you bare. Anywhere.

“San..” You whined more sternly in the kiss, his teeth gripping your bottom lip in annoyance that you were talking again. “S-San. I need you to touch me right fucking now please.” Your hands push against his chest making him finally pull back to look at your swollen kissed lists and blown pupils.

“Y-yeah baby. I can do that.” He bit his lip, reaching for your shirt to tug it off your body. You just roll your eyes at your goofball of a boyfriend, helping him. He leaned forward, giving your newly exposed kiss light kisses. You felt too exposed, but you tried to push through it. You knew San loved you and loved every part of you, but that didn’t mean you didn’t overthink the fact that your soft plump skin was on display for such a man like him. Your curves were in his view. He could finally see you completely.

It terrified you.

“Hey baby, look at me.” He gripped your chin, noticing the way your mind had wandered off. You focus back on him, and he notes the anxiousness lurking in your gaze. He smiled at you, slowly retching for your bra clip. “I love you. Every part of you. This pretty body is all mine now, you hear?” He kissed your collarbone, then your neck, then your jaw, before finishing with a peck on your lips. “Come on, say it for me.”

“M-my body…” You stuttered.

“No. Say it properly.” he was stern with one hand holding your hip firmly while the other just kept circling the clip on your back. You felt your face turn red as you started to play with the collar of San’s shirt.

“My body—No…” He cut you off, making you gulp, “My… P-pretty body is all yours.”

“That’s it. Such a good girl, hmm.” He hummed as he unclipped your bra, watching intensely as the straps fell from your shoulders. You help him tear the fabric from your body, leaving your top half completely bare. San had a hitch in his breath as he came face to face with your plump tits. How dare you keep these from him. How did he go so long without having his mouth on them he wouldn’t know… All he did know was that he was going to have you covered in his marks by the end of the night. “Fuck you’re so hot..”

“S-Sannie..” You whimpered as you tugged on his shirt, feeling a little bit too underdressed compared to him. He just chuckles, shifting until you fall back with an ‘oof’. He was now snug between your legs, placing an open kiss on your left breast, taking your sensitive nipple in his mouth. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of his hair in seconds. You’ve never felt such a sensation. It was almost ticklish mixing with a wet tingle spilling down your body straight to your core.

He moved away too soon with an audible pop as he sat up to rip his shirt off. “Fuck baby, you have no idea how badly I wanna fuck these tits. Maybe I’ll do that after I fuck you hmm?” His filter was officially out the window, no longer caring what he might say, all he was thinking now was making you feel the most heavenly pleasure while he got his fill of you.

“Do anything to me San… I’m yours..” You don’t know what came over you to make you say that, but you were glad you did cause the look on Sans's face was priceless. A mixture of shock, pride, and hot, red, lust. So, without another word, San bit down on your breast, causing you to let out a yelp. His hand flew for your shorts, slipping past the hem before dipping into your panties. Your yelp quickly turned into a loud gasp as you felt his cold fingers met your throbbing clit. You’ve never felt such a pleasurable feeling. The way his fingers circle your sensitive nub, slow and steady. Your fingers tangle in the end of his hair, tugging harshly as his lips latch onto your collarbone sucking in a deep red mark.

“You shouldn’t have said that, sweetheart.” He bit down on your shoulder, fondling your breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and finger and pressing harshly down on your clit. Your head felt like it was being filled with cotton and your mind started to fuzz into mush with the only thing playing on loop being San and what he had planned for you.

Every move he made was delicate, calculated. He made sure everything he did was perfect for you. His cock was starting to ache in his boxers but he couldn’t care less. The only thing he worried about was making you reach your climax. And with a staggering breath and fast-paced heart, he knew you were close, just needing one more push. “Come on pretty girl. You can do it.” he brushed his nose against your neck before slowly kissing up your jaw until his breath was tickling your ear… “I wanna feel you come all over my fingers.”

He moved swiftly to keep his slow rubs but changed his pointer finger with his thumb before slipping just one finger inside you. Your gasp was high-pitched, stroking out a cry. You felt a tear breaching your eyes as you’ve never felt anything inside you before. Your whole body became over sensitive, and a snap undid all the pent-up pleasure that was running rampant through you. “San, San, San, Oh… Fuck!!”

“That’s it. You are such a good girl.” He kisses your cheek, slowing his fingers before coming to a stop. He let you lay there for a moment, just listening to each others heartbeats and heavy breaths. He moved beside you, pulling his hand out of your underwear so he could hold you close. He wanted to wait, see if you wanted to continue. Deep down, he desired more. He loved nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until you were a screaming mess. But he needed to know where your lines were. What you needed. And if that meant stopping tonight right now… He would be more than satisfied.

You laid there for a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed that San was pleasuring you. You smiled… Then sighed, before laughing. Covering your face with your arm, you felt tears starting to pool in your eyes. This got San worried. He sat up straight, sitting on his knees next to you. “Baby are you okay? Did I hurt you?” San was mortified thinking you were crying. He hurt you. He’s finished. He was ready to pack his bags and leave if you said the words, but when he grabbed your arm and moved it away from your beautiful face, he saw a smile. A crooked, hysterical smile… oh no…

“Baby…” He said with caution.

You looked him in the eyes and finally stopped, “You know, if I knew sex felt like this, I would have jumped you sooner.”

Now it was his turn to start laughing, falling to sit on his ass. He threw back a whole chesty laugh. Some filled with pure joy and relief. “Baby, you scared me for a second. I thought I had hurt you.”

You sat up, placing your hands on his bare chest, gliding them along his toned skin towards his shoulders before resting on the back of his neck. “You could never hurt me, Sannie.” The laughter had calmed, and the tension began to grow again. Your lips found his in a soft, almost pleading kiss. A silent beg to continue the evening. So San gently laid you back down, not letting his lips break away from yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing along your own. The feeling was strange at first but quickly turned you on. His hands kept roaming your body, squeezing your curves and plump love handles. For the first time in your life, you didn’t feel insecure anymore. Maybe not confident, but you felt comfort. Safe in San’s arm. And as he slowly pulled down your shorts, you didn’t shutter away this time. You instead invited him. Helped him remove the fabrics until you were completely bare to him.

“So beautiful. My stunning girl. God, I can’t believe you are all mine.” He moaned into your mouth, shaking his own shorts off before sitting up to lean over to the nightstand. You took this moment to gaze down at San’s shorts and boxers sitting at his knees and his very hard cock against his abdomen. You gulped at this thickness. You’ve never seen a cock in real life before and they were certainly intimidating. “This is going to be very cold but It’ll be only for a moment.”

San’s voice caught your attention as you snapped your head back to him, seeing him shimmy out of his clothes so he could also now be completely naked. He had a condom and some lube in his hand. Cracking opening the bottle, his eyes met yours with a soft expression as if he was apologizing in advance. You spread your legs for him, letting him rub some of the ice-cold gel on you. The gasp you let out echoed around the room. It was certainly cold, to say the least, but there was something pleasurable about the temperature change. “Fuck, s-sannie.”

“Yeah, I know I’m sorry. You’re being such a good girl. Just a little more.” he cooed, finally finishing applying the lubricant. He tore open the packet of the condom but before he could roll the sheer rubber on his cock, you sat up and grabbed his hand.

