#But they really did mean a lot to each other...

[pocketramblr]

Please!

AU where both Izuku and Bakugou are rejected from UA Hero Course.

And to make it juicy. The reason for the rejections is the suicide baiting incident being known by UA. While Bakugou is rejected for obvious reasons. Izuku is rejected for his ‘own safety’ and because they won’t trust his psyche went unscathed.

1- The thing about Bakugou is that he was not particularly well liked by his classmates at Aldera. Oh, he had friends, and no one was willing to stand up to him, but plenty of students had grudges about how he acted. They rolled their eyes when Bakugou went on a rant about being the only one who could make it to UA, or his lackeys hyped him up, but then they'd look away without a word when he caught them and glared. No one was going to say he wasn't powerful and couldn't do it, just like they weren't going to say Deku had any chance. Sometimes, capable people are also very annoying, and you just have to deal with that, so the kids did. And if a few were in a small group chat that would sneak pictures or videos to show the kids not in their class and complain, well, that's what the kids did. And then one day, one filmed the conversation after school, after Bakugou threw out the notebook, and posted it publicly, as well as in the chat.

2- nothing came of this. Izuku had either blocked or been blocked by a lot of his classmates online, and hadn't really bothered to look for most of them anyway, so neither he nor Bakugou are aware of the video. The sludge villain sort of happened an hour later, and that's what got the big media buzz- the news couldn't publish the names of the teens involved if they ever even had them, but locally, people at Aldera knew who the kids on tv were.

3- the next year, UA has its recommendation exams. Every student is meticulously background checked before even being accepted as an potential for the exam and interview. A couple weeks later, they have the standard exam. The background checks will happen after this- UA after all has a very prestigious image. Bakugou wasn't wrong that if he took his lackey's cigarette and UA found out, his chances would be gone. Unfortunately for him, the video was still online. Mostly forgotten about... Until it contained not one but two potential UA students.

4- Nedzu and the six hero course homeroom teachers are on the board of student admissions, but so are two others each from administration, public relations, the school board, and the heroics commission. The top fifty scorers are ruthlessly picked through. The video is watched. Some want to exclude Izuku, some Bakugou, some both. Nedzu would prefer to have them both enrolled in separate classes, but is outvoted. He doesn't warn the board this will mean All Might will not be staying on to teach - he really can't, without telling secrets, but he does warn All Might the next night, and gracefully accepts his resignation.

5- a week after the exams, acceptance and rejection letters are sent. These are simply written on paper. Apparently neither of them are a good fit for the school. No further reason is given. Bakugou spends one day in his room, quieter than ever, then rush applies to other schools. Shiketsu is supposed to be UA's equal. Perhaps their admissions process will be less rigid. Or perhaps his rise to number one is "supposed" to come from humble starts, and Aldera Middle School wasn't that, but some mid rank hero school is. Meanwhile, on the beach, All Might tells Izuku that he actually ended up with the most rescue points in the exam, and his score was high enough to place him in top ten... It was just the screenings afterwards that did it. Perhaps the school was concerned about his health, with him breaking nearly every limb. Or perhaps his incorrect quirk registration was a red flag- either way, it's things All Might blames himself for, Izuku is the one who passed the test, and with only a few hours of having OfA too. So All Might asks Izuku what he wants to do- try for another hero school nearby? Toshinori probably can't get a job there on short notice without being suspicious, but he'll work to train him every day after, and come up with some other excuse for why he's in the field less. Or, should he reach out to I-island? Toshinori's even willing to see about setting up a personal internship with himself or Gran Torino, though he really kinda hopes Izuku doesn't pick that one. Izuku bursts into tears and apologies, having only held them back this long out of shame, they hug, and Toshi tells Izuku to take his time deciding, it'll be all right, because Izuku is here and he has full faith in him, regardless of what UA admissions thinks.

#wow. class 1a is about to have such a peaceful year. #possibly at the detriment to their personal growth but i mean they're teenagers they'll be fine and figure it out over time anyway #pocket talks to people #anon #ask game

[helenanell]

A Breath of Life || Challengers

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 “Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

#challengers movie #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #tashi x reader #zendaya #josh o'connor

[simplydnp]

be honest with me. what are the chances of a hard launch in june

anon this question goes back years. and the thing is. we have been right once before.

you ask me this this time last year? fuck no. i might even quip that dapg would come back before dnp would hard launch. well. look at us now.

and even then, you look back on the content they started with in the revival--it honestly kind of felt exactly like where we left off, only a lot more explicitly queer (we stan). and then... trying to see without my glasses 2. and bang, spooky week happened. and that shifted the balance. we suddenly got slo-mo replays of handholds. day, after day, after day, finishing with the absolute masterpiece of halloween baking cinnamon rolls. in all honesty it was so much more than i'd've ever expected from them. truly another post-baking universe.

and it never really slowed down. suddenly we had cat prom photos, catboy butlers, catboy dan w/ phil photography credit, theyre 'wrestling' --running us full throttle into gamingmas, the first since 2017. and every day we had a new thing to freak out over: standing close. golf jokes. and then... pinof reacts. i don't know what compelled them to do it but i do have speculations. genuinely, i think they wanted to defang a lot of their history. we treated pinof 1, especially, with this... reverance. and it wasn't talked about too publicly--and dnp didnt do it either. so if they really wanted to move on, to bring down the walls, open the floodgates, define this new era: they had to throw the first stone. and they did. quite heartily too. suddenly this almost taboo part of their history--almost too intimate to be perceived--was on the table. and we were talking about it. joking about it. giving clear signals of 'we see it, it's okay.' and suddenly we existed in a post-pinof reacts world. of anything, i would've never predicted they would've done that. absolutely wild. follow that with it takes two being so chill and fond. incohearant being so blatant and heartfelt. trombone champ being unhinged and chaotic. the genuine and sweet complimenting of each other in the red carpet video. devan wedding... happilyphoreverafter... we crashed forward in time. never knowing what would be next. where is the line? how far will they go.

they teased us with japhan honeymoon and we knew 2024 would be wild. but we didn't know how much. from wdapteo 2023, to specific reminiscing about japan w/ devan, WAD happening, and phil playing a huge role in it all--from the orange carpet hosting, to 'ive been in *sex noises* with phil from the start!', to 'remote crisis manager phil lester', to dan saying he can stay during the thank you.

one of the biggest videos so far this year was the tiktok likes one. i will be forever haunted by the dog eating cheeseburger and willy wonka tiktoks--theres some things i was never meant to know. and yet. they tell us. explicitly.

every single video on amazingphil since the return of dapg has mentioned or featured dan. there's been a palpable shift in the way they interact. have you seen the way phil has been glowing in videos lately? this guy is on cloud nine all the time. it's really not hard to see why.

the energy of keep or yeet w/ dan... the absolute Lack of pretense of it all. phan twitter... watch your step baby girl...

dan and phil fucking crafts. talk about an unexpected return. legacy defining, one might even say. we're still in this tailspin of what everything means and they drop this insanely iconic video on us. from the storytelling to the production to the aesthetic--and its all capped off by explicit handholding. yes, it was part of the sacrifice. but hand in hand, the heart dan ripped from phils chest in one, and the knife that did it in the other... oh boy. we're really in it now. and then they put it on fucking merch. genius. truly no one does it like them.

and the foot has been on the accelerator since. dan and phil connections, shuffleboard & mocktails, getting deep slumber party, acknowledgement & approval of fics (yes previously given but never like this)--hell, even the sims today was wild for 'is their love language horrible banter 👀'.

you didn't ask for an essay but i gave you one. all of this to say, they've been moving the line. quite intentionally so. they intentionally revived their joint branding. they are 'dan and phil' again, and seem happier than ever about it, and i think that means something. they're saying things they never would have before--out of the closet or not.

as for june... 5 years since coming out is a big deal. so is this year being 15 years of dnp. hell, so is this year for being the first out pride month where they're explicitly a duo and regularly making content together. they're sentimental, there will be something.

my craziest idea is reacting to their coming out videos ✌️😔 --but i don't think it'll actually happen. as for more realistic, i could see pride merch. and however that goes will be significant, in my opinion. i'm excited and curious.

i don't know if they'll hard launch. it's hard to put all of the implications, complications, and speculations back into the box once it's opened. dan's talked about it before--wanting to be able to fuck up and not be publically executed, instead, being able to learn and grow and work it out. i think that's a very understandable stance to have. very grounded. we'd have to ask him if tour/dapg has changed that now. i do think he's had some sort of life epiphany--whether it's about that specifically, only he can say. but i think it's there.

even if i portray a lot of level-headedness, i wear my clown nose with pride. sometimes the only option is to go with whatever is funniest at the time. they're both jokesters, so they could commit to a bit like that. but it's also like, it can be too serious for them to want to joke about. i don't know. i think we're in this almost beautiful state right now--the we know you know of it all. there's no expectations, no demands to be met, no obligations of types of content. they're happy. we're happy. it depends on if they feel ready. if they want to. we'll be here, always.

#that is to say. marraige hill is starting to get crowded boys. so if you could. do something about that. thatd be great #im sure there's things ive missed but basically it comes down to this: realistically? maybe. & thats a lot fucking closer than its ever been #theyre having fun. and that means im having fun #dnp #c.text #dan and phil #phan #<- for the fandometrics #answered

[alexias-putellas]

girlfriend // l.wälti x reader

l.wälti x reader

based on this request! ft an oc so apologies if your name is actually ava 😅😅 it’s not a long one but i wanted to get something out for you all since i’m feeling a little better <3

-

you scowled into your glass, rolling your eyes at beth’s pathetic attempt at concealing her laughter. leah’s hand was on lia’s arm again and when the blonde smirked at you, you had half a mind to throw your glass at her stupid face.

“you wouldn’t feel like this if you just asked her out.” beth said and you whipped your head around to look at her.

“why would i ask her out?”

”why would you ask her out?” beth scoffed and you were almost offended at how stupid she made you sound. “maybe because you fancy her and she fancies you.”

“yeah,” you snorted, motioning to lia and leah again. “sure looks like it.”

“leah’s just pissing you off, you know that nothing’s going on with them.”

you rolled your eyes again. beth was right but that didn’t mean you had to like it. you’d seen the speculation from fans and whilst most of it was funny, some of it did bother you.

“here,” steph shoved a different drink into your hand as she dropped into the seat next to yours. “that’ll cheer you up.”

“ugh, i am not in a mood!”

both beth and steph gave you a look and you sighed, slumping back into your seat. suddenly drinking with the girls was a terrible idea. even more so when you looked back up to see lia and leah mere inches from each other.

“you know what? i think i’m gonna go,” you stood, gathering your things quickly, waving off the attempts at getting you to stay. “no, honestly, i’m pretty tired. i’ll see you both at training.”

you somehow managed to escape the pub without any more of a fuss and decided to forego your usual after-drinking meal and head straight home, your appetite suddenly lost.

ᡣ𐭩

how the girls managed to get you back into a pub a few days later you didn’t know. you must’ve said no a million times but yet there you were, glaring daggers at leah once again. who in your opinion was sitting far too close to lia. with a heaved sigh, you made your way over to the bar.

“the other one is a lot nicer.” someone said next to you and you hummed in confusion, glancing down at your drink before turning to them.

you found yourself face to face with a fairly attractive girl who couldn’t have been much older than you and you blushed under her intense gaze. “i’ve never actually tried it.”

“well we can’t have that,” she grinned at you before waving down a bartender. “i’m ava by the way.”

you just about managed to splutter out your own name before she was handing you a bottle, hitting the bottom of it slightly to encourage you to drink it.

she wasn’t wrong about the flavour. the one she’d ordered was a lot nice than the one you chose and you were quick to let her know.

had you been paying attention to your incredibly nosy teammates, you’d have noticed the way steph and beth were nudging each other and doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that they were talking about you. of course that caught the attention of your other teammates and soon you had an audience.

but lia wasn’t happy. she watched with a frown as you laughed at something the stranger said, your head falling back as you gripped onto the bar so you wouldn’t fall.

the brunette’s eyes were stuck on the two of you and she grew a little giddy when it looked like the conversation had ended but for some reason you were bringing the stranger over to the table.

“hey guys, this is ava,” you said, guiding the stranger—ava to the only spare seats. “she’s actually a huge fan.”

you and ava ended up in the seats between lia and jen and much to the swiss woman’s dismay, ava was as kind and funny as she was pretty. and the other girls seemed to really like her.

ava was answering one of jordan’s questions when you felt something brush against your thigh. you glanced down, seeing lia’s hand resting on your chair.

it wasn’t long before it founds its way onto your thigh. if ava noticed she didn’t say anything.

after a few more drinks, one of the girls suggested that you all relocated to the club down the road. of course nobody had objections and as soon as you’d entered the building, you were being pulled up to dance by katie and you were quick to grab ava’s wrist, the three of you heading over to the crowded dance floor.

you briefly noticed some of the other girls dotted around but katie was twirling you before you could do anything.

you were thankful that the lights were able to hide your flushed face as ava caught you in her arms. you watched as she glanced behind her, her grip loosening ever so slightly. if you hadn’t had that last drink, you probably would’ve asked her what was wrong. but leah was handing you a shot and all was forgotten.

for a while anyway.

you soon found yourself dragging ava into the toilets and whilst you weren’t expecting anything to happen, you were still a little disappointed that nothing did.

“i think i’m gonna go.” ava said loudly as you washed your hands, looking at her with furrowed brows.

“why?”

“your girlfriend is scary.”

“lia’s not my girlfriend.”

ava’s eyebrow quirked and you felt your face flush again, the clear lights doing nothing in your favour. “funny that you knew who i was talking about.”

“seriously though, she’s not.”

“could’ve fooled me,” ava shrugged. “it’s clear that she wants to be and i’m guessing you feel the same.”

“oh my—what is happening right now?” you whispered to yourself, quickly drying your hands on your dress. “i thought we were going to hook up but now you’re trying to hook me up with lia.”

there was a flash of something on ava’s face but you caught it, eyes narrowing as she laughed somewhat nervously. “stranger things have happened in this club i imagine.”

“yeah, no—which one of them put you up to this?”

ava sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “leah and beth.”

“both of them? can’t say i’m surprised,” you shook your head. “well ava, it’s been a pleasure to meet you anyway and i’ve actually had a really good night.”

“me too,” ava nodded in agreement whilst glancing at the door behind you. “now go get your girl.”

whilst that was something you wanted to do, part of you also wanted to see just how far your friends would go to get you and lia together.

you waved ava off and managed to find the girls, frowning when they appeared to be gathering their stuff to leave. you could hear katie calling them boring as she downed the rest of her drink.

her arm was quickly thrown around your shoulder and you were yanked into her side. this didn’t go unnoticed by lia.

