#*tennis player screaming sounds*

[mythvoiced]

-. i'm losing my MIND this is so fking funny IT'S REALLY NOT it shouldn't be this funny, but i don't usually watch wim.bledon and i really wanted to this year because i got curious about how al.ex.ander z.ve.rev plays, right, wanted to see him live, MY GUY IS JUST NOT GETTING TO PLAY

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt5) | Leah Williamson

You and Leah finally have a chat about feelings note: I have one more part to add to this series,, we need to find out what happens at Wimbledon, right? warnings: fluff and slow burn, a bit suggestive(?) nothing really pt1 pt6 my masterlist

"Hi, I stopped by to buy—" Lia was cut off when she saw Leah at the door, her face completely red and her eyes wide with panic. "Are you okay?" she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

"I almost kissed her," Leah blurted out, still gripping the door handle.

"What? Who?" Lia looked around and lowered her voice. "There's a girl here?"

"Lia, oh my goodness, I kissed her," Leah said, trying to gather her thoughts. "I actually kissed her."

"Leah, what the hell are you talking about?" Lia asked, still whispering. "Who did you kiss?"

"Y/n… she— I kissed her, but it was just a peck," Leah tried to explain, covering her face with her hands.

"So what, she left after you kissed her?" Lia asked, trying to make sense of it all.

"No, she—" Leah's eyes suddenly widened as she remembered. She pushed Lia aside and rushed to the backyard. You were still there, now standing up and looking confused. Leah panicked. "I shouldn't have done that," she muttered, pacing back and forth.

"Wait, hang on a second," Lia said, still trying to catch up. "You kissed a girl."

"I wouldn't even call it a kiss," Leah said, frustration in her voice.

"And you like her."

"Yeah, but she has a lot going on right now. This would just mess things up for her and her career and I—"

"Wait, who is Y/n?" Lia interrupted, trying to piece everything together.

"Y/n is the girl I kissed. She's the tennis player, the one we watched last time, do you remember? This is the last thing she needs right now," Leah said, sounding regretful.

Lia sighed, taking it all in. "Okay, chill out. I need more information… Does she know how you feel?"

Leah stopped pacing and looked at Lia, a mix of hope and fear in her eyes. "I don't know. I don't think so. But now I've probably screwed everything up."

"Alright," Lia said, taking a deep breath. "You need to talk to her."

While that conversation was going on inside, you took the time to gather your courage and confront whatever was happening between you and Leah. She had kissed you, or at least attempted to, and you weren't going to let her run away from this. Drama like this was the last thing you needed.

With determination, you walked towards the house and stepped inside, finding Leah with her hands on her hips and Lia Walti standing a few feet away.

When you first met Leah and saw how close she and Lia were through pictures, it sparked a twinge of jealousy. Now, seeing Lia here, seemingly responsible for Leah's sudden departure upon hearing the doorbell, that jealousy flared into anger. Deep down, you knew Lia wasn't to blame, but the frustration bubbled up nonetheless.

"Y/n," Leah said, holding your gaze for just a moment before looking away.

"Leah," you replied seriously, feeling frustrated that the moment had been interrupted, knowing it could have ended so much better. Part of you wanted to scream at Leah, but another part just wanted to pull her close and kiss her.

"Hey, I'm Lia," Lia interjected, smiling as she reached out to shake your hand.

You glanced at Lia's hand with a slight frown, then looked over at Leah, who noticed the change in your expression. "It's nice to meet you," Lia said, trying to maintain a friendly tone.

"Hmm," was all you added, nodding your head as you took Lia's hand, giving it a firm and deliberately prolonged squeeze. 

Lia immediately caught on to the meaning behind your reaction.

"I'm Leah's teammate. We've been friends for years," Lia said, subtly trying to dispel any misinterpretations. "I understand you're a tennis player, right? I remember watching one of your matches with Leah."

"Yeah, ranked 4th in the world," you said, a touch of arrogance in your smile. You knew you'd slipped a spot in the rankings recently, but that wasn't something Lia needed to know. Jealousy had twisted Lia's innocent words into a perceived threat, which clearly wasn't the case.

Leah watched the interaction between the two of you with discomfort, so she decided to break the silence.

"Uh, I'd forgotten I invited Lia to dinner today," Leah said, her voice tinged with nervousness as she grabbed her car keys from the table. She glanced at Lia and then at you. "I can drop you off at your hotel if you want, or I can order an Uber, whichever is more convenient for you," she offered, fidgeting with the keys avoiding your eyes.

Lia suppressed an urge to intervene, Leah was only making things worse. She widened her eyes in surprise and then looked down, feeling the tension rise.

"Do I have to go?" you asked, pointing at yourself, visibly taken aback.

"Oh— I mean, I wasn't sure if you wanted to stay," Leah stumbled over her words, glancing at Lia for help.

"Don't worry," you replied firmly. "I'll go change and then get an Uber," you continued, remembering how Leah had lent you some clothes after breakfast to make you feel more comfortable. "I can't let you leave your guest here alone; that would be rude," you added, almost mumbling as you headed towards the guest room.

Leah just stared as you walked away without saying anything.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Lia hissed, giving Leah a light slap on the back of her head.

"What are you talking about?" Leah asked, rubbing her head where Lia had hit her.

"How could you even think about kicking her out of your house?" Lia questioned, furrowing her brow in frustration.

"I just didn't want things to get awkward. She seemed a bit uncomfortable around people she doesn't know," Leah explained defensively.

Lia shook her head, struggling to comprehend Leah's actions.

"She's jealous!" Lia whispered to Leah, lowering her voice even further.

"She's not!" Leah said. "Why would she be?"

"Because you kissed her, and now you're practically pushing her out to spend time with another woman," Lia retorted, her frustration mounting. "She must be feeling incredibly hurt right now. I've never seen anyone look at me with such disdain."

Leah took a moment to process Lia's words. She realized she had been kind of dumb about it.

"I feel like I'm messing everything up," Leah confessed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes closed. "I don't know what I'm doing with her."

Lia sighed deeply and placed a reassuring hand on Leah's shoulder.

"I just... I think you're letting nerves get the best of you. I haven't seen you like this in ages," Lia remarked softly.

"I do like her, but... I'm not sure. I care about her a lot, but I don't know if she's ready for a relationship right now," Leah admitted.

"You need to talk to her about it," Lia advised, giving Leah a supportive pat on the back. "Don't let her slip away. She's hot" Lia added with a smirk this time, earning a playful tap on the back from Leah. "Ouch."

With your phone in hand, you walked back into the living room, surprised to find Leah alone, leaning against the couch with her arms crossed.

"I'm leaving now," you said, not bothering to ask where Lia had gone.

Leah took a deep breath and spoke calmly, her voice composed. She had regained her composure and wasn't going to let things get out of hand. She knew how to take control and wasn't going to let her racing heart mess things up again.

"You don't have to leave," she said, looking you straight in the eyes.

"Leah, cut it out," you replied, still annoyed.  "I'll get an Uber and that's it. Let's not complicate things."

As you headed for the door, Leah quickly moved to block your path, grabbing your wrist before you could open it.

"If you're leaving, at least let me take you," she said, her expression a mix of seriousness and sadness. "I brought you here, after all."

You hesitated, biting your lip as you considered her request.

"Please," Leah pleaded, her thumb gently stroking your wrist.

The ride back wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the ride to Leah’s house. Leah didn't say a word, only glancing over when she needed to switch lanes. The rest of the time, she stared straight ahead, jaw clenched and a deep frown creasing her face. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.

She was clearly irritated, maybe with herself. 

“Or maybe with me?” you thought to yourself.

But you were annoyed too. You were often criticized for being stubborn; people always told you that you never backed down. But maybe this time you should. After all, you had been pretty harsh with Lia, who eventually left Leah's place. That was the one thing you could apologize for. The rest? That was all Leah's business. After all, she was the one who kissed you first, then decided to leave you alone in her backyard and almost kicked you out of her house.

You needed to talk, that was sure. 

"I want you to come with me to my room," you said in a low, almost embarrassed tone. You weren't about to apologize for acting like a teenager in a parking lot.

Leah nodded, and as soon as you arrived at your hotel, she stepped out of the car and followed you inside. 

The room greeted you with its untouched state, just your bags thrown on the bed. Leah felt a bit uneasy; everything seemed too neat and cold.

"Leah, I..." you began.

"Y/n," Leah cut in. She raised her hand, signaling to go first. "I'm sorry about what happened at my place," she said sadly. "I was too nervous. I don't know what I was thinking. I was overwhelmed because all I could think about was that I kissed you, and I'm not sure if that was the right move or not," she admitted, pausing between each word.

"What do you mean you're not sure if kissing me was right?" you asked, feeling a pang of hurt. Did Leah regret it?

"I... I'm trying to see things from your side," Leah explained. "You've got a lot going on, and I don't want us to be another problem on your list," she said sincerely.

"This isn't a problem," you said quickly, your brow furrowing. "You're not the problem. How I feel about you—well, that's more complicated. We're in this uncertain place, and it's throwing me off," you added, trying to articulate your feelings. "I might be impulsive, but I crave stability. When you kiss me and then seem to regret it, it messes with my head. If you want to kiss me, Leah, I need you to be sure."

"What?" Leah took a step back, her expression caught between surprise and confusion, as you leaned in closer.

"Do you like me?" you asked directly.

"Yes, of course I like you," Leah said, stumbling over her words.

"Good, because I like you too," you said quickly. "I want to give us a shot, Leah. I want to go on dates with you, watch you play, have you come watch me play. I want all of that and more, but I need you to be sure."

"I am sure," Leah said, straightening up where she stood. "But I'm scared this will interfere with your career. I know relationships demand a lot, and I can be pretty intense, but I also just want to be there for you, to hug you and hold you when everything feels overwhelming. I want to be the person by your side through the tough times."

Her voice softened with determination as she closed the distance between you, reaching out to gently cup your cheeks in her hands.

"I want to get to know you even more," Leah said, locking eyes with you. "I want us to be there for each other when things get tough, to lean on each other through the ups and downs." Her gaze held a sincerity that touched you deeply. “You're someone I really want to know,” she added softly. “Just getting to know a part of you was enough to make me practically lose it when I'm around you.”

Her words left you speechless, a lump forming in your throat. Leah's honesty and vulnerability caught you off guard. You struggled to find words, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment and your deepening feelings for her. But you knew you couldn't leave Leah hanging without a response.

You slid your hand to the back of her neck and pulled her close. When your lips met, it felt like everything clicked into place. 

Leah's lips were soft, and you couldn't resist teasingly biting them. Her hand traced down from your cheek to your waist, and it sent shivers down your spine.

"I think I'm going to fall for you," you murmured against her lips, resting your forehead against hers as you both caught your breath. Your cheeks flushed with warmth, mirroring Leah's own blush.

"Please do," Leah murmured, kissing you again with a gentle urgency. She guided you over to the couch, plopping down and pulling you onto her lap. She held you close, her arms wrapped around your waist, and the kisses kept coming.

You couldn't tell where one kiss ended and the next began, Leah's hands sliding down your back, sending shivers through you. Leah's lips traced a path from your jaw down to your neck, her hand slipping under your shirt at the same time, sending sparks through your skin.

"Wait, Leah," you said, placing your hands on her shoulders, trying to muster the strength to pull away. But Leah looked irresistible, her mouth slightly open, lips swollen from kissing and your bites, eyes dark and dilated with desire.

"Too fast?" she asked softly, her hands resting on your thighs, gently stroking them up and down. You nodded, not trusting your voice to come out steady.

"I'm sorry," Leah apologized, but her smile was sweet rather than mischievous. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," you replied, settling more comfortably onto her lap. Leah took that as a green light, wrapping her arms around your back and pulling you into a warm, cozy hug. 

Because of the way you were sitting, Leah's head rested level with your chest, her ear pressed against your heartbeat. 

"Your heart's racing," she murmured, hugging you tighter. 

You didn't say anything, just hugged her back, clinging to her like a koala. 

"Shut up," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. "Can you... I mean, do you want to stay the night?" you asked in a whisper.

Leah chuckled softly. "Well, it’s not like I have much of a choice," she teased, referring to how you had her cornered against the back of the couch.

"Are you uncomfortable?" you whispered softly, your voice muffled against Leah's neck.

"I'm comfy," Leah whispered with her eyes closed. "You're warm, it feels nice."

"Feels nice to me too," you replied softly.

You had lent Leah a pair of your pajamas after room service brought dinner. Now, you were both in bed, facing each other. Under the covers, your legs were tangled together, as if that was enough to keep her from leaving.

"I think it's time to say I love your eyes," you murmured, taking advantage of the dim lighting. It was dark enough to hide how flushed you were, but still light enough to see her reaction. "They're such a pretty color, and they sparkle so much. It's unfair that I've spent so much time looking at them only through a screen."

Leah held her breath for a moment, her heart racing. "Do you like them that much?" she asked, moving a little closer to you. You nodded. "I also like your eyes, your lips, your nose, god, everything about you... I never want to stop seeing your face ever."

You blushed even more, feeling the heat on your cheeks, but you couldn't help but smile. "Stop saying adorable things," you said with a soft laugh.

Leah took your hand gently, intertwining her fingers with yours. "You'll have to get used to it. I could make a list of things I have to tell you for every date we’ll go on."

"You're already planning dates?"

"I won't let you get away from me," Leah laughed, stroking her thumb over your hand.

You were silent for a moment, enjoying the feel of her fingers intertwined with yours.

"Sounds good to me," you finally said, looking Leah in the eye. "I'm ready for those dates."

Leah's smile widened, her eyes sparkling even more. "Then get ready for a lot more of this," she whispered, leaning in to give you a goodnight kiss on your lips.

[pugh-bug]

Flashing Lights

Art Donaldson x reader

If people like this I’ll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.

——————————————————————

‘Come on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!’

Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncan’s party. It wasn’t just that you hadn’t been invited and that you weren’t remotely a tennis player it was that Ashley’s lame excuse of ‘they need more photographers’ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.

‘I’ll get us a drink wait here.’

You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadn’t been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.

In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.

You hadn’t touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people weren’t your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what ‘down the line’ meant.

‘Can we go?’ Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. ‘I’ve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I don’t even like tennis! Why am I even here?’ As your friend defended her plan to ‘sleep with as many rich tennis players as possible’ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.

‘Is that … Art Donaldson?’

It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.

‘Fuck me it’s Zweig.’

As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man she’d ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Art’s head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. ‘Think I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? He’s a bit of a man whore, I’m pretty sure I could get him.’ Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.

It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashley’s corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldn’t have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.

‘Aaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.’ As Ashley corrected Patrick’s memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasn’t Art’s knowing smirk in your direction. It didn’t work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.

You’d watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements he’d do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days … you were hooked.

As he eyed your dress you wondered if he’d seen you, made note of just how many matches you’d been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didn’t belong at thee Tashi Duncan’s after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as you’d lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

‘So, you don’t like tennis?’

Shit.

‘Oh. You heard that.’

‘Yep.’

His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.

‘Ashley was invited,’ you lied with little ease. ‘I’m here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.’ Both yours and Art’s eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashi’s photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. ‘Tashi not your favourite?’

‘She’s pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I can’t lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.’

Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.

‘Are you not the best at getting front row seats?’

He left off ‘at my matches’ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. ‘Ashley?’ But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.

Art laughed at his best friend. ‘Seriously? You couldn’t go one night?’ No, Patrick couldn’t and he couldn’t find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fucker’s bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.

‘I should go too-‘

‘Wanna go down to the beach with me?’

