#to put it quite simply - but with feeling: FUCK!

[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

[koenigami]

➵ WRIOTHESLEY synopsis : how does one express such a strong feeling like love when someone like him is involved? wc : 1k tags : fem!reader, fluff, smut, emotional reader who is very bad with words of affirmation

you don’t get how he does it so easily. how he manages to make your heart beat faster, your face heat up, body react and get aroused. his words hold such a great power over you, especially so because he has proved to you many times that they’re not empty promises. 

wriothesley has shown you his love in all kinds of forms and ways. whether that be in your bedroom, or in more appropriate situations. 

and you’re so jealous. 

because as he keeps one hand on your ankle, with your leg perched on his shoulder, while the other is putting the slightest pressure on your abdomen - you wonder why you can’t convey your feelings to him the way that he does. directly. honestly. in the heat of the moment and without any filter. but you simply can’t. 

expressing your feelings verbally has never been your forte. and in moments like these, where your lover keeps praising you, showering you with “i love you’s” and petnames until all you can do is try not to combust, you hope that he knows that you feel the same. 

the invisible veil of embarrassment and shyness always wraps around your mouth multiple times, nearly gagging you, and preventing you from revealing all of you. inside and out. because while you’re both as naked as on the day that you were born, you still feel as if there was a thick layer coated over you that is keeping wriothesley too far away from you. 

every time his cock hits your inner most part, making your throat tighten up and your eyes roll back into your head, you’re not able to tell him how good he’s making you feel. when his hand slips lower, his thumb pressing against your wet swollen clit, jerking the little nub back and forth, you can’t tell him that you like it just like that. that only him can make your body shake like this. that you’re only at his mercy. 

you feel wriothesley’s lips on your skin. sweet and light kisses are spread along your lower calf, and the intimacy, the gentleness is making you tear up. 

having him inside you is not enough. his hands on your body are not enough. his skin against yours is not enough, because it still feels like you’re miles apart. 

“fuck, sweetheart. quit squeezing me so tight or else-” 

a quiet sob rips through the room and wriothesley’s sex dazed mind sobers up in an instant. your leg hits the mattress when he carefully drops it down, and leans over to have a look at you.

“love?” 

wriothesley’s about to stop everything at the sight of the tears trailing down your cheeks. are you in pain? did he hurt you? was it too much? 

all those questions evaporate when he sees you stretch your arms out towards him, grabby hands hovering in front of his face as you keep crying like a toddler begging to be picked up. 

“c’mere.” is all you can get out, yet it is enough for wriothesley to know what is truly going on. the empty space between you is quickly filled with warmth. with him. 

chest against chest, he lies down beside you, his still hard cock slipping out of you, as he wraps you up in the comfort of his arms. 

“i’m here. i’m here, my love.”

whether it’s your tears or snot that are wetting his neck as you nuzzle into him, he could not care less. everything about the past hour is forgotten. the heated kisses and frantic touches, as well as the moans and groans that filled your bedroom-

everything is irrelevant because no orgasm could ever satiate the need that you’re feeling right here and now. 

“wrio-”

“i know, baby. i know. i‘m not going anywhere, ‘m right here.” his hand strokes the back of your head, his fingers delicately combing through strands of your soft hair. a lopsided smile curves his lips when the arms around his middle tighten the slightest bit, and a wet kiss is pressed against the middle of his throat, right below his adam’s apple. 

what you see as a weakness, is for wriothesley one of many reasons to love you even more. you don’t need words to show him that your heart has only space for him. you don’t have to tell him how much he means to you, and how good he’s being to you when he can all discern it in the way your body’s speaking to him. you gravitate towards him as if he was your own little sun. 

his thumb swipes over your cheek when you eventually pull back to look at him. teary, doe eyes stare right into his soul. into his heart. and it’s the prettiest sight that a human being like him could have ever dreamed of. so many things have gone wrong in his life, yet so many went right, with you being his biggest blessing. 

and you prove it over and over again. because he swears that his heart has stopped beating at a normal pace ever since you stepped into his life. you have rekindled his brain. his entire being. 

“wriothesley.” your hoarse voice cuts through his thoughts, and he coos sweetly at you when you sniff and rub the corner of your eye with your palm. a kiss on your forehead, and another on the tip of your nose, and you feel like you’re holding the entire world in your arms. 

“i love you. so, so much.” you croak, cupping his cheek and feeling the light stubble along his jaw as if to distract yourself from the light shake in your hands and the overwhelming fluttering of your heart. 

“hm. i love you too.” wriothesley breathes, his hand wrapped so gently around your wrist as he guides it towards his lips, sealing his words with a final kiss on your palm. “so, so much.”

#wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wrio x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x you

[anastasiabowe]

I hope this isn't too much, but, can you write about JJK (Nanamin Toji and Choso) men and how they have a plus size girlfriend, and can you make it nsfw? It's ok if you can't! Happy Belated valentines day!💖💖

𝙏𝙤𝙤 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙚 - JJK men with plus size reader!

note: I loved writing this so much, this is one of my favorite requests! Also I'm making my way through requests for real this time💀

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨:

♡ 𝙉𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞 - The Admirer

Not another day goes by without Nanami being infatuated with you. Nanami always stops dead in his tracks when he sees you every morning dragging your feet into the kitchen, lazily smiling at him as you wiped the sleep from your eyes. He always puts whatever he was doing or eating down so he can get up and help wake you up with kisses and coffee breath.

Nanami never found anything wrong with you whenever you looked unhappy at yourself. He usually asks you what's the matter and gets shocked every time you mumble out "I'm fat." It hurts him every time you say that, knowing saying it seals it deeper into your head, making it a reality. Nanami never knew what to say when you say that but the usual "you're not fat, you're beautiful!" Which he too knows is getting old. Nanami knew nothing he said would completely erase the idea from your head since he himself is quite fit and muscular. But, he does know one way as to which helps you temporarily forget.

"Not there, Ngh! I'm sensitive there!" You squeal when he is laying on you, softly sucking on your tits. You guys didn't have much time, but he knew how to get you going fast.

"just relax baby, you know this feels good." His deep voice rung in your ears as he slowly brought his hand down to your cunt slipping it under your dress. "You're so beautiful Y/n, especially like this. You make me insane for you, absolutely psycho." He groans as he felt how wet you were. Your lips were red and wet from you biting on them. Everything felt so good, and there was nothing you wanted more than to be like this.

Nanami took his time, even though you guys had a dinner to attend, he had to slowly bring you to your high so it could crash down in the ultimate euphoric finish. He knew you were close by the increase of you squirming and pushing his shoulder with your hand so he could give your boobs a break.

"Uh uh, move your hands." He lowly commanded as his fingers inserted into you. You let out a moan gripping the back of Nanamin's head pushing him deeper into your chest.

"I-im cumming! Don't stop Kento, please don't stop!" You begged as he sped everything up. His tongue flicked your reddened nipples and his thumb circled your clit at the same time as his fingers fucked you finally pushing you over into a coma.

You let out a choked moan and Nanami chuckled as he helped you ride out your orgasm, taking his fingers from your cunt and and licked/sucked them clean.

"So fucking beautiful, fuck, it hurts just to look at you so cute and perfect for me. Too perfect for me."

♡ 𝙏𝙤𝙟𝙞 - The Fondler

Always touching you somewhere. You used to think that maybe he genuinely didn't realize how touchy he was, but you soon realized that he knows what he's doing. You guys could be simply watching a movie on a 4 seat couch, and out of those 4 seats, only 2 were taken. He would be either pulling you as close as you could into him, if he'd be laying on you.

He seemed like the type to hate clingy girls but he's the clingy one in the relationship! I mean everywhere you go, he's maybe 3 inches away, body touching yours, and hands gripping somewhere, and what I mean by somewhere, it's ass, tits, or thighs. You guys would be in Walmart and he'd have his hand in your back pant pocket, every once and a while squeezing your ass cheek. You guys could be driving home, his hand obviously on your thighs, or you could be simply reading a book in bed, and he'd be laying over you, one hand on your tits and the other holding his phone as he scrolled or watched something.

"Fucking love this ass, but you already know that though." Toji chuckled as his hips and your ass collided every 2 seconds. He loved how your ass rippled when you both made contact. He loved how he could grip you hips and squeeze the flesh on them, giving him the perfect handles to fuck you into oblivion. He knows that no matter how much he loves you and your body you will always find some reason to fucking hate yourself.

All through this fuck session, he keeps finding more things that you had said throughout the day about how much you hated your tummy, hated how wide you looked, hated your thighs and how they rubbed against each other, how much you hated how your feet hurt all the damn time. He never hated any of those, he never hated you, he never disliked any part of you, actually, how could he? You were so fine in so many different ways that even he himself gets surprised by, but he shouldn't because you are ethereal.

"Can't. Fucking. Get. Enough. Of. You." Toji said breathlessly as he now had you in the mating press. His hard chest against your soft tits felt so amazing in a weird way to him. Having your cute face so close, and your thighs wrapped around him had him cumming faster than usual.

"Sh-shit baby, I'm gonna cu-" he groaned loudly as he finished inside of you. You giggled, shocked he came this quick, but also turned on by how hot he was.

He didn't realize how much you turned him on until he really started thinking about it. Shit, now he's gonna have to work on not cumming so fast just thinking about you.

♡ 𝘾𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙤 - The Overachiever

Choso always felt like he had something to prove with you, but definitely not in a bad way. He genuinely thinks you are way out of his league. Anything you complained about, he'd be there to do it better and more efficiently. If your feet hurt, he'd give you a whole massage AND he'd wash your feet. If you didn't like how the food tasted from a fast food restaurant, he'd go back and order a new meal telling them exactly what to do and how to do it better. He wanted to praise you, wanted to be there at your every need and desire. And when I mean every need and desire, I mean every need and desire.