“oh my god, katie, you’re so heavy get off!” you whined as you somehow made it outside, desperately glancing at the other girls for help. “you’re not even that drunk, get off!”

katie laughed as you struggled to push her off but eventually managed it. you glared at her, shoving her forward and ignoring the quip of be careful from beth.

you noticed that lia wasn’t there and glanced behind you to see her walking slowly, head facing the ground. you stood still, waiting until she was near you before speaking. “hey are you okay?”

lia looked up like a deer caught in headlights as she registered that it was you. in your head, you were so lost in the thought of telling her how you felt that you hadn’t noticed her standing right in front of you until her lips were on yours.

you melted into the kiss, stomach fluttering as her thumbs gently rubbed along the skin of your cheeks. when lia pulled away, you frowned a little, not ready for the moment to end just yet.

“why haven’t we done that before?” lia asked quietly.

“i’m not sure,” you whispered, glancing down at her lips. “but we should definitely do it again. and maybe some more tomorrow.”

and when lia’s lips met yours for another kiss, you made a mental note to profusely thank beth and leah for their annoyingly useful nosiness.

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #lia wälti x reader #lia wälti imagine #lia wälti

[rynwritesreid]

Idea for fic: enemies to lovers Dom older Spencer and f reader with age gap can’t stand eachother at work and then away on a case they get paired up to be in a room and there’s one bed anyways reader goes and showers and comes out wearing nothing but her bra and panties since she left her tank top the bed and Spencer is shocked and teases her all night and thennnnn rest is history😏

A/N: has this been sat in my inbox for over 3 months? Yes. I hope this makes up for the wait, sorry it tool awhile :( but I did see it when it was first asked, but I’ve been dealing with a lot in the past few months, and I’ve been dealing with some writers block. But I hope you guys enjoy it :)

Summary: Basically what ANON asked for. Spencer and reader hate each other, but Emily has a plan that could resolve all the issues or make them worse.

Content: Fem!reader. Dom!Reid/Sub!reader. Use of Y/N. Spanking. Degradation kink. Praise Kink. Power imbalance kink (kind off). Use of sir, slut, good girl and sweetheart. PinV/creampie. No mentions of contraception. No mentions of aftercare.

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

You and Spencer hated each other. Maybe it’s because Spencer felt genuine competition from you, or maybe it was because you seemed to effortlessly outshine him in everything you did. And well you hated him, because every time Spencer walked into a room, he carried with him an air of superiority that grated against your nerves. You could see the jealousy in his eyes whenever someone praised your work or complimented your achievements.

Everyone had grown tired of the way you both acted around here. Emily would often call you both into her office to yell, “You are two of the best agents. Two brilliant minds. And yet no one can stand to be in the same room as you two.” 

You both sat in Emily's office, the tension thick between you. Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact with you as Emily’s words hung heavily in the air. You couldn't deny the truth in Emily's words - your rivalry with Spencer had reached a breaking point, affecting not only your own work but the entire team dynamic.

Emily heaved a sigh, running a hand through her hair before continuing, "This behaviour ends now. I'm not going to tolerate this any longer. I need you two to figure out a way to work together, or I will have no choice but to reassign one of you."

*

“Oh, my god. Reid, do you ever shut up?” you muttered under your breath, unable to hide your irritation at Spencer's endless rambling. 

Spencer shot you a glare, his frustration evident in the way his jaw tensed. "At least I have something worthwhile to say, unlike you," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Oh, please. Your so-called facts and statistics don't mean anything in the field. It's called real-life experience, something you clearly lack."

“Lacking real-life experience? Really?” Spencer paused, his voice fuelled with anger “I am older than you, and I have experienced things you wouldn’t even believe.”

Spencer's outburst surprised you, the raw emotion in his voice catching you off guard.

“Whatever you say, Dr Reid. From now on I’ll just worship the ground you walk on, shall I?” you retorted, trying to mask your unease with a casual tone. Inside, you felt a twinge of admiration for his ability to get under your skin so easily.

Emily glared at you both from across the room, she knew she had to put an end to this, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that.

Spencer's nostrils flared with indignation at your remark, his eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and frustration. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, Emily's stern voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"That's enough!" Emily's command was sharp, her gaze piercing. "I've had it with this childish bickering between you two. This behaviour is unprofessional and completely unacceptable."

You both fell silent under Emily's unwavering stare, guilt creeping into your conscience as her words echoed in the room. The weight of her disappointment hung heavy in the air, suffocating the animosity between you and Spencer.

"I don't care who started it or whose ego is hurt more," Emily continued, her tone firm. "What I care about is that you two find a way to work together effectively. The team's safety and success depend on it."

*

Emily was sick and tired of how the both of you acted, and she knew she needed to act fast. She didn’t want to lose either of you, but she also couldn’t let things carry on. So, she devised a plan, one that could go horribly wrong or one that could go perfectly. 

*

“Hey, everybody.” Emily’s voice echoed through the jet, “the hotel we are staying at doesn’t have enough rooms for us all to have our own.” She paused for a brief second, she didn’t want anyone to catch on to her, “so, Rossi and I will have our own room. Tara and JJ, you’ll share, Luke and Matt you’ll share and erm… Y/N and Reid you guys will also be sharing.”

You exchanged a wary glance with Spencer as Emily assigned you to share a room. “Emily, I’m sorry. But what is this? You expect me to share a room with Reid? Also assigning us rooms, what are we like thirteen or something?” you scoffed, the incredulity evident in your voice. Spencer's expression mirrored your own disbelief, his eyes widening in surprise at Emily's unexpected announcement.

Emily raised an eyebrow at your protest, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, I expect you two to share a room. It's high time you both learn to work together and put your differences aside. Consider this a team-building exercise," she stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

You opened your mouth to protest further, but Emily's steely glare silenced any objections before they could form.

*

“Seriously, one bed. Is she serious. I hate her, just as much as I hate you.” you spat out, glaring at Spencer as you both entered the hotel room assigned to you. The tension between you was palpable, suffocating the space as you stood on opposite sides of the room. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of Spencer's exasperated sigh.

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual," Spencer shot back, his tone laced with irritation as he surveyed the small room. The single queen-sized bed in the centre of the room seemed to mock your predicament, a constant reminder of the forced proximity between you.

“Because, unlike you, I’m nice. You can have the bed, as long as I can shower first.” You retorted, determined not to back down in this battle of wills. Spencer's jaw clenched at your words, a muscle ticking in his temple as he fought to keep his composure.

"Fine. Just make it quick," Spencer replied through gritted teeth, his pride wounded by the concession. 

Before you headed towards the shower, you started to unpack, you hated keeping everything in your bag when you were in the hotel room. Once, you had finished you grabbed your essentials and headed towards the bathroom without so much as muttering a word to Spencer.

Spencer watched as you disappeared into the bathroom, the click of the door echoing in the tense silence of the room. Alone now, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. The mere thought of sharing a room with you made his skin crawl, but he knew Emily's intentions were well-meaning, if not a little misguided.

The rush of the warm water against your skin did little to soothe the simmering frustration that lingered within you. As the steam filled the bathroom, you tried to shake off the tension that had built up between you and Spencer. But every time you closed your eyes, his infuriating presence seemed to seep through the cracks of your composure.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” As you looked at the pile of clothes you had in the bathroom, you realised you hadn’t brought in your PJs, and all you had was a pair of panties and a bra. You were too embarrassed to ask Spencer to bring you the rest of your clothes. 

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options, but you weren’t going to be admitting defeat anytime soon, and maybe some part of you wanted to flaunt to Spencer something he could never have.

You dried yourself off and stepped out of the bathroom in just your underwear. Spencer’s eyes widened in disbelief as you emerged from the bathroom clad only in your underwear, the audacity of your actions catching him off guard. His cheeks flushed with a deep crimson hue, his gaze darting away as if to shield himself from the unexpected sight before him.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Spencer’s voice wavered slightly, a mix of shock and embarrassment colouring his tone. He struggled to maintain eye contact, opting instead to focus on a random spot on the wall.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his discomfort, a sense of satisfaction blooming within you at having turned the tables on Spencer for once. The power shift in the room was palpable, the tension crackling between you in a different way now.

“Just grabbing my clothes,” you stated nonchalantly, making no move to cover up as you retrieved your pyjamas. “Do you like what you see, Spencer?”

Spencer's cheeks burned hotter at your teasing words, his jaw clenching in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He struggled to find the right response, his mind racing to come up with a comeback that would regain the upper hand in this unexpected exchange.

"Very funny," Spencer finally managed to choke out, his tone strained as he averted his gaze, refusing to give you the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you had made him. 

“You know the way you’re acting right now, Y/N, isn’t of someone who hates me.” Spencer teased through gritted teeth, his attempt at levity falling flat in the charged atmosphere of the room. Your smirk faltered for a split second at his remark, a flicker of something unidentifiable crossing your features before you regained your composure, your mask slipping back into place.

"Let's get one thing straight, Spencer," you retorted, your tone firm as you met his gaze head-on. "Just because I'm not actively trying to strangle you right now doesn't mean I don't still think you're insufferable." The underlying tension between you simmered beneath the surface, waiting to reignite at the slightest provocation.

Spencer raised an eyebrow at your response, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. “Or you’re not actively strangling me, because you’d rather I’d be doing that to you.” Spencer paused, the words hanging in the charged air between you. His attempt at humour fell flat, the gravity of the situation pulling at the corners of his smile.

“What? No. What?” It was your turn to be embarrassed now as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red at Spencer's unexpected remark.

“Oh, so I’m right. You do like the idea of me choking you.” Spencer paused, his eyes widening in realization at the slip of his words. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between you both reaching a new peak as his inadvertent confession hung in the air, heavy and loaded with unspoken implications.

You swallowed hard, trying to mask the sudden rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. Spencer's gaze bore into yours, searching for a reaction, for any sign of the impact his words had made. And in that charged moment, something shifted between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer even as you both stood at opposite ends of the room.

“Spencer, I…” your voice wavered, uncertainty creeping into your tone as you struggled to find the right words to respond. The weight of his words hung heavy between you, begging for acknowledgement, for resolution. 

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. Brats like you always act out when they are attracted to someone.” Spencer paused, his gaze softening as he took a step closer to you. The air between you crackled with a newfound vulnerability, baring emotions that had long been buried beneath layers of animosity and pride.

“Spencer, you have a very active imagination. I have, erm, I have never thought of you like that.” You stumbled over your words, the admission weighing heavily on your conscience. Spencer's expression softened at your response, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes as he processed your words.

“I do not believe that for one second, sweetheart.” Spencer 's voice was barely above a whisper, his words laced with a raw honesty that left no room for doubt. The tension in the room had shifted once again, morphing into a charged undercurrent that pulsed between you, drawing you closer in a dance as old as time.

In one swift motion, Spencer seemed to have place you on top of his lap, your ass up in the air, and the palm of his hand striking against your backside.

Your breath hitched at the unexpected contact, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as Spencer's touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. The sting of his hand against your skin reverberated through your body, igniting a primal fire that had long been smouldering beneath the surface. 

“Now, you’re going to be a good girl, and say thank you after every time I spank you.” Spencer paused, his voice low and commanding as he laid down the rules of their newfound dynamic. Your head spun with a mixture of confusion and a strange exhilaration at the turn of events, the rush of adrenaline heightening your senses.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you complied with Spencer's demand, the unfamiliar title sending a thrill down your spine. Each strike of his hand against your skin sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, a heady mix of pain and desire intertwining in a dangerous dance.

“Are you sorry for been a brat? For constantly picking fights with me over nothing? For making Emily do this, just so I can use you like the slut you are.” Spencer paused; his voice laced with a deliberate edge as he pushed the boundaries of your newfound dynamic. Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a surge of conflicting emotions crashing over you. The raw honesty in Spencer's tone stripped away the layers of pretence between you, exposing the raw desire that simmered beneath the surface.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of submission and defiance.

Spencer’s hand moved over your panties, so he could feel the ever-growing wet patch. “Do you like that? You like calling me sir, and me calling you a slut. You know for the type of brat you are out in the office or in the field, you break a lot easier than expected.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Spencer's words sent a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you. The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, the boundaries between desire and shame blurring as his touch ignited a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing second.

“Yes, sir.” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensations that pulsed through your body. The weight of his hand against your skin, the pressure of his touch against your most intimate places, all served to push you to the brink of a precipice you had never dared to explore before.

“Good girl, now stand up and take off your bra and panties.” Spencer demanded, his voice firm and authoritative. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the new dynamic unfolding between you. But you knew that you wanted this, needed this, and so you did as he commanded.

With trembling hands, you unclasped your bra and let it fall to the floor. Then, you stepped out of your panties, your legs feeling unsteady as you stood there before him, naked and exposed. The air between you was thick with desire, and you could feel Spencer's gaze raking over your body, devouring every inch of you.

"Now, bend over the table," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. You did as he said, your hands gripping the edge of the table as you lowered your body, presenting yourself to him. The cool surface of the table against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat that was building inside you. You could feel the moisture between your legs as it dripped down your thighs, a testament to the arousal that was consuming you.

Spencer stepped closer to you, his cock hard and pulsating with need. He ran his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the strands as he pulled your head back, his gaze never wavering from your exposed ass.

"You're such a naughty little slut, aren't you?" he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "You know you want this, don't you? You've been craving my cock since the first day we met."

You could only nod in response, your body trembling with anticipation as his erection pressed against your wet sex.

"Good," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Because I've been waiting for this moment ever since I saw you, too."

With one swift movement, he positioned himself at your entrance and thrust inside you in one smooth motion. Your eyes widened at the sudden invasion, the pleasure and pain intermingling in a way that was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

You gasped, arching your back as his cock filled you completely. Spencer's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to move within you. His thrusts were rhythmic and powerful, filling you to the brim with each movement.

Your moans filled the room as Spencer's cock slid in and out of you, every thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure as he fucked you hard and rough. Your mind was a blur of mixed emotions, guilt mingling with desire as you surrendered to the animalistic lust that was consuming you.

You could feel his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. Your legs were trembling with each movement, your body submitting to his every command.

"You feel so good, baby," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "So tight and wet. Just the way I always imagined you would be."

His words sent a rush of pleasure through you, making you clench around his cock. Spencer thrust deeper, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm that had you gasping for breath.

"Tell me you want me, baby," he growled, his voice harsh with need. "Tell me how much you love my cock inside you."

You couldn't form words, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure and desire. All you could do was cry out and arch your back, begging for more.

"Please, please, please," you moaned, your voice ragged with need. "More, oh please, more."

Spencer's smile was wicked, his eyes dark and full of lust. "Tell me you want me, baby," he demanded, holding your hips tight as he thrust into you.

"I want you, oh, I want you so fucking much!" you cried out, your body writhing beneath him. Your nails dug into the edge of the table, your legs trembling as you pushed back against him, taking him deeper inside you.

His thrusts became harder, faster, each one a razor's edge of pleasure and pain. You could feel his fingers digging into your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he possessed you completely.