You couldn’t help but scoff audibly at his request. ‘You don’t even know my name.’

Art’s eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. ‘Then tell me.’

‘It’s Y/N.’

With a charming smile he repeated his offer. ‘Y/N… wanna go down to the beach with me?’

If a mind reader had been in attendance you’d have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?

The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Art’s shoulder and quickly apologised. ‘You’re like a baby deer.’

You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Art’s eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.

‘What is it about photography?’ Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.

‘What is it about tennis?’

Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.

‘I’ll let you answer that.’

Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadn’t noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?

‘Watching you play tennis isn’t like watching other people play tennis.’

Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. ‘Go on.’

Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Art’s turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.

‘You’re just really good at it.’

‘Try again.’

He wasn’t making this easy for you but that didn’t mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadn’t so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncan’s deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single… unless?

‘Are you and Patrick just friends?’

He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.

‘Umm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.’

You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that you’d put him on the spot for the first time that night.

‘Not disappointed.’

Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock you’d been safely perching on. A sign to leave.

‘I think I should go back to my ho-AAA!’

You’d barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.

‘Jesus fuck!’

‘Y/N!’

The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Art’s face was a picture of panic. He couldn’t help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I think I can walk.’

You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. ‘Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to.’

You thought it would feel strange, the man whom you’d been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didn’t. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashi’s party. There wasn’t much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

‘Any chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?’ Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:

‘My hotel really isn’t far. A mile at most.’

Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didn’t feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.

‘Uber?’

‘Think of it as a workout.’

It wasn’t the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess you’d leave the cleaners.

‘67, this is it.’

Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.

‘Do you want me to st-‘

‘I want you to stay.’ You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didn’t mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.

At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadn’t been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.

‘I think seeing as you’ve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-‘

You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.

Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. ‘Do you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?’ You felt your stomach unclench. ‘Yeah.’ Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Art’s open palm. He gestured to the bed.

‘Sit.’

His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.

‘Foot.’

Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. You’d never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match he’d won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.

As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: ‘Before tonight,’ Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. ‘I’d seen you watching me.’ He didn’t look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.

‘Yeah I gathered from all the teasing.’

His voice grew suddenly lower. ‘I’m not talking about tennis matches.’

You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, she’d found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and you’d been in awe. What you hadn’t noticed was that he’d sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.

You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days you’d stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

‘Oh.’

Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldn’t bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.

Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. ‘I can leave.’ He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then he’d leave but if you wanted him to stay then he’d make the most of it.

Your hand settled atop of his.

‘Don’t.’

Part 2

Masterlist

[bitchimasnake-sss]

screaming crying sobbing please give us more of tennis!au zoro, need to see him being a cocky little shit but also groveling to properly get back with reader (good luck buddy).

absolutely loved your writing for that idea and can’t wait to see your other au’s, esp if they’re this creative and not the “obvious” ones (i.e. didn’t see zoro as a tennis player but now i do).

keep up the amazing writing 💋💋

aaaAAAAH THE WAY I WAS WAITING FOR ANYONE TO REQUEST A PART TWO DESPERATELY 😚 AND TYSM POOKIE FOR BEING SO KIND AND SAYING SUCH NICE STUFF ABOUT ME. I HAD A ROUGH DAY 😭😭. ILYSM HOPE YOU GET A HUG FROM SOMEBODY YOU LOVE SOON!

bitchimasnake-sss presents: the one piece AUs

02. what kind of a pr stunt is this?! ft. roronoa zoro

set-up: part 02 to my badminton player!zoro au lol. you can find that here! (i recommend you read that first!) exes are exes for a reason. right? right. then why were you pretending to be in love with the same man that broke your heart five years ago? what kind of publicity stunt is this? and more importantly, is it worth your sanity? warnings: dumb people, even dumber plot by me! NOT PROOFREAD SO IM SORRY FOR TYPOS. includes heavy angst towards the end, fake dating shenanigans. zoro is a pain. and smut (hehe u nasty). nsfw thoughts include cuddle fucking (wow, my demons made me write it), penetration, teasing, dirty talk, a little bit of bimbofication. GIRL NEVER LET A MAN RUIN YOUR CAREER!! wc: 9.6k m.list

26th of august, 9:53 p.m.

"i do not fucking get it." your gaze followed the movements of the shuttle as it moved from the blue-haired girl to your coach, nico robin.

"well," the voice through the speaker was eerily calm for the man that was uttering them, "that's the thing, you don't have to get it. i talked to nami-swan~" and you could practically hear the drool and the heart-eyes in your manager's voice.

"nami-swan?" you leaned back, your back hitting the blue seat in the audience.

the practice court was empty, only haunted by the sounds of air being sliced and shuttles being compromised one after the other for the sake of the game. only three people remained: you, vivi — your partner in the upcoming women's doubles — and coach robin, the former number one in female category. you stared at the court, eyes still following the movements of the shuttle, the phone in your hand and the contact vinsmoke sanji on speaker.

vivi heaved out a trembling breath before hitting a particularly hard stroke, and your eyes widened, awestruck, as coach robin easily defended the oncoming strike. sometimes, you wondered, if your coach had the power to summon more hands.

your practice session was over, and you sat, catching your breath as the man broke you out of your daze, "oh, don't be jealous! you are ever more radiant, more gorgeous—"

"—get to the point, sanji."

"ofcourse." he cooed, "see, you hate roronoa zoro, correct?"

your breath hitched, but you nodded nonetheless, "correct."

"you do not wish to see him again, correct?"

"correct."

"and from what i gather, he isn't fond of you, either. right?"

ouch. "yeah."

"perfect! so this is the most brilliant plan! you just have to pretend to be with him just for a few months—"

"—months, sanji?" your eyes widened, as you subconsciously sat up straight at the idea of having to endure that moss-headed bastard for several months.

"oh, it's not as bad as it sounds!" he tried to defend, "just think about the end goal. after pretending for a few months, you both "break up", and then you have to literally never think about him or see him ever again. how wonderful, isn't it?" his voice swooned, "nami-swan is pretty smart~"

and you slumped backwards at the explanation. months of torture? would it even be worth it? probably not. you rubbed your temple, trying to fend off a budding headache, "we're sportsmen. we are supposed to focus on sports, what the fuck is up with this pr stunt?"

"you and him are sportsmen, correct." you could hear him take a drag of his cigarette, "but me and nami-swan are your managers. you both are at the peak of your respective careers, and sports is a fickle thing, my love. you know that."

"i do but—"

"darling, your job is to play. mine is to ensure that the next brand ambassador for nike is you."

you sighed, hell-bent on finding flaws in the situation, "and dating roronoa does that for me?"

"not exactly," he blew out the smoke, "but once you are through with him, imagine the amount of sympathy you gain? there'd be fan-edits of you on tiktok and comment section full of go girlboss! he doesn't deserve you~" he paused, letting you get used to the opportunity, "we use that, we built you up as an even bigger brand. you. the kind of girl that battled heartache in the spotlight."

you could hear the smile in his cashmere words, "and won."

this situation seemed too good. how would all of that fall in your favour? god is never that kind. never to you, atleast.

"and what does roronoa gain from this? did nami-swan tell you anything about that?" you stood up, waving goodbye to robin and vivi and picking up your duffel bag. as you walked through the hallway, your voice echoed and came to you, "sure as fuck, he's not walking away from this situation without winning something himself, right?"

"who knows?" sanji laughed, "that's upto that moss-head and that ever-radiant goddess—" sanji cleared his throat, "uh— for nami-swan to figure out. not you. i'm focused on you, love."

you sighed as you pushed the glass door to the practice complex open. stepping out, the night air felt cool against your sweat-covered neck and back. as you walked to your car, you caught sight of a certain man. why.

"he's here." you spoke into the phone, a slight panic building up in your bones as you deliberately slowed down, "why is he here?"

"roronoa?" sanji asked, and a certain twinge in his voice made your stomach coil inwards, "good luck, love."

"wait sanj—" beep. he cut the call. that bastard. men cannot be trusted, after all.

"hey there." his voice was akin to nails on chalkboard.

why. why was roronoa zoro here?! standing outside your practice court, in front of your car, pretending to be your boyfriend. with a relaxed grin on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hands, at that too!

you gaze danced around, trying to spot paparazzi in your peripheral vision as you walked up to your car. but the parking seemed empty, and part of you wondered if roronoa zoro just enjoyed annoying the shit out of you. possibly.

as you reached him, the man wrapped his free arm around you, his voice next to your ear, "there's paps here, just play along."

you pulled back, your features twisted into a frown, "i cannot see anyone."

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and you recoiled back instinctively, muttering out a feeble, "'m sweaty, don't do that."

"i've seen you worse."

the fuck does that mean? he wants to throw hands in this parking lot, huh? is that it? you can take him, though. ofc.

but before you could battle it out, he craned his neck, trying to scan for the paps that he was so sure were around. his eyes fixated on a certain car, and he slowly nodded in that direction, "found 'em. see."

you turned back slowly, only to find out two guys — some twenty years or so — with a camera out, pretending to be nonchalant. as if being out on a random sports complex at ten in the night was normal behaviour.

your mouth went sour, but you dragged your gaze up at zoro anyways. being under observation, your fingers reached for his and you interlocked them. your words though? just plain cruel. "fine." you huffed out, "get in the car, roronoa."

"of course," he shoved the bouquet towards you, "for you, by the way."

you grabbed the bunch of flowers recklessly, having no regard for them, "nami-swan gave them to you?"

"swan?" his eyebrows furrowed as you walked to the drivers side, "nami, yes. swan, no."

you unlocked the car, throwing the duffel to the backseat and getting in. zoro followed suit, getting in the passenger seat. you turned on the engine wordlessly and within a few minutes you were driving the car out of the parking complex.

"do you—"

"no." you pressed the touchscreen, trying to put on your playlist to avoid talking to him, "we don't need to talk. just sit."

he leaned back into the passengers seat, huffing out a soft, "'was jus' asking if you ate or not, woman." he shrugged, "i didn't, so, we could go get some—"

"—don't care. and what i do is none of your concern." the street lights painted the barren, concrete roads a subtle orange. the moon hung low in the night sky, and you pressed the accelerator harder.

"it kinda is. we're dating." a self-satisfying grin made to his lips at the mention of the word. his arms came up to rest behind his head, and he looked at you sideways.

your foot pressed down at the accelerator impossibly harder, hands gripping for dear life onto the steering wheel, eyes narrowing at the road as. you grit out, "not your girlfriend. not dating."

he laughed anyways, finding some amusement in your misery, "you're no fun."

"die, roronoa."

"we both might with the way you're driving." he looked out the window, the city outside a mere blur of lights as you cruised down the empty highways to make it back to his home.

"why am i even living at your place, still?" you mumbled into the steering wheel, slowing down begrudgingly. and he replied back coolly, "cause dad likes you more than he likes me."

"hah!" a grin made to your lips. you looked over at him for a microsecond, and looked away immediately lest he looked back at you, "so glad we both finally agree about something."

"yeah." roronoa zoro breathed out slowly, staring at the way the overhead orange lights casted shadows across your pretty face. your hair was pulled back into a messy bun, pretty eyes on the road, and flushed face breaking his heart for the nth time.

flushed face, huh? he cleared his throat, eyes drifting down to his lap, "d- d'you wanna like talk about that... night?"

he didn't miss the way your hands clutched the steering wheels tighter, and a furious blush blossomed across your face as you stuttered out, "no! there's no-nothing to discuss."

he looked away from you, eyes zeroing on the flickering lights of towering skyscrapers far away, "see, 'nother thing we agree on."

but the blush on your face refused to die down, so you just choked out a soft, "shut up, roronoa."

a smile tugged at his lips at your crumbling words, "yes ma'am."

"and stop calling me ma'am!"

10:34 p.m.

"ah, you're back. how wonderful." mihawk's eyes stayed trained on the news on the screen, a glass of wine in his hands. monotonously, he asked, "how are the lovebirds doing?"

"hungry—"

"— not lovebirds."

all three of you looked at the flatscreen, as the anchor flashed a staged photo of you two holding hands with a mischievous glint in her eyes. mihawk sipped down the burgundy liquid, "seems like you are lovebirds to the media."

"shouldn't seem the same to you, sir."

zoro shrugged, picking up an apple that was kept neatly in the fruits basket on the table. he tossed the glossy red from one palm to the other, "yeah, yeah. the 'not lovebirds' are very hungry, though. can we eat something?"

"i'm gonna shower, then eat." you hitched the duffel higher on your shoulder, walking towards your room, "catch you guys later. don't wait for me."

you dropped the duffel down at the door, collapsing on the soft mattress and the familiar scent of the duvet greeted you immediately. a unladylike groan made past your lips as you stretched your limbs and fell slack on the mattress again.

the women's singles was three months away. technically, you could relax for a few days. technically. but after winning the champion's cup, all eyes were on you. and failing wasn't an option. especially not since if you did reach the finals, it would probably be against boa hancock again. and if you lost? that would crush you and your ego to smithereens.

you sighed into the soft covers, turning your head to look at the bedside table to find the same white plastic that was given to you a few weeks back. the pack of beer remained untouched inside. thinking of the interaction with a certain someone, you dug your cheeks harder against the covers to fight off the warmth spreading all over.

get a grip. you hate him.

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28th of august, 11:28 p.m.

knock knock knock.

you stood outside to zoro's door, hands fisted around the carton and feet shuffling over the hardwood floors as you awaited his appearance.

you hate him right?

"hi?" zoro looked at you, eyes immediately narrowing. his neck craned forwards, eyes experimentally looking around as if he expected someone to be lurking in the periphery. once thorough with his inspection, his gaze landed atop you. he repeated, "hey?"

then why were you standing here right now?

"uh, hi?"

"d'you like," he paused, a shiver running down his spine at the possibility of the question, "want something?"

walk away, say you knocked on the wrong door! anything!

"can i come in?" you raised the pack of beer upwards. gulping before mumbling, "i need help finishing this."

"oh?" his lips parted, eyes trained on the glass bottles, "i bought you that like a month ago, didn't drink 'em?"

"uh? no." you looked down at the pack too, "well, i was off alcohol for the season, you know."

"do not disrespect alcohol by calling beer one." he nodded at you gravely, apparently growing serious about the drinks he consumed, and their status.

"okay?" your nose scrunched up, "looks like it is a topic or great importance to you."

"it is. alcoholism is in my blood." atleast hes self aware about him and his dad's habits? that's good. we love a self aware king.

well, no, we don't love him!

your eyes widened at the sudden realization, and your mouth ran it's course trying to cause damage in another sphere of life, "you're adopted, though?"

he stared at you a second, growing unsure of your own parentage and you panicked, "y-you knew that, right?"

"no!" he looked at you horrified. then the expression slipped. what a bastard.

"obviously. I'm just toying with ya." nodding, he took a step back, "come in."

roronoa zoro's room was the same kind it was five years ago. the bed never made, atleast three bottles of water at his bedside table at all given times, the door to the closet ajar and a video game switched open on his flatscreen and two bean bags perched in front of them.

but now the wall behind his bed was painted a shade or sage green, and haphazard, shaky selfies of perona with zoro winning tournaments with on a was put up (by perona, of course). other photos included him with a raven boy you recognized as monkey d. luffy. olympic-level skier. that boy could bend in ways unfathomable.

you briefly caught eye of a red-headed girl but before you could look deeper, zoro crashed on one of the bean bags, helplessly floundering as the furniture beneath him changed shape. he looked back at where you stood, "wanna play?"

"wonderful interiors." you crashed on the bean bag next to him, floundering around much the same before gritting out a, "did you dye your hair to match the walls or vice-versa?"