Choso would do everything in his power to let you know how much he loved you. If you complained about anything you didn't like about yourself, that'd be everything he worshiped until you thought differently.

So when you complained about how your tummy couldn't fit into your jeans, he'd fuck you and fondle and praise how much he loved your tummy, "Fuck, I fucking love your tummy so fucking much, love it so much I wanna see it full with my baby, fuck imagine having my baby, oh that'd be so fucking hot." Even though you knew what he was doing and how it might be corny sometimes, it still made you love yourself so much more.

On that matter, if you weighed yourself and complained how you gained a few pounds, he will strictly fuck you by either carrying you or having you sit on his face, his favorite was the latter.

"Cho baby, I can't!" You whispered as he tried to tug you down on his face.

"Yes you can, and you will. Sit on my fucking face." His usual soft and cute demeanor was shifted into a dominant commanding demeanor. You only held yourself up by the help of the headboard, not even trying to lower yourself, afraid you might hurt him.

"Chooo, I don't wanna hurt you, please can we do something else?" You cried out. You did deep down wanted to sit on his face and have him ruin you, but it'd be so embarrassing if he'd tap your leg because he felt like you were crushing him. Choso only sighed and forcefully pulled you down catching you off gaurd. His arms locked around the base of your thighs, securing you onto his face. He even pushed his face up into your cunt to get deeper. You let out a moan as you felt him instantly sucking on your clit.

"F-fuck Cho, feels so good!" He chuckled sending vibrations straight to your core. His fingers dug into your thighs as his eyes rolled back. Your hand found its way to Choso's dick, you leaned back a little and started pumping his rock hard dick. You began to feel confident that he was okay, and you could finally relax, which Choso was so happy you did. You tasted so amazing, and he felt so amazing tasting yummy, and you touching him. Soon Choso came, and you right after. Your body shook as he continued to hold you down on his face, overstimulating you both.

Choso finally released his grip, letting you get off of his face and lay beside him. He had a cute smile on his face and looked so out of it. You laughed and he looked over at you. "We need to do this more often."

#jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #nanami kento #nanami smut #Nanami x plus size reader #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji smut #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo #kamo choso #choso smut #plus size girls #requests are open

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: kissing, a little tinsy bit angsty, flirtatious banter.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10

-------------

“Why’re you putting these up anyway?” You say standing at the bottom of the ladder that John is currently stood on, installing cameras he purchased for outside your home.

“Cause i’ll have to return to work this weekend and i’d like to make sure you’re safe.” you smile to yourself at his protective nature.

“I’ve lived here for ages and nothing has ever happened.” you reassure him as he descends the ladder.

“It’s for my peace of mind.” he says quietly between the two of you in the spring air.

“Okay.” you reply as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Onto the next corner.” he says gathering the ladder, walking to the other side of the house as his tool belt clings and clangs.

—------------

“Anything you can tell me about this next mission you’re going on?” you ask as the both of you lay on the couch.

“I leave on Sunday and don't know when I'll return, that's all.” He tries to make his deep gruff voice soft it’s a cute attempt. He knew this was going to be the hard part for both of you. You want him to stay and he doesn’t want to go but duty calls.

“Mmm.” you breathe into his chest, trying to inhale him, commit his scent to memory sure it’ll linger but this is straight from the source.

“I'll call you when I can.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to bring a personal phone, that’s what Gaz told me.” you rest your chin on his chest looking up at him.

“Gaz isn’t the captain.” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Ah abuse of power is it.” You quip. 

“If that’s what it takes to reach you.” You look away not being able to contain your blush after that as if he couldn’t feel your heartbeat quicken.

He lifts your chin back up, leaning down almost straining his neck for a kiss. Of course this kiss turns into more, you move further up the couch straddling his waist you’re hungry for him, for his kisses, groans, deep inhales of air, all of it. He’s flipped the two of you over pinning you beneath him with almost half his weight.

“John, why’re you teasing me?” You whimper.

“Not teasing, takin ma time.” 

He kisses down your throat, over your pulse to your collarbone ridding you of your shirt tossing it somewhere to be picked up later. This has been a common occurrence recently thing is he won’t fuck you. No, he will do everything else and give you absolutely anything you want except well what you want. 

“John.” You say as he starts to take your pants off.

“Yeah doll?” He slows the movement of his fingers and simply rests them on your hips.

“Why- why won’t you- you know fuck me?” So you did notice.

“Well because I- I actually-“ he’s a stuttering mess for the first time since you’ve met. 

“Do you not want to?” You begin as you sit up.

“Of course I do, believe me, but I want to savor you in every single way I can, you're irresistible as you are if I have you the way I want it’s all I’ll think about whilst also trying to not get killed.” He admits while comfortingly rubbing your thigh.

“Oh, that’s actually quite hot.” You feel a little bad, I mean who are you to demand something that’s literally a part of him.

“When I’m back I promise I'll give you my cock like you so desperately want.” Well damn.

——————

“Do you guys share a room wherever these missions are?” You ask as he dices up tomatoes for your antipasto Salad. 

“Em there’s rarely time for sleep but sometimes depending where we are we do and other times we don’t. Most times there aren’t even rooms there’s tents or simply no sleep.” He answers before tossing them into the large bowl beside his cutting board as you hum in understanding.

You didn’t know he knew had to cook, well sort of. He can grill, but that’s something that you cannot. So recently he’s been showing you how to smoke and grill different meats, today is what he said was the best of them all and longest cooking time, brisket. 

“Do they snore?” You ask as he laughs at your random questions.

“Yeah actually soap snores like a fucking pig, it’s horrible.” Now it’s your turn to laugh as he nods towards the door for you to follow him outside so he can check on the meat.

“Do I snore?” you ask sheepishly. He smiles looking over his shoulder at you, your arms crossed across your chest to make up for your lack of a sweater. When he sees you this way, so comfortable and raw, hair in your face and pajamas at 6PM, it’s everything and more. 

“You do.” your eyes go wide.

“No, do I really?” you seem so genuinely concerned.

“Doll everynight i've got to spend beside you has been the deepest and best sleep of my life, if you snore I've got no idea.” 

“Thank goodness.” You sigh out as he approaches you.

“Ready to eat?” He asks brushing hair from your face. 

“Yes.” 

Dinner is more talking than eating on your behalf, you want to soak up every second with him that you can. He listens intently wishing his brain was a recording machine so he could play it back when he needed to feel sane. 

“God John that was so good.” You say half an hour after he’s already finished his meal which was also his third serving. 

“I’m glad, you always cook. I'm happy to be able to provide you with this one thing.” 

“You’ve provided me with much more than this one thing.” You say with a soft smile, it’s so sweet it nearly knocks him breathless.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You admit.

“I know, doll.” He reaches across the table for your hand holding it firmly but not tightly as he looks away.

“But I know you have too.” His eyes return to yours.

“How will I spend my days without thee John Price? What will I do?” You say it over dramatically.

“Nothing too risky I hope.” He replies, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Maybe I’ll skydive.” You tease.

“Please don’t.” 

“Can’t promise.” You joke.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs.” He said showing you the few already on his head.

“That’s exactly what I want, I love the grays.” And he loves you, but he can’t bring himself to admit it although it isn’t even something he can try to rid himself of at this point it has consumed him whole, sprouting colorful and beautiful things inside him.

“Movie time my darling up we go.” He says as he stands motioning for you to do also. 

This is something that has become ritual, dinner then movie. It’s the perfect unwinding time although sometimes most times it turns into more.

“You pick?” You say as you hand him the remote, getting comfortable at his side tucking your head beneath his big arm. 

“You’ll fall asleep half way through this.” He looks down at your already drooping eyes.

“No I won’t.” 

“You will.” He plays a show you two had begun the other week as he settles in more comfortably moving one of your legs to rest across him. 

He’s laughing unaware of just about everything as his whole body shakes, that’s until he notices you’re not and to his not so own surprise you’re passed out cold. 

——————

When you wake it’s sometime deep into the night. The tv shows its rest screen and John is sleeping. Unfortunately after a weak attempt at falling asleep you’ve decided you're no longer tired so you just lay there, hand beneath John’s shirt rising and falling with every breath he takes. The only noise to be heard is his heartbeat and the clock ticking. 

You begin to overthink the more time passes, you’ll be alone in just two days. The comfort and protection John brings you will be miles away. This warmth that fulfills your soul won’t be in your home any longer. It scares you, how much you want him around how much you love him. You wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for you or if it’s something he’s gotten used to. 

It’s overbearing, too much. You untangle yourself from him, sliding your leg over his body and onto the floor, stepping as lightly as you can onto solid ground.

You tiptoe to the kitchen and open the fridge for water. You lean against the counter before taking a sip out of the bottle breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. You’re zoned out completely so much that you don’t notice John come into the kitchen till he’s placing his hands on your hips. 

“You scared me.” You jump slightly as he offers you a sleepy smile. 

“What’re you doing awake?” 

“Can’t sleep.” You say not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asks. 

“thought you’d need as much good sleep as possible.” You say quietly, leaning your head on his chest.

“That’s not as important as you.” He rubs a firm hand onto your back pulling you close. He holds you like this for what seems like eternity and you relish in it.

“I’m going to paint for a little, please go lay back down.” He looks exhausted as you finally bring your eyes to him. 

“Come paint in my room.” He is tired but he’d rather be sleep deprived than have you anywhere but next to him. 

“What? You’re crazy, all my stuff is in the sun room.” You say with a small laugh.

“Then I’ll move it, I can’t sleep when you’re more than 5 feet away from me.” 

“Okay.” You know he won’t give up so you’ve learned to give in.

You simply watch as he picks up the heavy canvas and its easel hauling it across the house as you grab your brushes and paints and follow. 