"Tell me, slut," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me you're mine, and that you'll do anything I say."

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the new dynamic unfolding between you. But you knew that you wanted this, needed this, and so you did as he commanded.

"I'm yours, sir," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you surrendered to the power, he held over you. "I'll do anything you say."

Spencer's eyes widened at your submission, a sense of triumph and desire flooding his entire being. He thrusted deeper into you, his cock aching to be buried inside you even further.

Your moans grew louder, your body shaking with every thrust as he took control of you. The power he wielded over you sent ripples of ecstasy through your entire being, your mind hazy with pleasure.

"That's it, baby, let me hear you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me how much you love taking my cock, how much you love feeling me inside you."

You couldn't form words, your breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps. Your fingernails left marks on the edge of the table, your body writhing under his assault.

"Mmm, that's it, tell me baby," he urged, his hips moving in a relay and powerful stroke. "Tell me how much you love my cock inside you, how much you need it."

You could only whimper in response, your body trembling with each thrust. Your moans filled the room, and your entire body was on fire with pleasure and desire.

"Say it, baby," he demanded, his voice growing rough with need. "Say you love my cock inside you."

"I-I love your cock inside me," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you, please don't stop."

Spencer's eyes darkened at your plea, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust into you harder. Your moans filled the room, your body arching and begging for more. You could feel the tension building, the wave of pleasure and desire crashing over you.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Come for me, let go of all that pleasure and surrender to me completely."

Your body shuddered, your moans growing louder as the orgasm overwhelmed you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure through Spencer's entire being.

He continued to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of you in a relentless rhythm. Your moans grew louder, your body trembling with each movement. 

You could tell Spencer wasn’t far off from his own release, the muscles in his abdomen tightening with every thrust.

The feeling of him inside you was indescribable, the intensity of your orgasm mixing with the pleasure of him taking you so roughly. You could feel him hardening even more, his cock pulsating with need as he fucked you deeper and faster.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," he growled, his eyes locked on yours. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum."

Your mind was a blur of thoughts and emotions, pleasure, and lust mingling with the desire to please him. You wanted him to take you, to possess you completely.

"Yes, sir, fill me up," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to feel you cum inside me."

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#spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x you #dr spencer reid x reader #dom spencer reid #mgg

[cameronspecial]

Dad!drew and readers kid wants a sibling, so drew and reader have THE conversation

Can We Really Do It?

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Suggestion of Sex at The End

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Anything Megan wants, she gets. There are boundaries, of course; however, if it is within his power and she is being good, Drew makes it his mission to buy it for her. Today, the little girl comes home from daycare wanting something that her parents can’t just pick up on a run to the store. “Mommy, I want a baby brother,” Megan announces nonchalantly, focusing her attention on eating her snack. The hand drying off a glass freezes, “Why do you ask, Baby?” Megan shrugs and stares at the carrot in her hand. “Stephanie has one and she gets to play with him at home all the time, so I want one too. Can we go to the store tomorrow to get one? I have been a good girl,” she suggests. Y/N sighs and sets the glass on the drying rack, “Unfortunately, Baby, Mommy and Daddy can’t just go to the store and get one. I will have to talk about it with Daddy and if we decide to get one, then it could be a while until we get one.” When her daughter doesn’t reply right away, she knows that Megan has already moved on from the conversation. “Okay, can we play outside after snack?” Megan innocently asks, kicking her legs while she eats the vegetable. 

———

As Y/N returns to her bedroom from the adjoining bathroom, Drew starts taking off the decorative pillows his wife insists on keeping. She joins him at the head of the bed and fluffs their pillows. “So…” she begins, eyes remaining on her task. “Meg asked me about getting a baby brother.” He pauses his actions, getting into bed beside her. “And do we know why she is asking for one?” he pries. She snuggles into his side, “Because Stephanie has one and Meg wants someone to play with.” Drew nods along with her explanation. “I see. I mean… We always talked about wanting more kids. The question was always when,” he reminds her. She leans her head back to rest against the headboard, “We did, but is two years too early? I mean, we always said we would wait until she starts school to start trying.” “That is true. You and your sister have a two-year age gap and you guys turned out fine,” he says. 

“We aren’t my parents though, so it is more so what we are ready for. I love Megan. But sometimes she can be a lot and if we have another kid, we would need to deal with both.”

“Yeah, we would. I’ll be honest. I think that we can do it. We are great parents and we have so much love to give. Maybe another kid would be good for us. However, having a baby affects you physically, so if you aren’t ready to go through that again, then I am perfectly happy to wait.”

Her heart squeezes at his consideration of her needs. Being pregnant was hard, yet the reward of getting to be a parent made it worth it so the pregnancy wasn’t her issue. “I’m fine with the pregnancy. It’s just… Can we really do it?” she thinks out loud, tracing the skin on his forearm. His lips find her temple, “I mean… Can we physically have sex to have a baby? I’m going to say yes considering we did it last night without the baby-making part.” She gives him a shove at his joke. “Be serious. Do you think we can do it?” she chuckles. His smile turns to a straight line, “I do. And in the instant that we think that we can’t, we will have each other to rely on.” She takes a second to process what he is saying and makes her decision. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

#dad!drew #dad!drew starkey #drew #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you

[nalyra-dreaming]

Holy shit?!

src

“Louis is still fighting to get to something, to unlock the memories that have curiously evaded him. "The pursuit of memory and truth is the driving force this season. It motivates Louis to get to where we're going to get to by the end of it," said Zaman. "Season 1 proved that his memory's completely shot in lots of ways, but who, or what, did that — that's the question I think we're going to have to answer."…

“It all begins with Louis, a textbook unreliable narrator, though Jones and Anderson both bristle a bit at the term. "One self delusion knits itself to the rest of your life," Jones said. He argued that Louis' memory might be "80-90 percent" correct, though it only takes one mistaken detail to muddle a timeline and cancel someone out entirely. "To unwind that, you call into question all this stuff. It doesn't mean that all this stuff isn't right. It's just this thing has altered it a little bit."

…

To Anderson, Louis' unreliability matters less than the vivid reality of his feelings. "It's not necessarily that Louis is a quote-unquote unreliable narrator," he said. "He is, because what he's saying is completely subjective. But I think it has just as much to do with how something felt, the feeling of a person or the feeling of an experience, than it is him actively trying to deceive anybody." That comes out most strongly in Dubai, particularly in the second season. "He's really, genuinely trying to find the closest thing to an objective recalling of events that he possibly can."…

“I like writing for Sam Reid, and I think in terms of how this thing is structured and what's going on in this headspace, it wasn't a big leap to go, 'Oh, he's haunting. He's inside Louis,'" Jones said. When we see Lestat at the beginning of the season, he manifests as what Anderson and Reid referred to as "dream Lestat" — not quite himself, not quite a ghost, not quite a memory, but some blend of all three, filtered through Louis' guilt and grief.

…

"Who is Louis remembering, and how is Louis remembering [Lestat] is always on my mind," said Reid when we first spoke at the Television Critics Association winter press tour in February. "I'm always thinking about it, and I'm always talking about it, much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone." (From across the table we were crowded around, Anderson heckled, "I can vouch for that.") Later, when we met one on one over Zoom, Reid elaborated, "Louis is speaking to himself, so he speaks like Louis. But he's also speaking to Lestat, and he's choosing to speak to Lestat when he's speaking to himself." The first time we see Lestat in Season 2, he materializes before Louis as a gory vision during a moment of mental deterioration, vengeful and overbearingly loving all at once. What was already a blurry line between the ex-lovers has now become indistinguishable.“…

“With dream Lestat assuming a number of dispositions, all dictated by Louis' headspace, separating dream Lestat from the real Lestat was crucial to Reid. "It's clear that Louis is putting the words into his mouth," Reid said. "Who's the guy that he's forced to see looking back at him, saying the words that he thinks he should be saying?" The presence of dream Lestat means that the state of the real Lestat is unclear when the season opens, but becoming this slightly unreal version of his character built on the groundwork Reid had already been laying. Going back to the first season, he often rejected Anderson's impulse to play their scenes together as if they were true. "I know this is not how this happened," he said of Louis' version of events, "which allowed me to kind of lean into the more sow's ear version of Lestat in specific moments, because I knew that we might be revisiting them."…

“For Claudia, Lestat's influence will always linger. "That's his daughter," Hayles said simply. "He doesn't need to be a ghost. He's in her." Louis and Claudia know each other inside and out, and Louis' love for Claudia is all-encompassing, but she sees the writing on the wall the moment he meets Armand: What happened with Lestat will happen again as Louis chooses another man over her.“

(much more behind the link!!)

UPDATE: link to the author’s tweet, Allison Picurro

#tv guide #interview #sam reid #jacob anderson #delainey hayles #assad zaman #eric bogosian #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv amc #rolin jones

[siscon-stsg]

going to visit your uncles gojo and geto and catching them making out on the couch, and even when you know it's wrong of course they find a way to convince you to join them, brothers must share everything, including their favorite niece<3

(CW: incest, stsg! moments, use of 'princess' and 'baby' and 'good girl', satoru calls reader 'kid' once, is this dub/con cuz reader is not into it at first?, praise kink, suguru being manipulative ofc, oral (f and m receiving), tit play, sugu calls reader a slut once, double penetration, slight spit kink, creampie)

tbh i think a threesome with satosugu would fix me. fuck therapy give me some dick. ~BLOSSOM

UNCLE!TORU who doesn't even realize you're there at first; he's too busy sucking marks and nibbling down suguru's neck, whining at the taste of his skin in his tongue and under his teeth.

UNCLE!SUGU who does notice you arrived. he'd tilt his head back to look at you, adam's apple bobbing with a swallow and a breathless chuckle. “ah, princess, you're here. did daddy drop you off early?”

UNCLE!TORU who pulls away reluctantly from fondling suguru's squishy pecs when the other man lightly smacks his arm. finally lifting his head to look up at you, satoru immediately lit up, like you hadn't just witnessed them making out a second prior.

“hey, kid! long time no see!” UNCLE!TORU would say, getting up from the couch in a rush to smother you in a hug. a tight hug. tight enough to feel something hard poking at your stomach.

UNCLE!SUGU who steals you from satoru's arms as soon as the other man walks you to the couch, chuckling from your cute little squeak when he makes you sit on his lap. “how's uni, princess?” he'd ask, rubbing a hand up and down your thigh in a way that feels friendly, but not friendly enough.

UNCLE!TORU who stares as you shyly stutter through telling about your recent life. and i mean really stare. those blue eyes make you shiver, tho not as much as when he starts drinking you down like a prized possession.

UNCLE!TORU who even licks his lips, noting his favorite parts of your body, and how cute you look with a little tummy peaking out as suguru's other hand draws patterns on the skin.

UNCLE!SUGU who adding little “oh, i see”s, “really?”s and hums along to your story, relishing the way your voice wavers when he mumbled so close to your ear.

UNCLE!SUGU who stops to chuckle when your thighs finally give a twitch, nuzzling your cheek softly as he murmurs: “what's wrong, princess? ticklish?”

UNCLE!TORU who smirks at this, wiggling his fingers threateningly at you. “ohh! is our baby niece ticklish? lemme see, lemme see!” he'd say, before attacking your sides until you giggle.

UNCLE!TORU who makes your giggles into moans when he suddenly starts playing with your breasts.

UNCLE!SUGU who hugs you by the waist when you squirm, peppering kisses down your cheek and neck. his voice is so warm and soft, you feel yourself dumbed down from how smooth he sounds alone. “you're such a good girl... wanna please your uncles, right, princess? make us happy and get lots of praise and attention. yeah, right~?”

UNCLE!SUGU who kisses you until you melt in his arms. sloppy and slow and with lots of tongue, drool dribbling down your chin. UNCLE!TORU who kisses like you might disappear, holding your face with two hands, rough and loud until you're breathless and whimpering.

UNCLE!SUGU who peppers bites and kisses on your sides and tummy before eating out your sweet pussy. UNCLE!TORU who's obsessed with your tits and leaves your nipples sore and drenched in saliva.

UNCLE!TORU who takes his sweet time prepping your tight little ass to receive him; with lots of lube and his fingers, maybe even a toy from his collection. UNCLE!SUGU who relishes each moan satoru elicits from you and that vibrates around his cock.

UNCLE!SUGU who'd leave your face a sticky mess of precum and saliva, from gently coaching you how to deepthroat. he'd rub his cock all over your face every time you pull away with a gag. “you look s'pretty, princess, you know that? huh? how pretty my perfect girl looks, all slutty for some cock?”

UNCLE!TORU who almost loses his mind the moment he's inside you. who does most of the thrusting from behind while you sit and buck on suguru's thick cock. satoru's balls slap against you, suguru's pubes tickle your clit just the right way.

“sss'good, s'good, fuck, squeezin' so t'ght,” he'd say between gritted teeth. UNCLE!TORU who had this smile on his face: his eyes half-lidded, his eyebrows creased upwards, sometimes poking his tongue out as he worked his long perfect cock inside your puckered hole.

UNCLE!SUGU who looked straight up heavenly. biting his lower lip, grunting soft and deep, long pretty hair loose and draped over the armrest and a hand resting behind his head comfortably. the other is on your ass, caressing circles and patterns with the tips of his fingers and nails that made you squirmy.

UNCLE!TORU who wouldn't resist bending down, sandwiching you between their chests, to whimper and moan around suguru's tongue. you'd feel every vibration of their grunts and moans from how tight you're squeezed between their big bodies, their hips moving in synch to always keep you full of one or another.

UNCLE!SUGU who'd kiss you right after, sharing their mixed spit with you.

UNCLE!TORU and UNCLE!SUGU who'd fuck you harder and harder, more and more messy, then creampie you from both ends as you moaned loud and cried out. who'd hold you tight as you writhed and squirmed through your orgasm and their owns.

UNCLE!TORU who'd be so loud when he cums. fucking you through it in squirming, rutting fashion as he whimpers from the oversensitivity but fuck he can't stop.

UNCLE!SUGU who'd arch with a loud grunt and a gasp, panting and bucking his hips, holding your thighs for support and bite your shoulder as the afterglow washes through him.

“not a word of this to your daddy,” UNCLE!SUGU would chuckle, slapping your asscheeks fondly with both hands, happy with the small jump you gave.

UNCLE!TORU who'd refuse to leave your tight hole, nuzzling your nape and purring like a content kitty as he said: “our baby, all for us... such a good girl...”

UNCLE!SUGU and UNCLE!TORU who'd ask to have you over a lot more often from now on. 🩷

#tw.incest #tw incest #dd:dne #uncle geto #uncle gojo #tw.dark content #dead dove do not eat #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #suguru smut #geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #tw dark content

[scoonsalicious]

1.2 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of alcohol consumption, some mild derogatory language against women, by women.

Word Count: 960

Previously On...: Natasha Romanoff invited you out to meet her single Avenger teammates. There's only one she warned you to stay away from...