"very funny," he grumbled, handing you another controller, "you're just mad i pull green off well. now wanna play or what?"

1:26 a.m.

"that was fuckin' unfair," the sportsman grumbled, slumping back in his chair, "you literally tricked me."

"eh," you shrugged, bringing the second bottle to the brink of your lips. your voice reverberated against the delicate glass, "you're just mad i won."

"i am a man of honour and virtue, woman."

"and a loser. a sore loser at that." you grinned at the man, and he sulked more in return. throwing the controller to the side, he brought his third bottle to his lips, "don't you have to go sleep? got no practice tomorrow?"

and you couldn't help but ogle at his lips. he seemed to say some words, but all you could remember was the searing kisses. him again you. senseless. the kind that trailed down you body and—

it was that wretched alcohol, obviously. making you think stuff like this. fuck roronoa zoro. fuck roronoa zoro. fuck roro—

not that kind of fuck.

"—nefertari vivi, right? that's your partner." zoro nodded in approval, continuing with regard of what kind of battles were being waged in the labyrinths of your mind. "dad said she's climbing the ranks pretty soon. could be a real help in winning against boa this year."

he paused, awaiting a reply and your daze shattered as you met his eyes. the fucking alcohol. "yeah. uh, vivi's really good. very quick on her feet too. she's good."

"yeah," he cleared his throat, "so, no practice tomorrow?"

"no, it's a rest day." you gulped down the rest of the liquid, "what about you? decided who's gonna be your next coach?"

"dad says he wants to hand me over to shanks."

"red-haired shanks?! oh my god!" your body moved before your brain and you turned towards the man you had loved once. body angled forward, way too close.

and roronoa zoro forgot how to breath. you were so pretty. fuck you. fuck you. fuck yo—

fuck you in the exact way he was thinking.

and maybe you could hear his thoughts or see the resolve in his eyes because you pulled back. tucking your hair behind and fidgeting with your fingers, you gave him an awkward smile, "i mean he's just a legend. so, it's huge that you get to... be his student."

"nothing's set in stone." the man continued to stare at your lips, head tilted towards you expectantly, "i mean, dad isn't fond of him. says he's a pain. but, uh... like you said, he's good. plus i know him. he's basically luffy's dad with how often luffy crashes at his house."

you hummed, eyes shying away from him, "that's nice."

he hummed back, eyes zeroing on you, "'spose it is."

you don't know who or what to blame for what happened next.

the alcohol? zoro, for the way his fingers softly touched your cheek? yourself, for the way you leaned forward and caught his bottom lip against yours?

his hands manhandled you, picking you off of your bean bag and onto his lap. the ever-changing furniture dipped further against your weight. your hands in his hair, his under your shirt, kissing each other fucking senseless.

"roron-" you tried to start, but he didn't give you an opening. slotting his tongue against yours, the man tried to gulp every inch of you down. his hands moved up and down your back, expert fingers playing with the clasp of your bra. and he pulled back, heaving as he met your gaze, "off."

"no—" you threw your head back, a flurry of kisses against your neck and collarbone. your consciousness slipping past you with each graze of his lips against your naked skin, "z-zoro, we shouldn't."

"but this means nothing," he mumbled against your soft skin, "nothing at all, i promise."

and you found yourself deliriously nodding, helping him make up the candied lies, "and we are pretending to date. yeah? this is normal."

he took off your tshirt, hands coming up to play with your tits through your bra. nodding, he squeezed them, "yeah. yeah, it is, pretty."

"mhm, okay." your pelvis shifted over his, trying to gain friction through the layers of separation. he kissed you again, and you whimpered as he undid your bra and threw it off of you.

his thumb and forefinger rolled the perky nipple between them, his thoughts running off with reckless fantasies as you moaned in his mouth, "—ngh, z-zoro."

his hands lifted your hips, lips never once stilling against you. then, he pulled you down such that you could feel his erection against your core. you moved in tandem to his wild, untamed thrusts. lips parting open to moan out his name when—

"—zoro." a stern voice from outside, and you both froze, still tangled within each other.

shit, shit, shit.

"zoro, can you hear me?" mihawk called out once again, and you scrambled off of the sportsman to go put on your tshirt. zoro yelled back, panicked, "'m playing, gi-gimme a second, dad."

and you caught the man trying to adjust his pants to hide the erection as he got up with jelly for legs. he gave you a once-over, decided you looked decent enough, told you to hide behind the door and scrambled to open the said door.

hiding his lower torso behind the door, zoro gave mihawk the best look of nonchalance he could muster, "uh, yes. what's up, father?"

mihawk stood with an old-fashioned candelabra in his hands. a stoic expression on his face... and a vampire themed night-suit. checks out, yeah. his gaze pierced zoro, "she's not in her room, is she with you?"

"n-" zoro tried to lie, but mihawk glared at his son harder. and zoro crumbled like he was sixteen again, "yes. but we were just playing video games."

"hm? have you seen the time?" the former coach called out your name, and you slid forth from where you were hiding. a meek, "yes, sir?"

"why are you here? don't you have practice tomorrow?"

"n-no, sir." you looked downwards, crumbling like you were sixteen yourself. trying to hope he wouldn't notice zoro's and yours disheveled hair and clothes, you choked out a short, "rest day, sir."

"rest day, is it?" his eyes looked vampirish under the light from the candles, "rest days are meant for resting. not for goofing off."

mihawk stared the two of you down one last time before turning away and treading through the darkened hallways with only his candelabra to hold close. he didn't bother turning to look at you, but his voice was stern, "back to your room, now."

"yes, sir. sorry, sir." you nodded, moving past zoro and walking behind him. but a strong grip on your wrist made you look back. you turned back, confused and zoro — practically shrouded in darkness —pressed a chaste kiss to your nose, "g'night."

before you could look at him and question his intentions, he murmured, "just pretending. sorry."

mihawk yelled over his shoulder, "GET MOVING, YOU TWO."

"SORRY, SIR."

as you walked away from the mosshead, your fingers rested over your nose gingerly, as if you could feel him there still.

you two were going to ruin each other.

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31st of august, 12:25 p.m.

and ruin he did.

his index finger travelled over the dip of your waist, travelling down, down, down till it stilled over the waistband of your shorts. he dragged the cloth downwards, exposing the naked skin to his hungry hands.

you were gonna be his untimely death.

continuing to knead at your slightly exposed hips, his lips slotted against yours feverishly. pressing himself against your back, he built you up only to ruin with his own lips. he pulled you face backwards, closer against him, as his ravished self drank down any defiant moan that escaped you.

"z-zoro." you whispered softly, the words disappearing down the tangled sheets between you. he hummed back just as softly, one hand now disappearing under your t-shirt to harshly tug on your nipple and another came to run a light finger over your drenched slit.

"aah ah zo—" you moaned you as he continued moving his fingers up and down. up and down. up and down. till his finger came to still over your puffy clit, and he rubbed slow circles onto it.

the two of you were in your bed, the lights off as you navigated each other with uncanny ease. he was snug behind you, his erection digging into your thigh as he toyed with you and kissed you down like a man set to ruin you.

his left hand alternated between softly pressing down your tits, to harshly tugging and rolling your nipples in a way that had you barely breathing against his kiss-bitten, reddened lips. all while he right toyed with your clit, dragged sloppily to tease your hole before toying with the trembling nub.

you felt yourself growing stupid, turning into jelly and trying to run away from the man behind you.

"no—" he laughed softly against your skin, "don't run, you want this."

"i do-i don't." you glared back at him through whatever sanity you retained, and he cooed back. taking his fingers off of your soaked cunt, he teased, "you don't? sure?"

"zoro, come on—" you whined, but he shoved the sticky, sweet fingers past your soft lips. a command against the column of your throat, "ask nicely."

his teeth sunk down on your neck, fingers patiently sinking against your tongue, waiting for you to wilt under him. he raised his head, pulling out his wetted fingers. you looked back him, lips dripping with your sweet and spit. your eyes softened but words stayed razor-sharp, "'m not begging."

"no?" he echoed, the wet fingers sinking against your cheek to pull them into an embarrassing pout. his eyebrows furrowed, "no?"

you shook your head despite his firm grip, and he laughed. a boyish laugh, the kind set to tear you apart from within. pressing a kiss to your neck, he dragged his lips upwards to your ears, "guess i'll have to force you, hm?"

and who was roronoa zoro if not a man of his words?

thumbing your clit, his dick rammed into you again and again and again. hot breath fanning your neck, strong arm wrapped around your waist as he dragged you back to meet his ravaging, hungry movements.

you turned your face sideways, panting into the pillows as his thumb pressed down your throbbing nub, and continued to fuck into you like a maddened man.

"come on," he cooed, arm sinking further against your waist and pulling you flush against your chest. his words were tainted with strained breaths, "be nice, baby. ask me, hah- fuck. and i-i'll give you anything."

"ah wh-what?!" you yelped as he turned on his back, pulling your limp body over his chest. your sweaty back against his sculpted, toned torso and his voice ringing into your ear, hysteric almost, "c'mon, be nice, baby. say thankyou."

feet planted in the bed, hips pistoling into your gushing cunt as his fingers teased and pressed down the nub. your shaking hands pressed down against your mouth to shove back any wretched screams that threatened to tear past your pretty lips.

and the sight of trying to hold back cries made him feral. his pelvis smacked against your ass, the skin stinging with each harsh thrust of him cock into your bruised walls. the mushroom tip teased your g-spot and your toes curled as your clit suffered under his unyielding circles, "hah zoro, zo— im gunna cum, 'm cumming, cumming fuckk."

a wretched laugh underneath you as the man continued to chase his own high, fucking into your gummy walls like a man ready to lose everything just to have you. betting on his body, his soul, his sanity with the way your snug cunt milked him, pulling him into you as it throbbed so deliciously.

"zo... please—" hot tears falling past your eyes at the overstimulation as sticky hot filled your cunt to the brim. his fingers thumbed away at your clit though you trashed against him, and tried to pull away. away, away, away.

frenzied pants against the shell of your ears, hips still ramming his already-hard dick into your abused pussy with ease, "what do you want?"

"more." you babbled, eyes rolling back as he kept fucking up into you with no regard from your pulsating, aching cunt, "mo-more please, please, please."

"hah really?—" he laughed, ready to chase his high again. deranged, almost with the way he kept fucking into you. only one thing one his mind: to fuck your limp body even though his mouth grew dry, hips ached and back muscled burned.

how could he stop? just how, when your nails indented themselves against his arms and hot, fat tears fell past your eyes. and those sounds? muffled moans, heavy sighs? ah, you would kill him. and what kind of man would he be if he didn't even thank you properly by fucking you stupid?

you skin stung, waist marked red from how tight his grip was, hair sweaty and eyes rolled back as deranged moans tumbled past your lips. all words just variations of his name.

"zoro, zoro zoro hah- fuck nghh aah—" he lapped a hot stripe up your neck, tasting your salty skin as you bounced mindlessly against him and came over his aching cock. words caught in your throat and your limp body stilling against him, drowning him in such a pretty shade of white from both of your orgasms.

"shit," he mumbled, feeling the viscid liquid slowly travelling down his veiny shaft as he pulled it out. he softly let you off of him, letting you snuggle your sweaty forehead against his clothed chest. chest heaving up and down, cheeks flushed and lips reddened. his gaze trailed down your weary figure and down to your inner thighs, glistening with sticky residue of him on you.

what a fucking sight.

and zoro was just a mortal man, at the end. so how can you blame him for finding you in the middle of the night, pinning you down and fucking into you with reckless abandon for the next few nights? stealing kisses in the darkened hallways, huffing softly as your palmed him softly and straddled his hips under the pretense of "asking him for advice on the game."

"we shouldn't." you would mutter every time without fail, even as you allowed his easy access to tear off your panty and fuck you full till you were delirious and about to pass out with his name as a mantra.

"don't worry," he would always mumbled back, words honeyed against your sweet lips, "don' worry at all, pretty. this means nothing, hm?"

and you would nod along, letting him to mark you up again. he would be the death of you.

8th of september, 7:32 p.m.

and he was.

"you've been terrible lately," robin admitted seriously, "your focus is elsewhere, and you look like you haven't slept in a week."

your gaze drifted downwards, "i'm sorry, coach."

her voice was gentle and you were struck at how young she sounded. she was once your age and number one, and you were getting hung up over one boy.

she read your expression, the bitter twang of guilt in your eyes, and her delicate fingers came to rest under her chin, "don't be sorry. but get serious." she paused, "don't lose yourself over a man, it won't be worth it."

"of course, coach." you nodded, and robin dismissed you with another stern look. and as you sat in the passenger seat of zoro's sportscar, you became hyper-aware of his hand on your thigh, of his words and how casually he talked to you.

end this. now.

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11th of september, 8:03 p.m.

"ohmygod, zoro." you mumbled lowly against his lips, hands finding purchase against his crisp white shirt, "you're overdoing it."

his left arm tightened against your waist, right hand coming to hold yours against his chest, and head tilting to kiss you harder. he pulled back to look at you. your eyes shut, lipstick smudged, and manicured arms creasing, ruining his shirt. ruining him.

fuck, you were divine. and he was a man at your mercy.

the sportsman stammered out, words barely audible, "'m not. did you not get the memo?"

you had, unfortunately.

after talking to robin, you had managed to avoid zoro for quite a few days. and when you finally met his eyes over dinner, he just gave you an understanding look. no love, no brooding, no nothing! maybe, he understood this was a pr stunt, after all.

but then, sanji had called you up, bumbling with excitement, "my love!"

"sanji." you had laughed at his excitement, staring at your ceiling as you lay on your bed, "what's up?"

"okay," he had stilled, questioning his excitement, "you're gonna hate this, i think. but—"

the laugh had died in your throat, "what is it."

"so, you're invited to the get-together being held by the worldwide badminton association, how fun!" you had sat up, unamused, "okay, and? there's more, right?"

"well, roronoa zoro's invited too."

"no."

and the memo had been to take the pda up whenever necessary and convince everyone how utterly in love you two were. maddened by it, in fact.

so, now, you two were holed up in the bathroom, doing whatever this was. zoro raised his thumb to your lips, slowly cleaning the mess he had created, and you almost flinched at how careful he was being.

"you know," you drawled out slowly, letting him work the smudges, "we could have just smudged my lipstick, without actually kissing. and people would have caught on."

"hm?" he hummed, still invested in perfecting his craft. and your eyes trailed downwards to his exposed neck and chest, littered with red markings; courtesy of you. "better to be thorough. can't afford to mess it up, right?"

"right." you looked up at him, eyes stalling at his reddened lips before you turned around to look at the closed door, "ready to go outside and pretend to be in love?"

"of course."

"great." you breathed out, looking back at zoro one last time.

he was dressed in a smart navy button-down and dress slacks. and you were dressed in a matching navy, silken slip dress and dainty heels, hair styled in soft waves to match the man behind you.

he opened the door, letting you out with a million dollar smile on his face as he posed for the paps that dwelled in the crowd. you took his hand gingerly, mirroring his giddy expression as you stepped out and were blinded by the snaps of glittering lies and gossip.

the power couple emerge disheveled?! how scandlous!

the two of you mingled within the crowds, hand in hand, with promises of life and death, and stolen glances. the crowd cooed and the interviewers threw one question after the other at the two of you. zoro answered each question with a hint of smile, fingers never once leaving your waist.

"so? do you think she's the one?" an official's wife asked, chasing the question with a giddy laugh.