“D-do you have to put that on?” Your voice got stuck in his head, making him almost choke on his own spit.

“I uh… I don’t think getting you pregnant is a good idea, sweetheart.” He chuckled awkwardly. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you raw but he wasn’t about to without knowing you two could be as safe as you can be. There was silence for a moment as you suddenly felt embarrassed. You didn’t like talking about your experience on birth control but since your relationship with San had moved up the ladder, it was better to explain it now.

“I’m on the bar. It was to help with my period… b-but it helps with not getting pregnant….” God you’ve ruined the mood, haven’t you? Of course, you are the perfect person to ruin the idea of sex cause you spoke about your goddamn period.

“Fuck me…” San’s groan snapped you out of your overthinking mind. “Do you want me to fuck you, raw baby? Huh? God what are you doing to me.” Blush littered your face, your ears also turning a bright crimson at the sound that spilled from San’s lips. He grabbed his cock, squeezing it with a hitched breath. He felt like he was about to bust right then and there just from your sweet innocent suggestion. “Fuck and here I thought you were my sweet girl?”

“I-I am…I j-jus…” San silenced your stutters with a simple soft kiss, smiling through it. Your eyes fluttered closed, feeling a tingle in your gut. Like butterflies were tickling you. All your senses were already heightened, but San knew how to make your mind even more dizzy than it already was.

“It’s okay, beautiful. I’m gonna fuck you nice and raw.” He kissed your jaw so gently you almost didn’t feel it. “Fill you up.” He kissed your collarbone, making you grab onto his shoulders. His tight grip on your hip made your breath hitch as you felt his nails dig slightly into your plump flesh. San grabbed his stroked his cock roughly, rubbing his tip against your soaked folds.

This caused you to let out a shaky whimper. “S-Sannie.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m going to make you feel me for days. Now be a good girl and take a deep breath.” He cooed, pushing his bulbous tip into your hole just slightly. You took in a sharp breath feeling every inch of his cock slowly slip into you. A burning sensation erupted from your core, leaving an ache in its wake. Tears began to form at the pain. You tried to breathe, take deep breaths like San had instructed but it was suddenly very hard to do anything when this pain began to cloud your mind.

“S-San. It h-hurts.” You cried, squeezing his shoulders tightly to the point your nails had dug little crescent shapes into his skin. He rubbed your hips, kissed your neck. Did anything to keep you distracted. He knew it would hurt the first time round, and he felt guilt shiver down his spine at the tears that fell from your beautiful face.

“I know, sweet thing. It’ll go away soon. Come here, baby.” He released a hand from your hips to grab your chin, making you look at him with pleading eyes. His lips met yours again in a gentle, passionate kiss. he inched a little more inside you, and you bit his lip in the process, causing him to moan. And then he sunk in some more, and your nails scratched down his bare back, leaving harsh red marks behind. Every inch he gave, every bit of pain he was forcing you, reciprocated. It was like some beautifully painful dance. That was until he completely bottomed you out.

“Oh my fucking god.” You whimpered. After that brief moment of pain, everything quickly subsided into a warmth of pleasure you have never experienced before. Your body grew suddenly away of how connected you were to San. How close you were. It made you feel loved, cherished. Admired even. Your arms wrapped wrapped tightly around San’s neck, bringing him down for a sloppy kiss before whispering. “Move.”

And he did as you pleased, slowly, inch by inch he pulled out… Until only his tip was inside your aching hole and then with some force pushed back inside you in one swift thrust. Your head threw back at the feeling, letting San latch his hungry mouth on your jugular. Your whole body felt like it was lit on fire from the inside out. A fire that only left room for San. His scent, his movements, his body. Your skin was sensitive to the touch, and both your toes and fingertips were tingling. Pure ecstasy would be the only way to describe what you were feeling.

“There we go. Such a pretty baby. You gonna cream on my cock for me. Please sweetheart I need to feel you come around me.” San’s gravelled words sent shock waves through you. His hot long licking stripes on your sweaty neck, tasting the saltiness your beautiful body was gifting him. He couldn’t get enough. He wanted to be inside you forever. Every waking moment, he wanted nothing more than to be this close to you. Maybe he could try to convince you to cock warm him while you both play video games together. He thought. Or better yet, what if you kept his dick warm with your perfect mouth while he was busy in Zoom meetings or working at his desk. Argh, the image in San’s mind would run rampant. He was going to teach you everything he knows and more.

“S-Sannie please.” You hiccuped, feeling yourself creep closer to the edge. But you needed more. So San gripped the back of your hair and pulled. This gave him more of your neck to attack, biting down on your left side, you screamed. “Ahh Fuck!!”

Deep moans escaped your lips over and over like a sweet melody to San’s ears. He pounded harder, bringing his free hand that was perched on your hips to your ankles, helping you lift them over his broad shoulders. You were successfully folding in half for your lover, giving him the perfect angle to pound harder into you while rubbing your clit in fast circles. “Come one sweet thing. I need you to come so I can empty my load into this greedy fucking pussy.”

His words, the angle, his fingers and thrusts. Everything became too much. Too quickly. A snap erupted through your body and a silent scream fell from your saliva-covered lips. “Jesus fucking christ…” San moaned as he felt your cunt tighten around him, making his hips stutter before he stills entirely, unloading his thick cum deep inside you. Both of you laid there for a moment, panting. San had slowly moved your legs until you were laying flat while he stayed on top of you, caging you in his body warmth. Your hands played with the ends of his hair while his began to massage your hips and thighs.

No words were spoken.

Nothing needed to be said. You both simply enjoyed being close to one another. San’s hands would quickly wander a little too far, leading his fingers to graze against your completely soaked cunt that San was still very much deep inside. Actually, now that he thinks of it, there was a lot of liquid all over the sheets. This made San sit up. “Holy fuck…”

“W-what?!” You were startled at San’s sudden deep growl, sitting on your elbows you looked down and became mortified.

“You fucking squirted.” San said enthusiastically “That is the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

You fell down with a huff, redness painted your face once again, and your arm covered your eyes. San chuckled, giving you a little thrust, making you hiss out. “Come on, baby. don’t shy away now.” You couldn't help but smile at your lover boy's chuckle. His lips kissed your cheek before moving your rm slowly away from your face. “Hey there beautiful…”

He pressed his lips against yours, gifting you the most loving kiss he could conjure. His heartbeat matched yours in that moment, skipping at the thought he was determined to spend the rest of his life with you. You were everything he could ever want and need. And little did he know you felt the same too.

- ♡

Special taglist: @ateezswonderland @wisejudgedragonhairdo @10nantscompanion @stolasisyourparent @bunnyluvr25 @londonbridges01 @foulbreadpirate @maltesejjong @hwallazia @resildatice

© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

#newworldnet #blossomnet #ateez #ja3hwa #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez reactions #ateez reaction #ateez fluff #ateez scenario #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfiction #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x reader smut #ateez fic #atz fic #atz smut #atz fluff #atz drabbles #atz hard hours #atz imagines #atz scenarios #atz x reader #atz #san x reader #san smut #choi san

[matan4il]

The other day, I went with my rl bff to the Jerusalem branch of the Museum of Tolerance for an exhibition on the Hamas massacre.

This is the sight that greeted us. "Esthers of the world, rise up!"