A/N: For Bucky and Lily's POV sections, Major is referred to by name, and without use of you/your. It just made my life easier, lol.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

He clocked her the minute she walked through the door of the bar. How could he not? She was stunning, what with the way she carried herself as she moved through the room, the way her hips swayed as she walked. Bucky liked to think of himself as a gentleman, but just the sight of the unknown woman in front of him was inspiring decidedly ungentlemanly thoughts. 

He couldn’t believe his luck when she walked right up to Natasha, giving her a hug and joining her and Wanda at their table. His mind had been running, trying to come up with an excuse to approach her; he couldn’t believe he’d ended up with such an easy in. 

“Remember how we talked about staring, Tin Man?” Sam said, coming up alongside Bucky and noticing his distraction. “How some girls might find it downright creepy?”

Bucky ignored his friend’s jab at his expense. “Who’s that?” he asked, jutting his chin toward where the woman sat with his teammates.

Sam cocked his head, considering the girl who had captured his friend’s attention. “I think that’s Nat’s friend… (Y/N)--something. Nat said she might be joining us. Heard the girl was pretty, but damn!”

Bucky turned to look at his friend. “What do you mean, you ‘heard she was pretty’?” 

Sam shrugged. “Nothing. Just that Nat said she was inviting her pretty, single friend out with us tonight and maybe those of us without girlfriends might want to consider putting a little extra care into our appearance.”

Bucky glanced around at his friends– they did seem a bit more put together than usual, even Parker. But then he frowned. “How come Nat didn’t say anything about her to me?” He couldn’t help but feel slightly offended at being left out. Did Natasha not think he was good enough for her friend?

“Come on, man,” Sam said good naturedly, slapping Bucky on the back. “You may not have a girlfriend, but you sure as shit ain’t single!” 

Sam started laughing, but Bucky wasn’t sure he understood the joke. That happened a lot, unfortunately. There was so much about this time he just didn’t get, and he often found himself too embarrassed to ask for clarification. 

“What’s so funny, boys?” Bucky felt a small arm slink itself around his waist, and Lily was pressing herself into his side. He smiled down at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her gently. He was never too embarrassed to ask Lily to explain the crazy ways of this modern world to him; she always approached his time-dysphoria, as they’d come to call it, with compassion and understanding. He was infinitely grateful to have her as a friend. One of his best.

“Exhibit A,” Sam said pointedly to Bucky. He turned to Lily. “Buck’s just curious about Nat’s new friend,” Sam said, a sly grin taking over his features. “What do you think, Lil? She’s hot, right?”

Bucky felt Lily stiffen beside him. “She’s alright, I guess,” Lily said after a minute of looking the woman over. “If you’re into that basic, skanky look.”

Bucky watched as Nat’s friend took off her leather jacket and draped it behind her chair. God, the skin of her back and shoulders looked so soft, he caught himself wondering what it would be like to run his fingers across it. “I think she’s gorgeous,” he found himself saying.

Lily looked up at him in surprise. “Really, Jamie? I have to admit, I’m surprised. I thought you had more refined taste than that.” She gave him a disgusted look before disengaging herself from his hold and walked back toward the pool table to line up her next shot.

“Yeah, Jamie,” Sam mocked once Lily had moved beyond earshot. “How dare you find the attractive girl attractive, you asshole!”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Bucky said, trying to ascertain why Lily would seem to have a problem with the way the woman looked. He thought she looked amazing. Easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, in this, or any of his decades.

Sam chortled. “Man, you hate being called ‘Jamie.’ Why haven’t you asked her to knock it the fuck off by now?”

Bucky shrugged, putting thoughts of Lily’s words aside as he glanced at the woman sitting with Nat and Wanda again. “I dunno; she likes it, and it’s been four years already. Feels kinda weird correcting her on it, now.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, cause God forbid your friends actually call you what you want to be called.”

When he didn’t respond right away, Sam looked over and caught Bucky staring at you. “Hello,” he said, waving a hand in front of Bucky’s face. “Earth to Barnes? You okay over there?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, blushing at being called out. “It’s just… she’s really pretty, you know?”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Now, I was gonna make my own play, but seeing as it’s been a dog’s age since you got any action, I’m gonna be a good friend and be your wingman on this one.”

Bucky smiled and turned back to the high top, delighted to see the woman looking back at him, this time, the sweetest smile playing across her lips. “Thanks, Sam,” he said. 

Sam gently nudged him with his elbow. “Don’t mention it, pal. You know I can never say ‘no’ to a charity case.”

“Guys,” Lily called over to the two of them. “We’re starting a new game, come on.”

Bucky looked back, giving the pretty girl one more glance. Were her lips as kissable as they looked? He wondered. Get it together, Barnes, he chastised himself. You’re 106-years old, not a fucking teenager. 

But damn if she wasn’t making him feel like one tonight.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 2 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | pt 1 | pt3

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: you & nate hang out in your room (after he snoops through it right in front of you), then ask each other questions, & he dresses & does your hair before you head out to spend the evening together.

— tags: conversing, getting to know one another

— tw: sexualization, lying (nate manipulating the truth), dollification

— word count: 6.2k

— a/n: I edited this numerous times, but fucked myself over by writing part 1 in present-tense to begin with, which I'm not always great at. So, if I messed up the tenses anywhere, please ignore it. Going forward, I'll probably be publishing further installments in past-tense.

Next post will be reader & Nate going shopping & having dinner!

The next morning when you wake, it only takes a few minutes for you to remember that Nate will be there in a little less than an hour, and the nerves immediately set in.

Surely people will see you getting out of his truck. What will they think?

You shake your head. It doesn't matter. Not really, anyway. You don't much care what any one person of the student population thinks of you.

You know high school is just a blip—a very brief moment in time, where it seems like every little thing you experience can be the end of the world, but it's really all just the beginning.

People will think whatever they like. It's not your job to try and change their minds. Not that trying to do as much would work anyway.

Once you've quickly showered, dressed, pulled your hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of your way, and eaten breakfast, you don't even have time to wait by the door as Nate's truck pulls up. You quickly pull on a pair of boots and step outside, locking the door behind you.

When you look up, your stomach does a flip when you see Nate holding the passenger-side door open for you.

You walk over to him. "You don't have to get my door for me, you know."

He shrugs, taking your backpack from you, setting it in the backseat with his. "I want to."

You tell him thank you as you climb inside and he shuts the door behind you.

Once you're on the road, he's the first to break the silence. "You can listen to whatever you want on the radio."

In truth, it's a bit too early for music for you. "I'm ok."

"Did you eat already?"

You nod. "I had a bowl of cereal."

He gives a slight frown. Not a very healthy start to your day. Something full of sugar.

"Do you want me to pick you up something on the way?"

Your eyes go wide. "Oh, no, I'm fine. Thank you, though. It's nice of you to offer."

He decides tomorrow he's bringing you breakfast, and he won't be asking for permission beforehand.

You're both silent again for a moment and the truck slows as he pulls up to a red light. He briefly wonders if you know how to drive. If not, he'd be a more than willing teacher.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something personal. If you do, just tell me to fuck off and you don't have to answer."

You look at him. "Ok..."

The light turns green and the truck picks up speed again. "I noticed neither of your parents were home yesterday. Were they both at work?"

You grow quiet for a moment, a pregnant pause settling between the two of you as you look out the window at the passing houses.

"My dad was...is. He travels a lot for work, so he's not home much."

He nods, deeming it good news, at least for him. "And your mom?"

You're quiet for even longer this time. Then, "I've never met her."

Minus Lexi, you've already divulged more to him in that short sentence than you have to anyone else at East Highland.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He's not sure that he means it. He despises both of his parents and, if anything, in this moment, is envious of you, due to your lack of relationship with both of yours.

You shrug. "It's fine."

He wants more than just 'it's fine'. He wants to know more, as it's clear it's something which bothers you. He wants you to give him emotional vulnerability for just a moment. Something he can use in the future to work his way in closer to you.

"Do you know anything about her?"

You shake your head. "My dad refuses to talk about her. After a few fights when I was younger where I tried to get him to, I gave up. It's probably for the best. She made her choice, and I think me knowing anything about her would just make things...more difficult. My life, I mean."

Even if you still felt like you were chasing shadows sometimes.

He nods. If nothing else, it's one less person he'll have to go through to be with you. Two less, from the sound of things.

Finally, he turns into the school parking lot, taking his usual spot and he shuts the truck off.

"I'll get your door for you," he states before getting out.

You unbuckle yourself, not sure what to think of his insistence with the whole door thing. It just doesn't seem to be something men much concern themselves with anymore—getting a girl's door for her—at least not teenage boys, that is. But perhaps he's different. Maybe it's just the way he was raised.

Nate opens your door and grabs his backpack, sliding it over his shoulders, then grabbing yours as well.

You get out and go to take it from him, but he continues holding it.

"Turn around."

Your brows furrow for a moment, but do as he's asked. You quickly realize what he's doing and adjust your arms as he slides your bag onto your back. He's really going the extra mile to be a gentleman, you think.

Once the truck's doors are closed and he's locked the vehicle, he places his hand against the small of your back as you walk into school together.

You look perfectly calm on the outside, but on the inside, your anxiety levels are rising with each pair of eyes turning your and Nate's way.

When you spot Lexi, the look on her face is nothing short of bewildered. Next to her sits Cassie, who's fuming.

You're torn away from looking in their direction by Nate coming to stand in front of you. "See you in third period."

You nod and give him a small smile, going to sit with Lexi, despite Cassie giving you that same glare from yesterday. A worse one, really.

"What the hell was that?" Lexi asks, her tone full of concern as you sit down beside her, setting your bag on the table.

"Nothing. He just drove me to school, that's all."

"And home," Cassie says, voice full of malice.

Lexi looks from her sister, then back to you. "The two of you are not hooking up."

You flush. "No. He just gave me a ride, that's all."

"Ok, but why would he do that? The two of you never talk. You're not even friends."

You do your best to ignore Cassie's unsettling stare.

"I'm just—" You immediately shut your mouth. You should've thought further ahead, should've thought about what excuse you would give people when they inevitably ask why the two of you are hanging out all of a sudden.

Nate asked you to keep it a secret and you aren't about to betray his confidence. If you do, you're sure he'll fail and never bother asking for help again.

"Just what?" Lexi prods.

"We're just hanging out. It's not a big deal. I promise."

Suddenly, Cassie stands, angrily grabbing her bag, jerking it off the table and storming away.

Lexi rolls her eyes. "Just ignore her. I don't know why she's still hung up on him, anyway. He treated her like crap." She shifts in her seat, facing fully toward you now. "What I can believe even less, however, is the fact you're giving him the time of day. He's an asshole. He was abusive toward Maddy and wanted to keep screwing Cassie so long as she kept it a secret. He uses people, Y/N."

Abusive? You knew he and Maddy had argued quite a bit, but nothing that severe.

"What do you mean by abusive?"

She shrugs. "I don't know much, since she and Cassie obviously aren't friends anymore. But I know a good portion of it, at least, was emotional. Maybe verbal, too. Then again, I don't think she was any better." Lexi glances behind you, and you don't dare turn around, now worried the subject of your conversation is who she's looking at. "She gives as good as she gets."

Once the school day is over and you go to drop off your books at your locker, you find Nate leaning up against it.

He smiles when he sees you and you give him a shy smile in return.

You put your things away, then look to Nate.

In truth, what Lexi told you had gotten to you a bit. You try to tell yourself that it's all nothing more than hearsay, and you're only tutoring—not dating him—so whatever had occurred between he and Maddy and Cassie is none of your concern.

"You ready?"

You nod, and, just like this morning, he places his hand firmly against your back.

Once you're in his truck, you notice Maddy staring at you today, just a few cars away. She and Kat are both looking in your direction, Maddy clearly getting worked up and Kat obviously trying to calm her down, and your eyes widen when she begins heading in Nate's direction.

Before she can reach him, however, he gets in the truck and pulls out of the lot, leaving her standing there, staring after the two of you.

You're glad whatever was about to happen has just been avoided.

Over the next week, you and Nate go to your house every day after school to study. You gradually get to know more about one another, like you learning he has a brother—which you'd somehow managed to forget over the years—and he tells you how passionate he is about personal fitness, something to which you don't much relate.

It'd been abundantly clear since day one that he dislikes his father. But that dislike—even if he talks about him very little—clearly, somewhere along the way, became loathing. It's all in the tone he uses, the language he uses when he's brought up.

But the thing that always seems to calm him—make him happier—is talking about you.

He asks you every question in the book: favorite food, color, flower, song, type of music, art, what you want to be when you graduate, the kind of house you want to live in. The list is endless.

And then the day came when he asked to see your room, with you standing awkwardly in the doorway as he surveys every inch.

He starts with your bed, your fluffy white comforter with small pink flowers printed across it, and your plethora of pillows. And then he notices the small brown teddy bear leaned back against said pillows. He briefly picks it up, smirking to himself, then looking at you.

“Do you sleep with this?”

Your face goes blood-red. “Y-yes.”

He studies it for a moment longer, making a mental note to one day buy you one himself, wanting you to sleep with one that’s come from him instead.

In truth, while you think about you sleeping with a stuffed animal as embarrassing—at least for another person to now know about—it’s a major fucking turn-on for him. You’re that innocent that you still sleep with a teddy.

He sets it back down, throwing a “that’s very sweet” your way before moving on to your bookshelves.

Not that he’s read or heard of the grand majority of the novels you have, he can tell by the titles and covers alone that they’re all either romance or fantasy. He supposes he understands that: you trying to escape through stories. Stories where you can go somewhere else, be someone else. Have a new family, new friends.

And then he thinks it incredibly sad—just how lonely you are.

It’s not like he isn’t already aware of it, because he is—has became more and more so as the last week has gone on. Everyday he’s come to your house it’s been empty. But to see your shelves crammed full of books—your one attempt at escaping into a better life—he vows in that moment to start working faster at bringing the two of you together into a relationship.

You need him.

You like stories about princesses trapped in towers and white knights coming to save them? Then that’s exactly what he’ll be for you. He’ll rescue you from the lonely hell you’re living in and give himself to you fully. He’ll dedicate all of his time that he can to you. And he plans to spoil you fucking rotten.

He looks over the various trinkets you have set on—and on top of—those shame shelves. Porcelain figurines of unicorns and cats, a small jeweled crown, some candles and a few faux plants.

He turns back to you. “Which one is your favorite?”

You shift nervously from one foot to the other. “The Lord of the Rings, actually. I…I really like Éowyn and Faramir’s story.”

He nods.

He’s never watched the movies, and has obviously never read the book, so he makes a mental note to at least do some reading on the characters you’ve mentioned to understand you better.

He then looks over your entertainment center and the small collection of DVDs you have alphabetically organized in one of the cubbies. Beauty and the Beast, Ever After, Stardust, The Last Unicorn, The Princess Bride, among a few others.