"of course. who else, if not her?" he answered smoothly. he turned to look at you, head dipping down ever-so-slightly. his breath warm against your neck, neat hair falling against your skin, and a breathy, "what do you think, baby?"

"i— yeah. i think he's the one. he's..." you blinked up at him, eyes widening as he smiled at you again, "perfect."

you put on a faux smile as the man nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. and, you were lead to your demise with a wicked epiphany: this man would eat away your sanity. someday, somehow. he will.

"well, isn't it a bit weird to see roronoa see smile so much?" another official asked, "he's always so stoic that this seems wrong, somehow."

"well, i'm not smiling at you. am i, oldy?" as if to prove his point, the sportsman pressed his lips into a thin line.

"hah, ever the charming gentleman." the man laughed, trying to mask the disrespect under layers of jokes. you laughed along, clutching zoro's bicep in an last-ditch effort to save the mosshead's reputation, "well, you know how his humor is."

what a fucking headache this man was.

12:12 a.m.

"ugh." you groaned as soon as your back hit the leather seat of zoro's car. getting comfortable, you muttered a low, "thank god that shit's over."

your nimble fingers came to tear off the heavy, rented diamond earrings off of your ears. your feet ached, your head ached and as you caught the sight of zoro adjusting his seat, your heart ached.

he was pretty under the dim light. shit.

"you good?" he leaned over you, muscled arm tugging the seat-belt and strapping you in, "do your feet hurt? i can take off your heels for you, if you wa—"

"no." you looked away from him, heart pumping at the close proximity, "i'm fine."

"ah, okay then. suit yourself." he pulled back, and put his seat-belt on. the mosshead changed gears and soon enough, you were cruising down ghostly roads.

why was he acting like you two were together? it nauseated you. made your head spin. made you feel stupid, seventeen and like you'd fall right back into the death trap that was roronoa zoro.

you both sat in silence, and the moon hung low, the stars twinkling in the night sky like forbidden jewels. all was good, all was great. till you decided to ruin whatever ounce of peace remained between the two of you. your fingers turned down the volume of the song blaring in the background, till all that remained was venomous silence and you and him, and him and you.

"roronoa."

he hummed to signal he was listening.

you drew in a strained breath, you're not my boyfriend, and you will never be. not even in the future." your icy words the only sound in the car, "i hope you understand that."

roronoa zoro looked at you, and then replied slowly, "yes, i do."

"this is just a publicity stunt," you declared, "and once this shit is over, i am gonna walk away and never see your face again."

the car made it's way down a deserted road, "yes, i know that too."

your eyes narrowed at his simple answers but you kept gawking at the road ahead, "you don't act like you know it, though."

he grew silent, and you waited for his response. moments passed you by in uncomfortable silence but then, finally, "i was told to pretend i love you, and i am doing what i was told."

"when have you been the one to follow rules?"

the man sighed, "do i need to have an excuse to love you?"

"love me?" you scoffed, "i am sorry for fighting old battles, but you left me."

his knuckles grew white and he pressed the breaks. the car jolted abruptly before being parked at one side. a beat passed, then another, and another. then, "i was seventeen."

"that's the problem." you undid your seatbelt, eyes trained ahead, "i am not angry that you chose your fucking career over me. good for you, you're at number one! huzzah! but you left. just like that."

"i am sorry." he looked straight ahead too, voice tainted with guilt, "i truly am sorry—"

"sorry wouldn't fix shit, would it?" still not meeting each other's eyes. cowards. both of you. "all i wanted was a phone-call, maybe a fucking email. fax, maybe? anything. anything to tell me where you went. that you were fucking sorry, and that this was for the best."

"i kno—"

"—doesn't seem like you do, zoro." you spat out, words turning vile at the tip of your tongue, "you just fucking ran."

"believe me, it wasn't selfish." his voice was low, the kind that reverberated against the metallic car frame and came back to you. you replied back easily, "it wasn't selfless either."

and you two fell into silence once again. your head spun, words stuck in your throats. accusations, grievances, foul words.

you paid it no mind and your fingers softly unlocked the car door. you stepped out, walking away from the expensive car. and as the night air hit you, you were acutely reminded of just how stupid the situation was. you, still clinging onto a heartbreak from five years ago. honestly, you should swallow down that bitter pill and forget it.

but how could you forget it? how? when the subject of your heartbreak was calling out your name, slamming his side of the door as he chased after you, as if afraid to lose you once more.

his calloused fingers grabbed ahold of your wrist, "wh-where are you going?"

"nowhere," you didn't bother to turn around to see his face. your voice, or whatever words you spewed forth were monotone, devoid of anything human, "just wanted some fresh air, roronoa. go, sit in the car. i'll be back in two minutes."

"don't do this." zoro tugged your wrist backwards, trying to turn your body to face his, to atleast dignify him with a look as you broke his heart.

"don't do what?" you stilled, unmoving as he tugged you back delicately. "i told you that i will be back—"

"d-don't leave." his voice cracked uncharacteristically, "i— if you're angry at me, hit me. curse me. shoot me. do whatever you please with my heart, but look at me. don't turn your back on me."

under the moonlight, it seemed like you were cruel. because you remained unmoving as hot tears pricked at your lash line and your nose grew warmer, "when have i been the one to turn my back on you, zo?"

he flinched at the nickname. his voice was desperate, words limited to calling out your name over and over again. he stepped closer, warm breath on your goosebump-ish skin, desperate, "don't leave, please. please. i fu— i fucked up, i know."

"—no calls, no texts, nothing. you're a phantom and i'm the fucking idiot waiting around on you for a whole year." your voice stayed the same, wretched, monotonous tone. as if he wasn't even here and you were just confessing your heartaches to the night sky, "you know, on my eighteenth birthday, my parents asked me to blow out a candle and wish for something. and i wished for you. that you came back. how fucking stupid."

"i'm sorry, please."

but you were a woman anguished, so you continued, "and maybe some deity heard me. because i saw you again. after a year, i saw you at an event by the worldwide badminton association. but then, whenever you saw me again, you avoided me like the fucking plague for the next five years."

"i thought i was saving you," his voice sunk past your flesh and deep into your bones, "i thought i was saving both of us the heartbreak becaus-because i loved you."

and then you felt it. wayward droplets on water falling on wrist as his head hung low. zoro's voice shook, interwoven with slow drags of breath that barely held the stoic man behind you together, "i wanted to save you the heartbreak cause i love you."

he called out your name again, his calloused fingers digging against the silken cloth as if you would run away. words only growing heavier as tear after tear fell down his face, "i know i was so stupid. it was... it was selfish, and stupid—"

"realized so soon?" tears welled in your eyes, body struggling against his hold, "you know, after you left town, i got better at this wretched game for you. so that someday.... some fucking day, i would be on your fucking level. then, i'd look you in the eyes and tell you to fuck off. say it with my all of my fucking chest."

you turned around, letting his touch scorch your skin, desperate pangs of breath be the only indication either one of you was alive. you slowly brought a hand up to his face. his bloodshot eyes met yours, lips trembling. you looked like he just stabbed you in the heart. "but now, i'm here. and you're here. and i just wanna ask. i— did i mean nothing to you, zo?"

and with that, roronoa zoro lost all sanity.

"'m sorry. im sorry, im sorry, im s-sorry—" heavy tears fell down his face, as did he; crumbling down, and only being held up by your support. he sobbed against your skin, tears falling and tainting your skin as he chanted apologies against your skin.

and mindlessly, almost like you were built for the sole purpose of holding him against your mortal body, your hands raked through his hair and he held you tighter.

he collected himself, lifting his gaze just to disintegrate at your tear-stained face all over again, "i-i thought it would hurt less if i said nothing, and you would think of it as a bad breakup... and move on. you would forget me, and i, you. but i couldn't."

bottom lip trembling, he found his forehead against yours, hand on your cheek, "i fucking couldn't. day and night, all i could think of was you."

your breath heaved pathetically. body, mind and soul almost giving into the alchemy that was this man. but you shut your eyes, words cut-throat, "and that makes this suffering worth it?"

"i dunno," he shook his head softly, eyes clenched shut, "i dunno anything at all. b-but i know i love you, i do. and i've hurt you but—" he stepped back, eyes begging, "i'd make it up to you. i promise. give me a chance, and i—"

a chance? a fucking chance? after five years of avoiding you, two months of pretending like you were nothing more than a doubles partner, he wanted a chance? hah, funny.

"zoro." your body grew stiff under him, eyes boring into his bloodshot ones without any lingering emotion, "we should go home, it's getting cold. i said what i had to say, and you heard it all."

"hey, hey—" his hands fell on your shoulders, as his voice shook, "please, i will fix—"

"—let's go home, zoro. please."

you drove home in silence. and when you both made it back home, mihawk didn't ask any questions about your bloodshot eyes, or about the way zoro disappeared in his room without even a word.

and then, you stopped talking to roronoa zoro.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

28th of september, 9:01 a.m.

it had been almost three weeks since you confronted zoro.

and in those three weeks you had lost count of how many times the mosshead came to your door, knocked, and left before saying anything at all. you had lost count of how many times he showed up outside your practice court, gave you a posed kiss for any paps around, and then drove you back home in silence with your old favourite songs in the background. you had lost count of how many times he left cup noodles, chocolates, and whatever else he could find at your door wordlessly, and how many times you found his asleep at your door.

it was all in vain, though. you were done with him.

no matter how much you wanted to stop him, and talk to him when he came knocking. no matter how much you wanted to smile at him when he came to pick you up. how much you wanted to talk to him about your practice, and to ask for his feedback. no matter how hungry you felt, how desolate you felt for his words, for his skimming touches. you refused to give in. you turned roronoa zoro down, always.

if you allowed him in, you would be rendered useless. battling heartache again for the nth time, wouldn't you?

"so, this is it?" you asked slowly, and your mouth grew dry despite the bottle of beer in your hands, "we're done?"

"yes!" sanji clapped his hands. his voice was clear through the speaker, "we're nearing the end. aren't you glad? you would never have to see that mosshead again!"

"r-right." you swallowed, "that is good. that is what i want."

you sounded unconvinced to your own ears, god knows what sanji was making out of your words? as if echoing your thoughts, your manager stilled. he blew out smoke before wondering out loud, "do you want to continue this further? if that is indeed the case then—"

"no." you replied firmly, cutting the blonde off. "just give me the details of when to end this, and how. fucking end this."

"well... if you say so." he continued, "your doubles championship is two weeks away."

you nodded consciously as your mind drifted to boa hancock and the possibility of losing all over again. sanji inhaled smoke like it was second nature to him, and then spoke again, "in three days, we leak that you and roronoa are done for." sanji grinned, a businessman at his very core. "but then you two make a public appearance to prove the rumors wrong. a week and half later, you win the tournament, and we confirm you've both broken up. and just like that, you're a sensation, love!"

"that's it?"

"that's it! and anytime, anyone asks you about him? you just say you don't wanna talk about it." sanji paused, "sounds good to you?"

"from what i understand, i just need to focus on the tournament and you'd handle the rest?"

"of course, darling."

"okay, then." you inhaled slowly, "just two more weeks."

"just two more."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

13th of october, 10:03 a.m.

this was bad. this was bad. this was bad.

you tried to stabilize your breathing before you went down spiraling and took your team with you. your eyes darted to the blue-haired girl next to you. vivi. her skin gimmered and glittered as if she was royalty by blood, and she glanced back at you to give you a re-assuring smile.

in the court front of you stood boa hancock and her sister, boa marigold. both of them stood, unphased. not a wayward sweat-drop nor strained breaths. and it dawned on you for the third time that these women were in a league apart from you, as if separated by DNA itself.

your 16 points to rival their 20 points. you were losing the finals. badly, at that.

"what do we do?" vivi whispered to you, and you found the resolve weakening in her eyes. and you were acutely reminded that this was the blue-haired girl's first doubles tournament. you gave her a reassuring smile, "try to play defensive for a bit. they are trying to wear us down with constant attacks, and all we can do is try not to fall into their trap."

"conserve our energy for now, right?" vivi nodded, taking her position back in court.

your eyes ran over the crowd once more in hopes for a recognizable mosshead but you found no trace of him. well, that made sense. he wasn't supposed to come show today since the two of you "broke up."

you sighed, and your brows furrowed as you focused on the game. that bastard be damned.

but shot after shot after shot, the conclusion remained the same. the two sisters inched closer to victory as they bagged another point. all while you and vivi tried to cling onto the delusions of winning the tournament. and then—

fwoosh.

the shuttle made it past your ear with a soft wheeze, and your eyes trained on boa hancock watched the woman crack a wicked smile. her sister clung onto the older raven-head and you found yourself stuck, frozen, unmoving as vivi cried out in defeat and fell to her knees.

you lost. again. how fucking pathetic.

an impossibly heavy weight fell atop your chest, throat closing up as tears rushed to your eyes. but you blinked them away, instead choosing to pick vivi up and wish the boa sisters congratulations.

you lost. oh well. always the idiot that stayed, never the star player, right?

1:03 p.m.

you felt like your mouth was full of tar, throat closing up as the news reporters and interviewers peered you and your partner down.

"this is the third major tournament you've lost against boa hancock," the interviewer pushed his spectacles up, "do you think you'd ever be able to catch upto her?"

"well," you smiled, "she's number one for a reason. and this just goes on to show that i have so much learn to—" your gaze ran through the media people that sat in front of you and it felt like all of them were scrutinizing you under their hawk-like gazes.

you gulped, smiling harder, "i have to learn so much yet. and i wish, i do wish to get better. of course. but i have nothing but utter respect for the boa sisters."

"are you and zoro actually done for?" another voice asked, and you tried avoiding to look at the source. if you could ignore the question, then it'll be like it wasn't even there. but more voices piled on. more, more, more. till you felt like zoro's name was everywhere.. all-consuming. and your hands shook as you tried to sip down water.

but vivi came to your rescue. her polite tone turning vile as she leaned forward into her mic, "i would implore you to ask relevant questions only. i admire roronoa zoro, but he has nothing to do with our match."

"so, this means you and zoro are done for? but what was the reason?" the voices tried to dissect a relationship that didn't exist, "did he realize he couldn't be with someone beneath him? as his title as the number one, did you threaten his legac—"

"shut up. shut the fuck up." your voice was soft against the mic, eyes malicious, "this is enough. thank you."

and you found yourself dragging your chair backwards and walking away from the panel you and vivi were sat on. your guards behind you and vivi as you walked down the wretched hallways. the blue-haired trailed after you, her tone worried, "hey, are you okay? they're assholes, ignore them. hey—"

but you couldn't hear anything.

a low buzzing in your head, and your body felt like jelly as tears threatened to fall again. something sharp in your chest dug itself deeper and deeper till it made a home in your bones. and the overhead lighting of the halls felt too bright as you walked away from the stadium and to your car. and next you knew, you stood at the reception to the hotel. mindlessly collecting your key and walking over to the elevator, you felt nothing.

you felt nothing as you had entered the hotel lobby and the dizzying smell of expensive perfumes permeated your figure. you felt nothing as you passed the expensive marble halls to reach the elevator. in fact, you felt nothing as the metallic box creaked slowly and you reached the fifth floor.

but... did you feel nothing as you stepped out the elevator, took slow steps and lifted your head up just to find roronoa zoro standing at your door?

you halted and he looked at you before pursing his lips, as if unable to say anything at all.

and you shared the same sentiments. so, you just nodded at him. not even bothering to ask why he was here, how he was where? why? you simply walked upto him, swiped the key-card and stepped in, allowing the mosshead to step in after you.

"you're not supposed to be here." you admitted, locking the door. giving him a brief look over your shoulder, "we're done pretending."