It's a poster celebrating two women whose families had lived in Iran, one is Jewish, the other is Muslim, and both women ended up being murdered due to the Islamic regime of that country, even though the Jewish woman's family had escaped Iran and fled to Israel after the Islamic revolution. The face of each girl is actually a composite, made from many smaller pictures of her people who have lost their lives because of the Islamist regime of Iran.

I knew this right away, because I have shared a piece that was done about the poster and how it came to be almost 2 months ago. 

"You don't understand!" my bff (who works as a teacher) said, all emotional, "She," my friend points to the Jewish girl on the left side of the poster, Shirel Haim Pour, "is the cousin of one of my students."

There is zero distance in Israel between us and the Oct 7 atrocities. 

We go in and join the tour of the exhibition. The guide tells us it was built jointly with Malki Shem Tov, who is a well known name in Israel, if you work at a museum. Malki founded a "creative visual solutions" company with his brother Assaf, through which among other things, they helped build many Israeli exhibitions over the years. "His son..." the tour guide starts to say and I don't need more than that for something to click in my head. I know so many of the names, faces and stories of the hostages, and so Omer Shem Tov pops right away into my mind. I didn't make the connection before, but now I can only imagine what it meant for this father to work on an exhibition that recounts, among other stories, how his son was victimized and robbed of his freedom during this massacre.

There is zero distance in Israel between us and the Oct 7 atrocities. 

The opening wall has a huge time stamp, 6:29 in the morning. 

The tour guide doesn't have to explain this number to Israelis, or why it's designed to look like an alarm clock display. We were all woken up on that fateful Saturday morning by the alarm clock of Hamas' rockets. And it doesn't matter what we thought or believed the day before, as the full scale and horror of the attack were starting to become known along Oct 7, we were all woken up.

There is zero distance in Israel between us and those atrocities. I know this, and still it strikes me, again and again.

There's an area dedicated to the pictures of one photographer who went to the south soon after the massacre. I knew some of them already, like the pic showing the bodies of 13 elderly Israelis, who were on their way to a tour of the Israeli south on that Saturday.

Some are new, like the pic of the door handle in one bomb shelter. I stop for a second, because now that I've moved into my new place, it hits me that the bomb shelter door was made by the same company. Suddenly, I feel like I'm inside the picture in a reality where the terrorists took a slightly different route on Oct 7. The door was photographed from inside the bomb shelter, and the bullets that pierced it, they had to have hit the personal holding it shut. The handle has blood stains on it, and it's broken off. I can only imagine how many hours this person held, and how much force they had to use, for that to happen. I know one thing, even without knowing exactly who this bomb shelter belonged to... If this person was on their own, they would have probably ended up surrendering rather than keep fighting to hold on to the handle this desperately. This was likely someone trying to keep their family safe. 

One note retrieved from the body of a terrorist is on display. It says everything about the motivation of the monsters who committed these atrocities, and every word is purely motivated by antisemitism and religious zeal. The note is actually not in Arabic, as it may first appear, it's in Farsi, the language spoken in Iran, hinting at the source, the Islamist regime there, which doesn't care about the liberation of anyone, it aspires to create a global network of fanatic terrorism.

The translation: "You must sharpen the blades of your swords and be pure in your intentions before Allah. Know that the enemy is a disease that has no cure, except beheading and uprooting the hearts and livers. Attack them!"

There is a section dedicated to women's stories. The exhibition visitors spread out to watch the testimonies, each on a separate screen. It's a not like a forest, you can't really see it for the trees, and it's another moment of feeling overwhelmed because we can't truly get it. It's just not comprehensible, facing so many stories about intentional, face to face cruelty, brutality, sadism and joy in it. Mali Shoshana tells the story of how she tried to play dead while lying shot in a pool of her own blood, but her body wouldn't stop shaking, so she somehow turned on her side to the wall and knocked her injured knee against it, causing herself to pass out from the pain. It saved her life. Ricarda Louk tells the story of the last message they got from her daughter Shani, trusting she was right and there was nothing for them to worry about. Then Ricarda's son started screaming and crying, because he saw the same vid many of came across on that day, of his sister being dragged into Gaza stripped down, mutilated, abused, molested and humiliated, while Gazan civilians were celebrating the public degradation of her body. And there's more and more and more. "You can come back and continue to listen," the guide promises as he moves us to the next segment, but the truth is no matter how many stories I've listened to and absorbed, it still doesn't feel like enough.

There is a wall with the head shots of the victims in Israel who lost their lives due to this war, whether they were murdered on Oct 7 or since, but it's only been updated up until Mar 27 of this year. Even so, no matter what angle I tried, I couldn't fit in all of the pictures.

Interactive screens allow a geographic telling of the massacre's story. They show maps of Israel's south, with dots on them, red for the murdered, dark blue for hostages, bright blue for hostages who have been returned, grey for the injured. You can tap a dot and read a story. Or you can zoom out and try to comprehend how is it possible for there to be that many dots on the maps.

"From darkness to light," reads the exhibition title. That's the perception of time in Judaism. We always move from darkness to light. And there's a section for the light, for stories of resilience, of bravery, of rehabilitation, of mutual support and caring. Filmed interviews that do their best to summarize an incomprehensible amount of good we've seen in response to an incomprehensible amount of evil. It features people from every demographic in Israel, and in that way also serves as a reminder of just how diverse we are as a society.

This part, I think to myself, was included for visitors from abroad. We Israelis, we know.

There's one story I know already. Tomer Greenberg, an Israeli officer, rescued on Oct 7 baby twins from the carnage. He was later killed fighting in Gaza. Like a puzzle, I've heard this story from several angles, including from Tomer before he died. This movie features an interview I hadn't heard yet, with the volunteer paramedic that Tomer handed the twins to. Shalom, this medic, talks about how they clung to him desperately as they got to be fed and feel safe and cared for again for the first time in what's estimated to have been 14 hours. I'm sitting there, thinking of those babies crying, not understanding why their parents aren't coming to feed them, and I don't know how to deal with this.

Shalom shares that the experiences of Oct 7 have inspired him to try and become a combative soldier, something that wasn't on the cards for him before that. I wonder again at people who can act like subjecting an entire (already traumatized) society to a sadistic massacre can liberate anyone.

And I understand Shalom fully. When your family is in the pits of hell, there's nowhere you want to be other than there, with them, doing what you can, rather than sit and watch helpless from afar. Most people would say he did a lot on that day. Shalom must have felt like that still wasn't enough.

At the very end, visitors are invited to add their own little piece of light, through neon notes and pens on which they'd share their thoughts. Nothing feels like it can sum everything I'm thinking and feeling up, but not writing anything feels worse, so my bff and I add a few of our words to the notes.