He sets it dangerously close to his side of the bed, he even moves the nightstand over to the corner to ensure you have enough room. 

“Perfect.” He says after pulling his desk chair out of his office and over to it.

“Yeah actually it kinda is.” You smile. 

“Well, have at it.” He says giving you a firm kiss then walking over to the bed and getting comfortable. You sit in his very big but very comfortable desk chair and begin to mix colors in the small pallet that rests on your thigh.

“Goodnight.” He says pulling the chair towards him with an outstretched arm for one more kiss which you happily give. 

“Night.” 

—————

Released an hour early as a little surprise

It’s my best lol it’ll get better just getting back into my groove:)

As always love ya!!!

————-

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

#captain price x female reader #angst #john price #barry sloane #captain john price #task force 141 #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #and they were roomates series #john price x y/n #Barry Sloan

[slytherinslut0]

Mattheo Riddle with reader doing a striptease?

ok this one is fun 🤭 18+?

perhaps it’s late at night, perhaps you’ve been drinking with the boys and pansy, everyone equally as sloshed as the other. the lot of you start playing truth or dare, and inevitably you get hit with a dare to do a striptease.

now, you were given the option to keep your top or bottoms on, should you feel more comfortable that way, but with the liquor coursing through your system and your newfound motivation, you couldn’t really give two fucks.

you and mattheo had been in this tension filled back and forth for quite some time, everyone knows the two of you have been messing around, though the stubborn arse doesn’t seem to wanna’ put aside his goddamn pride and admit that he wants you, exclusively.

you knew this was your perfect chance.

accepting the dare you stand up, somehow managing to swallow your laughter as you lock eyes with mattheo, his brooding browns glued to you with a clear challenge as he’s thinking to himself there’s no goddamn way she’s going to actually do this. strip in front of all your friends? no way.

oh, mattheo. you foolish fuck.

you know damn well that mattheo is the possessive type, but strangely enough he isn’t protesting this. he’s just simply watching you. you know this is just as much a dare from him as it is from the group. a dare to test him. a dare to play with fire. to fuck around and find out.

unfortunately for you, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, holding his stare and start by reaching behind your head to slowly let your hair out of your ponytail, allowing its length to sway as it falls and cascades around your face. you notice mattheo’s eye twitch, almost imperceptibly, before he begins adjusting his seated stance slightly, manspreading his legs just a little bit wider.

you choke back a giggle. though you know he noticed.

for a brief second you let your eyes traverse the room, glimpsing enzo and theo and blaise, all hawk eyes and parted lips, not wanting to miss a goddamn thing. you don’t feel too much about this as you know they’ve all seen you dozens of times in a bikini while swimming or tanning--underwear and bra really wasn’t much different. was it?

regathering your focus you shake off the thoughts of potential implications as your hands move to the base of your jumper, fingertips tracing the edge before slowly peeling it up your torso, the draft of the cool room igniting goosebumps on your skin. you pull it up further, spinning around to show them your backside as you tug it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor at your feet.

pansy whistles, giggling and urging you on as you sway your hips slightly to the faint hum of music playing in the background, undeniably lost in the fun of it all as the other boys cheer you on, too, clapping and howling in an absurd way to pump you up. at this point, you’re in damn near hysteria from laughing so hard.

collecting yourself, you tease the band of your leggings while bending at the hips, peering over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of mattheo’s expressions as you begin to slowly peel them down your thighs, your ass in clear view.

mattheo looks like a fucking trainwreck, his hair tousled like his hand had plowed through it, his knuckles pale from gripping his cup so hard you were almost certain it was about to shatter within his palm. his jaw was clenched, so tight it almost looked painful, his eyes the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. you couldn’t tell if he was enjoying this, or utterly fucking hating it.

and as though he could read your mind, it was but a mere few seconds later before he gave you the answer.

you got your leggings about half way down your thighs when he stood up abruptly, interrupting the show and standing behind you to block your ass from the view of the other guys. when they all started grumbling and asking him wtf he was doing, he’d simply tell them to shut up and pick their jaws off the floor before they catch flies.

he’d yank your leggings back up, his lips pressed to your ear as he’d growl. “you win, you little fucking brat.”

you’d shrug, pretending you have no damn idea what he’s on about, and he’d reply with a calm, “yeah whatever you say princess, now let’s go back to my dorm so you can do this again for me in private.”

#i wrote this in five minutes i’m sorry if it’s sucks #probably some spelling mistakes too #mattheoriddle #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo #slytherin boys #theodore nott #lorenzozurzolo #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheosmut #mattheoriddlesmut #mattheo smut #mattheo x you #blaisezabini #blaise zabini #harry potter #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #theodorenott #enzo berkshire

[obsessedwithceleste]

Mattheo Riddle Headcannons

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Being the son of the Dark Lord is no easy task. Obviously.

Growing up, Mattheo had very limited contact with other people, which stunts his social skills a lot, especially with his peers

Once he breaks out and has the ability to meet other people, he's 100% an extrovert because he feels like he has to make up for everything that he missed out on

Growing up alone though made him very independent and self sufficient

Lots of trust issues, lots of abandonment issues

But he's also very bad at picking up on social cues, and reading other people's emotions

He grew up being outwardly judged by everyone around him, which caused him to develop a sort of apathetic attitude as a buffer

This gives him a sense of freedom because if he doesn't care about other's opinions, he can do whatever he wants, they'll judge him either way, so why not do what makes him happy

Mattheo also has a deep internal rage

Like, level 11 out of 10 on the scale of anger issues

He bottles up all his emotions and frustration with the world, often lashing out and exploding at the smallest triggers

His frustration mostly stems from the fact that it's not fair that he's suffering for the actions of his father. Because at the end of the day, he's still innocent in all of it

This is also why he's particularly spiteful and disdainful of authoritarian figures

He simply doesn't owe them anything

At Hogwarts it's hard for him at first. It's pretty clear that he didn't have much of a childhood and that he was forced to grow up much too fast

And once again, he finds himself being judged by everyone, so nothing new

His biggest pet peeve is when someone complains about a minor "tragedy" from their childhood, because he's absolutely certain that he had it worse

Lowkey victim complex™️

He's able to eventually bond closely with Theodore Nott, sharing a lot of similar childhood trauma (we <3 trauma bonding) and surprisingly Lorenzo Berkshire who shares his fuck-all mentality

Many assume that he's a malicious bully, based solely on his last name, but he's really more of a chaos instigator

He rebels against authority and stands up for what he might find to be an injustice, but he'd never go after someone without cause

Hogwarts is one of the first places he's able to truly act his age

He joins the Slytherin quidditch team,

He's a beater (which is kind of therapeutic as it allows him to let out a lot of his anger)

Often skives off of class,

He's not book smart like Theo, but makes up for it with street smarts

And likes to pull Theo into the fray simply because he can

This is also how he gets his reputation for frequently sleeping around to put it nicely

Mattheo grew up with a distinct lack of affection from those around him which causes him to search out any hint of it that he can find

He doesn't really use girls per se, he just doesn't quite understand the concept of love

But when Mattheo falls, he falls hard

The first time he catches feelings, he's absolutely terrified that he's under the influence of a love potion

Very confused, very upset, and denies it to the ends of the Earth

But once he comes around, he's all in

He doesn't like to think of himself as jealous, just territorial.

Jealousy is when something isn't yours and you want it. But you belong to him, and he'll be damned if he doesn't defend his territory

He also isn't shy at all when it comes to PDA, simply because he wants everyone to know what's his

Definitely love bombs, but he doesn't know what that means

Won't bat an eye before hexing someone for looking at you too long (will act innocent and pretend it wasn't him)

Honestly probably would not be the best partner initially because he's so used to being independent

And would likely try to hide a lot of his anger and emotions from you because his biggest fear would be being judged by someone he loves

It would take a lot of time and effort to work through, but Mattheo would be willing to put in the work because he's determined to have the one thing his father never could

#slytherin boys #slytherin #matteo riddle #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle headcanons #harry potter universe #my boy desperately needs therapy

[gojoath]

ಣ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ YOU SAID FOREVER, OKKOTSU YŪTA

yūta’s never been one to back down easily. especially not after you told him you’d be together forever. soulmates. you can’t expect him to just let you go.

summary. fem reader. yandere yūta. ex-boyfriend yūta. obsession. manipulation. stalking. yandere themes. dubcon. exhibitonism. dry humping / grinding. breath play - he puts his hand over your mouth. alcohol mention. previous fwb mention (not yūta). aged up characters. wc, 4.9k.

note. repost, the first yandere yūta fic i posted :)

this was not your preferred way to get over a failed relationship.

you grumble to yourself as you rest in the kitchen of the party your friend maki dragged you to— you know she meant well, opting to get you out of the house rather than letting you sit alone feeling sorry for yourself. but honestly, at this point you don’t know what you’d prefer.

the atmosphere in here is buzzing, full of intoxicated bodies with red plastic cups in their hands and loud music blasting through the halls of the house. the liquid in your own cup is a little questionably coloured— something maki had mixed, although bartending was never her strong suit— but you still grit your teeth before bringing it up to your lips and knocking it back anyway.

the concoction hits your taste buds immediately and you try not to gag as you swallow it quickly— feeling the burn set fire to your throat. you cringe at the drink, but honestly you need to loosen up somehow.

it’s not that you were heartbroken over your situationship, he had simply been something to pass the time. he was handsome enough, a good fuck and a decent guy— he helped you forget, which was really the main focus and reason behind spending so much time in his presence. but you still think it’s annoying that he just disappeared without a trace, not even shooting a quick text like hey, thanks for sucking my dick so many times, it’s been fun. 

you find yourself rolling your eyes again, before you’re pulling your phone out of your back pocket to check the notifications, huffing when it comes up empty apart from a few instagram story updates and spam emails.

now you’re alone, you’re only stuck with the memories you try hard to swallow down, they still sting a little— ache across your chest and you find yourself shaking your head side to side like it’ll rid you of them, even just for a few hours.