"i'm aware."

you hummed, walking past him and collapsing at the edge of the bed. your nimble fingers moved downwards to your shoes as you began to undo the laces. but calloused fingers stopped yours, as zoro kneeled down to peel the shoes off your aching feet.

"you don't have to." you tried to reason but his head was tilted downwards, avoiding your piercing gaze, "i know."

you sighed, "i'm tired, zoro."

he moved the white shoes to the side, "let me run you a bath."

your palms fell flat against the soft mattress, voice tethering on the edge of unraveling, "i didn't know you were here. you weren't in the audience in the stadium."

"i was." he looked up, eyes softening at your downcast features, "i- jus' thought we were done pretending, so, didn't try to make a show of it."

"that's nice of you," you replied back softly, head tipped back to stare at the spotless ceiling. but the man cut you off, "you did good."

the crisp linen under the palms fisted involuntarily, your lips pressing into a thin line, "you don't need to flatter me."

"'m not." he stayed kneeling, tender gaze against your weary body. he repeated, "you did good."

lips trembling, eyes clenched shut, and throat closing up all over again, "i did not. i lost."

"stop saying it like that." he repeated, slowly getting up. and your bloodshot eyes met his as your body slumped forward. hands still digging into the flimsy linen, you stared up at him, "it's the fuckin' t-truth. i lost."

his careful touch lingered on your cheek, "you did more than enough. good job."

and everything inside you melted at his foolhardy touches, sobs racking through your body as he wrapped his arms around your and you clenched his t-shirt instead of those unfamiliar sheets. fuck. fuck. fuck. your tears wetted his shirt as you body shook against his familiar touches.

his heavy body grounded you, the familiar scent engulfing you as your world as you knew it crumbled around you. desperate, desolate, pangs of air hit his abdomen as you tried to catch your breath. only to fail, and break out in a sob, "—an' i tried. i did."

he stayed shut, allowing laments to drop down your words and land against his skin. your fisted hands landed against him weakly, striking over and over again, "fuck you. asshole." you breathed heavily before your voice grew weaker, "fuck you."

"'m sorry." he caught your hands slowly and held them still against his chest. you could feel the faint thrumming of his heart. thump, thump, thump. the same heart that so desperately tried to get you to love him again. but when had you ever stopping the man above you?

his calloused palms pressed against yours as you dragged your eyes up at him, and your breath got caught against the tangible threads of your lucidity.

roronoa zoro looked at you like you were his god.

he kneeled, meeting you on your eye-level. his hands pulled yours upwards, and he pressed another chaste kiss to the back of your palm.

and all of a sudden you were reminded of being sixteen, sitting on his old house's roof under the night sky, and asking him, "zo, why do you always kiss my hands?"

"because i'm a weirdo." he huffed out, and you grinned in return, "is perona's emo rubbing off on you. first the hair dye, and now this?"

his eyes widened, the sudden realization sneaking up on him like a viper, "no!" and he broke into a furious blush on that random autumn night.

"tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me~" you rubbed your body against his arm and he shivered under your touch. finally yielding to you, as he always did, he sighed. when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper, "as... as a sportsman, my hands are all i have. and you're all i have."

and now the same man mumbled against your mortal flesh, promising ruins and riches in the same breath, "you can hit me, curse me, do whatever you want. just let me stay."

"how can i? it hurts."

and it did. all of it. your head, your legs, your chest, your heart. delicate hands trying to break free from him, tears spewing forth again and again and again till you met his eyes, heaving. expecting him to look at you with disdain, and finally giving up.

but his eyes was warm, hands soft against your skin, words honeyed, "then let me make it better." he came upwards, and his thumb swiped at the fallen tears, "let me try. one last time."

the resolve in his voice hardened, "give me one month. i'll win you back."

one month?

a/n: haha, look it's the girl who was stupid enough to fucking believe this story will end in two parts. i'm convinced nobody's gonna read it. but eh, what can you do? when it's done, it's done. i am contemplating making an ao3 account just so i can post longer stuff, so i hope if there's even one person who likes the idea of that, let me know! sorry this was so long guys :') tagging: @litlebruh @mist-ixx @briezy04764 @otkuhotgirl tysm for reading! i appreciate you guys sm! m.list

[monte-charlo]

top five piarles moments <3

It took me so long to answer this because it required scholarly attention 🤭💕 but here you go boldlettered my love, my top five piarles moments:

5. White Ferrari with pierre in the passenger seat wearing a CL16 Ferrari cap while charles giggles manically

4. Charles gifting pierre an mp3 player pre-loaded with their celebratory screams and pierre immediately going “we sound the same”

3. Whatever the hell was going on during the entirety of that squeezie video but especially the “i can always tell when charles is lying, when his dimples come out”

2. Cheating a bit but all their combined sports dates (and the mere fact that we have multiple), ie basketball date 1.0, tennis dates 1&2, all the footie games, and of course THE basketball date 2.0 that gave us this: (wrong ball pierre)

1. Charles sneaking out of medical before being cleared to go watch pierres podium in monza. Like this is how movies and shows tell us character a is in love with character b

Honorary mention to the pic of all time:

[onboardsorasora]

🎾Tennis Dan - Part 35🎾

Soooo I started writing this at the start of the year when the Australian open was actually going on and then my brain decided it needed a break. Which fair…. I'd been writing 3 Roses non-stop and then like a lot of smaller fic around that time as well. I took the break my body requested then just…. didn't have the inspiration to come back to this. I wanted to do a completely new chapter but I also really liked what I'd already written here, so I finished it. Nothing else has been written so anything after this chapter will be like, current lol

I'm so sorry for taking so long to bring our boys back, please forgive me.

Part 1 | Part 34

Max felt the roar of the Australian crowd as the set finally ended. Sustained by the announcement that the last rally surpassed the games record of 27 volleys with 31. The set had been going on for over an hour now with both players giving it their all.

Max watched as Daniel wiped at his face with the oversized towel. He was drenched in sweat, the planes of his muscles were obvious through the slicked fabric of his shirt.

This was the longest match Max had ever witnessed, Daniel and his opponent were very well matched and they each had an answer whenever the other had the upper hand. The scoreboard looked like an annoying math equation with integers and fractions.

It was clear who the crowd were behind though, the ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie oi oi oi’ chants riled the packed stadium in every break. The inflatable kangaroos waved merrily when Daniel got the advantage.

He was doing well for himself in his first big Open back from injury. Daniel had spent the Christmas break in training camp on the ranch while Max had been doted on by Grace and Daniel's grandmother.

Watching Daniel in his element would always make Max's blood simmer in his veins. Daniel was calm, focused, and fucking good. His navy shorts were short– mid thigh and shorter than he normally wore but Max wouldn't say he was complaining. Not when Daniel was lunging and stretching this way and that, Max loved watching his straining muscles.

He watched as Blake and Michael hurriedly poured packets of salt in a branded water bottle and shook it all together. Daniel had already drank all of the electrolyte drink and even the ‘just in case' pickle juice that had been packed in his gear bag. They were moving quickly, never once expecting the match to go on this long, for him to go through the back stores.

A court attendant in a white wide brimmed hat accepted the bottle and placed it by Daniel's bench. Daniel grabbed the bottle and took a sip and Max chuckled when his face involuntarily squished onto itself before he raised a thumbs up. He drank the salty water like a trooper before chasing it with some ice cold fresh water.

He made a face that was broadcast onto the screens, with his tongue out and sharp head shake, the crowd cheered and screamed. Daniel grimaced then laughed before waving to the camera goodnaturedly. He stood and wiped his face again before grabbing his racquet. The crowd swell was insane.

The next few sets went quickly after that, most into Daniel's favour. Max stopped paying attention to the clock, to the score. Instead focused on how strong and– quite frankly– fucking sexy Daniel looked below him. Panting and straining and looking positively dominant.

Grace's hand clamping onto his arm brought Max back to the present. The stadium was tense, with the sound of thousands of people gasping and holding their breaths. 

Max looked to see Daniel on the ground, on his back. His opponent returned the volley with vigor and Daniel had no time to get back up. The crowd groaned with fear and Grace seemed as if she wanted to hide her face.

Then Daniel arched up and volleyed back from his position on the ground. Then he scrambled to his feet just as the ball was returned. Daniel grinned widely and watched triumphantly as the ball went out. The stadium roared and Daniel beat his chest, then raised his hands tiredly in thanks.

— - —

Max licked his way up the planes of Daniel's back as he laid prone on bed beneath him. His arms were spread out like a cross, ice packs taped to his biceps and traps. 

Daniel was exhausted, and Max had elected to be the one in charge of his post match care. He'd say through the trophy ceremony impatiently, he couldn't wait to get his hands on Daniel.

“Mmm Max.” Daniel groaned gutterally, his face smushed into the sheets. Drool collected beneath his lips to form a wet patch.

Max had been edging him the whole time, massaging his muscles while keeping him horny as hell. Daniel's body was a livewire of pain and pleasure and his dick was hard and leaking, trapped beneath him.

“You did so well today, Daniel. You were perfect. My perfect champion.” Max cooed in Daniel's ear, pressing his hard dick between the cleft of Daniel's cheeks. Daniel shivered and whined.

Max kissed the column of Daniel's neck and rutted against him, savouring each of Daniel's breathy moans and exhales.

“You're gonna come for me baby, let me take care of you.” 

“Yeah.” Daniel panted, trying and failing to raise his head or his hips for better access to Max's roving lips and grinding hips. He wanted to do more but his energy was done. And Max felt so so so good.

“Don't worry, I'll fuck you tomorrow baby. I promise.” Max gripped Daniels hips and picked up his speed. Daniel's whines became hitched before his eyes clenched and he stiffened beneath him. Daniel choked out a moan while Max murmured praises into his ear, a soft smile on his pink lips. 

“Max, fuck.” Daniel rasped and Max came with a moan of Daniels name.

[wraithprint]

Housewarming ;

✖ a twisted metal fic

⊱rating: explicit ; minors dni ⊱summary: you handle a knife like the world ended before your parents taught you how to cook and Sweet Tooth loves like the world ending finally gave him the chance to. ⊱pairing: sweet tooth x gn!reader ; primarily sweet tooth pov ⊱wc: 4.3k. help ⊱contains: no beta, no use of y/n, established relationship, age gap - Sweet Tooth is in his late 30s/early 40s and you are a 20something apocalypse baby, no gendered pet names, descriptions of blood + murder, brief mention of child abuse, fluff, yearning, ruminations on codependence, smut, piv sex, creampie but i don't focus on it, kitchen sex, dom needles if you squint, gloves stay on mask stays on, a whiff of yandere if you squint, narrative and tonal delineations between sweet tooth / needles kane / marcus kane, extremely specific early 2000s reference, general inability to write a short and punchy sex scene, sweet tooth can't fuck without being a little annoying about it ⊱a/n: this was supposed to be short. this was supposed to be a bullet list. help. i also dug up my CD + CD player just to relive my cereal box kid's choice awards CD memories. that synth opening on Sometimes is so bad.

Sweet Tooth kind of hates houses.

Not in a gestalt sense — he'll spend all day watching reruns of HGTV if given the chance; he's developed more opinions on farmhouse decor than what should be healthy. No, houses just happen to be the vessel in which household dynamics were inflicted upon him. He feels the same about dollhouses, too: It's less about the house and more about it being the stage upon which Mommy Doll screams at him for not making enough in residuals to afford another trip to the Bahamas this year, and where Not My Daddy Doll ruins the plaster every time he gets upset.

But there's something about this house.

Maybe it's the lack of an open concept floor plan. Maybe it's the adrenaline from killing the couple who lived here, still warm in the foyer in their matching tennis outfits. It could be the polished marble floor, which is complimented so well by all that blood right now, or it could be because it's a mansion. Those high ceilings and vacuous rooms feel spacious enough to house his baggage without it piling up against the walls.

Or, he thinks, at the sound of you shrieking in delight from the kitchen, it could be you.

He's cleaning his machete on the wife's tennis dress when he hears you from the room over.

"They've got fucking chicken in here!" Your voice is half-muffled from inside the fridge; back end jutting out from behind its open door.

"The chicken is doing what now?" Sweet Tooth calls back to you.

There's a thunk, then the distinct sound of produce hitting the floor and rolling. You're glowering at him when he rounds the corner. The hair on the back of your head is disheveled; several potatoes roll aimlessly along the glossy tile. He doesn't have to say it. You already know he knows.

"The chicken," you enunciate laboriously, "is about to get chef'ed by yours truly."

"You cook?" he asks, mildly incredulous. "I got the impression you just ate whatever fit in your mouth." And, according to recent sordid memory, some things that don't quite fit—but you're creative. You find a way.

"Well, that's because I haven't had anything worth cooking." You intone as you rummage through the crisper.

"You mean aside from that possum you made last week."

This time, you dip lower before you snap your head out of the fridge and pivot on a heel towards the counter with purpose. He doesn't mind that you're stubbornly avoiding his gaze—he's busy moving behind you to shut the fridge, watching the line of your hips as he does it.

"Aside from that possum I killed and you insisted I try to cook with aerosol and a lighter."

It came out charred on one side and nearly raw on the other. Absolutely abysmal eating. Also sixty percent his fault.

"You listened to me. That's on you, sweetheart."

You shoot him a bird, he shoots one back, and the two of you descend into banter about everything from the tiles to the backsplash to the enormity of the kitchen itself and what all it could be used for (murder, cooking, fucking - in that order). You've got some crushed garlic and pat of butter (real butter!) going on a bougie ceramic skillet and the air sings with the scent of aromatics.

"Hey, Needles?" You call a bit louder than necessary, as if he could ever stop paying attention to you. "Put something on, would you, please?" He follows the nod of your head to a swanky-looking CD player sitting on the counter a safe distance away from the sink. There's a CD rack beside it, the rotating kind, like a seasoning rack for disc jockeys.

"What're you in the mood for?" Asks Sweet Tooth. In two strides he's there and thumbing through the collection. Rock and grunge, mostly. Nirvana, Foo Fighters, The Cranberries. Soundgarden—he'll save that for you—and...Weezer, for some reason. It's completely possible that the previous homeowners put all of their taste points into music rather than interior design. Too late to ask them now, he supposes.

You make a noise just north of indecisive before saying, "You pick. Surprise me."

He gives it another spin, ignoring the ones that feel too easy, rolling his eyes at some others (Loggins and Messina? Really?) until he settles on one that stands out. It's in a ragged paper sleeve. There's a faded General Mills logo on it, and by the look of it, it must've come from a cereal box. The disc itself is glossy, embossed with a clean pattern of rings that feel pleasant to run a thumb over. He entertains himself with the aesthetics of it for a few seconds before reading off the disc to you.

"How about...The Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards 2003 Volume 2?"

You say nothing for a long moment. Sweet Tooth keeps reading the CD face.

"Featuring music by Britney Spears, Nikki Cleary, Backstreet Boys..."

"...NYSYNC and other hot artists?" You say automatically.

"And other hot artists indeed." Sweet Tooth taps the lid of the CD player and it eases open. You watch him so intently he can't actually tell if you want him to play the CD or snap it in two.

"I ate so. Much. Cereal. To get all four of those CDs."

Sweet Tooth loads the disc and presses play: swears he sees your pupils dilate at the sound of the disc whirring into place. After a few seconds of cheesy synth, the beat kicks in and Britney Spears drifts through the speakers, singing about Sometimes.