I don't have any profound conclusions for this post anymore than I did for my note. I just know that this still hurts, that we're still losing people daily, that we can't begin to heal, because we're still in the middle of the wound being inflicted. But I also know that we WILL heal, that even if the wound can't be closed yet, our collective immune system kicked into action on Oct 7 already, that we will continue to share the pain and the comfort and the care, and this massacre and war will probably never stop hurting, that we'll never be the same, but eventually we will be alright. Where people choose to care, there's just no other option.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #antisemitism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #personal #photography

[mybelovedwoo]

yunho as boyfriend, please 🩷🩷

The long-awaited yunho boyfriend headcanon is here!!!

jeong yunho as your boyfriend - headcanon

headcanon, romance, fluff, smut

reader x bf!atz

wc. ~ 0.7k

an: i know this took soo long to write, but I actually had a really busy time since I last posted one of these TT but as summer is here now I'll hopefully have more time to write

you can request headcanons if you want to!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

- the funny golden retriever boyfriend, who never fails to make your mood better and to make you smile (it's his personal goal in his life, to make you the happiest, and he really does)

-just as to everyone, he is your sunshine, your happy pill, the reason you smile every single day

-he is also the  "college boyfriend" kind of vibe, who is the love of your life and will be your husband in the future

-he always texts you no matter what, if his phone is in his hands, then he's most definitely chatting with you. also if he can't say anything else, he'll send you memes (it's one of his love languages)

-loves treating you with gifts, would most definitely bring you flowers on date nights, but don't forget about the bag of snacks and chocolates he always brings you on the first day of your period (he even tracks it on his phone, so he can be prepared)

-he's a gamer boy, so it's no surprise he loves it when you make interest and ask about his game, not even talking about when you ask him if you can play with him

-lots of inside jokes

-he is a big act of service guy. absolutely loves cooking for you or making you coffee before you wake up in the morning

-he never lets you pay for anything, even if you beg him. he thinks it's a gesture he is supposed to do as your boyfriend (at least that's what his father taught him)

 -gets embarrassed very easily when you compliment him, he gets all shy and giggly, sometimes you do it on purpose, just to see his flustered face because it's the cutest

-he communicates problems so well, that you barely ever fight

-carpool karaoke dates, blasting your favorite music and don't care what other people think of you

-this man has endless energy, so he's never tired of doing anything for you or being with you. when you call him, he's right there just for you

-holding hands 24/7, even if it's too hot outside and your hands get all sweaty, he just doesn't care

-he loooves it when you pamper him, with kisses, or caress his back

-he asks for your opinion on everything, if you don't like something then he doesn't like it either. your opinion is the most valuable thing for him

-goofy nicknames that don't even make sense but you can't help but love it

-somehow always knows what you're thinking about. when you feel uncomfortable in a situation, he's right there for the rescue, tho you didn't give him any specific sign, he just knows you too well. or when you come home from work, you haven't spoken yet, but he knows by just looking at you that you had a bad day and ready to cuddle you all night long

-idk he gives off shy kisses vibes with lots of giggles, but when it's really intimate he just holds your face in his big ass hands

nsfw +18!!!

-okaay hear me out, he is probably a switch, but mostly a bottom. he just loves it when you take control, it's his favorite thing

-he would prefer the good old cowgirl position, but anything, where you're on top is his "favorite", at least that's what he says

-but there are times when his dominant side comes out and ohh boy, you are so blessed to experience it

-when he's in that mood, he just rails you with no mercy. he has to let out all the tension and there's no better place than in the bedroom

-he does magic with his long fingers, takes you to heaven then brings you right back to earth

-he likes doing it in a chair with you on top, of course, he likes the closeness and loves holding you during it

- sex with him is anything but boring, yeah it's really sweet with a lot of emotions, but it's also really passionate and sensual. he would recommend new positions and toys all the time, he likes experiencing

-for places, I think he's a traditional in-bed kind of guy, he likes to stay comfortable 

-holds your hand and whispers sweet nothings into your ears, he talks you through it (with a really low and raspy voice)

-you have sex max three times a week, especially after a date night it's an essential

-his libido is quite high since he's a dancer, he can go multiple rounds in one night

-he likes to cuddle after, holds you in his arms. after a couple of minutes, you both just fall asleep right there and then

taglist: @dinossaurz (you can message me if you want to be added or removed)

#ateez #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez x you #ateez fic #atz #yunho headcanon #yunho fic #yunho x reader #yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yunho fluff #yunho smut #yunho boyfriend #ateez boyfriend #yunho imagine #yunho boyfriend headcanon

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 2 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your suit was still immaculate thanks to your incessant fiddling, adjusting, and pruning. If not for the gel wearing out in your hair and the sweat beading your brow, the illusion was almost believable. Your rings clinked against the sink's enamel, your silver accents glinting in the fluorescent lighting, while a person did their business in the stall behind you. You sighed and washed your hands.

Damn, the soap was nice. They'd really gone all out for the reception, the fall theme extending even to the cinnamon spice soap bars.

Who were you even trying to fool? You were hiding in the bathroom. You'd arrived on the scene of the reception party in relatively high spirits, convinced all was fine and dandy, that Gretchen was looking to make amends in this small way. But you'd been wrong.

The invitation hadn't been a fluke. There hadn't been some mistake, because on the little plaque where your name was scrawled in neat cursive sat another right next to it. On the round table where you'd be sitting, there would be Regina George directly to your left. On your other side would be Shane Oman. Across from you, Damian and Janis.

You stepped out of the bathroom, a lump still firmly lodged in your throat but resolve found. You'd brave it, be an adult about it. The breakup had been perfectly amicable, for the most part anyway, so there was no reason for you to be so wound up.

"The maid of honour is a major bitch." Amanda sidled up to you as you walked towards your table. She directed you to the bar by the arm.

"She won't let us switch?" You asked, dismayed but not surprised.

"She won't even let you move to the spare table," Amanda said indignantly. "The whole time, I swear, she was lookin' me up and down all judgy."

"Ugh," You groaned. "Can she get your strongest drink?" You motioned for the bartender. The man nodded with a smile, seeming relieved to be rescued from the old lady chatting him up. He was a good-looking fella, tattoo sleeves and a military haircut.

"Anything for you?" He asked you, eyes lingering on Amanda shyly. Amanda leered at him unabashedly, batting her eyelashes while he made her drink.

"Just a coke." You'd been sober for a good couple of years now, free of all substances. You'd had a nasty relapse in college, a disgraceful return to party drugs and obscene amounts of alcohol, but you'd been able to find your footing since. Largely due to Amanda's intervention.

"You gonna be alright?" Amanda asked, for now deciding not to make a move on the bartender. You knew she was biding her time, establishing tension before she struck. She picked up men like a shark.

"Sure, yeah. It's gonna be okay. It's just, y'know, my ex. And her ex. And her nemesis and that nemesis' best friend. All good."

Amanda eyed you warily. You sipped at your coke through a straw. She, too, took a large gulp.

By the time the bride and the groom made their entrance, you were sitting in your spot, desperately trying not to make eye contact with the other occupants of the table. Shane was squirming on your right, fiddling with what seemed to be an engagement ring. Janis and Damian, sitting across from you, didn't seem to have changed much, except obviously grown up.

Janis was still unapologetically goth, though seemingly turned more toward clean, angular lines rather than messy, smudged blacks. She had on a dress and a shawl, beaded bangles and silver jewellery covering her wrists. She'd gotten more piercings since you last saw her. Angel bites on her upper lip, a bridge between her eyes, and stretched ear lobes. There were some bold tattoos as well, such as a rose crawling up her neck and the head of a snake on the back of her hand, extending up her arm.