“hey, quit feeling sorry for yourself! you gonna mope around all night?” you’re thankfully snapped from your own thoughts when maki wraps her arm around your shoulder, letting a fair amount of her weight lean on top of you until you’re both stumbling slightly. but she manages to steady you as she sends you a frown.

“i am not moping.”

“you’re totally moping.” your bestfriend sighs before she takes another swig of the drink that’s currently swaying a little too much in her other hand, and you’re glad that she’s atleast strong enough to keep you both upright despite being the one about to take you down.

“loosen up a bit, relax~ he’s just a guy.” she tries again, but you can’t help the way your body seems to stiffen with her statement, she feels it too,

“it’s not about the guy.” but still you’re quick to reply, brushing it off as you let your eyes roll slowly over the crowd of people shoved around the kitchen island. a lot of them pre-occupying themselves with different things such as raiding the fridge, setting up beer pong and—

“it’s not about that guy, but it’s about a guy.” maki’s words are matter a fact and you know she’s right despite the way you wish she wasn’t. it’s not about your failed situationship but the one that came before that, the one you’re trying to forget. you shoot your bestfriend a glare, and she pulls her arm back from its place over you before she’s squeezing at your shoulder, sending you a reassuring grin as she backs off.

“gotcha, let me grab you another drink. stay put.” she knows you better than anyone.

it only takes a few minutes before you begin to finally feel the affects of your last drink, you’re not quite where you want to be yet but you feel a little hazy— a little softer as you let yourself float around the room in your own blissful trance.

although you can’t help but feel like someone’s eyes are on you, feeling goosebumps burst along your skin every so often— like when you almost bump into someone or you’re helped by a stranger when you stumble. their hands will be on your skin to steady you but your gut is screaming for you to look over your shoulder, but there’s never anyone there when you do— not paying enough attention to you atleast.

maybe the alcohol is just making you paranoid. 

you find yourself fading in and out of conversations, not really absorbing any information as you sway from your place between panda and inumaki. they’re talking about something you can barely make out, a little too enthusiastically as your eyes scan the room again— wondering where the hell maki is with your other drink.

inumaki moves slightly, waving at someone from across the room and you can’t help the way your gaze follows the movement— blinking slowly until you feel something twist in your gut. you catch a glance at a familiar looking figure, hair pushed back into a relaxed sort of style and a gaze that feels like it cuts through you.

it can’t be, right?

you don’t cast it a second glance to check when it makes you stumble back, because you already find yourself pushing your way out of the room as it suddenly becomes a little harder to breathe.

it’s warm and stuffy, sweaty bodies cramped together in the hallway but you’re drowsy and most likely hallucinatingat this point, atleast that’s what you’ve convinced yourself as you round the corner. you’d make your way to the bathroom, but when you see a considerable amount of people already queued up and looking like they’ve been waiting too long already, you opt to push your way into the backyard instead.

you're thankful for the decision, when you finally push your way into the dimly lit garden— sighing when you feel the cool air roll over your shoulders in waves and it has you taking in a deep inhale.

it’s quieter out here, the music is more of a faint sound that only fades even more as you take a few steps deeper onto the grass— letting yourself bask in the glow from the moon and the fresh air. the backyard wasn’t big, it was only littered with a few plant pots and a single bench— there was a corner to the side that led to the gate and the back entrance to the house, and plot of grass in the middle.

but it was small enough for people to very rarely want to come out here, especially at a party and you’re pretty sure the smokers have opted for out the front when you hear the faint chatter of voices over the fence.

you like this though. another slow breeze pushes through you and despite the haze of your mind, you let your head fall back as you sway with it, letting your eyes rest closed. you almost forget about the whole reason you were seeking the outdoors in the first place,

almost, because it’s only a few beats later when your peaceful alone time is interrupted by the soft sound of the back door closing behind you. your eyes are suddenly wide open despite the way you don’t dare to look behind you just yet.

you find yourself listening, intently— hoping that maybe it was just that same breeze that was to blame for it. maybe some drunk party-goer stumbled into it and didn’t realise you were out here, it was dark after all. yeah, you were just being paranoid. so you let yourself exhale the breath you didn’t even realise you were holding before you perk up and go to turn again.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” the words are low, but they take a soft sort of lull that makes your movements halt mid turn. your eyes are wide and something familiar to a shiver seems to race it’s way down your spine before you’re easing your head in the direction of the sound.

“you know why that is, okkotsu.” your words come out a little harsher than you intend them to, and you watch the way your ex boyfriend picks up on that too as he shuffles on his feet. his brows furrow and he bites on the inside of his cheek as he looks away from your gaze.

okkotsu yuuta was your ex boyfriend and the reason you were even in that stupid situationship in the first place. he was overbearing and protective, to the point where you couldn’t even go on a study date with a classmate without him bumping into your boyfriend in the library and suddenly they’re requesting a new project partner. everyplace you ever went to without him, he always seemed to end up there anyway.

although if you asked him, he would deny that you guys were broken up in the first place. he would always rather say that you just needed some space, you just needed a little time to relax but you’ll come back to him because you said you were soulmates afterall. why wouldn’t you? 

which is why, yes you’d been trying to avoid yuuta— tryingbecause he always still managed to find his way to every, single party you attended anyway, insisting that he was there for you, because he’s your date. you’d been avoiding this confrontation since the last one, and the one before that. you’d changed your phone number, but he knew your schedule, he knew the places you visited on your days off and the places he could find you because he knew you.

“baby, please don’t call me that.” his voice is tender as he takes a careful step into your space but he stops immediately when you meet him with a step back.

“i thought you’d be happy to see me. i’m here for you.” yuuta speaks again but he emphasises the way he says it’s all for you. like you’re making him act this way, it’s yourfault. you take another step away from him as you frown, opting to walk around the side of the house as you head towards the gate— you weren’t doing this right now. not tonight when you don’t have a clear mind.

you hear him call out a don’t leave as you retreat away from him, but it was always unnerving how quickly he seemed to move— feeling his hand wrap tightly around your wrist before your back is almost slammed against the brick wall of the house and he’s looming over you.

you hiss at the slight, sharp sting of pain you feel up your body at the impact and you hear yuuta gasp at the sound before his hands are reaching over you with a “sorry. i didn’t want you to leave me again.” but you’re quick to slap away his other hand when it reaches for your face aswell, earning you a pitiful, puppy eyed look.

“i’m not doing this tonight.” you try to argue, trying to shake his grip off your wrist but it’s tight, and you feel suddenly too warm underneath his stare as his lidded gaze crawls over your features. he leans into you, his free arm that’s now just resting in the air between you opting to rest against the wall instead as he keeps you caged beneath him. he’s close enough for you to smell the faint, familiar scent of his cologne.

“is it because of that guy?” yuuta asks, softly, like he’s sympathising with you— like it’s a touchy topic that he doesn’t want to bring up but it’s a question that fills you with unease when you finally find it in yourself to lift your eyes to meet his.

“what?” your words come out slowly, hesitantly and the dark haired male over you looks away as your gaze narrows, “how do you know about that?”

“hey, it’s fine. i don’t blame you.” a soft reply, like a lover consoling another— like he’s about to wrap you in his embrace and keep you there, but the smile he’s wearing is a little too happy for the subject. his eyes close with the close lipped grin as his hand squeezes around your wrist. like a reassurance— a reminder that he’s got you there. you can’t go anywhere else.

“you’re safe now. i got rid of him, we can be together again.” yuuta hums, like he’s being careful with his words— although he can still hear the way your breathing picks up. maybe if he leaned in a little closer he’d be able to hear your heartbeat, he wonders if it beats for only him. would you let him have it if he asked? he lets his hand against the wall fall slightly, resting on your arm as he strokes at the skin but the stare you’re giving him now is cold as he tries to soothe you with his touch.

“it was you?” your words are deliberately harsher now, sharper as you try to pull yourself from his touch but despite his appearance he was stronger than you’d expect. he doesn’t have any trouble holding you there as he tries to shush you, casting a few quick looks over to the gate to make sure you’ve not caught the attention of the people on the other end. it’s quieter now than it was when you first came out.

“he was in the way of our love.” this was okkotsu yuuta. he still remembers how upset he felt seeing you with that other guy, laughing and smiling so prettily when it’s only supposed to be for him. it was your fault. it wasn’t hard, he didn’t have to hurt him too much before he decided to give you up— to give you back, you deserve someone better than that. someone who would give up his life to keep you, and you have him for that already. you don’t need anyoneelse.

although he still had to teach him the consequences of touching what’s his. he’d do it as many times as he had to. they don’t stand a chance against him.

“i’m all yours remember. all of me. that means you belong to me too, doesn’t it? we’ll be together forever.” it’s unnerving how honest yuuta’s words sound, there’s no waver to them and his dark, lidded gaze is sharp as it holds yours. “you promised.” he brings your hand up to his cheek as he presses your fingertips into his skin, leaning into the touch but your fingers don’t stroke softly like they usually do. they’re rigged, stiff while your hand falls limp in his hold. you stare at him, and it makes him shift uncomfortably opposite you as he takes a loud swallow.

you can’t deny you feel scared, bile turning in your gut as you begin to blink a little more with your exhales but he picks up on that.

“i missed you.” yuuta tries again as his hands squeeze at your skin— his fingers around your wrist loosen slightly, but only so he can try to intertwine them with your own. he presses his chest into yours, pushing you harder against the brick behind you and you try to push yourself back against him as you huff.