"Holy shit." Your garlic is starting to burn, but you can't bring yourself to care about that right now. "This is it! This is the one. I got this on the morning of a spelling test and listened to it all the way to school. It was in a box of Cookie Crisp," You start nodding your head to the music, mouthing words you half-remember, swaying to the back beat. Sweet Tooth falls into rhythm with you, albeit with far more gyrating than necessary for a Kid's Choice Award-winning song.

"Cookie Crisp," Sweet Tooth echoes fondly, voice rumbling through his mask. "A cereal after my own heart. Did you P-A-S-S the T-E-S-T?"

"Dunno." You shrug. "School blew up right before I handed it in."

The rhythm leaves your bodies, then.

He tries to imagine you school-aged; tiny and swallowed up by a uniform that runs too big in some places and too small in others. Hair flying wild after recess, dried spaghetti sauce on your cheek after lunch. Your little hands gripped tight around a pencil, trying to remember your i's before e's except after c's. Did you have a favorite subject? A favorite teacher? A favorite animal you secretly wanted people to ask about?

When the bombs started dropping, where did you hide?

Before you, Sweet Tooth never questioned what it was like to have been born at a different time. Time lined up well for him: old enough to have learned everything he needed before society collapsed, young enough to still enjoy it all when the doors to Blackfield flew open. He'd already seen his 21st birthday in the asylum by the time you learned your times tables. But moments like these get him thinking about if.

If he was born a little later.

If he had a different family.

If he had grown up in your neighborhood .

If he had gone to the same school as you.

Do you think we would have been friends?

Instead he says, "Hey, chef. Your garlic's burning."

And when you say, "Good. That one's yours."

He wonders if this is what a house is supposed to feel like: full of light, music, and the smell of vaguely burnt garlic.

Sweet Tooth has never known what domestic feels like, but he's seen movies. Read books. This—you, gushing about eating something that doesn't come from a can, mocking the leathery tans on the bodies by the door—it's gotta come close. It has to.

Sweet Tooth crosses the kitchen and moves the skillet for you, and it's on his return trip that he sees how utterly wrong you're holding the kitchen knife.

Almost the wrongest he's ever seen it. Cutting way too close to your knuckles, chopping a hapless carrot like you're trying to sever a limb and he's wincing each time the blade comes down like a guillotine. You handle a knife like the world ended before you had to cook for yourself, and it shows. A sense of duty settles itchy between his rubs and Sweet Tooth slots behind you, thick arms framing you as he settles his gloved hands over yours.

"Your knife etiquette is atrocious." He corrects your grip, shows you how to form a claw to protect your fingertips while you hold an onion. "Who taught you how to chop?"

You lean into him, slack and trusting as he guides your hands and Sweet Tooth has to remind himself how to hold a knife. How to cut. How to breathe. He curls himself around your shape and you let him, the both of you twisting into a single being and he likes the idea of that. The two of you, joined, forever. He could chop carrots for the rest of his life with you and he doesn't think he'd mind. Not if he got to be like this.

The question turns over in your head and finally, you answer.

"No one," You say blandly. Like you're discussing gas prices. "I lost my folks in the collapse. I think...the first time I put thought into holding a knife was when I was about to kill someone with it."

A beat.

He sees that same school uniform, sticky and ruined with blood. You probably still had baby teeth. If he had known you then...

Would you have trusted him?

He can't say he knows.

Instead, he holds onto what he does know: how your weight settles in his arms. The smell of your skin, the lye from the bar soap you use, so old that any real scent it had has faded by now. That scar at the base of your neck you got from a fishing accident, and the knowledge that if he kisses it right now, your breath would hitch in that secret, shuddering way he loves. He knows he would die for you.

And he longs to ask:

Do you know?

What he says is,

"I'm showing you, then. It's like this: a rocking motion. Tip to hilt. If you hold what you're cutting like this," he slides his hand under your palm, curls his fingers up into it for yours to rest against. "You won't lose your fingertips. Keep your fingers pinched at the base of the blade and you'll have more control."

You hum, considering this.

"It almost feels like an extension of me." You say more to yourself than the man attached to you. Your weight leans in the direction you're cutting, bringing Sweet Tooth with you like a shadow. He watches you work that thought down to the bone along with the remaining onions and potatoes on the cutting board.

Something about clicking the skillet back on after you add the vegetables puts two and two together for you, like remembering something once you get to the bottom of the stairs.

"Is this what it's like with your machete?"

Sweet Tooth makes a low, thoughtful sound. It reverberates through your bones, settles into the marrow and he doesn't miss it when your pulse stutters into a sprint at the sensation.

"Most good things should feel like an extension of you, I think." His voice is bright, smile wide behind his mask. "Some things feel that way because they're made well. Other things, it's like you grow into it. You take the time to understand it, nurture that bond, and you become..." He stops, then, brain wholly preoccupied by you taking a slice of carrot from the board and bringing it to your lips, taking his hand with it. Something hot braids slick in his in gut. The heat of your breath bleeds through the skin of his gloves and he can't. He can't say it.

Intertwined.

"Want one?" You've already got a slice of carrot up to his chin. He separates from you just long enough to expose his mouth, and in a moment he's eaten it.

In another, his mouth is on you.

His lips find your neck, settles on the sensitive skin of your throat. Feels it contract when you gasp. Gloved hands retreat from yours, take up residence under the hem of your tank top, travel the expanse of soft skin around your navel, the base of your ribs. The ribbed knit of your top sticks a bit when he peels it up, soaked through with arterial spray from earlier that's dried and set into the cotton by now. It leaves a scaly, sticky texture under your bust, and before you can protest the behavior Sweet Tooth's tongue is laving it from your skin in hot, wet stripes.

"Right now, Needles?" You try to keep your tone even, you really do. But he's licking what you know is someone else's blood off of you and the blood in your head is rushing to needier places at the moment. "With food on the stove?"

He ignores you, of course. You pry yourself from him, force yourself to drop the stove to min once again and all the while he's muttering little apologies as he follows you:

"'m sorry. couldn't help it. didn't mean to."

He's not apologetic for very long.

There's no shame in the way he positions you against the sink, bent slightly at the hip, elbows bowed to brace yourself between the counter and the weight of him behind you. That weight lessens a moment, just long enough for the sound of zipper teeth to catch the air. Your nostrils flare at the sound, and Sweet Tooth can't help but admire the way your hips cant back for him on reflex. Your tank top and sports bra are in a bundle at your armpits, your pants are still fully on, but nonetheless you react. Smooth leather slides over the swell of your hips. One hand settles where you've pivoted for him to hold you in place, and the other moves forward to unfasten your jeans. He only opens it enough to fit that hand in, to press the seams of his gloved fingers against your cunt through the fabric of your underwear and like many other things he knows this before touching you: you're already wet.

Sweet Tooth eases your pants off of you. Your underwear comes with it, and he lifts you up with that other hand just enough for you to kick the heap of fabric off your ankles. He lets you reposition yourself on the lip of the sink for all of three seconds before he removes the space between you. That first finger slides in, all the way to the knuckle and in a moment you're folded against the counter. The beveled edge of the granite is cold against your skin, bites into your hips and promises to bruise from the pressure but you don't care.

It's the first stretch you like the most - the sweet tension before your body goes slack and he starts finger-fucking you open in earnest, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto the backs of your shoulders and your neck, dragging his teeth against you until raised marks form. With your weight settled properly against the counter now, that other hand finds your clit. He pinches it just to make you clench around him before he sets a steady pace of rolling it under the pad of his middle finger.

"W-E-T," Sweet Tooth spells. His voice is rough, but you can still hear the chuckle in his throat when he asks, "What's that spell?" And he adds that second finger, curls them both inside you in a way that makes you hiss with pleasure.

"It spells—ah!—fuck you," you snipe back, but it's toothless. Stars swim in your vision. Your lower half tingles and all you can think about is the heat of his cock rubbing against the inside of your thigh each time he ruts against you.

"W-R-O-N-G. Might have to spell 'detention' next, sweetheart." There's just a drop of venom in his voice, the part of him that gets off on having power over you. It's this part of him that dips his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder and bites down hard. Hard enough to pull a strangled cry from you, half-surprised, half-pleasured, wholly addled by lust. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave two parallel rows of bruises blossoming under the skin.

Needles catches the white of your eyes flash up at him in the reflection of the glass. You're clever, keen enough to sense that shift in his tone even three fingers deep and he'd reward you for it. If you earned it. His hand leaves your clit to palm himself finally, allowing you just a moment to focus on him. "Next one's a twofer, honey, so pay attention."

You try. It's hard, with his fingers scissoring slow, deliberate strokes inside of you, but you bite down on your lip and you try.

"C-A-V-I-T-Y. What's that spell, hmm?" There's an edge to Needles' tone, like he's testing a blade against his thumb to see how much pressure it takes to pierce. A fresh wave of ache, raw and new from his teeth on your neck, pulls you away from the edge of an orgasm just enough to form a response.

"Cavity," you breathe, and your voice warbles from the effort. You can barely see the whites of his eyes under his mask in the window, pupils blown and locked on you. There's a tacky sound - skin on skin - and without seeing you know it's him squeezing himself faster. Needles shudders against you, some low, animal noise coming from him that makes your blood feel superheated in your veins.

"Clever." And it doesn't quite feel like a compliment when Needles says it so much as it feels like the other shoe preparing to drop. "And what do we do with cavities?" He sounds twice as pointed, voice a ragged thing in his throat and you want to stay cogent, you really do -

but you really need to come.

It's too much. You know the answer but your brain strains to grasp the word and bring it to your lips.

We fill them.

You can't say it. Tears prick your eyes, the apple of your throat bobbing on a wordless cry and that tell-tale tension starts to seize you, just before the dam breaks, just before -

Needles takes his fingers out.

You're almost mad at him for it.

"What do we do?" He enunciates, unimpressed, or...impatient?

Was he...waiting for you to finish his setup? It seems he is, because he lets you get a few breaths in you without punishment before tapping the leaking tip of his cock against your cunt as if begging the question.

"Fill them," You finally gasp. "We—"

Marcus Kane sinks into you.

It's like this: tip to hilt, a rocking motion, like you're an extension of him. All good things feel like an extension of the body, and from this angle he's not sure where you end and where he begins. He likes you like this, wet and trembling and split open on his cock, all the air in your body dedicated to him.

He doesn't let you move at first; he just holds you there, lets you feel the steady and relentless pressure of him spreading you on the length of his dick until he bottoms out so deep inside you that for a moment you can't stop clenching around him, some nerve hit and held down inside you. There's some confusion on what to call him. Sweet Tooth, Needles, Baby, please, rightthere, fuck - he'll answer to any and all of those, but he leaves you hanging on his length until you say his name.

"Marcus—" you finally sob. You're unbearably full. Each time he twitches inside of you, you clench around him like a sympathetic response, your body attuned to him on some synaptic level. "Please."

It's all you have to say.

Marcus breathes your name like it's precious in his lungs, and then he moves. His hips stutter forward, just that much deeper inside of you after having spent so long around him and it hits that spot in you, soft and vulnerable and you finally come undone. It starts with a litany of gasps, your core squeezing and spasming until your whole body feels like a clenched fist. He fucks you through it , relishes the staccato of your voice on the pace of his thrusts until that last moan climbs up and out of you with such volume it echoes off the tiles. He brings his hand down to your clit, circling it with each squeeze you give him, thrusting shallow and persistent against that spot until your legs dangle nerveless over the lip of the sink, until your orgasm rides the road of your body and all that's left is the two of you, intertwined.

You're dripping when he starts moving again.

He's vaguely aware of the CD starting over when he starts pumping in and out of you, filling and hollowing, shaping you to fit the bend and weight of his cock. This is how it's supposed to be—he belongs here. Inside you, with your head turned to kiss him so he can swallow each moan that spills out of you, with your legs hanging slack and open, swinging to the rhythm he fucks into you. Your chest heaves with effort, eyes glassy, already fucked out and touch-wrecked but you still lean into him, seeking his touch like a lizard to a hot stone. He could kill you right now and you'd let him. You could kill him right now and he'd let you, so long as he dies like this. So long as the last thing he feels is you.

Wet, vulgar sounds echo off the counters and the walls, and Marcus absently wonders if the neighbors can hear you. Can hear him, grunting so deep in his chest that his teeth feel like they're rattling. They could show up and moment looking for their tennis partners and neither of you can bring yourselves to care. It's a conscious effort to look at you, to hold you in his mind's eye what for the way his eyes keep rolling back in his head each time your walls press around him. You're both sticky from sweat, your thighs a mess of your own release and his precome steady forming a rope from the join of you to the floor. It's when you start babbling again that Marcus picks up his pace, feeling his own release creeping up in kind.

"Fuck! I'm gonna—" You swallow suddenly, hearing yourself for the first time in several minutes, voice foreign in your throat. "Gonna come." You're secretly glad he doesn't ask you to spell it.

"You're doing so good for me, baby." His voice thrums against the shell of your ear, calm, quiet, breathy. Like he's somewhere else, somewhere only the two of you can go, and only like this. "Almost there, just...hold on."

You hum, or as close an approximation you can get with a raw throat.

"So well."

Marcus makes a low questioning noise, slows just enough for you to say,

"Doing so well."

You can only moan, then, when he shifts his angle and drives into you from a new angle, driving the breath from you, but you hear him chuckle. It's a quick, biting thing, like he didn't mean to let it out but you hear it and Marcus fucks this new pattern into you it's what you focus on when your second, screaming orgasm shoots through you from gut to the space between your eyes and everywhere in between. Marcus comes just after with a desperate groan of his own, hips pumping sans rhythm until he unloads all he has inside you. He thrusts a bit more for good measure, slave to the feel of you tightening obediently around him — or bound by the need to make you utterly his. He can't tell anymore, and he can't care. His only cogent thought is how lovely you look folded over the sink like this, dripping in sweat, chest rising and falling in gasping, labored breaths. You're looking up at him in the reflection, ignorant of the world on the other side of that glass.

The sunlight filters through leaves now, the day landing on your skin from a different angle. Marcus resolves to kiss each dappled spot of sunlight from your skin and he's well on his way to do it until you start squirming desperately. Wordlessly, he lets you down, holds your hips to support your ambitious efforts to stand after such a thorough fucking and it's you who speaks first, after everything.

"The chicken..." Is all you can say. "I forgot the fucking chicken."

And the bubble pops, the music drones back in. Your afterglow is interrupted by the sight of your poor veggies sitting wilted and dried-out on the skillet, not quite burnt, but not exactly Michelin dining, either. Browned patches of butter cling to various spots on the skillet, a few degrees away from scorching. The chicken lies neglected and uncut where you'd left it, never even a contender in the morning's itinerary.

Sweet Tooth laughs. "We got the 'fucking' part down, at least!"

You turn to him, a pout set deep into the lines of your face, and that's all it takes for Sweet Tooth to get roped into cooking while you shower, raid the pantry, and spend the afternoon resting your aching legs on the chaise with Harold. Sweet Tooth doesn't mind. You've got this way of making anywhere feel like home, and even if the two of you won't be sticking around here, he might be convinced to spend a few days. At least until the fridge gets emptied...and definitely after you try out the beds.

And the shower.

And the couches.

There's something he's been meaning to ask you, now that you're stretched out catlike in the other room. He shouts for you, the shape of your name upturned in a question.

"Yeah?" You call back, voice wrecked, but he can hear the smile on your lips.

"What's your favorite animal?"

[gyutrivia]

Silent Hearts

pairing: Hoseok x femreader

word count: 2.6k

genre: childhood friends, friends to ???, angst, unrequited love, one sided love , highschool hobi

summary: “i love you but you are not mine”

rating: 16+

a/n: this is my first tumblr fic and it’s based on the song agust and let you break my heart. its a bit rushed and i am a bit dumb so my grammar sucks. enjoy!