Damian was in a cute, velvety green suit. His shirt, white with light green fleur de lis patterns, had ruffles going down the buttons. The length of its sleeves also surpassed that of the suit's, which made the whole look seem kind of piratey. His natural hair, a poofy afro, the bulky red-tinted glasses, and the pointy boots he had on gave off a bohemian seventies disco star vibe. He had a very specific aesthetic and you couldn't help but be impressed.

The seat on your left was pointedly lacking a person. Only the plaque was there along with its elegant scrawl. You crossed your legs and threaded your fingers together, bracing for the moment somebody said something to you. Or you were forced to do it yourself.

"So..." There it comes. Surprisingly it was Shane, of all people. "You and Regina."

"Huh?" You made a sound.

"I mean, you're here together, right? That's what I heard." He scratched at his neck, seeming nervous. All the confidence and obnoxious self-assurance seemed to have melted off of him.

"No, you- what? Where'd you hear that?"

"Just some nasty gossip. Don't worry about it. Aaron and I know what it's like." He smiled supportively, but somewhere in the crevices of his cheeks, it seemed sad. "Have you been out for long?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Shane and Aaron? Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Um, pretty much since high school. To be fair, I didn't tell a lot of people back then. You how Northshore was." He nodded along solemnly. "But in college I sort of bit the bullet."

"That's really brave. Aaron and I haven't been out for long, only since the new law passed." He still seemed cautious and shy, but talking about Aaron clearly made him happy.

"When did you two get together?"

As Shane began to tell the tale, you slowly began to relax. Maybe Regina wouldn't even show up. If you and Gretchen were estranged, Regina and she were even more so. Regina had never given you details, but you did know Gretchen had been heavily involved in your shitty junior year. They'd had an explosive, very public falling-out that'd led to a whole lot of drama.

By that point, you'd sort of checked out of high school as well as your relationship with Regina, so you'd paid very little attention.

"Oh, here she comes," Shane pointed behind you, cutting off his own story. You whirled around, back crackling as you twisted your spine.

Regina George, in the flesh. Your mouth watered, pupils dilated, and there was no way you could've suppressed your reaction. Her eyes were locked on yours, a predatory glint in her eye as she strutted towards your table.

You almost didn't hear Damian's whistle or Janis' stunned laugh, but as Regina shifted the white fur stole she had to reveal her shoulders and chest, you went wholly deaf to all but the clack of her heels.

She had on a baby pink bodycon dress with a slit sinfully high up on her thigh, satin hugging her hips sensually. She had on white high heels with thin straps at the ankle and fur at the tops of her toes.

Her makeup was natural, with subtle browns and blacks, except for the prominent blush she'd picked. Her hair was a warmer blonde than before, complimenting her tanned skin. She had on golden jewellery, a familiar golden necklace resting on the dip of her clavicles like a taunt.

She kept on advancing towards the table. You could do little else but stare, slack-jawed at the visage of her. Other people were staring too, you could tell. You could only imagine what Gretchen was doing with her face at the moment, perhaps scowling like a pug or maybe looking like she was about to cry. Regina was but a guest and yet...

Regina was never just Regina. You knew that better than anyone. No matter how she dressed, behaved, or what her priorities were, she was an innate presence that influenced those around her. Gretchen inviting her to her wedding was essentially like shooting herself in the foot.

Regina didn't have to try to snatch the attention of the room, but when she did, there was no competition. And Regina had gone all out. You could tell by the movements of her hands, the way her lashes fluttered, and how her mouth parted just a little. It was obvious, at least to you, that Regina was doing what she did best: Revenge.

"Hi, baby," She cooed down at you. You took a moment to react, surprised by how she was suddenly there, right in front of you.

Her hands reached for you, long acrylics brushing against your collar, then your neck, then the back of your neck and in your hair. Her thumbs directed your head to tilt up. She pulled you close as she leaned down and then—peach lipgloss, glittery eyeshadow, saccharine perfume—your skin tingled where she touched you, sparks going off behind your eyelids as they fell closed, bliss pouring out of your pores as you became filled with it.

You kissed her back, took hold of her hips and pulled her to stand between your legs. Fuck, this was bad. But, fuck, it felt good to kiss her again.

Distantly, like someone shouting into the water in which you were submerged, you realized that this was perhaps the worst way, place, and time you could've reunited with Regina.

Even so, you kissed deeper, licking into her mouth until she made a sound you'd so missed all these years. Just as you began debating the pros and cons of laying her down on the table right there in the open, Shane tugged hard on your shoulder.

"What?" You grumbled, turning to him with a glare already in place.

He was red-faced, and frazzled, but had on a wide grin. "Get it, girl, but calm down. The mother of the bride looks like she's about to implode." He inclined his head towards the long table where all the important people sat. The mother of the bride did indeed look to be on the precipice of a furious blow-out.

"Okay," You swallowed, sense slowly coming back to you.

"Ugh, you're such a party pooper, Shane." Regina pulled away, leaving your palms achingly empty. She didn't go far though. She sat down on her chair before reaching into her white Valentino bag and pulling out some napkins. Then, she leaned in again.

Your eyes fluttered closed and lips puckered. Regina laughed.

"Silly, you have gloss all over your face."

"Oh," Your eyes opened. Gosh, that was embarrassing.

Regina wiped your mouth. Then, she pulled out a compact mirror and fixed her own lips. You watched her do all this. She and Shane started chatting. Apparently, they'd been in somewhat regular contact.

You'd just kissed Regina George. After, what, give or take seven years? In front of the whole goddamn venue. In front of Gretchen, in front of Gretchen's family, in front of basically your entire year from high school.

You got up. "Oh, where are you going?" Shane asked, all innocent. You hoped you didn't look as panicked as you felt. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong. You glanced at Regina.

Fuck. She totally knew. Obviously, she knew you. She could read you like a book.

"Smoke. Be back in a few." You fled.

"I'm coming too," Janis said.

Notes: Sorry for the long break everybody! I graduated and had a party for that! Went on a little trip to the countryside with friends! And now, at last, I'm back at my desk and ready to churn out some long overdue chapters.

Taglist posted separately! Comment on that post to get on it if you want!

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #lesbian regina george #fic: bridges burnt #fic: yard work

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Basic Information

Other Name(s):  Nadežda Pugachev (before brainwashing), Nadya (family and Perseus Operators), Nad (Keith), Jo (Mason, Woods), Bell (callsign), Auntie Dodie (Toddler!David Mason).

Physical Appearance

Eyes: honeyed brown

Hair: dark brown

Skin: white

Tattoo(s): none

Scar(s): shoulder, chest - gunshot wounds. Other misc. scars. 

Face Claim: Kate Beckinsale

Description: At first glance, Jodie seems to be quite plain, though this is something that she prefers given her line of work. Her hair is just past shoulder-length when she wears it down, but when working it is pulled up into a ponytail/low bun. There are some bangs that frame her forehead and sides of her face, which can be wayward when she attempts to tie them back, so usually leaves them alone. 

Her facial features are sharp, nestled on an oval shaped frame. Occasionally, when a situation calls for it, she will wear minimal makeup - she feels out of place when she does wear it, so often opts out of it. Her ears are pierced with a singular stud, but takes them out when on missions. 

As for what she wears, Jodie will often wear jeans and a plain grey t-shirt when in the safe house or her downtime, accented with a jean jacket, or cardigan if it’s a little cold. She does have a thicker, muted green winter jacket for colder weather. She also wears plain pumps. 