“yuuta, stop it! are you crazy?” you try to argue because you’re mad at him, try to push against his chest but you can already feel the way his lips are grazing along your jawline, nibbling at the skin. his fingertips cold as they push underneath the hem of your shirt to touch your bare skin.

“sorry, it’s been so.. so long.” you shudder as yuuta breathes his words along the nerves in your neck next, fidgeting beneath him as he knocks your legs apart with one of his— pressing his hips into the space that’s left behind after, before they’re grinding into yours.

you’re breathing deep but yuuta’s panting into you like a dog as he ruts you into the brick behind you, it almost hurts with how it grazes along the bare skin he reveals. his hands are everywhere and you feel too hot for your skin, feeling the same bile rise in your throat as your eyes squeeze closed.

“please.” he gasps again, but the soft, pathetic little plea is cut off by the slam of the back door as you watch it illuminate the light around the corner. you feel the tension in your shoulders relax as you hear maki call for you, seeing what you would assume is her shadow fall out of the doorway a few moments later. it’s almost too eager, the way your arm shakes free to reach out, just as your mouth drops open to call back.

but just as your lips part, you feel the hard press of yuuta’s palm across your mouth— so fast and precise it almost knocks the air out of you as your head whips towards him.

“please. don’t.” he grits and you’re pretty sure if his hips weren’t pressing you into the wall right now your legs would’ve buckled entirely with the way they’re trembling. there was a few instances where he got like this, it was like a switch flipped and some dark aura that he kept wrapped away inside of him pushed its way to the surface. his lidded gaze feels like it cuts through you and you can barely breathe with how tight his grip on your mouth is as the veins in his hands bulge.

you feel yuuta press into you again, and you can feel how hard he is through the fabric of his slacks— accompanied by the flush of his cheeks as he suddenly avoids your gaze. he trembles over you, quietly grazing the blunt head of his cock between your legs but your eyes are still on the shadow of your bestfriend as she calls out another time.

your fingertips tremble as they reach out but your ex-boyfriend is quick to take them back in his own before you let them drop by your side again. your vision blurs with tears as you hear maki spit out a slurred curse before stomping back into the house, slamming the door closed just as loudly again before you’re wrapped back up in the shadows like you were before.

you feel lightheaded as yuuta’s fingers dip almost painfully into your skin, accompanied by the way you’re only left to breathe out of your nose right now because his palm is still tight over your lips. you try to speak, but it’s lost behind his grip and he’s so flushed and needy, he can barely hear you as he rolls his hips into yours once more— pulling a soft, dreamy whine from his lips that you cant deny makes something twist in your gut.

“i’m.. im sorry, ive just missed you.” he shivers over you as his thighs tremble at the feeling of your hips sliding along his. the look he gives you is lidded and dazed, clouded with lust as he pulls your hips up towards him, and you can’t help the whimper that would slip from your lips as he angles himself against your clit. you’re suddenly thankful that the sound goes lost behind his palm instead.

it’s insane the way yuuta moves you, dragging you along his own body as he takes control of you— making your body clap almost painfully against the wall behind you both. but you can’t deny how pretty he looks with his lower lip sucked between his teeth, his dark bangs falling slightly over his gaze as he blinks up at you.

his movements are messy and eager, like he’s trying to prove how much he’s missed you— how much he’s lovesyou in his movements. like all of those threats were acceptable, he really was just looking out for you and with every graze of his shaft along your clothed clit you consider forgetting about them entirely.

you did love him afterall, the chemistry was there— it’s evident in the way the feeling of yuuta’s body against yours is making the space where you both take a breath spin. maybe that’s why you’d been avoiding him, because you know you’d go crawling back as soon as you felt his touch, as soon as you heard his soft pants fall from his lips. that’s the reason, right? 

your mind and willpower melting away with every quick shockwave of pleasure his thrusts send through you.

“shhhh, i know what you need. i always do, i’ve got you.” his lips trail spit along your cheeks as he drools against you, whimpering against your skin and it’s almost instinct the way your arms finally relax— instead easing their way to his chest to twist at the fabric of his shirt.

yuuta gives you a look as he inspects you, slowing down his needy grinds to a slow, seamless crawl— like he’s making sure you’re not trying to trick him before he finally releases his palm from your mouth. your lips part as you take a much needed breath, but your gaze is lidded and blown when it meets his, and suddenly his palms are resting on your cheeks as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“b-baby,” he gasps as he grabs at you, tongue pressing past the seal of your lips to graze against your own— messy and lewd, like a sweet little welcome home as his hips ruthlessly rut into yours. the push of your mouth makes him whine, his palms clammy against your skin as he drinks up every sinful swirl of your hips you offer him.

you’ve become so lost in your pleasure, your fingers move to twist in his hair and you feel yuuta moan softly at the sting before his jaw tightens. his hips continuing to move in sync with yours as a low, slurred praise pours from his lips like honey. he feels so lost in the familiar, silky grind of your clothed pussy. “feel—feels so good.”

“all mine.” follows after before he curses under his breath and you can barely hear him with the ringing in your ears. he’s rutting into you almost too desperately, you can almost feel every detail of his cock through the thin fabric separating you both as he mumbles messily against your lips, insanity intertwining with his lust. “you belong to me.”

“yuuta~ah!” you moan, so prettily that it makes yuuta’s pace stutter before he’s grabbing at your thigh to hike it up higher, to perfect the angle so you can feel him rub right between your clothed folds. he can almost feel you, his mind swirling with the thought of finally sinking into your warm pussy again— finally claiming back what’s his after you kept it from him for so long.

“i love you.” his mind and senses blur as he pushes love confessions between your lips, promises and threats that go unheard as you lose yourself in the pleasure between your thighs. “don’t leave me again. i won’t let you.” he gasps again, and you know he’s close when he pulls away to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

the press of your panties against you feels damp and if it wasn’t for yuuta holding you upright you’d have collapsed entirely as you hold onto him for stability. your breathing is ragged but you’re just as fucked out as he is, trying to meet each of his needy thrusts with mindless little humps of your own as you both near your orgasms.

“t-tell me, please.” your ex boyfriend trembles as your body claps against his, desperate hands clawing at your bare skin as you feel the shaft of his cock throb against you— begging just as much as he is with every breathless plea he buries into your throat. “please, i need it. i’m gonna—“

“i love you, yuuta.” you moan, it’s whispery and choked off just as he angles his hips exactly where you need him too, and it’s enough to have yuuta curling over you as the words ring true in his ears. it’s instantaneous the way his orgasm feels like it rips through him, his hips jerking and twitching into you as he babbles out slurred and whimpered thank yous, and his fingernails dig so tight into your skin you’re sure they’ll bruise.

he continues to roll his hips into yours, prolonging his blissful state because you’re whimpering his name, grabbing at him as you chase your own high— grinding into the mess he’s made in his pants and it only takes a few more presses onto your puffy clit before you’re going rigid.

your lips part, but yuuta’s quick to meet them with his own as he swallows up your moans— keeping them for himself as he holds you steady through your orgasm. your high hits you so hard and good your toes almost ache with how tight they curl, insides begging to be filled as you pull at the man infront of you’s dark roots and he whines into your mouth.

it’s greedy, the way you both ride out your highs until you’re a mess of limbs and agonised moans. your kiss is prolonged until it’s lewd and messy, pulling away with a string of drool despite the way your still ex boyfriends grip is as tight on you as it was when you started. he won’t let you get away from him again.

although with your dwindling pleasure and lust, you realise the weight of what you just did when you feel yuuta’s eyes on you— gazing down at you all fatuous and adoring. you clear your throat slightly as you try to move, feeling the ache in your spine from where you’ve been pressed against the hard surface but he’s quick to let his hands graze up the skin— smoothing out the area like it’ll help at all.

although the touch makes you shudder more than anything. 

“i have to go change. let’s go.” yuuta mumbles softly before his hand is intertwining with yours again, and you’re so aware of how tight his hold on you is that you know you’d have no chance to shrug him off. your lips part again, like you’re going to object and he looks at you— something a little dark twisting in his expression and it’s enough for you to suddenly forget how to speak.

another beat and he leans into press a kiss to your forehead, a whisper of a smile on his features before he’s pressing another to your lips after and sending you a soft, kind smile.

“i won’t let you leave me again.” and the confession makes your body betray you— maybe as a means of survival as you take a step in his direction on shaky legs to follow behind him,

“okay.”

love was like a curse afterall.

© gojoath. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

#cw yandere #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #okkotsu yuta smut #okkotsu yuuta smut #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuta x you #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #cw dubcon

[starwarsbian]

can you feel my heart?

listened to can you feel my heart by bring me the horizon the entire time

p in v, fingering, finger sucking,,leather? pet names, established relationship, emo boy anakin, modern au

tw cw: rough sex, knife play mention, gun play mention, breeding if you squint, impact play, degrading, pussy slapping dick piercing, he calls you his bitch Sorry LOL…

a/n: i would luv to write a part two LOL this is my first time like publically posting smth i wrote be nice to me i also refuse to use capitalization just read it anyway it is also not proofread! at all

anakin pulls up right outside your house in his shitty beater car, and you expect nothing less from him. he looks quite scary to other people, you think, and he is kind of an asshole but he makes up for it.

you get in the car and watch as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth swearing under his breath over how good you look—he’s obsessed. his lip piercing catching on his own teeth he says “fuck, you look good.. always look so fucking good.”

you have no real plans for the day you just needed to see him. you blush and flash him a smile. “thanks, ani. i’m happy to see you. give me a kiss?”

he doesn’t wait a moment to pull you closer to him inside the car and press your lips together. “happy to see you too, baby..what did you want to do?”

“let’s go back to your place, yeah? i have something i want to show you…”

“what? what do you have to show me?”

you shake your head. “not yet, anakin. get me alone.”