He then steps over to your closet and pulls the doors open without even asking your permission first.

You don’t much react to him doing so, supposing that everything in there you’ve worn to school at some point anyway.

He’s met with skirts and sweaters and dress blouses. Another thing he’s going to have to change—your wardrobe. It isn’t exactly “frumpy”, but it isn’t feminine enough for his taste, either. He wants your clothes to reflect who you truly are. Sun and baby doll dresses, and tennis skirts with the right pretty tops will suit you far better. Sandals and delicate flats. Your hair curled and actually down for once, perhaps with a bow in it. And he’ll buy you a few nice pieces of expensive jewelry as well. Maybe take you on a shopping trip to Tiffany one day.

He closes the doors in front of him.

What he really wants is to go through not just your bedside table, but also the top drawers of your dresser. He's curious if you've ventured into the territory of lingerie and sex-toys yet. And if so, what your preferences are.

He doesn't like to imagine you using more than a vibrator on your clit to get yourself to orgasm. As for lingerie, he doubts that you own any, but he often pictures you in lacy panties and pastel teddy nightgowns.

He adds such things to his mental shopping list of things to one day buy you.

Speaking of orgasms, however, he'd come thinking of you nearly every night for the past week.

He imagined you on his bed, naked, your pussy soaked for him, your legs spread wide as he teased you until you were begging for him to put himself inside of you.

He imagined all the things he'd teach you in bed, sure that you're inexperienced.

And only after you promised him that you're his—belonged to him and wanted no one and nothing else but him—did he finally join your two bodies together.

Finally, he sits on the edge of your bed. He then glances to the chair which hangs from the ceiling in the back left corner of your room, directly facing where he now sits.

You walk over, sitting in it.

He then lays back on your bed, feet still planted firmly on the floor, arms folded behind his head—God, he’s so tall.

“Do you not get lonely here?” He asks, turning his head to look at you.

You lift one of your socked-feet onto the chair, wrapping your arms around your bent knee. You shrug.

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

Your brows furrow. “Do what?”

“Act like you being left alone all the time doesn’t matter. It matters; you matter.”

You remain quiet. Then, “I’m used to it. I like being alone.”

He refuses to believe that, knows it’s bullshit.

You’d only spent a week together, and only a little over an hour every day at that, but it’d not taken but a couple of days for you to—at times—talk his ear off. At one point, it’d nearly gotten on his last nerve, until his stomach dropped and heart broke when he realized why: how fucking long had it been since you’d had someone—anyone—to really talk to? Someone who bothered to truly listen? How long had you stayed silent, withdrawing further and further into yourself, until you’d built up an entire fantasy world within your mind and soul, which became your new reality?

And so he promised to himself—and mentally to you—that he’d never, even if it were true—tell you he doesn’t care what you have to say. He won’t be just one more person to hurt and let you down. Just like he knows you won’t be as much to him.

You’re good for him. He could tell as much from the first day he spoke to you.

He stares at you for a moment, making you squirm. “I don’t believe that.”

“Ok.” You don’t particularly feel like arguing. He can believe whatever he wishes.

He frowns. He dislikes that you don’t seem to much care what his opinion of you is. He supposes it’s a strange dichotomy. Going from Cassie who, it was all she cared about, to you, who clearly can’t care less.

“You’re really telling me that talking to barely anyone at school, except occasionally Lexi, and being alone in this house all the time doesn’t ever get to you?”

You shrug. “It’s just what I’m used to.”

In all the talking to him you’d done over the past week, all of it had been surface-level. About history or the new book you were reading, or something you’d read in a news article. None of it was actually truly about you.

If his plan to get in deeper with you—to know you like no other person on the planet does—is going to work, then you need to give him more.

“What if it wasn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking up to the ceiling. “What if we started hanging out more often than just when we study after school? We could text or something, too.”

You appreciate his being concerned for you, you think it really kind of him. Even if makes you the least bit uncomfortable. You tell yourself it’s simply because it’s something you’re not used to: someone showing genuine concern for you.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

He looks at you again. “You wouldn’t be. I like spending time with you.”

You’re not sure how to respond, so you just say thanks.

“I feel like for the last week I’ve done nothing but ask you questions about yourself. Is there anything you want to know about me?”

He’ll never admit it, but your lack of interest in him hurts his feelings. It makes him feel like you aren’t nearly as attracted to him as he is to you.

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He smirks. So that’s why. Always so fucking considerate; his sweet girl.

“You won’t.”

You think for a moment. The things you really want to ask him about are too personal this early on (even if you’d told yourself such things were none of your business, you can’t help wanting answers). Like why he despises his dad so much, and what happened with him and Maddy and Cassie. And what happened at that New Year’s party which landed him in the hospital?

You start smaller. “What made you want to play football?”

He considers giving you some bullshit answer—which will seem a plausible enough explanation—and giving you the actual truth. Finally, he decides on both. “It gives me something to do, for one. A reason to push myself harder. It gives me something to focus on. And football is a contact sport. So when I’m pissed off, I finally have something to take it out on.”

“Like when you’re angry with your dad?”

He grows silent.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

He shakes his head. “It’s ok. It’s not like I’ve exactly been subtle about my dislike of him.”

He doesn’t elaborate further than that.

“So…what’s your favorite color?”

He laughs. “I don’t know. Black, I guess.”

Somehow it seems fitting for him.

He looks at you, able to read you. “But that’s not the kind of question you want to be asking, is it?”

“I don’t want to overstep boundaries.”

He leans up on one elbow. “Then how about we make it fair? You ask me one actually personal question, and then I ask you one. And we both have to answer. No matter what. As soon as one of us refuses to, I head home.”

You think about it for a moment, worried about the sorts of things he may ask, but you have an out. “Deal.”

He smiles. “Alright, ladies first.”

“Will you tell me what happened during New Year’s?”

He sits up fully then. “Fezco smashed a bottle over my head, then beat me within an inch of my life. He got the upper hand immediately by doing what he did with the liquor bottle. He almost fucking killed me, all for a worthless druggy.”

Your brows furrow. “Who?”

“Rue went to him with some made-up story about me harassing her and some friend of hers online. When in reality I want nothing to do with her. So then he threatened to kill me and finally fucking tried to.”

“Why would she do something like that?” It feels like he isn’t giving you the whole story. He’s laid out the edges of a puzzle, but is withholding the middle.

He shrugs. “She’s a drug addict, how should I know?”

Before you can reply, can think of a polite way to say: so what’s the real story here, he takes his turn.

“How come we were never friends?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve known each other since we were five-years-old. We grew up together, have known each other for over a decade now. And only in the last week have we really finally talked, or spent any amount of time together.”

You lean back in your seat. “Well, just because you grow up with someone doesn’t mean that fact has to serve as some prerequisite to becoming best friends or something. Sometimes people, even from a young age, just don’t click. You were always running around on the playground, playing sports with others. I was always sitting off to the side and reading or coloring or playing with toys. I guess you were just more outgoing than me.”

“You know what they say: opposites attract.”

You tell yourself he’s just referring to friendship.

He lays back again. “Well, it may’ve only taken eleven years, but we’re friends now. I just… I just wonder what things might’ve been like had it happened sooner.” He sighs, then, “Your turn again.”

To an extent, you wonder that, too. Mostly just what it would’ve been like to have a best friend for that long.

“What happened between you, Maddy, and Cassie?”

“Not going to give me an easy one, huh?”

You let out a small laugh.

“Me and Maddy had been together since sophomore year. I guess we just grew comfortable with one another, even if we weren’t always happy. Even if it wasn’t always healthy. It didn’t start out toxic. We were happy at first. For awhile. A long while. But she just…it was like she wasn’t pleased unless we were fighting and then making up.

“It was just a constant cycle of her beating me down, then trying to build me back up again through sex. She just…she made me feel like shit about myself. As both her boyfriend and a man. It was like it wasn’t bad enough: the shit I dealt with at home with my dad. She just had to become one more problem in my life that I was forced to deal with.

“I’d hoped that if I loved her hard enough, if I gave her enough, she’d love me back the way I wanted to be loved. The way I loved her. Turns out I was just a fucking idiot.”

Tears sting your eyes. You feel so sorry for him. To be so young and to have already known an emotionally abusive relationship was heartbreaking. It was one reason why you refused to date at such a young age. You were all too young to understand yourselves, nevermind another person. Not in the context of loving and taking care of them, at least. You all were barely even fully-formed people yet.

So that was what Lexi had been referring to before. Just like everything, there were always two sides.

“And Cassie?” You ask, softly.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Just a giant fucking mistake. We first hooked up a couple weeks after Maddy and I had broken up…again. It happened on New Year’s Eve. I just…maybe I was trying to get even for what Maddy had done to me at the beginning of the school year—fucking a guy in the pool at McKay’s house—right in front of everyone.

"And then we hung out more, and at first I thought she was different. Maybe better for me. Until she started blowing up my phone with hundreds of calls and texts, screaming one night in my room about how crazy she was, how she’d never let me be with anyone else. How she was better for me than all the rest.”

Your brows raise. That unhinged? Cassie had always seemed so sweet and demure to you. But you’d also hardly ever been around her outside of school.

And dating—being in relationships—seemed to sometimes bring out the worst in people. Facets they themselves didn’t even know they had.

“I’m sorry, Nate. I never knew Cassie was so…” You trail off, until he fills in the rest for you.

“Psychotic?”

You laugh. “I wasn’t going to say it like that, but…” You shift legs, wrapping your arms around your other one now. “Your turn.”

He remains lying back, wanting this question to come off as something he’s casually asking. Whereas, in reality, he’ll be holding onto every word of your answer.

“Have you ever dated before?”

You feel like you suddenly want to use your out, but refrain. It’s a simple enough question, with a simple answer. “No.”

He looks over at you. “Never?”

You shake your head. “Nu-uh.”

His brows raise. He’d never known you to have a boyfriend before, but until recently he’d not exactly kept tabs on you.

It surprises him.

“Have you never kissed anyone or had sex?” He prays the answer to both is no. Also hopes you don’t cut his questioning you short.

You’re quiet for a moment, the two of you just staring at one another. Until, finally, you decide to answer. “No. And I’m not ashamed to say it. Not having done either of those things is a choice, just like having done them is as well.”

He sits up, hunching over to try and hide the erection he can feel forming.

No one has ever been inside of you—not in your mouth, not in your pussy, and not in your ass. Another pair of lips have never even touched your own, another tongue has never tasted you. Another pair of eyes has never explored your lovely naked body.

He wants to know what you do, then, to satiate yourself when the mood strikes. Do you rub at your clit until you come? Do you finger yourself—he wonders if your hymen is still intact? Do you bunch a pillow up between your legs, humping it until you've finished and the case is soaked? Or do you take and rub your teddy against your wet, needy pussy until you’re sore and can’t take it anymore?

God he wants to know what you fucking taste like. Wants to feel your fingers in his hair as he goes down on you. Needs to know what your perfect pussy feels like around his cock.

But he knows it’s too soon for any of that. For you, at least.

“That’s not something to be ashamed of. Not nowadays. You should be proud of yourself for having held out this long. I admire it.”

You shrug. “It’s not that hard to do.”

He smirks. “That’s because you’ve never done it before. Once you’ve been with someone in that way…giving up that kind of intimacy is difficult.”

You think any kind of intimacy must be hard to let go of after having it. Whether it’s emotional, intellectual, physical…sexual. Maybe it’s one more reason you keep most people at arm’s-length. If you never let anyone in, then you’ll never have to worry about losing them.

You clear your throat. “My turn.”

He lays back again.

“Can I ask about your dad?”

He flexes his jaw. “What about him?”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

There’s a long pause and then he finally sits up. “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

You plant both of your feet on the floor, now sitting on the edge of your swing-chair. “You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I was just curious. Since he always seems so…perfect, you hating him, I guess, is just a source of confusion for me. Then again, maybe that perfection is the source of it: your hate. I don’t know.”

“That’s part of it. But not all.” And that’s all the answer he’s willing to give you.

Letting onto his hate for his father in the first place was a mistake. But that loathing sometimes seeped out. And he feels like he can be honest with you. He trusts you. So, sometimes he lets go a little. That lid he keeps so tightly screwed slips loose sometimes in your presence.

He stands and you fill with guilt.

You’d gone too far. You’d known better—that asking about his father would end up being a mistake—but you’d brought him up anyway. And now you’d ruined the day.

“You really don’t have to leave. We can talk about something else?”

He pretends to consider that for a moment. When in reality, he’s all too-pleased that you’re so eager for him to stay.

Then, he steps over to you, standing in front of your seat, towering over you as you look up at him. He briefly thinks that this would be a perfect position for the both of you to be in as you take him into your mouth.

Then, he kneels down. One week was all it had taken for you to bring him to his knees.

He reaches up, grabbing either of the ropes the chair hangs from from on either side of you. “It’s Friday.”

You smile nervously. “That’s very observant of you.”

He smiles, letting out a small chuckle. “I just mean that it’s only four o’ clock; still early. We could go do something together.”

He begins to lightly swing you, just barely.

“Like what?” You ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Whatever you want. I could take you to dinner, take you shopping. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, even if you just want to drive around.”

You don’t know how to respond to his offer. “You don’t have anywhere else you need to be?”

“Not at all.” He wants so desperately to touch you, but he sees you like a newborn fawn, easily frightened; skittish. So he refrains. For now at least.

You glance to the set of glass doors beside the two of you which lead into your backyard. At the sun still high in the sky and tree branches blowing lightly in the wind. And then you look back to Nate, seeing no good reason to waste such a beautiful day cooped up inside.

“Okay.”

He smiles. “Good.” He stands, offering you his hand.

You take it, doing the same. “I’ll just be a minute, I need to change again. Don’t really want to go out in sweats.”

He nods, going to leave, then stops by your closet. He pulls the doors open and you watch as he pulls out a light-pink sundress, then turns back to you, holding it out in your direction.

“You don’t have to wear it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it on you at school before. Just thought it might look nice.”

You gently take the dress from him.

He speaks before you can tell him no. “I’ll be waiting in the living room. Take your time.”

Once the door has shut behind him, you look down at the dress in your hands, then at the things you usually wear—the clothes you feel most comfortable in—beckoning you from your closet.

While you dress, Nate leans back on the couch, hoping you wear what he’s picked out for you. In truth, he wants to dress every inch of you. He wants to do your hair, your makeup—even if you never wear any. He wants to pick out a cute matching pair of lingerie for you—so only he knows what’s under your clothes—your shoes, your jewelry, even your perfume.

He isn’t sure why it means so much to him—perhaps it’s just another thing he feels the need to have control over. He wants you to look nice. He knows you’re capable of matching his ideal picture of what he wants you to be in his head.

When you finally emerge from your bedroom fifteen minutes later—you’d spent half of that time sitting on your bed considering putting the dress away—he’s left speechless.