For missions, it’s often a muted green turtleneck, dark jacket and combat trousers, with military boots. She will also wear the appropriate paraphernalia attributed with operators to carry extra clips, lethals and other such equipment. 

Personality

Like(s): coffee, dogs, nighttime, rain, puzzles, cyphers, that people actually trust her, Frank's beard (if he shaves, she fights), intelligent conversation, her daughter (loves her so much)

Dislike(s): dark chocolate, when it’s so hot you can’t breathe, being snuck up on, being spoken about as though she isn't there, people questioning her loyalty or her integrity, being left out of important conversations that involve her, if anyone messes with her daughter, being judged based on her past, not having full recollection of her past

Strength(s): calm, efficient, loyal, fast thinker, keen eye for patterns and details, can be very patient, willing to compromise where needed, adaptable

Weakness(es): can be cold and mistrustful, can be very guarded even against those she trusts, lets past trauma rule her sometimes, even though loyalty is also her strength it can also be her weakness, her calmness can be taken as being cold, detached, even apathetic sometimes, at other times she can be stubborn and her anger can get the better of her. When she sees red, it's red.

Relationships

Parent(s): unnamed Russian mother, unnamed Russian father 

Sibling(s): Radomir Timofey Pugachev aka Time/Timosha

Friend(s): Sarah and Alex Mason, (after a time) Russell Adler

Spouse(s): Frank Woods

Child(ren): Ashley Woods

Biography

1949 - Nadežda’s family is captured by the MGB and sent to [redacted], an undisclosed Gulag within rural Russia. Father, a WW2 veteran, was executed at the time of capture. There were rumours that he was critical of the current government and had become belligerent with his negative opinion of his leaders. By extension, his family were heavily scrutinised and kept at the Gulag. Her mother passed away in the labour camp. Initially, Nadežda and her brother, Radomir, were kept there with their mother, until her death, then were sent to a children’s orphanage. 

1953 - Nadežda is approached by an old friend of her father’s, who said to have fought alongside him during WW2. He makes her an offer she can’t refuse and joins his ranks despite her young age. She did this as this old friend promised he could find a suitable family to keep her brother safe and grow up to live in a better Russia. From then, she trained to fight and became an excellent tool for Perseus to use. (He had been too late to ask for her father to join his ranks, but she was the next best thing in his mind.)

1958 - At the age of eighteen, Nadežda was ordered to join the KGB by Perseus, to work alongside comrades and earn their trust, so that he may learn ways to exploit them if the need arose in the future and to seek potential operators to join his ranks. She studied at the Higher Intelligence School in Moscow, where she extended her espionage knowledge.

1960 - [redacted].

1962 - Nadežda is ordered to collect information regarding growing US involvement in Vietnam. Any encoded information regarding US military operations is passed over Nadežda’s desk. Also ordered to decode any Russian intelligence regarding the Cuban Missile Crisis. 

1965 - [redacted].

1968 - encoded intelligence regarding Operation Fracture Jaw is decoded by Nadežda. 

1969 - [redacted].

1976 - Nadežda, alongside other Persues operators, rescues Vikhor “Stitch” Kuzmin.

[Following paragraphs are redacted.]

1979 - Nadežda makes contact with Special Officer, Keith Wells, offering crucial insight into Perseus’ organisation. What causes this change of allegiance is unknown to the CIA. Nadežda is informed by Officer Wells that there is a mole within the CIA and not to trust any other operator other than himself, as they could not risk the information crossing the palms of the wrong person. They come to an agreement that Nadežda would claim no knowledge of him in the face of possible interrogations, if ever that came to happen. 

[Following paragraphs are redacted.]

1981 - January 13, Nadežda accompanied Arash Kadivar to Trabzon airfield, Turkey. Subsequently, Kadivar shoots Nadežda after revealing that he knows of her betrayal. He states that it’s a shame one of Perseus’ top agents turns out to be nothing more than a traitorous dog. CIA operatives, Alex Mason, Frank Woods and Russell Adler assassinate Kadivar, preventing the weapons from leaving the country. Upon sweeping the tarmac for survivors, Adler finds Nadežda still alive with a dossier related to Perseus. 

Following Nadežda’s capture and recovery from her injuries, traditional methods of interrogation did not succeed. She had hoped that, due to her captors being the CIA, word of her capture might reach Officer Wells, as she intended to keep her word and say nothing of their interactions; after expressing, in one interrogation, that the only operator she would speak with was Officer Wells, she is informed that he was presumed KIA and possibly at the hands of a Perseus Operator. Nadežda does not know whether to trust this information, given what Officer Wells had said in the past and so kept her mouth shut out of loyalty to him.

Several weeks later, through psychological torture, neuroactive drugs and hypnosis, Adler, the CIA, alongside MI6 Agent Helen Park, brainwashed her. A connection was formed between Adler and Nadežda by use of fake, implanted memories inspired by Adler’s time in Vietnam with the success of implying a years-long friendship between the two. 

Nadežda was no more and Adler gave her the callsign Bell. 

Alongside this, a whole new persona was fashioned and Bell was an MI6 Agent, Jodie Hall, from London, England, though information of her past never went further than that.  

“We have a job to do.” was the common trigger phrase to keep Bell in check as well as slipping small amounts of neuro-stimulant drugs to Bell to keep their conditioning effective. 

Volkov is captured. 

Bell and Woods uncover a Spetsnaz training ground - encrypted information regarding Operation Greenlight is uncovered. 

KGB headquarters infiltrated with the help of Dimitri Belikov uncovering previously erased names of Sleeper Agents, who Perseus aims to use in their upcoming infiltration of Operation Greenlight. 

Sleeper Agent Theodore Hastings is followed to Cuba, where the mission goes south - Bell saves Park’s life but is unable to save Lazar. 

Adler and the team reveal Bell’s true identity, but she remains loyal to their cause, revealing the location of Perseus and the station which will be used to detonate the nukes aimed on half the world. Though she is confused, betrayed and angry, she understands this choice is the right one and, somewhere deep down, she knows she didn’t need the conditioning to have made it. 

Solovetsky is attacked and the nukes are stopped. 

Bell is MIA for a short while.

Once located, a deal is made with the CIA that she would offer her services and any information she had on the Perseus faction in exchange for starting a new life in America as her given persona, Jodie Hall.

#call of duty #black ops cold war #bocw oc #oc biography #jodie hall #canon x oc

[deepcupcakenacho]

Where are your hearts?

America, UK, Germany, France and Australia, have your hearts finally fled? Or have they diminished just like what you did to Palestine? Does it make you feel good to fund 'people' who go murdering anyone who doesn't with israel? Do you go to bed, peaceful and happy, knowing that you will wake up unharmed, unlike how Palestinians live?

People are brainwashed. A group of 12 israeli soldiers were attacked by wasps after the israeli military tank ran their nest over, and people are saying it was trained by Hamas. That Hamas has somehow found a way to train swaps to attack just israelis and not the fact that, as wild creatures, it was just natural to protect themselves and what has always been theirs. This is an article from The Times of israel https://www.timesofisrael.com/12-soldiers-stung-by-wasp-swarm-after-tank-runs-over-nest-in-southern-gaza/ .