“fine, brat.”

anakin pulls out of your driveway and winds down just the few streets that separate your houses. he throws the car into park and all but rips you out of the car. he pulls you into the house by the hand before immediately pinning you against the door as soon as it closes.

“what was that, baby? about showing me something?” he slams his lips into yours again and winds his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck. he tugs and it sends your head tilting back, exposing your throat.

he starts with kisses and that quickly turns to sucking and then that turns into biting.

he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder and squeezes your left breast; pinching your nipple through your bralette.

“yeah…i do. take my shirt and skirt off, ani.”

and he does, maybe too fast for his liking. he kicks himself metaphorically for not taking more time but as his attention comes back to the present his breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you wearing a lacey black bralette with matching panties and..bands of leather wrapped around your plush thighs. you purposely put them on in a way where your flesh bulges just a little between the gaps. they’re simply decorative and don’t specifically serve a purpose for you but a dirty, dirty thought goes through anakins head.

“jesus christ. jesus. fucking. christ. get to the bedroom, now,” anakin growls.

you throw yourself down onto his bed and wait for him to come press his body on top of yours but he doesn’t. instead he fucks around with his phone, making you feel ignored and pout.

“ani, i put this on for you. what are you doing?”

“fuck, baby. just wait a second. i’m going to absolutely ruin you and as much as i’d love for the neighbors to hear me fucking wreck you..i think you’d prefer if they didn’t? or do you not want me to play music?”

you’d rather him do everything he wants to you without worrying about sound. “play the music, anakin.”

he presses play and can you feel my heart starts. anakin takes his shirt off in that way that guys do where they reach behind themselves to grab the back of their shirt— yknow that way. his shoulders and arms are your obsession, honestly and the movement is delightful to watch.

he pounces on the bed and grabs you by the waist, pulling you up to meet his kiss. his very hard, messy, fast kiss. it’s seconds before his hands snake down your body, sliding his fingers under the straps on your thighs before hiking you up onto his lap. resting against his cock. anakin uses the straps to push you back and forth on top of him. the friction makes him stutter and his eyes are low with need.

“you put these on for me to grab? you thought id like to see you dressed like a slut..with special little handles for me to hold while i wreck you.”

“yes-yes ani. this is what i wanted.”

he slaps your cunt. a first for you and him but the pathetic look on your face made it clear you planned to tease him. anakin doesn’t like to be teased. he owns you and he doesn’t need to play games about it.

“i’m gonna hold them and fuck you then. pull you hard back against my cock and listen to you scream.”

his hand slides down your front pressing his fingers against your clothed clit. a moan escapes your mouth..anakin holds the left side of your face and pauses to ask, “is this okay? can this be rough? can i slap you around like a whore..”

“fuck, yes. hit me anakin. please, baby. fucking smack me. hurt me”

a huge grin spreads across his face as he pulls back his right hand and slaps you straight across the face. once..twice..three times. your eyes water and your cunt throbs…feeling your heartbeat in two places.

“you’re such a fucking slut. what kind of whore calls her boyfriend to come get her just to be smacked around and fucking used. that’s what i’m going to do. i’m going to use you.”

shivers are sent up your spine at the sound of his words. you love when he talks to you like this. anakin tears off your matching set with absolutely no regard to what you want to do with it. the song continues in the background and you let yourself moan at his eagerness and disregard.

“please, anakin. i want you to use me. that’s what i’m for.”

he slaps your cunt again and you buck your hips towards him as he grinds his thumb down a little too hard on your clit and leans down to pant in your ear.

anakin unbottons his black jeans and kicks them off while you watch, mesmerized by the outline of his hard cock in his boxers. his expression hardens even more and he smirks as you reach out, hoping he’d let you touch him.

“come here, then, darling. come touch it.”

you’ve done this with anakin before but your breathing is still shaking and your hands tremble as they pull down his boxers. he’s so hard..his tip weeping and bordering on purple..the shiny barbell through his cock still takes your breath away. you rub your thumb across the tip and hear anakin hiss.

“i just want to fuck you, don’t worry about me. lay down and spread your legs.”

you do as he says and you expect him to go in the direction of preparing you to take him but instead he kisses and bites your thighs. he sucks and takes his time working you up. your cunt is dripping right in front of him.

“you look so pretty..your cunt looks so fucking pretty, angel. god, you drive me fucking insane. i don’t know how i control myself most of the time. i think of the dirtiest things to do to you, baby and you don’t even know.”

“like what anakin? show me..let me feel it.”

anakin scoffs and laughs at you. “i don’t know, baby. i don’t want to hurt you if you don’t want to be hurt. you know i love you? right?”

“fuck, anakin. yea i know. i love you i want you to ruin me. do it now im tired of asking.”

something inside him breaks. he grabs your hips bruisingly hard and spits in your face.

“who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, slut? because i know it can’t be me. say you’re sorry. now.”

you shake your head…knowing it’s going to piss him off even more.

“no? what do you mean no? did you fucking hear me,” he growls at you before supporting the side of your face with his hand and smacking you scarily hard. he wraps his hands around your throat, only squeezing the sides. he doesn’t actually want to hurt you; not like that.

“you’re my bitch. i’m going to take you like you’re my bitch,” his voice softens “your safe word is flower. don’t hesitate to tell me if it’s too much, okay? i still want to take care of you and i swear i’m going to make you feel good.”

you blush and nod as he moves his hand up towards your face again..you flinch; fully expecting him to slap you again, but he doesn’t. he wants you to open your mouth and suck on his fingers.

anakin fucks your throat with them, rings and all. you choke on the metallic taste and stare at him with glassy eyes as you do what he expects.

“mmm..m gonna fuck you with these. roll over. darling.”

you roll onto your tummy and feel anakins hands glide up and down your thighs and ass. he teases and touches your slit..

“awe baby…she’s crying for me do you feel that? wants me so bad…,” as he spreads your lips enough to see you’re aching hole and pretty little clit. he pinches it…twisting between his fingers just a little. he stops and slaps your cunt again before splitting you open with two fingers without a warning.

you gasp and force your hips back towards the intrusion; sending anakin even further into you than he was planning. “well baby..since you insist,” he chuckles.

anakin begins to finger you at a devastating pace and angle. the feeling of you on his hand is almost as good as on his cock. he loves to feel you clench and see you whine when he purposely strokes your g-spot. he speeds up: massaging and prodding the soft spot inside you while you moan and desperately try to get him to kiss you.

he grabs the straps around your thighs and lifts you onto his lap. “grind on me, babe. feel how hard i am for you.”

“ani…i want you. i want your cock. come on stop teasing.”

“nothing is ever good enough for you huh? you’re so fucking pathetic and needy. come here.”

anakin lines himself up with your weeping hole and forces himself all the way in. he presses on your lower stomach and bites your shoulder.

“you look so beautiful. stay still for me.”

anakin holds you a few inches above his lap before he starts to thrust up into you. you drip further down his cock and he can’t help but stuff you full as soon as possible.

“i wanna fucking hurt you..i want to cut you. sweetheart…i wanna hold a knife to your pretty little throat or better yet? a gun to your head. letting you suck my cock shaking with fear ‘ani!! no! please don’t hurt me’ but really all i want is to fuck your throat while you’re so scared you’re Soaked.”

your heart races and you nod rapidly, unable to even get words out of your mouth.

anakin pushes harder into you and feels you throb around him..your clit aches for his fingertips. he tells you to turn around; his cock inside you but with your back pressed against his chest. he continues to fuck up into you and wraps his hand around your throat..hard enough to feel your pulse.

“i can feel your heart pounding. you like this? you like when your boyfriend says dirty things to you and fills you to the brim with cock? you’re so excited, huh?”

his grin can be felt against your shoulder while he reaches to your front. using his center two fingers he does small quick circles on top of your clit. “i can feel your heart here too, love.”

heat spreads across your entire body as you give in completely to whatever anakin wants from you.

this is for u bae @jjjajjaahhahahaha

#Spotify #star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #emo boy anakin #modern au #star wars smut #this was self indulgent #i’m a lesbian but hc has me by the throat

[siscon-stsg]

(CW: incest, clingy big bro sugu, pussydrunk sugu, he's actually quite sweet in this one. nudes, risky sex cuz i mean gugu your fucking parents??? mentions of fingering, oral sex (f receiving), hickeys, body worship, tender sex, mentions of unprotected sex but no i actually put a condom in this one!! wows miracle!!)

not a rq i'm sorry i'm just such a slut for BIGBRO!SUGU idk why this man has such a chokehold on me but it's fucking real guys. ~BLOSSOM

BIGBRO!SUGU who has a free weekend each month from jujutsu high, and he usually spends it at home with his parents and you.

BIGBRO!SUGU who's super clingy and needy during that weekend. the nudes and videos and audios you send each other are just not enough lil sis, and when he can get his hands on the real thing, fuck he's just lost.

BIGBRO!SUGU who makes out with you for what feels like a whole day. always finding little moments to pull you in by the hips, press you against the wall or the counter or his desk or the bathroom door. his lips on yours and his tongue twirling and twisting until you whine.

BIGBRO!SUGU who fingers your pussy, eats you out, sucks on your tits, nips your neck and tummy and ass and thighs, marking you up all over. he's so greedy and mean! but because he loves you so much, lil sis, he can't have enough!

“stop lookin' at me like that,” he'd mutter, kissing down your quivering thigh after you came for a second time from his tongue alone. “makes me wanna stay glued to this pussy 'll day...”

BIGBRO!SUGU who worships your entire fucking body because you deserve it, dammit, and he just missed his lil sis too much.

BIGBRO!SUGU who hugs you tight in missionary, grinding his hips down gently on yours, simply enjoying the feeling of being connected.