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶

Have you ever found someone you loved so dearly? It could be your mother, your father, or your siblings—that’s love most everyone feels. In Greek, it’s called storge, a silly word for such a big meaning. What about your friends? The Greek language also has a word for it: philia. That's one that seems more familiar, right? But what does one call that one person who you love so deeply but they simply don’t feel the same way? Unrequited love. That sounds more modern, doesn’t it? But why is it one of the most painful feelings?

"Y/N, move out of the way!" someone screamed. I turned slowly and spotted the black-haired boy running full speed towards me. I stopped in my tracks, and only my stray hairs swayed in the gust of wind caused by the boy. "Hobi?" I said, my voice tinged with curiosity and disappointment. Now, the boy’s body was growing smaller as his distance increased. "Y/N, hold on," I sighed again and turned around, spotting my friend Em the brunette with a toothy smile as she bent down, hands on her knees. "Em, what happened?" I asked, walking up to her as she tried to catch her breath.“H-He ha—” Em let out a loud cough. I helped her up, handing her the bottle of water from my backpack."God bless you," Em said, drowning the water. “Is everything okay?" I asked as Em let out an "ah" sound."He had to crap," Em said, handing me the water bottle. I stood comically frozen as Em stared with a blank face."And why did you run after him?" I asked her as we stared blankly at each other. "Because I wanted to see if he was going to crap his pants," Em said with a straight face.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

“I made it in time,” Hobi said, placing his lunch tray on the table. “I almost didn’t, and I had tears in my eyes,” he continued, opening the juice. I stared at him with a blank look.

“Hobi, I didn’t need to know that. You can keep that to yourself,” I said, setting my tray in front of him."Sunshine, I swear, I almost jumped two guys who were waiting in line for the stall. The urinal was almost a victim," Hobi said, taking a bite of the rice cakes."I'm not continuing this conversation," I told him, standing up jokingly, causing him to stand up and grab my hand, smiling brightly."Stay. I won’t talk about my bubble gut anymore," he said."Hobi," I said, a laugh escaping my mouth.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

Jung Hoseok, aka Hobi, was one year older than me. The first time I met him, he threw a tennis ball at my head. Did I know where he got the tennis ball? No. Does he play tennis? No. But does he say he’s a professional tennis player? Yes. We didn’t become friends from that. It was one day when I went to slide down the slide and slid into a boy who was doing Spider-Man moves in the middle of the slide. But when we both landed on the bark, only one of us landed normally, and it wasn’t him and for the nickname when we fell from the slide the sun rays against my forehead blinded him and some how the nickname sunshine came to be but not after being called shiny forehead for a year straight.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

“I’m telling you, Sunshine, you don’t understand. You have to hold the camera steady. I saw the video you took, and I was moving like I was possessed,” Hobi whined as we walked home after school.“I was. You just moved possession. Not my fault,” I said as the cold breeze blew. I shoved my hands in my sweater pockets and let out a clatter in my teeth. “It’s so cold,” I said as Hobi danced around me. He stopped and shrugged.“You just gotta move around like me,” he said, doing a random dance. I smiled softly at him.

“Okay, sure, Hoseok,” I said. He stood next to me, grabbed my hand, and shoved it in his pocket while his hand held mine.“Is that warmer?” I looked at him a bit wide-eyed. “Hobi, Sunshine, not Hoseok,” he said, pouting. I felt my cheeks flush and turned away from him. The rest of walk was quiet only his hums filled the cold breeze.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

Now, let me introduce you to my first love, Jung Hoseok.

I didn’t want to love him. I did everything I could to stop it. I tried to focus on his flaws, but my mind found none. I even attempted to like other people, but they always paled in comparison to him. If you asked me why I fell in love with him, I would simply say, “It’s Hobi.” He never said he didn't feel the same, but his actions and words made it clear. The wingman for the cute girls at school. And, of course, the iconic line, “You are like one of the guys.” That’s why I kept my feelings to myself—I was just his best friend.

I remember every time he would gush about a girl he liked, my heart would sink a little deeper. It wasn’t jealousy, not entirely. It was the painful realization that I could never be that girl for him. I was the one he called late at night to talk about his dreams and fears, but I wasn’t the one he dreamed about.

There were times I thought he might feel something more. The way he would hold my hand a little too long, or the times he’d look at me with an intensity that made my heart race. But then, just as quickly, he’d pull away, cracking a joke. It was like he was reminding both of us of the boundary that existed between us.

I tried to move on. I really did. I dated other people, hoping that someone else could make me forget about him. But every date, every kiss, every moment spent with someone else felt like a betrayal to my own heart. No one could make me laugh like he did, or understand me the way he did.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

“You have to tell him, Y/N” Em said as she sipped her drink. I choked, coughing as she handed me a napkin. “Tell who?” I asked.“You know who I’m talking about,” Em said, placing her cup down. I avoided her eyes.

“Hoseok, Y/N. He’s going to college in a few months. Don’t you think he deserves to know?” Em's tone was serious. “I can’t,” I said, looking down and fidgeting with my bag strap. “I don’t want to break our friendship.”Em tapped her fingers on the table to get my attention. “You can write him a letter,” she suggested gently. "It’s better than saying nothing at all."

“Fine”

“Happy graduation, Hobi,” I said, handing him the bouquet of flowers. Hobi turned around and smiled brightly at me, opening his arms for a hug. I smiled and hugged him. The scent of his cologne hit my nostrils, the soft, faint smell of vanilla. I closed my eyes as my head landed on his soft chest. I wished I could stay here all day. I pulled away, and he smiled at me.

“I did it, Sunshine,” Hobi said, and there it was, my heart beating to the nickname only he called me when we were younger. I felt my heart pounding in my ears as I slid my hand into my purse, grabbing the letter.“Hobi, I hav—” I was cut off by a soft voice. I turned to see his mother walking with her husband. “I’m sorry, dear, but the photographer is looking for you, Hoseok.” I turned and smiled softly at her. “No, no, go ahead.” Hobi smiled at her and then at me, grabbed my hand, and gave it a light squeeze before jogging to his mother, leaving me.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

The days passed quickly, and soon it was time for Hobi to leave for Seoul. The night before his departure, we sat on the swings at the park we first met, the same place where we had spent countless evenings talking about everything and nothing.

“I’m going to miss this place,” Hobi said, swinging gently.“I’ll miss you,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll visit, and you can come to Seoul anytime,” he said, smiling that bright smile that always melted my heart.I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The letter burned in my pocket, but I knew I couldn’t give it to him now. Not when he was about to leave. Not when he was so happy.

We swung in silence for a while, the night air cool and crisp. Finally, Hobi stood up and pulled me into a hug.“You’re my best friend, Sunshine. Don’t ever forget that,” he whispered. “I won’t,” I whispered back, holding onto him as if my life depended on it.I tried to pull away, but Hobi shook his head. "No, not yet," he said softly. So I held on, and for once, the hug felt different. I was trying to let go, but my hands were gripping his t-shirt, as if they had a mind of their own.

"I'll miss you," I murmured again, feeling the sting of unshed tears."Don't worry, Sunshine. We'll see each other soon," he said, his voice filled with confidence.

I wished I could share his optimism, but my heart was breaking. I knew things would never be the same once he left. Hobi pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself," he said, his gaze intense.

"I promise," I whispered, forcing a smile. "Good," he said, finally letting me go. He ruffled my hair playfully, the way he always did. "And don't forget to write, call, and text me. I want to hear all about what's going on here." "I will," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

When we reached my front door, he turned to me one last time."See you soon, Sunshine," he said, smiling that familiar, heartwarming smile. "See you soon, Hobi," I replied, watching as he walked away.

As soon as he was out of sight, I rushed to my room, my heart aching. I took out the letter from my pocket and stared at it. All the words I wanted to say, all the feelings I had kept hidden, were right there on that piece of paper. But it was too late.

I opened the drawer of my small desk and pulled out the box of trinkets. It was filled with memories—ticket stubs, small notes, and other little things that reminded me of Hobi. I placed the letter inside and closed the lid, hiding it away with the rest of my unspoken feelings.

The next morning, I woke up early to see him off. The train station was bustling with people, but it felt like we were the only two there. Hobi was surrounded by his family and friends, all wishing him well. I stood on the sidelines, feeling a strange mix of pride and sadness.

When it was finally time for him to board, he came over to me, his smile as bright as ever. "Take care, Sunshine," he said, giving me one last hug."You too, Hobi," I replied, my voice cracking.

As the train pulled away, I watched until it disappeared from sight. My best friend was gone, and with him, a piece of my heart.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Hobi and I kept in touch through texts and phone calls, but it wasn’t the same. Every time we talked, I felt the distance between us growing.

I often found myself sitting at my desk, staring at the box of trinkets. The letter remained unopened, and I wondered if there would ever be a right time to tell him, or if I was destined to keep my feelings hidden forever.

Life went on, but a part of me was always with Hobi, in Seoul, living a life that I could only dream of being a part of. And just like that, we stopped talking. The texts stopped, the calls, and the letters—all of it faded into silence. Hobi and I were like two stars that met briefly before drifting apart in the vast universe.

୨୧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ୨୧

On my graduation day, amidst the sea of caps and gowns, I spotted him. Hobi was there, dressed casually in a loose white t-shirt and baggy blue denim jeans. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed, as if the Hobi I knew and cherished was back.

Drawn almost magnetically, I approached the group where he was standing, his back to me, engaged in conversation. As he turned around, the familiar rush of emotions surged through me, but they were quickly tempered by the sight that unfolded. Next to him stood a small petite girl in a purple sundress, her big eyes and pretty smile could have captured anyone's attention, yet I didn’t care to linger on her features. My gaze fell to their hands, intertwined firmly, a silent proclamation of their connection.

Masking the ache with a practiced smile, I looked back at him. "Thank you for coming, Hoseok," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. His expression shifted slightly, a mixture of surprise and something indefinable as he released the girl's hand to offer me a brief, somewhat awkward hug.

"Congratulations “ he replied, stepping back to stand slightly behind the girl. "I wouldn’t have missed it for the world."

"That means a lot," I said, glancing briefly at the girl who was watching our exchange with a curious look. Turning back to Hobi, I continued, "I hope everything’s been great with you." "Yeah, things have been... really good," he said, a hint of hesitation in his voice as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it. His gaze flitted to the girl beside him, and he introduced her. "This is Becky," he added, his smile returning. "Becky, this is Y/N, my old friend from school."

"Nice to meet you," she said warmly, offering her hand, which I shook lightly. "Nice to meet you too," I replied, my heart sinking just a bit deeper. The words 'old friend' echoed in my mind, a reminder of the distance now between us.

The ceremony was about to begin, and as people started to move towards their seats, Hobi touched my arm lightly. "Let’s catch up later, okay?" he suggested, a hopeful note in his voice. "Sure, we’ll see," I said, nodding politely.

As they walked away, their hands found each other again, and I turned to join my family, feeling the finality of the moment. It was clear that the chapters of our past were just that—past. Hobi had moved on, and it was time I did the same

As the graduation ceremony unfolded and later wrapped up, I didn't get the chance to talk to Hobi again. The bustling energy of families and friends celebrating, the loud congratulations, and the clicking of countless photos filled the air, but a quiet disappointment settled over me. Hobi’s mom approached me with a smile, her familiar warmth a small comfort.

“y/n dear, I wanted to tell you earlier, but Becky had to leave she was on call, you see, and Hobi drove her, so they had to rush off,” she explained.

I nodded, managing a polite smile. "Of course, I understand. I hope they got there okay," I said, hiding the mix of relief and sorrow that Hobi hadn't chosen to leave without a word. "They did, thank you. He wanted to stay longer, you know. He's always talking about how proud he is of you," she added, her eyes softening.

As the crowd began to thin and I started to leave the venue, a pang of nostalgia gripped me. In a fleeting moment, amidst the dwindling groups of chatting attendees, I thought I saw Hobi looking back at me. I blinked, staring harder into the crowd, trying to pinpoint the familiar face that had haunted both my dreams and waking thoughts. But it was just my imagination playing cruel tricks.

He was gone.

[fritzes]

some disorganized thoughts about challengers (some spoilers):

so I already talked about this but good god, mike faist's backhand was literally just domi's and yes I was insane about it the entire time

"challengers is a poorly disguised fedal fanfic" wrong. challengers is a poorly disguised rafole fanfic

like, the friends who are idealistically staring out on tour growing distant from each other? come on

every tennis scene felt like a sex scene which was the point, but I just feel the need to point that out because they executed it SO well

if art donaldson was a real tennis player I just know I'd be obsessed with him

all three lead performances were great. zendaya stole the show, which did not surprise me, but the guys were amazing too!

a decent chunk of the movie took place at the 2006 us open and andy roddick's face was EVERYWHERE. he was also on a poster at the atlanta open and I think cincy too? some other player posters I saw were andy murray, roger (for a very brief second), agassi, and isner

the product placement was hilarious. during one scene they lingered on some on shoes for a solid two minutes

the injury scene. oh my god. absolutely gut wrenching. the sound effect sounded so real and zendaya's scream and reaction... damn. damn. good shit

the actual challenger final was hilarious because they could not keep track of who was serving. at 5-5 in the third set mike faist was serving and then again at 5-5 in the third set josh o'conner was serving and then mike faist was serving at 6-5 and then what do you know josh o'conner was serving at 5-6. it was like that for the whole movie, the actual scoreline was consistent but the server kept switching. mike faist was up an early break in the third when josh o'conner got a game penalty but in the next scene it was on serve and the scoreline hadn't changed

tennis-wise, that was the only thing that really bothered me, obviously the form and point construction wasn't going to be perfect and I think they used the tennis scenes really well as symbols for the relationships

there were some scenes where I was like "oh yeah I've definitely read this in a fic"

the underarm serve. I had to stop myself from cackling. it was the worst underarm serve I have EVER seen, it bounced basically on the service line (of course the whole point was that the other guy was throwing the point but still). it screamed stefaniil and I loved it

the last point was insane. I'm obsessed

zendaya's "come on!" and the explanation and then the callback at the end was absolutely perfect, hats off to the writer because that got me like "ooh"

the slo-mo in the last scene was killing me because I had to pee SO BAD (the theater played like eight fucking trailers it was insane) so I probably didn't appreciate the ending enough oops

[nancywheeeler]

oo so curious abt all of these but how about "and if you don't love me now" and "whatever happens to me, i know it's for the better" ?? good luck on writers block also that shit is EVIL <- currently trying to shake it off rn

writer's block truly is so awful, like why am i staring at a blinking cursor and forgetting every word in the english language, can't it all just be easier. but alas. i hope both of our writer's block clears up soon!!

okay so, a significant aspect of "and if you don't love me now" is in the year of our lord 2024, eddie roundtree's first (and only) solo album goes viral on tik tok. so every scene is connected to a track from that album and there are little multi-media snippets that open each scene. i've had a lot of fun trying to mimic various pop culture and music publications. here's probably my favorite:

track eight: second-place finish “ my love’s a god you don’t believe in / my love’s a house that you don’t sleep in / i know, i know ” Roundtree took his time arriving at his album's thesis statement, but here it is, in time for the finale. The title is depressing in its irony; the singer has lost every two-man race he has competed in over the course of his life, but finally recognizes that even if the winner were to disappear tomorrow, he would not be called up to wear the crown. He had never been in the running in the first place. With a brutal honesty he evades on other tracks, Roundtree determines, “You’re a lover; you just don’t love me.” The brutality is served by how spare the musical arrangement is: a lone but faithful acoustic guitar, reminiscent of an old Townes Van Zandt song. Out of pleas or places to hide, Roundtree is left with only his guitar and his final testament’s fading refrain. He knows, he knows, he knows. — from “We Break Down Every Track on Eddie Roundtree’s Album, Secondhand Sounds” Pitchfork || June 30, 2023

meanwhile, "whatever happens to me, i know it's for the better" is even more sports rpf. background: at the us open in 2022, one of the greatest tennis matches ever was played between carlos alcaraz and jannik sinner. it went until like 3 AM. highly recommend watching it if you have a spare four and a half hours. in this match (spoiler alert), jannik sinner had a match point in the fourth set that he failed convert. carlos alcaraz ended up winning in the fifth set and then went on to win the entire tournament, his first grand slam title at only 19.

so...what would have happened if jannik had converted that match point? coming to a fic near you (hopefully)

“Advantage, Sinner.” The crowd inside Arthur Ashe was screaming, and the noise shook the stadium like a minor earthquake. Carlos had stopped trying to guess where their loyalties lied three hours ago. It seemed to him they weren’t on the side of Jannik Sinner or Carlos Alcaraz anymore, but on the side of the tennis itself, cheering at the end of every hard-fought point not because of who won it but because of the pure magic spun off their rackets. They needed Carlos to save this match point, because of how desperately they wanted more. It was the tennis Carlos dreamed of playing since he was a kid. Tennis that left the world breathless. Tennis, ten years from today, someone would reminisce about to anyone who’d listen. I was there for Alcaraz and Sinner’s US Open quarterfinal. I watched Alcaraz save a match point at the bottom of the fourth set. Mopping the sweat off his face, Carlos readied himself to make it so. Advantage, Sinner, but not for long. Carlos watched Jannik walk back to the baseline, anticipated him blowing on the base of his racket before he brought it to his lips. Already, he knew so much about Jannik, how his body moved, his on-court ticks. How he clenched his jaw with the same ferocity as he clenched his fist when he won a crucial point. How he planted his hands on his hips when he couldn’t believe he had missed. How he never let up, not for a second. Carlos had dreamed of him, too. The greatest players needed a rival, someone who pushed them to their breaking point, then past it. He knew now, if he hadn’t known already, that rival was Jannik.