Ever noticed how, when an israeli is killed it is most likely than not a person of the military, yet when a Palestinian is killed, it doesn't matter if it is a Hamas member or not, if it is a child or not. Spoken by a former israeli soldier in 2014, it was said on more than on occasion that an Arab is an Arab, that it doesn't matter if they are young or old, t*rr*r*st or not. To all the Arabs who have not yet boycotted or who supports israel, to all the Muslim countries who support israel or have not taken a side, those people who fund israel's military do not and would not care if you were in Palestine's place. They would not care for your children, your parents or your friends but would go and support your death and misery.

People painted Palestine as the bad wolf because of discrimination. Who is to tell you, people of colour or people of the LGBTQ+ community, that, on day, you will be the same as Palestine? Btw, people who are from the countries I mentioned above, I don't hate you, I just hate the government, and their really smart choices.

#from the river to the sea palestine will be free #gaza #israel #palestine #anti zionisim #boycott israel #free gaza #free palestine #free palestine 🇵🇸 #rafah #america #germany #europe #great britain #uk #uk politics #england #london #politics #usa #is britain really great #france #australia

[bloodycowboyclub]

(insp.)

#hangman adam page #aew #aewedit #jon moxley #adam page #hangman page #* #gifs #*meme #do u know how difficult it was to pick something for the second part. i had SO MANY OPTIONS #might just end up doing different versions of this with every feud he's ever had LMAO #<- spoken like a person with time and will on their side #hangman if u ever see this please know the p word is an umbrella term god bless #anyway is this anything

[neraiutsuze]

for the society of brilliance it sure wasn't smart of this dude to keep talking about

how inherently evil githyanki are

how torturing a child would be the only way to prove their inherently evil minds could be fixed

how doing so would be for the benefit of everyone especially races thought of as evil and therefore all suffering the child went through would be completely justified

how even if this egg doesn't get sold to them, they'll definitely still do this with another egg eventually

to the face of a tiefling visibly getting more and more furious and her githyanki wife only holding back from righteous murder by sheer force of will

cue ryse taking a step back, tenderly kissing said githyanki wife in front of this dude, and then casting hold person on him so aforementioned githyanki wife and their other buff tiefling friend could cut the fucker in half.

frankly it is lucky for the society as a whole that i'd already done the rounds and everyone else had come across as chill and with good intentions with their projects because that's the ONLY reason anyone got non-lethally taken out after that

(and the comedy of me noticing a moment later that gale had been missing that entire battle, switching to him, and only then realising he'd gotten stuck in the attic room and missed the entire interaction. gale walking out of the dorm room to a sea of unconscious scientists like that community gif of troy with the pizza)

#miri plays bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ryse like. say the githyanki are ontologically fucking evil ONE MORE TIME #frankly sparing the rest of the society was at least partially as a second middle finger to his ideas #even if she HADN'T met that sweet lad in the creche or spoken to the guy in charge of taking care of the eggs #lae'zel is the tenderest person in the ENTIRE WORLD as far a she's concerned these days #plus considering what people think about tieflings AND coming off the back of cazador's palace and the spawn #you're never going to get her on your side by talking about ANY people being inherently violent and evil

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

When British writers come up with an American character’s dialogue and give them the most painfully British things to say with their American accent and inflection and it makes the actor come off as stiff. :P

#The Oxford Murders (2008) #I mean it was a very well-done movie visually (that flowy choreographed camera work in the beginning WOW) #The plot was apparently hard to follow and it’s not just my lack of spoken dialogue comprehension and attention working against me #I always have to check reviews to make sure I’m not the only person having a hard time following a story #because I’ve been trained through life not to trust my own mind due to its faultiness… #Anyway: When Seldom said something like “…only mathematics can be proven. Basic statements like two plus two equals four #are the only things sure in this world” I— 💀 HELP no no no… one of the previous characters you played #would like to kiss this new character of yours on the mouth for what he just said— ashsisksnsksjjsjdjdmsksk #That is until you elaborated on it and then basically took the side of his persecutor… THAT sucked #And I know my speech right now does not come off as naturally as it once did (or is it) I have no idea #if this is my real voice or the absorption’s afterglow causing me to speak in such an uptight manner #but I don’t mind it #but I do mind it #because no matter what combination of words I use it doesn’t sound or feel as if I am the one speaking — I stitch together what I hear #or have I only been conditioned to think the way I speak isn’t natural because nobody in my immediate life speaks like this #Who says stitching together words into a gigantic quilt isn’t natural for me? #But that still leaves me with no soul. I’m Pete the Parrot. Or Bumblebee. #Maybe I shouldn’t speak or write; maybe I need to master visual telepathy #or a language comprised entirely of touch and eye movement #I always feel the need to create languages so I can express myself without falling into cliches and dialects #I want to be free of stereotypes #I’m tired of speaking this language… EXHAUSTED #I speak in predictable patterns and when I think I’m not using a pattern by being unpredictable; the unpredictability becomes a trend

[sleepknoot]

One of the things that infuriates me about tumblr R/P is the kind of rolep/layer who is only genuinely interested in writing with you if they can see their muse being romantically and/or sexually involved with yours.

Like I don't give a fuck what you wanna R/P. I'm not paying you, I'm not your boss, and I know damn well I'm not going to change anybody's mind on anything. I just wish people were honest about what they want instead of pretending they want to write with you only to consistently ignore you in favor of muns with muses their character has a crush on.

#The fact this happened with a longform V/T///M R//Per with me as the most recent example. #I was so excited for a new person to join the community much more the longform R//P side of it. #Every thread we wrote died so fast and died on their turns. #Then they constantly ignored my asks/likes on their starter calls and only answer to male muses their muse had been making eyes at. #And the threads they had with those muses went on strong most of the time. #It also felt like the didn't actually give a shit about the source material and I could really feel that when in-universe discussions #were actually happening. Which is again whatever. I think I just got my hopes up too high for that that person ended up seeking. #I don't get why the kept following me on multiple accounts when they were constantly ignoring me. Unless it was to bump their numbers. #All the random slashes are so I don't end up in the tags btw #Sorry for the rant in the tags. I haven't spoken about this out loud and it bugs me sometimes when I see people doing something similar. #zombert.txt

[duncantashi]

i hate home

#the number of times i've spoken about how i hate being at home is a lot now #it's like my parents don't even treat me as a person who has her own schedules and routines and college work #when they want to go out i have to be okay with it #it doesn't matter to them that i have a test the very next day #this all started because of my dad #we hardly even go out nowadays and when he wants to he expects all of us to be okay with it #then my mom says she understands that i have to study but the moment my dad comes home she takes his side #and he literally said that he wouldn't let me go out anywhere with my friends and i shouldn't come to him if i need something #like wtf? what does he want me to do? die? #what is even wrong with her? she could have just taken my dad's side from the beginning #and today when i asked if i could go out with friends because the semester is ending he didn't allow me to #and when i was talking to him he starts seeing videos on his phone at full volume #he doesn't the basic decency #i'm literally talking and he pretends like he can't hear and continues watching the videos #i hate my life so much when i'm at home #i really think if i didn't have my sister in my life i would have definitely killed myself #my only motivation these days is to study well so that i can get a good job and then i can move out #so fucking done with my parents #i think there should be some tw in this post but i'm not sure what #hi i'm sorry if you read this but i had to get it out #nivi.txt