BIGBRO!SUGU who purrs while sucking tiny lovebites between your breasts. who is so pussy-drunk already, so needy, so fuzzy in the head that he mumbles: “can i fuck my pussy raw?” and giggles as you smack him playfully.

BIGBRO!SUGU who fucks you as much as he can in those two days. who would spend the entire weekend balls deep if he could. he just loves you, okay? and he can't stop!

BIGBRO!SUGU who fucks you in his bedroom, in your bedroom, while showering, on the living room couch, in the kitchen, in the backyard. he'll give you a nice massage later for your soreness from all that dick, don't you worry.

BIGBRO!SUGU who even wakes up to fuck you- no, sorry, “make love to you” super early the same day he needs to take the first train back to tokyo. holding your hands down, fingers intertwined with his much bigger ones, kissing you sloppy and struggling to be as quiet as possible.

“jus' one more... one more before i go, baby, gimme one more. will miss this pussy so bad...”

#tw.incest #tw.dark content #big bro/little sis #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #suguru smut #geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #big bro geto #tw incest #dd:dne #dead dove do not eat #tw. incest

[roygbivvie]

-TF2 MERC KINKY HEADCANNONS-

*This is like my first time writing anything on here so have mercy on my mortal soul*

Nsfw warning obvi, so 18+..but also it gets pretty damn kinky in here so beware.

- [x] Spy

Spy in my mind is absolutely a switch. He absolutely has a daddy kink and a knife kink, but he also wants more than anything for someone (scouts mom) (or you ;0) to yank him down by his tie and force him to his knees. He likes surprises. These can be sexual in nature or not. I feel he would also like blindfolds regardless of who’s wearing it. covers your eyes and says “guess who” ass motherfucker. He’d growl too i think.

- [x] Sniper

many thoughts are to be had about this man in particular. For starters, by no means am i one to kink shame. My blog would be more of a testament to that if my likes were public. However, i simply do not think he has a piss kink. I think he puts absolutely no thought into pissing in jars besides the fact that it’s purposefully insulting to his targets in game. With that out of the way, his kinks. Do i even need to say primal kink? This fella read most dangerous game and thought: damn.. that’s kinda sexy. He wants to set you loose in the woods and track you down to fuck you. he wants it outside. he wants it dirty, sweaty, covered in blood and mud. He wants it animal style but literally. Aside from primal stuff, he loooves roadhead and hitting that thang from the back.

- [x] Scout

Now scout is a tricky one. Unlike basically all of the other mercs, i don’t think he’s super kinky. Here’s some thoughts anyways. He’d definitely start out kinda preformatively domineering, but the man has no ability to bluff. he’d ask constantly if he’s doing ok / if there’s something you want him to do. He is an absolute sucker for any praise. Compliment him on literally anything, and he’ll be a puddle in your lap.

- [x] Pyro

The mask STAYS. ON. during sex. The only way i could see them removing it is if they first blindfolded you. It’s not that they don’t trust you, they just refuse for absolutely anyone to see them. So i hope you have a mask kink, because they’ve certainly developed one. Other kinks they may have would be sensory play. I’m talkin hot wax, ice, feathers, incense, maybe even needles. basically the whole shebang. Pyro also has a love for fantasy, and i feel like Ovipositors would lend quite well to that. They probably have quite the extensive bad dragon collection.

- [x] Engineer

He absolutely makes you toys.. and them suckers are POWERFUL. He’d absolutely make a fuck machine, or several. I think he’s extra into having anything you use to get off be made by him. He’s mega into overstimulating you. He likes to watch his handiwork absolutely wreck you over and over. He may even want others to watch too. I think he’d have a size kink whether you’re bigger or smaller than him, I just think he’d like the difference.

- [x] Demo

I think he likes cuddlefucking and somnophilia. Nothin sobers him up faster than waking up to head. Now when he gets in the mood for it, it’s degradation BIG time. like so bad that he probably feels he has to apologize afterwards.

He also likes to spit on you. Also i don’t know how it would work, but there’s potential kink-ery with that ghost eye of his. I don’t know how, but the potential is there.

- [x] Medic

Oh boy this freak..

Did someone say knife kink? yea. yeaaaaah. And it’s pretty extreme. He’s not just threatening you, he’ll really do it. He likes to keep you strapped to a medical bed n shit too. I think he’d like to spoon-feed people. He gets off on giving you sugar pills to make you “feel better” wait.. were those really sugar pills? fuck. You’ll wake up sore with maybe an organ or two missing, but that’s the price to pay for those big sexy jugs he’s got. Don’t worry he’s a master at aftercare.

- [x] Heavy

Size kink outta the way, I think Heavy is into Dollification. He wants to take care of you, dress you in frilly outfits, and keep you on a shelf like a little collectible next to Sasha. He might even share you with medic.. take you in to get “fixed” if he ever brakes you..

……….. fleshlight position 0////0

- [x] Soldier

WAM!!! (wet and messy) for sure. I mean the honey in the comics certainly did something for him. wearing red, white, and blue? you won’t be wearing anything in no time. I feel like degradation is also a certain for him. Don’t tell anyone but he secretly wants you to put him in his place .. he definitely doesn’t want more than anything to follow someone’s orders..

#tf2 #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 engineer #tf2 smut #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #tf2 sniper #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 posting #smut

[rawliverandgoronspice]

The more time goes on, the more I think we (= westerners, especially white westerners) are just so fucking bad at guilt. I feel like guilt is among the most pernicious and dangerous emotions out there --not because guilt is literally deadly in isolation, it is an excruciating emotion but it will not kill you in itself, but because we have been trained to associate guilt with worthlessness (I partially blame christian values, the idea of impurity and sin --not to downplay, of course, the danger of a community judging you or being expelled from that community on the basis of being considered a danger to its other members due to the thing you've done that has been generating this guilt), and so we must, absolutely must, protect ourselves from simply feeling that guilt and processing its cold indifference washing over us, and we must do so through any means necessary. This can involve defensiveness, denial or reject of that guilt altogether so we are mentally protected from having to reevaluate ourselves and our place in the world, or can involve wallowing in and using it to self-harm --focusing on the pain and on self-hate rather than on what the guilt is telling us about ourselves and our heritage; blinding ourselves to it still in a twisted way.

I think it's also complicated to know how to manage guilt in a world where we're generally (as a whole) deeply powerless. It feels unfair to be called out about not doing enough when you know that pulling even mediocre heroics on your own will most definitively do almost nothing, hurt you, and be buried in a way that might be extremely unhelpul --not to mention, that it would actually hurt you in a very real and final way and lead to entirely thankless results, even if it was the morally correct thing to do. I do not want to pretend that it's not, very often, the results that awaits even serious and well-practiced activism --or even mild activism, major shoutout to everybody who got maimed or arrested or even killed on zero basis simply because they happened to be at or even near a protest, when they were not brutally attacked for no reason even outside of activism because an officer was racist or sexist or queerphobic or simply bored that day. There are genuinely good reasons to be scared.

So we feel guilt because of this fear, because of our isolation from any serious movement and the fact that we privilege our comfort over letting action taking over whatever else we have going on, and because fear and comfort knowingly keep us into inaction --or action that doesn't feel like enough, or that we feel doesn't achieve much of anything (which I think is never true: even giving someone a glimpse of hope for a second because we made an effort towards them is always always worth it in my opinion, it's not nothing and it's not a cop-out --of course it's not enough and we collectively need to find ways to do more, but it's not nothing and it should never discourage people from taking action --but I digress). But I think we start making a mistake when we point at this very real powerlessness as a shield from the guilt. Both can coexist. Both have to coexist. It isn't fair that some people are being forced to be courageous when we can afford to remain cowards. It is not even a moral judgement that condemn our souls forever, weakness is human and lack of individual reach against an overwhelmingly powerful and removed system even more so; it is a simple fact that we *have* to acknowledge if we want to take a clear look at the actual situation instead of camouflaging it behind self-justifying walls to give ourselves temporarily relief from that awful feeling. And I'm not saying it's not a constant effort, to keep those instincts of self-preservation at bay, or that some people don't have really good reasons that they cannot act more than through social media or miniscule donations or by talking about it around them, or being powerless to even do that without putting themselves into real and concrete danger --or that letting guilt in will be pleasant or even healing. It won't be. But it's also not the point.

Yeah, I get that it's hard to truly reckon with the fact that almost everything that made us (= westerners, especially white ones) is soaked with blood, imperialism, white supremacy, sexism, queerphobia, and a whole sweve of truly rancid ideologies that we cannot afford to passively accept as our lot. We were not given a choice in that legacy, and we don't have a ton of leverage over reorienting our haunted civilizations into something that isn't a horrible nightmare; but it is a fight that is happening right the fuck now.

I genuinely think guilt is a feeling we are not taught to handle in a healthy way; and because we have essentialist, pseudo-religious and punitive justice concepts terminally untangled with that feeling, guilt governs our politics and our private lives in the most rabid and unchecked way imaginable. But guilt will not kill us, unless we allow it to, and it will help literally nobody if it does. Guilt isn't evil in its soul-crushing pain as much as it is informative. Guilt is unbearable, unfliching clarity. But fever boils us alive because there is an infection that needs to be destroyed.