You’d put on the dress, along with a cute pair of sandals, your toes already painted a pleasant shade of pink, which just so happens to match the item you’re now wearing. And between your breasts hangs a necklace.

You stand in the entryway awkwardly, one of your hands clutching your other arm. “I feel ridiculous,” you whisper, your face red.

He stands, coming to position himself in front of you. “You look beautiful.”

You’re surprised by his response. Wearing something which shows off so much of your body makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You’d considered putting on a cardigan to cover your arms, but it’s almost ninety-degrees outside. So you decided against it.

He reaches around to the base of your ponytail, his thumb, index and middle finger gripping your hairband. “May I?” He asks, looking down at you.

You feel dumbstruck by the sensation of the base of your hair in his grip, so you just nod.

He gently pulls the band free, your hair falling over your shoulders and down your back, coming to rest just above your ass.

He’s never seen hair as long as yours before. Why the hell do you keep it up all the time?

He flexes his hand, the holder now firmly around his wrist and he reaches up with both of his hands, running his fingers through your soft hair, massaging your scalp as he styles it.

You just stare up at him, his face the picture of concentration as his fingers work against your head, through your long strands of hair. Your eyelids droop just a bit out of the feeling of relaxation that comes over you, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Nate takes note of that, as well as the quiet whimper in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against the base of your neck for just a moment. He likes that you like the way he’s touching you. He wants to know what other places his fingers and hands could explore that would get him similar results.

Finally, once he deems your hair presentable to his personal satisfaction, half of it falling down your back, the other half split evenly over both of your shoulders, he slips one hand into his pocket, the other coming to rest under your chin, making you look up at him again.

He feels blood rush to his cock at the flushed, lax look on your face as your hooded eyes stare up into his own.

“Why don’t you wear your hair down more often? It looks very pretty like this.”

“It gets in my way,” you state, your voice now having a dreamy quality to it.

He really likes you like this. All soft and submissive and dressed how he likes. He wants you wrapped around his finger sooner rather than later. Completely his in every single fucking way imaginable.

Today will be one step closer to getting that future.

He deems what you’ve said a good enough answer, but he knows you’ll have to get used to it. Your hair being down suits you far better than it being up.

He steps away, walking over to the door, holding it open for you.

Once you’ve locked it behind you, he holds open the passenger side door of his truck for you, same as always, shutting it firmly once you’re inside.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader) #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs imagine #euphoria x reader

[raapija]

hi! as a prompt for pookie au (which i love), how do you think carlos would react to finding out his dad is dating LANCE of all people? would he be immediately freaking out or would he hold it in and rant to charles about it later?

Thank you for the prompt. <3

(Carlos and Charles hadn't yet met, as this is set in 2018.)

summary: Lance talks with Carlos for the first time after Lance and Fernando told him they were dating. Also some strollonso fluff to balance it out.

warnings: some swearing, Carlos being extremely mean to Lance

Lance fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie. He could feel his ears burning as Carlos stared at him from the other side of the patio table. The cool evening air made his skin tingle.

"Why?" he heard Carlos ask after what had felt like 15 minutes of silence. Lance had sat down with him after having dinner with Fernando. It was the first time they told Carlos that they were together. Lando or Oscar probably would've blurted it out at some point, but it was definitely easier to tell him like this.

"What?" Lance asked for him to clarify what exactly he meant by 'why?.' He couldn't really look at Carlos, because he knew he was staring daggers back at him. They had been racing together for years, but had never really became friends or spent time together. Carlos was also a couple years older than him and had always been kind of intimidating to Lance. Something about those dark brown eyes.

"Why my dad? Of all people, why him?" Carlos continued his questioning. Now Lance looked at him and his heart skipped a few beats as he saw the expression on Carlos' face. Contempt.

"I love him."

Carlos scoffed and Lance felt something inside him shift. He straightened in his seat and took a deep breath. He wasn't going to give in.

"Listen," he started. "I really do like him. I know it's fucking weird that he's older and you're older than me, but so what? We like each other. It's not just some fling. He's done a lot for me and I for him. I love him."

Carlos studied him from across the table. The longer he didn't say anything, the faster Lance's heart beat. Adrenaline rushing in his veins as if he was on a race track, trying to overtake him at a high-speed corner. In the end, it was Carlos who averted his eyes to look away.

"If you break his heart, I'll kill you." Carlos said and Lance breathed out. His face was serious. "I've seen what it's like for him, and I don't want to see that again, ever. So don't you dare."

"I won't hurt him. I promise." Lance said and Carlos' eyes moved back to focus on him.

"You promise?" he chuckled, now sounding condescending. "That's what the last guy said as well. And then he left him."

Lance's heart was about to burst out of his chest. Maybe he couldn't overtake in the corner and instead would crash into the wall.

"My dad gave everything to me. He gave me a chance when no one else would. He doesn't deserve you. He's got all he needs in me and my brothers. He loves us. Not you. " Carlos said, his words cutting right through Lance like little knives. It made his throat turn dry. "You understand?"

"I do." Lance got out. Carlos' chair dragged painfully on the tile flooring of the patio when he stood up to leave. As he walked past Lance, he gave him a strong pat on the shoulder and made Lance flinch. Crashed, in the wall. Game over.

"I'll be watching you." Carlos said and then stepped back into the house, leaving him alone. Lance breathed out and a flood of emotions ran through him as he relaxed. He was 20. Just barely got into F1 and immediately started dating a 37 year-old with three grown kids. This really did sound like some sort of a breakdown if you looked at it from the outside. Still, he was glad the only person at his throat was Carlos and not the media. Only a few people knew, and that was for the best. He had enough on his plate as a 'pay-driver'.

¬

Later that night, Lance was laying in bed, deep under the covers and waiting for Fernando to join him. He had been in this bed countless times before, but the idea of Carlos lurking somewhere in the same house made him uneasy.

He could finally hear Fernando's familiar footsteps climbing up the staircase to the second floor where the bedroom was. As soon as he stepped into the room, Lance's mind stopped racing.

"You okay?" the Spaniard asked as he sat down on the other side of the bed from Lance. He must've sensed Lance's anxiety all the way from downstairs.

"Yeah. Talked to Carlos." Lance said and turned onto his side so he could see Fernando better. The older man laid his watch and jewelry from his wrists on the bedside table and the slid under the covers. They were both facing each other and Lance scooted a little closed so Fernando could wrap an arm around him.

"How it go? Not too scary, I hope." Fernando's voice was soothing and Lance settled against his chest, warm skin touching his forehead. He felt Fernando press little kisses into his hair on the top of his head.

"He only threatened to kill me, so not that bad." Lance said and Fernando laughed. Him laughing made it feel a bit better, like he wasn't actually going to get beat up if he made one mistake.

"That's my Carlito." Fernando hummed and squeezed Lance a little closer to him, slowly running his hand up and down his back. "Don't worry about him. He likes to pretend he's tougher than he is."

"He told me someone broke your heart before so he didn't want me to repeat that." Lance said and Fernando's hand stopped moving.

Lance heard a quiet 'oh...' and wriggled back a bit to look at him. Fernando's eyes were sad. Lance didn't like that.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no." Fernando hurried to stop him from apologizing. He moved his hand up and set it on Lance's cheek. "That's nothing. History. I got you now, so it's okay."

"Yeah?" Lance asked and Fernando gently tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear. The Spaniard smiled at him, his eyes back to normal and happy. The things Carlos had said still irked at the back of Lance's brain, but he didn't press on it.

"You fix me." Fernando said and moved in to kiss Lance on the forehead. He then pulled him close again and held his arm tight around him. "I talk with Carlito tomorrow. Tell him to be nice to you."

Lance hummed and could already feel himself falling asleep. It felt so safe with Fernando. Strong arms holding onto him and his warmth transferring into him. Everything was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

#ask #short fic #pookie au #nando and his mcnuggets #strollonso #hope you like this 🤧💚

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry was never really Dumbledore's man

So, in HBP Harry says himself:

“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry.

(HBP, 348)

But, I'm here to argue Harry actually has many many doubts and reservations about Dumbledore throughout all books (even HBP), and I find it interesting how Harry convinced the Wizarding world (and the readers) that he's Dumbledore's man when he isn't. Not really.

(Just makes me all the more annoyed at him calling his son Albus...)

I'm going to go through some examples of Harry showing his doubts about Dumbledore way before book 7. Because Harry is an abused, distrusting boy, and Dumbledore isn't actually an exception to that until very late into the books. And even when Harry chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions, he never fully trusts his judgment.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?” “Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.” “No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….”

(PS, 217)

This quote above is from the ending of Philosopher's Stone and the outlook Harry, Ron, and Hermione have on Dumbledore and his behavior is the same as seen in the later books. So I wanted to talk about each of them and how they see Dumbledore because this quote really sets the tone for the rest of the series.

Ron is doubtful and distrustful. The situation is odd, and he's clever, he analyzed the situation and came to a frightening conclusion — the whole ordeal seemed planned by Dumbledore. And Ron isn't scared of voicing this question.

Hermione, while not always a rule-follower, respects Dumbledore and his authority. A lot. So, she doesn't believe Dumbledore could've planned it as it would reflect badly on his character and authority. Hermione is a very loyal person, and once she decides she respects someone she is willfully blind to their flaws (we see it with her later in the series).

Harry, while he's clever enough to notice the same things Ron did and come to the same conclusion — that Dumbledore planned for an 11-year-old to face Voldemort — he attributes good intentions to Dumbledore. Harry sees the situation and draws his conclusions, but chooses to hope/believe Dumbledore's intentions were good ones.

Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry’s own parents, and so many others. . . . At last he forced himself to speak. “You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Not what?” snapped Riddle. “Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —” The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —

(CoS, 282)

This is one of the scenes people call to to show how much faith Harry has in Dumbledore (even Dumbledore himself), the thing is, Harry says (in his mind) he's just saying things to try and scare Tom. To try and buy time, or unbalance Tom so he may have a chance at escape.

The important note is that Harry doesn't actually believe what he's saying to Tom. He's just saying what he thinks would bother Tom the most.

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

(GoF, 310)

This part about telling no one about his wand's connection to Voldemort is true. He never told anyone by that point in GoF. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Sirius.

As I mentioned above, Harry is abused and distrustful. He's not at all Dumbledore's perfect soldier who trusts him with everything. In GoF, Harry decides against telling Dumbledore about his dreams and the pain in his scar:

“Your scar hurt? Harry, that’s really serious. . . . Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. . . . Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars. . . .” Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. [...] As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.

(GoF, 21)

Harry doesn't wish to share secrets with Dumbledore, nor does he feel comfortable to go to him with his troubles (his go-to adult while Sirius was around was always Sirius). Again, Hermione is mentioned as the one who trusts Dumbledore's authority, in Harry's head, but he's right, he knows her well.

Harry actually spends a good portion of the series purposefully trying to hide information from Dumbledore. (I'm saying 'trying ' because Dumbledore always found out, but not because Harry told him).

“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.” “Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry. “I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —” Ron began. “Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?” “Well, no — but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time -” Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him. “Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?” “He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.” “Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”

(OotP, 63)

Harry is angry here, true, but he doubts Dumbledore's idea of what's "safe" for him. He's actually glad for the dementors because he doubts Dumbledore would've brought him over if it wasn't an emergency.

And Harry is right to be doubtful and suspicious. He's right that he's less safe at the Dursleys than at Grimmauld Place. He's right to feel angry and betrayed at literally everyone knowing he's being followed except for him. He's right Dumbledore probably wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't for the dementor attack. Harry is correct in each and every one of his assessments of Dumbledore's character and decisions here.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I’m feeling it when he’s pleased too. . . .” There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building. “You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron. “I told Sirius last time.” “Well, tell him about this time!” “Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?” “Well then, Dumbledore —” “I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.” Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully. “Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said. Harry shrugged. “C’mon . . . we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice . . .”

(OotP, 382)

Remember I mentioned Harry hiding things from Dumbledore? This is one of such occasions. There are more in GoF that I didn't copy, but this is an example of Voldemort-related, dangerous information Harry is hiding from Dumbledore because he doesn't trust him and doesn't feel comfortable telling him things.

“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m getting sick of my scar hurting, and I’m getting bored walking down that corridor every night.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —” “That’s not funny,” said Hermione sharply. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.” “I am working!” said Harry, nettled. “You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!” “Maybe . . .” said Ron slowly. “Maybe what?” said Hermione rather snappishly. “Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,” said Ron darkly. “What do you mean?” said Hermione. “Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry. . . .” Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other. “Maybe,” he said again in a lower voice, “he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —” “Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione angrily. “How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.” “He used to be a Death Eater,” said Ron stubbornly. “And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . .” “Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione repeated. “And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.”

(OotP, 554)

Again we see the same exact dynamic from first year. Hermione is loyal to Dumbledore, not even considering he might be wrong about something, or not have their best interests at heart. Ron and Harry on the other hand, are both open to the possibility that things aren't so simple. They don't think Dumbledore is intentionally harming Harry, but they think he's wrong about Snape. Something Hermione, Arthur and Molly would never consider.

(This is actually the most annoying thing in Hermione's character for me, her unshakable faith in Dumbledore, who doesn't deserve her trust)

“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finished at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hissed angrily, as both Ron and Hermione showed every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?” “Harry —” began Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.

(HBP, 552)

Even in book 6, the book Harry grows the most comfortable and trusting towards Dumbledore, even then, he doesn't trust Dumbledore. He thinks (and somewhat rightly so because he doesn't know of Snape and Dumbledore's plan) that Dumbledore is wrong about Snape. that Dumbledore is wrong about Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust that whatever protections Dumbledore would leave would be enough (and they weren't).

Even at the end of HBP, the point in the series where Harry has the most faith in Dumbledore, Harry still doesn't trust Dumbledore's judgment or his ability to protect the school. Even after Dumbledore calls Harry out on it, telling him the safety of the students is important to him, Harry still tells Ron and Hermione to get the DA to protect the school without notifying Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore raised Harry to feel responsible for the school's safety, Harry is doing what he was "bred" to do. But he does it behind Dumbledore's back, because like every adult, Harry deep down expects to be let down. After all, he's used to saving the school himself.

So, no, Harry never really trusted Dumbledore fully. At least, not Dumbledore's judgment. Harry does believe Dumbledore's intentions are good for the most part, even if ineffective.

“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside. “And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry [...] Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!” “What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry. [...] Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

(DH, 135-137)

And in Deathley Hollows, Harry is very quick to start questioning and doubting Dumbledore. Especially when compared to Hermione:

“Harry—” But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand . . . “Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It—it doesn’t make very nice reading—” “Yeah, you could say that—” “—but don’t forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing.” “You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?” “Yes, I—I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands.