[nerdie-faerie]

Having a complicated relationship with your mum is so confusing. It's the knowledge that she taught me the best way to make gravy, how tie my shoes and how to make my bed. But she's also the one that made disparaging comments about my body growing up and is part of the reason I don't want to be a parent myself and why I moved across the country for uni. But she's still my mum and I still find myself wishing I could seek comfort from her when things get a little too hard but the mum I'm longing for doesn't really exist. And I see her in the colour of my eyes and in the way I grit my teeth when I'm angry. She taught me how to do my hair and how to cover up bruises. She's a part of me in all the good and the bad. And there's no way to say you hate someone that doesn't also acknowledge all the good because nothings as ever as black and white as that

#personal #+Extra #i dont know i was making gravy for dinner the way my mum taught me and it got me thinking about how i havent spoken to her in over a week #since she told me that my dad is threatening to kick me out again and i started thinking about the fact im currently at empty student #accommodation for the summer instead of back home like most people anf how part of me feels guilty for that and the other knows im doing #whats best for me and theres a reason i left people keep asking why im so far up north for uni if im from down south and i dont know how to #explain it they look at you a certain way when you say you dont get along with your parents like your an entitled brat that cant see that #theyre just doing whats best for you and theres no way to explain two decades of trauma to someone in a single conversation theres no way #to get them to understand that despite what my parents do and the fact i went as far as i could for uni theyre still my parents and i love #them even when i hate them for everything and although ill being carrying the scars of childhood trauma with me long after ive left them i #cant entirely blame even when i want to they made terrible choice that have shaped me for ever but theyre still people and ill always #resent them for the people they are and the fact they could do better but didnt for us and the fact they fall back into those people like #a bad habit when i spend to long at home in a way that makes feel like theres something wrong with me specifically will always sit with me #but for now im stood in my kitchen making sheppards pie thinking of the way my mum used to make it and the tension that used to hang over #the dining table while we ate and how now my parents dont even eat in the same room and im grateful my little siblings will never know #that side of our parents but it doesnt mean it doesnt hurt every time i see a reflection of my parents in myself and wish i could cut it out

[oblivioussloth]

Hnnng….going through it in such a specific and weird way so now I’m physically fighting off the side of me that wants to make an Impulse Purchase

#okay super specific tea but…. #my dad whom I havent spoken to since like 2015 #(and ruined my ability to go to college/ drained my personal savings due to a gambling addiction) #is offering to pay for a ticket for me to watch the musical six #but the showing is in London and I live in….the ass end of no where in germany #the showing is in October #which technician is enough time to plan a trip #but like he has made the assumption that I can just….do that?? #anyway I want to roast this whole situation with my mom but now she is in Mom Mode and just wants to give advice #instead of shit talking this whole thing with me #and I can’t bring this up to my only friend I am close enough to unload this kind of thing to #because he just got a new boyfriend which means he doesn’t want to talk about anything but that 😔 #but yeah this is a weird one #also I guess my dad i getting remarried #and is inviting me #but that is literally on the other side of the world so I will not go #which pains me because he brought it up by saying ‘I know you won’t come but I’m getting remarried’ #like??!? bitch now I want to go #just to flex on the cousins honestly #I’ll prob delete this later #but god do I need to get even more drunk Right Now #all this to say…..I deserve a little treat 🥺 #but the worst part is…..I am incapable of seeing money as anything other than something that needs to be saved and untouchable #because of this whole thing #like I have been Anti Little Treat this whole time because my dad took nearly 25000$ from me 😬 #like I’ve managed to save nearly 12000$ since getting this new job by buying licherally nothing for myself #and to use any of that money even just to buy lunch at work feels like I’m screwing future me over if that makes any sense #thanks for reading this journal entry if you’ve made it this far 😳

[lungfuls]

I often think of the ex who factually actually would shoot me dirty looks when I said things that he thought were uncool to his friends. he would buy me clothes that weren't my style and get mad bc I didn't want to wear them. I bought razor blades during an active self-harm period and he made fun of me for it. he went with me to an Al-Anon meeting bc I wanted moral support while finally seeking help for dealing with my mom's alcoholism since kindergarten and he ended up speaking up about how hard it was for him to deal with his alcoholic roommate/best friend (who he'd basically laughed at when he asked him to help him stop/slow down drinking) and my mom (whose alcoholism actually traumatized me), using the language that these other people in the group used to describe actual abuse at the hands of the alcoholics in their lives to describe his own experiences. crazy. one of the nicest guys I ever dated. like. legitimately

#everyone came up to him after the meeting like welcome to the group bro we're here for you we know what it's like #while i just stood off to the side lol people were like hugging him and stuff #he wasn't being malicious he was just caught up in the emotional moment of the group #but i found it to be one of the most hurtful things a partner has ever done to me #and the man i was with for 3 years after that guy used to like drink and call me names and shit #it was worse to watch someone who dismissed my trauma receive the love i desperately needed to heal it #bc he co-opted my chance to open up to people who would understand #i could have spoken after him but iirc he was the last person to speak right at the end #and i had told him i wasn't comfortable speaking yet my social anxiety was really bad at that time #like voice shaking body going numb if i had to speak to 2+ people at once

[shebrakesforrainbows]

This is what happens when abusers are given a platform on social media.

#“emotional grooming” lol. get fucking real and get over yourself #“mocking trauma” REMEMBER YOUR BESTIE'S WHOLE ASS SONG PARODY MOCKING ME GETTING GROOMED BABE? #NOT TO MENTION THE ART AND MEME VIDEOS Y'ALL MADE??? LIKE DID YOU EVER CONSIDER MAYBE /I/ WASN'T COMFORTABLE EITHER? #where oh where have the smart people gone? where oh where could they be? #everyone knows you manipulated those people. your friends. your followers. #they were scared of you up until you showed your flimsy ass callout in which point they jumped onto your side #you know why? because they're fucking scared of you #and you. YOU. you know who i mean. she's not a fucking psychologist and you're old enough to know better than to believe random strangers- #-on the internet. not friends. not a psychology STUDENT. a PSYCHOLOGIST. a LICENSED MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL. #and to YOU. the two people who KNEW this was wrong and went along with it? SHAME. #you KNOW i know you went along with this because of fucking peer pressure. #she's an abuser. we've discussed this before. so many times. #someone who plots behind their “friend”'s back for THREE FUCKING MONTHS is NOT A GOOD PERSON. #all these issues could have been amicably solved if you had just spoken politely to me instead of. y'know. going behind my back and also- #SCREAMING AT ME FOR THREE HOURS IN A PUBLIC SERVER UNTIL I HAD TO BEG TO GO TO BED AT THE ODD HOURS OF THE NIGHT? LOL? #i have fucking screenshots of you admitting to this shit. don't try and delete your messages sweetie. #hell hath no fury like the scorned and believe me when i say i'm fucking coming for all of you. #ALSO WHY ARE YOU WHITE AND TELLING HISPANIC PEOPLE WHAT SLURS THEY CAN AND CAN'T SAY? #KAREN MOMENT #AND I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS /STALKER/ YOUR ENTIRE PERSONALITY IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE BEING OBSESSED WITH ME LIKE THE FREAK YOU ARE!!! #BYE GIRL #fucking proship trash i swear to god lol