#thoughts #personal #not zelda #palestine #free palestine #guilt #cw self harm #(not graphic and really in passing) #sorry it's quite different than usual and it's a lot and I don't know if I'll agree with everything in five seconds #but I feel like we don't talk enough about the impact of guilt on our lives and psyches (and politics) #I am not great at guilt either (tho tbh I don't know many people who are) #but I'm trying to get better at simply... shutting up and Feeling It #I'm sure there's a way to face guilt that isn't destructive or self-pitying or generally useless #but I am.... I am so pessimistic about the future #not in a: let's all give up and cry but in a: we must fucking brace ourselves and look after one another #and put our foot in the sand right now because everything is unnacceptable and we need to acknowledge it much harder #if we let it fester it will only get uglier and uglier #and it doesn't mean we won't win or that hope isn't an absolutely essential component to it all #I am ultimately optimistic that there is an After to capitalism and imperialism and that brand of self-centered preservation and brutality #and this general oozing of toxic and unprocessed guilt #But #let's say that we'll all have to lead our own fights against it at some point #and I think that time should be right now #tl;dr imo there's no hope for justice and genuine resistance without facing guilt and resisting the urge to deny or fret against its ache #which doesn't have to equate with allowing guilt to rule us and use it as a tool of self-torment #anywayyyyy #saw a LOT of very weird reactions to the gaza genocide in my personal circles #some that really disappointed me even though they came from people I know to be better than this #so #yeah

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hour 14 of taking a break from art for the sake of my tendons: i am Wailing and Keening and Scratching Forlornly At My Tablet

#i dont know if im strong enough but i Need to be strong enough #cant continue doodling if ya wrist doesnt work #clenching my fists and chanting 'this is necessary this is necessary' #ive been going way too hard lately. unfortunately #curse this mortal body and its stupid bullshit mechanics that dont even work half the time #gonna cope by eating overly spicy soup and crochet #well no. i cant crochet. ten minutes of that hurts worse than scribbling for eight gay hours #to put it quite simply - but with feeling: FUCK! #absolutely unprompted #howling and sobbing and baying etc etc #i was gonna finish that commission tonight. then i was gonna start on something else i promised Days ago. #maybe get some doodles done for asks. #work on vines part 2. #but it oof ouch too much :/ #what the hell am i supposed to do now #fold laundry? clean my room? read? WRITE? ha dont make me laugh #i havent written in 2 months and im not about to start now #(said immediately before screaming into a pillow) #maybe ill like... go through my replies for once... see if people are trying to talk to me... #see if im brave enough to Directly Interact outside of asks...

[birdie-ghost]

Holy shit your still in high school???

I thought you had to be like collage 2 year sophomore or something damn

We’re apparently very similar in age

............. i was 8 when fnaf came out. Do the math lol

#eagh #i feel bad cus i mutualed someone who was once a minors dni person and i was like “fuck i didn't know that” and so i unfollowed them #:((( #not saying do the math in a snarky way btw quite simply I don't want to directly put my age out there #birdieghostalks

[dreamlogic]

...

#shit chat #disordered eating cw #how to. politely ask my housemate to stop fucking telling me about her diet progress #she's trying to lose weight cause she's a musician & her band is traveling to this big thing at the end of the month #by doing really strict by-weight portion control and it does NOT seem healthy #she's trying to get back to her 'italy weight' and like. girl. u went to italy in high school 10 years ago & biked everywhere for a month #if you are at that same weight a decade later without exercise by simply making yourself eat less food there is a problem! #that is not aspirational that's horrifying!!! no u don't look hot in your gig outfit from 2013 you look disproportionately skinny! #so i gotta sit her down at some point and be like listen. ur an adult ur gonna do what you do #& i know ur industry puts insane pressure on women to look a certain way on stage. #but as someone with a history of disordered eating i will not cheer you on and support your 'progress' #and quite honestly it makes me uncomfortable to even talk about it and see your stupid little diet scale on the kitchen counter every day!! #i strongly associate weight loss with poor health for a number of reasons #and firmly believe that weight gain is cool and sexy and that everyone should be less afraid of being actually!!! #it was a struggle w/ dysmorphia for a while but putting on some chub is one of the best things i've been able to do for my body as an adult #i love my squishy tummy and hearing you obsess about having a perfectly flat (ie concave) abdomen daily is deeply saddening!!! #bleh. it's hard. i feel like i should gently intervene but also i do not want to get involved bc it's more than i can handle rn #*less afraid of being fat actually

[wikagirl]

I finished the less important side characters. Just wanted to draw them so I had a visual ref for when I write them.

From left to right we have:

Nicolle, Gabriellas aunt and thus her fathers younger sister. She's the middle child and as you might be able to tell from her outfit, a professional ice skater. The glitter on her dress is supposed to represent a rising phoenix, a metaphor for being "reborn" after having to drop out of skating for a while due to overexhaustion and burn out and coming back better than ever. Her career is her life, she will not talk about anything else ever. Her sister does her hair for her.

In the middle we have Alexandra, the youngest sister to Nicolle and Gabriellas father. She does heavy wheight lifting, owns a sports clothing brand and organizes sports programms to teach people that sport can be fun without needing to be competitive or for wheightloss purposes. Also graphic eyeliner is a must and her outfit is inspired by 4-time olympic gold winner Serena Williams' adorable poofy tennis outfits. Sports wear can be cute and practical. For her physique I references Emily Campbell, britains first ever medal winning womens olympic wheightlifting candidate

And last we have Waylen. Waylen is an adrenaline junkie and a member of the Hale pharma private military. He has a whole arsenal of prosthetics for different pruposes and yes those are mantis blades from cyberpunk and the prosthetic legs are inspired by that one lady from the first kingsman. He went through so many body modificatiosn that the constant switching out of parts, medications post surgeries and his overall very low self preservation instincts took a bit of a toll on his body so now he has to permanently wear the bottom part of his airfilter mask or else he will literally suffocate. All the foods he consumes must be liquid and snorkeled in through a straw and a little hatch at the front of his mask. Thanks to the previously mentioned issues he has a almost non existant feeling of hunger, meaning that he often only realizes he should eat when it's allready to late and he tips over sideways. Depending on how much coffee he has in his system he can be a representaion of every song in the misery/cpr/reeses puffs mix. The only reason for why he hasn't been kicked out of the military and sent to early retirement yet is because he's good for the morale and knows what he's doing as long as he's in a team, on his own he suddenly looses all those braincells and turns into a "stealth is optional? nice *explosions*" type bingus.

#myart #ocs #I used to hate sports growing up because in school everything was competitive #and outside of school everything seemed to be with the sole purpose of loosing wheight #in fact you can be quite active in sports and still not loose a pound simply because muscle is heavier than fat #and also because diet plays more into wheightloss than training #so to everyone who keeps calling people who don't look “normal” (notice the “”) lazy and unhealthy: plz shut the fuck up and die <3 #you know absolutely nothing about the people you're looking at. their body their choice and now do me the favour and fall off a cliff #I'm really sick and tired of people trying to police other peoples bodies AND FEELINGS ABOUT THEIR BODIES under the guise of care #as you might be able to tell I didn't put as much work into these as the others since they are only side characters #that will only pop up once or twice #also since gigi is as ashy and pasty as the rind of a parmesan cheese and her aunties are significantly darker you can probably guess #she is mixed with her mom being what would be asian on planet earth and her dad is mixed black and something secret #and with something secret I mean this is still a work in progress #he'll be the bestest of best dads none of that toxic father figure bs in my house #he is inspired by christopher judge who was literally one of my childhood heroes in his role as teal'c in stargate btw #visually and personality wise I mean #a strong but still kind and caring for those he holds dear. maybe a bit odd to outsiders :3 #tw eating issues #tw ed #kinda #bc of waylens digestive situation? #side characters

[outlying-hyppocrate]

positively despising how my consistent personality is leaving me and how i resort to such strange lies

#random thoughts #i write this on the cold tile floor of a place that has yet to hear my wailing screams. this is a lie. i am in bed #if my writing were anywhere near kafkaesque i don't think i'd be doing very well. but how i do admire his work #i read quite a bit. my bookshelves one day shall be piled with the works of authors such as anne rice. oscar wilde (and franz kafka himself #though this is the 21st century. what of modern fiction ? what of modern nonfiction ? i've made myself into someone #whose vocabulary is strangely extensive. we could argue that i've been this person all along #a sort of “gifted child” perhaps. except. i don't fucking use words like perhaps #as. not as. because this is a mockery of the self #how to put it less concisely ? i sound so old. “so mature for [my] age.” #i'm a very strange sort of person and when i stand alone in the water my screaming takes the form of beautiful song. but #how i long to stop the sound and choke it out into something strangled with my very own fingers. my essence is poetry #and therefore all that i am is poetry. i am so beautiful #my face and my body and everything we are made of #to spill the essence of poetry in the form of something more human. blood or spit or tears or vomit #i am so very interested in human function. what am i saying i'm being strange on purpose? but i like being strange #and this is how you see me now. my eccentric persona(lity) does not make me special at all. i'm not doing very well #i never am to tell the truth. it is getting so hard to prove my humanity and i'm starting to feel rather artificial #i have nothing to show proof of humanity such as blood or spit or tears or vomit #but then again i am simply being dramatic. i'm just being dramatic. that's it #i am just a boy and just a puppet and just how i present to others #i am pleasant. i am charming. i am robotic. i am awkward. i am cultured. i am weird. i am almost a person #my fingers are so thin. i've always been inhuman. they have their blood and spit and tears and vomit #and i have nothing but i think i like those words quite a bit. and i am watching the numbers raise higher. notifications. pretty things #i'm sorry i'm acting like this. acting. acting. actingactingactingidon't know what's brought it on #i speak so strangely. maybe i should try something else. i shall go to sleep and pretend that nothing happened. which it did. let me #bstvlpeooiamotridst . you have the words. i've been purposely alternating every three tags to write blood and spit and tears and vomit #i like patterns very much what else can i say. patterns are. pretty. though pretty isn't a word that fits into my extensive vocabulary #it should be buried at the bottom rather. what's a nicer way. i'm not actually sure #if you've made it this far please kindly say hello. otherwise that's alright #we've arrived to form our pattern again and i don't actually feel very much. bloodspit tearsvomit