(DH, 311)

Harry is hurt, he feels betrayed, because while he never 100% trusted Dumbledore's judgment, he trusted his intentions. He trusted Dumbledore was good and cared for him. He feels cold and betrayed, showing trust in his intentions. But his readiness to accept Skeeter's and Muriel's accusations so quickly shows he always had his doubts about Dumbledore and they never really left, even if he wanted to trust him, he never did, not fully.

Hermione, on the other hand, who was always loyal and trusted Dumbledore (both his intentions and judgment) 100%, tries to rationalize Dumbledore's actions and convince herself everyone who says bad things about him is lying.

Harry doesn't. Because out of the Golden Trio, Hermione was always Dumbledore's woman, Ron and Harry... not really. Not as much.

“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.” Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it. “Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice. “Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.”

(DH, 478)

More of how Harry thinks about Dumbledore, showing, again, how he always had his doubts and reservations but he chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions because otherwise, he doesn't think he has any hope to defeat Voldemort. He chooses to keep following Dumbledore's path because he has no real choice but to trust what he sees as the only path that'll lead to Voldemort's destruction. But Harry has plenty of doubts about Dumbledore.

Hermione, on the other hand, has little to no doubts. She doesn't allow herself to doubt.

And this pattern, of Harry doubting Dumbledore again and again, never truly trusting him, just trusting his plan will kill Voldemort... like, how does that lead Harry to want to name his kid 'Albus'? I just don't get it...

TL;DR

Harry likes to say he's Dumbledore's man, but he always had his reservations, even when he choose to ignore them since trusting Dumbledore's plan felt like his only chance at survival. Hermione is much more trusting of Dumbledore than Harry is.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter thoughts #hp thoughts #harry potter meta #hp meta #hollowedtheory #hp theory #harry james potter #harry potter analysis #albus dumbledore

[avocadorablepirate]

What Do We Call This? - 07

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Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing, the occasional OP spoiler, they're both kinda mean to each other in this one

A/N: I don't know whether this series has a great flow, and honestly I don't know how well I've portrayed Law's character, but that's okay cause I'm very happy with how this chapter turned out <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>. I hope you like it too!

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

Having boarded Law's ship you trail behind him into the submarine, leaving his crew and the Straw Hats on the deck. While you mindlessly followed him, you took note of the stark difference between the Polar Tang and the Thousand Sunny. Although it seemed a lot more cold, the grey metal walls of the submarine also offered a sense of security in their own way, the faint beeping noises oddly comforting.

Shifting your focus from the walls back to the man walking in front, you called out to him when you realised he hadn't noticed you following, or at least hadn't bothered to acknowledge your presence. On hearing his name Law slowly turned to face you.

"So what did you need my assistance with?" you ask, tilting your head in curiosity. From the time you had spent with him, you knew that when it came to planning, Law was always two steps ahead of the rest. So maybe his plan required you to be in Wano, or maybe he required your assistance with something on his submarine.

"You'd only hurt yourself more if you went with Straw Hat-ya to retrieve Black-Leg. It's better for you this way."

Or maybe not.

"Really? So, that whole needing my assistance thing was a lie?" His lack of a response was enough of an answer.

"I can take care of myself Law. I don't need you constantly watching over me like I'm some child," you assert, ready to storm off before your frustration escalated. But before you can retreat, an all too familiar blue aura envelopes you. "Law-" you try to protest to his actions but your words fall on deaf ears.

"Room."

"Shambles."

The room shifts to what looks like the infirmary of the Polar Tang, and you find yourself already seated on the white matress of a surgical bed as Law shuts the door to the room. Before you can inquire about his intentions, he answers your unspoken question.

"You haven't changed your bandages since we left Dressrosa," he remarks, pulling out a gauze wrap from a drawer and positioning himself in front of you.

"I changed them yesterday," you counter, but this only leads him to roll his eyes, "Clearly, you didn't do a good job of it," he chides, gesturing at the gauze that had been haphazardly wrapped around your torso. In your defense, you were in a bit of a hurry. Robin had found some books in Zou that she thought you would like, and you were all too eager to read them (plus, lingering in the infirmary for too long risked someone seeing your wounds)

"They don't need to be changed. I'm fine. It's all healed." You once again try to convince him, but you're met with a stern look this time. "Just because filling yourself up with alcohol and sleeping every chance you get numbs the pain, does not mean you're healed."

You're caught off guard by Law's reply. Though you think to yourself that maybe you should have known that someone like the Surgeon of Death, who knew how your devil fruit worked would notice that your consumption of alcohol and constant need to sleep were clear signs of you trying to distract yourself from the pain. Evidently, you had no memory of what you had said to him a few nights ago.

"Law-" you once again try to protest, but he's already removing the bandages, and you wince as his hand lightly grazes your side. He looks at you confused, your wounds shouldn't hurt just from this, he thinks to himself, and quickly but gently removes the rest of the gauze. His expression changes from one of confusion to frustration as he looks from the fresh blue-black bruises spattered across your torso to you.

"How did this happen?" he asks, and you shift in your seat, biting down on your lip as you contemplate telling him or not.

"How did this happen?" he spits through gritted teeth, and you shift your gaze away from him, at the same time realising that he wouldn't relent until you gave him an explanation.

"Some of the Minks were still injured before we left Zou, and Chopper wasn't around, so I helped them."

You notice his fists clench and unclench in response to your answer, a sign that he was trying to control his emotions. You choose to slowly meet his gaze as he takes a deep breath before letting out a sigh, already anticipating your response to his next question, "Why didn't you call me?"

"You were meeting your crew after so long, I didn't want to bother you."

He tries to remain calm, but your answer only fuels his frustration. His fists clench once again and he bangs them into the table causing you to flinch. Law's hands now enclose you on either side, his head bent down, so that his hat just about covers the way he's clenching his jaw.

"Why are you always finding ways to hurt yourself?" he murmers, his voice barely above a whisper. But he doesn't give you a chance to repond, "Do you care so little about your life?"

"It's just a few bruises," you respond, and this time he meets your gaze, his grey eyes laden with emotion.

"I don't understand," Law pauses, his anger mounting. "Why!? Why do you not care about your own well-being!? Why do you insist on helping people who've never done shit for you!?"

His words strike a nerve, and you scoff. You can only assume that he's referring to the Straw Hats. Your own emotions are starting to get the best of you, and you throw him a glare of your own, "What the fuck do you know!?" you yell back. Law's taken aback by your outburst, but is quick to regain his 'composure'. However, you don't give him time to respond.

"You know absolutely nothing about me Law, and you have no fucking idea what I've been through and what these people have done for me! So stop trying to protect me!" You grab at the gauze wrap and try to push him aside, but he doesn't budge. His hands grip tightly at the white sheets of the surgical bed, but he doesn't say anything.

"Move Law," you command, but his grip only strengthens, his knuckles turning white.

"I know enough about you to know that you knew Cora-san, and that's enough of a reason for me to protect you."

Law's jaw relaxes, but he remains silent and unmoving, reverting to his stoic demeanour as he waits for some sort of reaction from you, or maybe deliberates over what to say next. You're taken by surprise at first, not knowing how to react to his revelation. But the emotions are quick to come back, and your frustration with him that has been unknowingly brewing over the past month refuses to back down from this confrontation.

"Then you know that he wanted both of us to keep living. Yet you were ready to give your life in exchange for bringing down Doflamingo. So, don't fucking come to me about not caring about mine," you retort with more spite than you intend, your words almost like venom to Law. But you're far too infuriated to take them back. With one final shove you manage to push past him.

"(Y/N)-ya," he calls out to you, attempting to sound firm, but the tremble in his voice is unmistakable.

"I think it's best if we keep our distance," you mumble more to yourself as you walk out the door, leaving Law behind.

_______________________________________________

A/N: This was actually supposed to be longer, but I decided not to include the next part cause it would kinda downplay this part and just lose the drama. So y'all are going to have to wait till next week for them to maybe make up :⁠-⁠P.

taglist: @trafalgardaria @deathsmajestysworld

#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law fanfic #one piece x reader #law x you #trafalgar law fanfiction #trafalgar law x y/n

[ilwonuu]

𝖻𝗒𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖮

➜ 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗐𝖺

“𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝖾， 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎． 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒， 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿， 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿 ，𝖻𝗒𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖮 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒． “

❣︎ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－ 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉， 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅！𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆！𝗁𝗐𝖺， 𝖽𝗈𝗆！𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

❣︎ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌- 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍， 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑（𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗇𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗑） ， 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄 （𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇）， 𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾 （𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗎𝗆𝗆𝗒）， 𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝗂𝗌<𝟥， 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇， 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 （𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝗌）， 𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾， 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗐𝖺 （𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍）， 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁， 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒！， 𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 <𝟥

❣︎ 𝖺／𝗇- 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒． 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖽 ． 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗅．𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝗒𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖮 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝗎𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗍𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 （𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗒） （𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒😭）

your boyfriend decided in his head what he should do. the calmest of your body and the dream he just had was doing him all wrong. thinking these crazy thoughts about you. this was nothing new to seonghwa. he always would get hard at this hour, he admits. your just all his thoughts consume of. the shifting of your body startles him as he holds your body.

“hwa? why are you hard?” you smile at him with a soft face and he sighs.

could the universe give him a little bit more time to explain himself? you guys have only had sex once before, he was still nervous about most things with you. you two have touched each other in a lot of ways he just doesn’t know how to go about his dirty thoughts. before each other the two of your were very sexually active. getting all the tests you need and made sure to always talk to each other about past partners. just so the other person knew.

he knew you would be happy with more sex in your sex life but he wanted you to initiate things. he was cute about it you thought. his blush making him even cuter at this moment.

“sorry- i just had a dream and it was about you so-“ he shifts a little awkwardly as he tries to keep eye contact with you but fails.

“tell me about it hwa.” you rub his hand softly as you face him.

he looks at you with a little bit of shock in his face. he couldn’t possibly tell you he was fucking you sideways as you fell dumb for him. he really wanted to but he tried to sugarcoat.

“i was just- fucking you and you were so pretty for me.” you hum leaning closer to him.

“wanna show me how?” he looks at you blankly, making you laugh.

“how?” he doesn’t think you mean what you mean. it’s way too late he doesn’t want to disturb your sleep.

“like- fuck me how you did in the dream.” you hold his hand with a smile. his soft skin making you feel warm inside. he shifts a little.

“would you want that?” he asks you with a soft expression.

“as long as it doesn’t require moving to much.” you kiss him quickly as he nods.

“of course. just stay the way you are let me take care of you.” he whispers to you kissing your head.

he looks at you for a moment wanting to take in your beautiful appearance. the gentle boy takes his time to caress every inch of your body. he whispers soft praises into your skin as he rids you of your panties. you hide your face knowing it evident your panties are ruined from your arousal.

“pretty baby always so wet for me huh?” you nod shamelessly as you feel him gather some of your arousal to rub at your clit.

“so so wet ,my love.” he hums at the sight. his mind is absolutely running quicker than ever. he’s so mesmerized by you every time you’re like this for him.the soft words he lets you hear are making you wetter by the minute.

“want to play with you always baby. love it when you let me. fuck spread your legs a little more- yea. ” you try to close your legs a little at the sensitive area getting all the cold air as you wait for him but seonghwa holds them open as he pulls his boxers down.

“think you can’t take it without prep?” you nod at him as you rub his bare chest.

“fuck me, hwa.” he smirks at you grabbing your chin.

“say please baby.” he looks at you with a teasing expression you know your boyfriend might start being a little mean. you’re completely fine with that thought. the way he orders you to do things.

“please fuck me, hwa.” he hums pulling your body closer to him by your hip.

“good girl. look at how good you listen. now keep these pretty legs open for me hm?” you love how easily his switch flips for you. once second he’s shy and sweet and then he’s having you dizzy for him. he gives his dick a couple strokes before rubbing against you. he rests his nose against your skin as he pushes into you slowly.

“i’m addicted to you. you smell so perfect.” he sighs as he bottoms out. you moan out his name softly.

“h-hwa- want you.” you try to move your hips but in your position it was hard to move a lot. he starts to rock his hips into you as he keeps eye contact with you.

“ahh- f-fuck hwa.” you gasp at his dick hitting the perfect spot already.

“mhm baby, tell me how good it is.” his eyes have only left yours to watch where you connect. his hand snakes down to grip your hip tighter.

“i-it’s- fuck.” you give up on that sentence pretty quickly as you throw your head back. he pulls his t-shirt that you’re wearing up just enough to see your tits.

“fucking- you take it so fucking good.” he whispers to you making you drip with more arousal. the head board slightly hits the wall with your boyfriends thrusts. you are far gone.

“my pretty girl going dumb on my cock hm?” he taunts at you with a cheeky smirk. he mocks your blissful expression with a soft smile. you reach for his body in response. his hips still working perfectly at you.

“look at you- such a good girl for me.” his voice is intoxicating to say the least. every time something leaves his lips you are moaning even louder. you think it’s so crazy how fast seonghwa can make you squirm for him.

“h-hwa.” you hum as he fucks you harder. your breathing is quick with his. his eyes still watching your every move. he loves how responsive your body is to him. the sound of your wetness is pathetic and seonghwa enjoys every second of the filthy sounds coming from your cunt.

“oh- h-hwa right there.” you hands roam his chest softly as your body twists in pleasure.

“oh right here baby?” he mocks you with his tone.

“you gonna cum? go ahead baby come all over like a good girl.” he whispers the last part into your ear with a smirk as he holds your waist to fuck you perfectly.

“i’m- c-coming hwa.” your legs shake slightly as he fucks you through your high. his high quickly approaching as well. his hips still as he pants your walls with his warm cum. “fuck you’re all mine.” he lets a loud breathy moan as he continues to fuck you. he fucks his cum so deep inside you. his chest is heaving against yours as he watches how wet your cunt is with the mixed signs of pleasure. he doesn’t want to pull of yet looking at you.

“don’t pull out hwa. want you close while we sleep.” he nods but then makes a awkward face.

“won’t you feel uncomfortable? i don’t want you to feel gross and sticky.” you nod.

“let me clean you up first.” he pulls out of you slowly not wanting all the cum to fall on the sheets. he hurries to wet a rag to clean you with. quickly returning to your side. he gently cleans you as you whine at the sensitivity. he smiles at you after cleaning you up. he climbs back beside you pulling you close.

“can you put it back in hwa?” you gesture at his half hard dick and he nods at you.

“of course. mmm you smell like me.” you giggle at his words as you get more comfortable. your back is against his chest as he slowly pushes into you. he pulls the covers over the two of you. he plants a soft kiss against your head.

“goodnight hwa.” you smile feeling safe in his arms.

“sleep well pretty, goodnight.” he massages your side until you fall asleep peacefully.

#seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #divider by plutism #Spotify #dividers by plutism

[fuckaperioddrama]

Regulus Black Headcanons

Warnings: Angsty!Regulus | Mentions of Anxiety | Insinuation of Social Anxiety | Rough Sex | Soft Dom | Mentions of Oral (Female and Male Receiving) | Fingering

Fem!Reader

Author’s Note: This is probably the most angsty out of all of my headcanons, but it's Regulus so that's pretty fitting for him.

Requested by @slythergirl Hope you like it!

Proofread

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Mattheo Riddle Headcanons

Lorenzo Berkshire Headcanons

Blaise Zabini Headcanons

Tom Riddle Headcanons

Draco Malfoy Headcanons

Masterlist

Minors DNI | 18+

Regulus Black | Physique

5’11 - 6’0 

Very slender. 

Similar to Theo in that he does have some muscle, just not much. 

Y’all are probably so tired of me saying this, but he’s a pretty guy!!

His features are so dainty and angelic

Doesn’t look unapproachable, but he doesn’t have a face that welcomes people in either. 

He looks…lifeless. 

Regulus Black | Personality

Regulus is a complex person. 

He doesn’t want to be mean, but he’s just guarded and stuck in his twisted ideology. 

Being a Slytherin doesn’t mean you have to be a mean person, but he was raised to believe that anyone who doesn’t share his status is beneath him. He wasn't raised to be kind.

He was raised to equate kindness and vulnerability with weakness. 

He wants to be nicer, except he feels like he shouldn’t and he doesn’t know how to.

He unintentionally hurts the feelings of those around him and every time he sees the look of hurt on a stranger's face he gets so sad. 

The image of that person's face is stuck in his head for weeks and he starts to dissect every part of that conversation and judge himself for the way he acted. 

“What is wrong with me?”

“Why did I do that?”

“This is why no one likes me.”

He hates it when he overthinks, so he isolates himself a lot. 

When he is in settings where he has to be around people he doesn’t know he doesn’t talk much because he’s afraid of saying the wrong things.

Very much a loner, but he’s grown to be comfortable with that. 

Regulus likes to watch people. | Sounds creepy, but bear with me. 

He likes sitting back and watching two people smile and laugh with each other. 

He likes observing that one guy walks around the halls with a limp and comes up with these over-the-top stories of how he got injured. He imagines it was probably on some crazy adventure. 

He watches in the distance as two people meet and discover they have this undeniable connection. 

He likes to see people live their lives and he fantasizes about one day getting over his anxiety and being able to live his too.

Instead, he just spends most of his time studying.

A very good student and does well in all of his classes. 

He reads a lot as well, mainly really happy stories to contribute to his fantasies about also being happy one day. 

Has tried weed once, but it just made him super paranoid and nervous so he never tried it again. | Some people have bad anxiety attacks when they smoke and I think this is what happened to Regulus. 

Does play Quidditch. He loves it because that’s the only time he can work in a group with people and remain calm while doing it. 

Regulus Black | Casanova

He’s not a virgin, but he doesn’t regularly hook up with people either. 

Will not approach anyone. Sometimes he goes to parties because the boys drag him out to one. 

Later on in the night everyone has dispersed and is doing their own thing while he is left sitting there all by himself.

Women will seek him out | He’s still attractive, just awkward.

Some are turned away from his offstandish personality and some think his nervousness is cute and endearing. 

Will not talk to them a whole bunch out of fear of saying the wrong things, but that’s okay. These women aren’t there to get to know him, they just want someone to hook up with.

The sex is? Hard to explain. It’s not consistent. It just depends on the partner. 

He does whatever they tell him to do and he’s mediocre the first few times. 

After the first time, the girl left obviously not feeling satisfied he felt embarrassed, so he made an effort to figure out the right way to please a woman. 

Probably talked to one of the boys. Only one of them and he did it when they were alone because he didn’t want anyone else to know about his issue. | Idk why, but I see this person being either Tom or Theo. 

He gradually improved and when women started to approach him, he was still shy and quiet, but he was less hesitant. 

He still needs them to vocalize that certain things are okay. Sometimes when you have sex you can kind of go with the motions and people will give consent with body language, but Regulus needs to hear it. 

He prefers using his fingers so that he can have a clear view of the other person's face. 

He’ll start slow, gently rubbing their clit and as he sees their faces contort in pleasure or hears any sounds of satisfaction he’ll speed up and become more confident. 

He’ll start to speed up, a small smirk inching onto his face when inserts his long and slim fingers into their cunt and hears them gasp

With the right girl, he will start to take more control. 

One night he hooks up with someone who is SUPER vocal and doesn’t shy away from telling him how good he’s doing.

What happens next is shocking. 

He’ll grip her either by the hips or waist and start RAILING her 

Full on pumping his stiff and long cock out of them HARD. Rooting himself deep inside her wet slit while his eyelids begin to close and he fully loses himself in the feeling.

In the end, both of them are lying there silently trying to wrap their minds around what happened. 

She didn’t know the quiet nerd was able to do all that and honestly? He didn’t know either.

Regulus Black | Friend

He’s not super close with any of them.

He still values their friendships as they are the only ones he has 

He just has a hard time opening up and he’s always felt like the odd one out. 

All of them, Mattheo, Blaise, Theo, Draco, Enzo, and even Tom have this unhinged side to them that comes out sometimes. 

He has that side, but he’s never unleashed it. 

Sometimes he gets insecure over that and feels like none of them like him that much because he doesn’t join in on the fun. 

He’ll watch them crack jokes, and pick at each other playfully, and he wants to join in, but he’s too afraid to. 

So he sits there watching them have fun and he feels like no one would even notice if he wasn’t there with them. 

Sometimes when Tom is sitting there quietly too he feels less alone, but then Tom speaks and Regulus is reminded that Tom has the confidence to fit in, he’s just more reserved and not shy like him. Then he starts to feel left out again. 

But whenever they all go to hang out and he’s left sitting there as they all start to leave one of them will turn back and look at him. 

“Hey, Reggie! Are you coming?”

And he’s reminded that he’s not as alone as he thinks. 

His friends love him, he just has a hard time believing he’s capable of being loved.

Regulus Black | Boyfriend

Regulus is a good boyfriend. He’s so affectionate and caring. 

Very soft. 

But it’s all a very slow and calculated process for him.

He needs time to figure out what his partner likes and approaches things very cautiously to make sure he’s doing the right things

Once more, he is an observer. 

It takes him a while to open up and get comfortable. At first, he mainly shows his love through Acts of Service

If you have trouble remembering things he’ll leave little reminders for you everywhere. 

Sometimes when you’re in the shower you’ll walk out and see little sticky notes on the inside of the door. 

“Study session with Astoria tonight at 6. I’ll pick you up afterwards.”

“Make sure to ask McGonagall for extra credit work.”

“Remember to stop by Binn’s class before the library to drop off your paper.”

He’ll help you organize your task so that you don’t get overwhelmed. 

He creates a list of everything you have to do in order of importance and then creates a schedule. 

He makes sure to include snack breaks and rest periods for you. 

If you’re not able to get everything done he’ll always comfort you

Reminding you that it’s okay and that you don’t need to get everything done. You still did a good job. 

Regulus struggles with his anxiety and because of that, he’s able to pick up on certain nervous tells of other people, but especially with you. 

Does your leg bounce, do you start to itch, or play with your necklace?

Whatever it is Regulus notices right away and he always knows the best way to comfort you. 

Maybe you’re out somewhere and you’re having one of those moments where it is not your day. You’re feeling overwhelmed and he leans over. The room quiets as you listen to his smooth and comforting voice.

“Do you see that painting over there? It was painted by Jean-Marc Nattier. He was famous for creating portraits of beautiful women. He was often...”

And as he talks to you he gently intertwines your fingers, running his thumb slowly over the top of your hand. His attentiveness to your needs calms you down, as well as his Physical Touch.

Regulus’s way of touching you is ingrained in him. He does it without even realizing he is. 

When you’re sitting side by side he rests his hand on your knee, 

When you’re on his lap he gently massages your thigh. 

He’ll also grab your hand and almost lace your fingers together. His touch will stop halfway down as he starts to slowly run his fingers up and down yours. 

He likes the motion of it as it puts his mind at ease. Touching you grounds him and it makes him feel safe so it’s something he’s constantly doing. 

Then there are his intentional touches.

Before class, he’ll always pull you aside somewhere hidden where people can’t see. He gently grabs your cheeks and lowers his head. 

He kisses your lips and then rests his forehead against yours as he whispers.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Regulus, I’ll see you in an hour…”

“T’s too long.”

In addition to this, he also is the kinda guy that always hugs you from behind so he can feel your body against his.

He likes long, lingering touches. Whenever he hugs you it lasts forever and he takes his time when he pulls apart from you. 

Sometimes when you’re both alone and you’re focused on something else he’ll lean forward and place gentle kisses along your neck. 

He needs you to give him affection now and then and that’s how he initiates it. 

He requires more when you guys are having your Quality Time

Regulus feels like he’s finally living when he’s with you. 

You bring out his more adventurous side and make him want to get out and do things 

Dates once a week and it’s always something new 

A new restaurant, museum, or shop.

He wants you to be there for every new discovery because he likes to envision you in his future and remember you in his past.

As previously mentioned, you ground him, so he prefers you to be around 

Especially when he’s doing something he’s not comfortable with. 

“You’re going to do great, Regulus. They’re going to love you.”

“You’ll be there right?”

“Always.”

He likes to spend time mindlessly talking to you. 

Silly thoughts and deep ones. 

Philosophies and conspiracies. 

The life you want to live and the life you used to live. 

Regulus takes these conversations very seriously and he makes note of every single thing you say. 

If you want to travel, want to write, or want to experience something different he will find a way to either encourage you or make it happen for you.

There’s always a special meaning behind the things he gives you and he loves to express the meaning each time.

 Gift Giving and Words of Affirmation 

Regulus puts a lot of thought into his gifts and what you would like. 

If you want books he’ll pay attention to the genres you like, the tropes you enjoy the most, and even if you have a preference for hard cover or soft cover. 

He’ll buy the books and read them first just to make sure you’ll like them, even if you two have different tastes in genres. 

While he’s reading it he’ll keep a separate piece of paper and make note of the pages where he saw something that reminded him of you. 

If after reading it he decides to give it to you he’ll go back and bookmark little notes on those pages. 

“The way he describes beauty is the way I describe you.”

“This is the type of life I hope we share one day.”

“If I didn’t lose my train of thought every time I looked at you these are the things I would say.”

He likes to take pictures of every journey you embark on together and on your anniversary each year he’ll present them in a scrapbook to you that always has a letter on the first page. In the letter he describes how each year he falls deeper and deeper in love with you and he thanks you for being a constant figure in his life.

He likes to buy you tickets to see that artist you’ve never seen live or he’ll book a flight to take you to that country you told him you wanted to visit one day. 

He watches as your face sparkles with amazement and he smiles. 

“You deserve every ounce of happiness and I promise to dedicate my life to giving it to you.”

He voluntarily gives you everything, including full access to his heart and soul

As well as his body.

Regulus Black | Committed Lover

Regulus is very sweet in bed 

Very disrespectfully sweet

SOFT DOM | My favorite trait 

He’s so rough and yet so tender at the same time.

His hips slap against you so intensely that you wake up with bruises the next day.

He listens to you whimper while he places his hands on your waist, occasionally slowing down to let you relax as he starts to caress your sides 

“You’re doing so good, love.”

“Can I keep going? Can you take more?”

“That’s my girl.”

Regulus enjoys receiving 

When you two are intimate he spends all of his time focusing on you and your pleasure 

When you’re on your knees mouth full with his cock is the only time he’ll ever sit back and focus on himself

His mind quiets and he feels his body jolt each time you glide your tongue down his shaft.

His mouth hangs open as his moans get louder and louder as you keep going. 

And he’s so appreciative 

To experience you being so focused on his needs. Sucking him so good he feels like he’s about to pass out. 

Once he regains his composure he wastes no time in shifting the focus back on you. 

Kissing every sweet spot, eating you out, feeling your velvet folds underneath his fingertips as he circles your clit until your legs shake 

He listens to your moans and cries of pleasure and it makes him never want to stop. 

He wants to freeze time just so he can spend forever watching you as you lose yourself in his touch 

You inspire his every desire.

And you are the reason he finally feels alive.

----

Regulus brings out my soft side.

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[mcflymemes]

NOCTURNAL ANIMALS (2016) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

please don't say that. i don't want to be like my mother.

do you ever feel like your life has turned into something that you never intended?

that's a deal breaker for me.

we might be perfect for each other if we didn't live in the real world.

why do you always think the worst of me?

you're wrong. you and i are nothing alike.

i see we're settling for less now!

a package arrived for you. i found it in the mailbox this morning.

i'm sorry, but could you help me open this? i just cut my finger. paper cut.

in the end, you left me with the inspiration that i needed to write from the heart.

where were you last night?

by the time i left the office, i was late for my dinner.

it would have taken you fifteen minutes. fifteen minutes, and it would have meant a lot to me.

you didn't come to bed last night.

i didn't want to wake you up.

that doesn't sound like you.

are things a little better?

i'm surprised. i thought we were hiding it pretty well.

[name], i'm worried about you.

seriously, look at me. you scared me the last time that we talked.

i'm fine. i just can't believe i told you all of those things. i feel embarrassed about it.

what right do i have to not be happy? i have everything. i feel ungrateful not to be happy.

i think we just want different things. or maybe i want different things.

we get into things when we're young because we think they mean something.

do we really have to stop tonight? i'd rather just get there.

don't look at them. don't give them any reason.

sit still. they've probably got a gun.

don't get out of the car.

you're not supposed to leave the scene of an accident. it's a crime.

don't come any closer.

i'm a gemini, my favorite color is petal pink, and i like long walks and kittens.

you know what, we should call the police.

you got no fucking right to talk to me like that!

you'll get killed if you don't watch it.

may i use your phone?

could you see them in the dark?

i just wanted to hear your voice. i miss you.

you sound weird. are you okay?

you look beautiful as always.

would you like to have dinner?

you know, you were my first crush.

what a weird thing to say.

i'm sorry. i hope that doesn't offend you.

this is a ridiculous conversation. you're too young to get married.

oh my god, did you just say that? you really just said that? that came out of your mouth?

it's like the whole thing is a blur.

now listen. i've got to be honest with you. right now it's not looking good.

if i write it down, then it will last forever.

you know my name. i told you.

you didn't sleep again, did you?

who the hell are you? get off my property!

you'll take this the wrong way, but i think that you need to stop writing about yourself.

please don't start that again. it makes me feel like you don't believe in me.

you always get so fucking defensive about it.

i really wanted to be this person that you thought i was. i really did, but i'm just not that person.

you're wonderful and romantic, and sweet and sensitive, and all the things i'm not. life for you is kind of a dream.

weak. i'm weak. that's what you want to say. go ahead and say it. you've said it before. weak.

i'll live to regret this. i regret it now.

i got a certain pride in how people talk to me, and there are certain things i don't put up with.

nobody gets away with what you did.

may i get you a drink while you wait?

#mcflymemes #rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #inbox prompt #rp inbox meme #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #nocturnal animals