[blissooya]

[WEVERSE] 230913 슝이🌹 update

It's concert soon and it's raining today! Does BLACKPINK really bring rain?? ☔️ I wish BLINKs would be able to make it comfortably 🥲 I want to be a weather fairy ☀️

👤 : Give advice for the concert

🐰 : Take couple photos and have fun like crazy! haha Take it in with your eyes 👀

👤 : Did you decide concert hair?

🐰 : That's right... I think I have my hair down! The trend is having it down(?)

👤 : Unnie my lightstick still hasn't arrivedㅠㅠㅠ

🐰 : Oh my bbyongbong!!!🔨 Hammer emoji.. it's scary...

👤 : It's supposed to rain this weekendㅜㅜㅜ Rainpink

🐰 : No.. I'm actually a weather fairly, the weather is nice wherever I go!!

👤 : Let the weather be clear this weekend. Weather fairy

🐰 : The weekend will be clear ☀️

👤 : Unnie, I always prepare translated sentences and go back and forth to paste them🥺 It's hard 😭 Why can’t I speak Korean 🥺 I want to talk to you like everyone else 🥹

🐰 : Translated sentence is perfect 👏🏻 There is no problem with our conversation, so don’t worry ♥️

👤 : Unnie I heard you watch Blinks vlog so couple days ago Coachella, SF vlog was uploaded haha hope it pops up in algorithm ...!! 🥹

🐰 : Oh, I have to look it up. For Coachella, it seemed everyone had a hard time 🥲♥️ Thank you

👤 : I want to try hot pot

🐰 : You want to try..? I'm shocked .. I want to buy a mouth that hasn't tried it yet

Cyber Tanghulu

🍓 🍅 🫐

🍓 🍅 🫐

🍓 🍅 🫐

🍓 🍅 🫐

ㅣ ㅣ ㅣ

Jisoo which one do you want?

🐰 : Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk cyber tanghulu kkkkkkkkkkkkk Ah I want.. number 1 of course it's strawberry tanghulu

👤 : Chu how about filming Seoul vlog?!?!

🐰 : Oh... kekekeke It sounds like a good idea!! kekeke It's embarrassing to carry a camera in Seoul, but I want to try it!! 🤩🤩

👤 : Unnie you outfit looks like a badminton player 😎😎

🐰 : I guess I should wear this skirt when playing tennis! Is what I was thinking haha 🎾

👤 : I'm gonna get rid of all the hotpot from this world ! ! And chicken skewers ! ! 🤥

🐰 : Why are you doing this to me.

👤 : If you smile, the weather will improve by 103%!

🐰 : ^_________________^ ♥️

👤 : I'm cramming the fanchant... I'll memorize it all and go and scream like crazy!!!

🐰 : kkkkkkkk Ah, the fanchant is so hard.. I did it during my solo shoot and it's impossible to memorize it all... I'll let you cheat!!

👤 : I'm curious about apple hair Jisoo!!🍎🍎

🐰 : Apple hair.. I have to apologize.. I'll do that by myself for when I wash my face .. 🍎 he kkkkkkkkkkk

👤 : Unnie what is you're favorite movie?💘💘💘

🐰 : I have a habit of rewatching what I watched like crazy.. Recently, I saw "Shutter Island" and "Pride and Prejudice" again

👤 : Unnie please take a lot of selfies! Last time in Jennie’s photo I saw Jisoo getting makeup done in the corner! Jisoo please take a lot of selfies backstage! I love it! You're so pretty!☺️🥰

🐰 : Kkkk Appear in the corner 🤣 I'll try to take a lot of selfies, it's so hard ㅠㅠ

👤 : Please tell me what you are good at cooking ☺🍀

🐰 : Nothing.. I like boiling water in an electric pot (?)

👤 : Jisoo do a encore encore concert Gocheok is to small ㅠㅠ

🐰 : Is it like last time🤣 Next time in a bigger place...?! Will it work! kekeke hehe It sounds good to us 🤩

👤 : Jisoo unnie!! I’m enlisting in 4 days!! Actually it's noona, but I thought you would reply if I said unnie so I wrote it!!! I’m so glad I enlist after watching BLACKPINK concert!!

🐰 : I was going to use my sharpness because you said unnie that is going to army but you were teasing me kkk hul!!!! ㅠㅠㅠ Let's have fun!!!!!!

👤 : Lately do you not dream?

🐰 : I dream often!!! I dream all the time, today was also spectacular..

👤 : Tell me the most interesting dream you had recently!

🐰 : I dreamt I went to the zoo and that all the animals escaped and chased me kekekeke

👤 : Jisoo unnie, I'm a Chinese Blink unnie if you support me I'll go buy tickets and see BP concert. ILY! Please give support!

🐰 : You seem like Korean but when you run translator, the Korean is usually accurate but here there's some strange Korean mixed, see you at concert!!🤣

👤 : Jisoo what should you do you do when depressed?

🐰 : I don't think you can do anything when depressed! I sleep when depressed and I just lay on the ground, when I lay on the bed I have too many thoughts so before falling asleep I lay on the living room floor! Spaced out hahaha

👤 : I listen to rain asmr when I sleep, I sleep well

🐰 : kekekeke When I fall asleep, I sleep right away when I lie down so I sleep without sound! And you always sleep well ! Good!!! haha

👤 : Unnie! If blinks become cockroach what do you do? Jennie unnie said sorry,, kekeke

🐰 : I don't think it's that bad to be a cockroach now! When I thought about myself in that position, I was even excited that I had strong vitality and drive? I'd like to recommend a space trip

👤 It's crazy that we live in an era with BP ㅠㅠ We can go to concerts... and meet people who will go down in Korean history in real life ㅠㅠ Thank you to my parents for letting me be born in this era

🐰 : No... The finish is a good son..? good daughter..? which is beautiful kkkkkkkk Thank you(?) I am also thankful to my parents because I was born in this era and received so much love from BLINKs 👏🏻♥️

I'm going now! We'll meet soon, but I'm hoping and hoping that the weather will clear up by then☀️ And BLINKs aren't sick either!!! Come prepared to have fun!!!!!! It's this week! I can't believe it!!!! I'll do my best to show my best side too!!! See you soon, ILY ♥️♥️♥️

[cutepastelstarsalior]

Clone high live blog pt 2

Episode 5

Cloe still using Abe…. :/

Random trucker dude helping Ghandi with his studies in a roundabout way :) awww cute.

Mr b and the other robot fighting, is silly and Mr b cussing is so weird.

Car race whoooo!!!

Abe pull over and take a nap…..accurate driving time tips???

Nothing bad ever happens to the Kennedys wahhh :)

Ghost truckers!!!!!!! :0

Episode 6

Joan and her grandfather have a cute relationship :)

Kid of wonder how does everyone take in the fact that clone are real? And there a whole school full of them?

What the fuck.

Why the fuck is their nazi Germany school parody???

😬

I forgot that cartoon don’t have cigarettes anymore….

Aliens….aliens guts….,

Joan….girl, please stop. Abe didn’t want to date you….

Bi JFK real.

😬 cloe weird food flirting….

Pan JFK real

Killer alien..

Bi Cleo????

I totally forgot that originally Joan disguised herself to be on the boys team just to prove girls can play basketball….

Episode 7

THEIR CANADIAN????

JFK knows or listen to boy bands :)

Ashley angel from the band O-Town does not sounds like an actual human being….but apparently he and the band are real

Weird Tom and Jerry skit with the dr????

Cleo hook up with collage guys, her dentist touch’s her, and Ashely angel…….concern™️

Oh false alarm their American….

Her tennis instructor too?? Double concern™️

Abe and Cleo call each other baby.. that’s cute.

How do you turn a jacket into a necklace???

Everyone screaming and running in the airport bit :)

Episode 8

?????????????????????? Weed episode????????????

Peer pressure!!!! Ooohhhhh

Why is there quick random flashes of….something smoking a joint??

Hippie culture??????

What is this episode?

?????????????????????????????????

The beetle record player conspiracy???????????

What the hell is this episode

[soronya]

4. 6. 7. 10. 20. 21. (For the tennis ask game thing❤️)

Thank you so, so much for the asks 🧡

4) Favourite doubles pairing?

I have to admit I don't watch doubles so often, mostly bc it's barely broadcast anywhere and I hate watching streams, so...

But: I loved Kevin Krawitz and Andreas Mies together and it still breaks my heart a bit they broke up.

And of course honourable mention of the few times Fedal played doubles together, because that is what touches my rotten heart.

6) Favourite surface to watch?

Clay. Clay clay clay clay clay. It's so pleasant to watch, you have rallies, you have a variety of shots, the serve is not everything and listen, THE SOUND. There's barely anything more pleasing than players sliding on clay. I love clay.

7) Favourite surface to play on?

Since I only ever played on clay and carpet, I can only say I also prefer clay here by a mile. I wanna play on grass one day bc I'd really wanna know how it feels. I like the natural surfaces in general.

10) Favourite commentator?

Unf. Since I usually watch the matches with German commentary, this is really hard to say. Most of the commentators are alright and I don't really have a favourite now, but generally I enjoy the commentary of ex players more than from others.

20) Who is a player you irrationally dislike?

Well. I don't really wanna mention any name here to not upset anyone. But the reasons for me disliking (not hating!) some players are mostly a) the fans or b) the hype.

21) What's your favourite match of all time?

Wimbledon 2008. The final. I don't think I need to say more.

But also: AO 2022. The final. I watched the whole match live, had mental breakdowns and anxiety, I yelled, I screamed I jumped and when Rafa won, I cried because I was so happy. What a day. Will never forget.

[loveforalexzverev]

Hi! It’s good to see a Tumblr blog about Sascha that makes one remember what his game was and - in a way - still is like. I won’t lie, with all these allegations and accusations against him it’s hard to watch him like I once used to, even though his style is still enjoyable and entertaining to see on court.

I can’t help but notice that in your reply to another Anon you offered to give your opinion about DV accusations against him. I would like to read them too, especially regarding Olya/Olga. Her story seemed - sadly - truthful and honest enough to me… The newer one not so much tbh, as it sounded quite sketchy to begin with, but O.’s ringed terribly believable. Even more so with some of his on court behaviour, which I know doesn’t mean anything but it’s hard not to see the possibility of his violent tendencies with how he treated his dad during that match few years ago, not to mention other things.

I promise I’m not looking for starting an argument or something. Simply wonder what your reasoning is and opinions on these two accusations, made by completely different women, who may both be friendly with another player’s wife but otherwise don’t seem to have much in common.

Thanks in advance!

Hi Anon,

I'm sorry for the delay in replying. Thank you for your message. I addressed most of the reasons why I don't personally believe the allegations in this post, if you want to read it. But I've tried to answer your ask below the cut:

Ultimately everyone is entitled to their opinion on whether they personally think Sharypova's story is believable, but the facts are that the independent investigation carried out on Sascha because of her allegations found "insufficient evidence to substantiate the allegations of abuse". For someone to be declared guilty of a crime of which they are accused, evidence must be provided which proves their culpability beyond reasonable doubt. Sharypova's evidence did not do this; it was examined, and subsequently deemed insufficient to prove her allegations are truthful.

I also just want to point out that "believable" is relative. She did not relay her version of events herself, instead a dramatised documentation of her story laced with an excessive amount of pathos and logos was curated between two articles released a year apart by a journalist looking to sensationalise every aspect. The ultimate effect was to make her story as profound, poignant and convincing to the reader as possible. At the end of the day, he is a journalist, and there are common tactics used in journalism to convey a story in the most persuasive and impactful way.

But removing all the journalistic techniques Rothenberg incorporated into his writing and solely examining the strength of the evidence she provided, it was ruled that it wasn't enough to prove he is guilty of abuse.

And as for on-court behaviour, I strongly disagree that how a player conducts themselves on-court in the high-tension environment of a professional tennis match has anything to do with their off-court behaviour. And I certainly don't think that it in any way indicates they are a perpetrator of domestic violence. By that reckoning, most  ATP players, including Djokovic, Federer, Murray, Alcaraz, Bublik, Medvedev, Rublev etc. must all be abusive to their partners. I definitely would never make this assumption based on on-court aggression.

The incident with his father was years ago, and it was purely verbal aggression. I do believe Sascha has developed greatly since then and has never repeated that since. Other players on the circuit have been far more aggressive both verbally and physically during matches and continue to do so even now. Screaming at members of their box to the point at which they leave, or in some cases throwing things at / near them, smashing / manhandling tournament equipment in anger, etc. But again, even if this behaviour induced by frustration in a match is not what I would personally condone, I would strongly advise against taking it out of context and using it as proof that they are abusers.

And lastly, I just want to clarify what you said about the two accusations made against Sascha being by independent women who have nothing in common. This isn't exactly true, there is actually more going on than it originally appears.

Patea and Sascha split in 2020, there is proof she shared on Instagram throughout the spring and summer of 2021 of her and Sascha sharing an amicable relationship as co-parents while he was in Berlin visiting their daughter. Then later that year after Sharypova's second article was published, Patea then filed for the penalty order.

It didn't get reported much outside of Germany, but intrinsically linked to the penalty order case was a custody case. Patea and Sascha shared joint custody before, but she was trying to take sole custody. It was reported in Stern and Süddeutsche Zeitung back in 2023 that she had gotten in contact with Sharypova around late 2021 and had provisionally tried to file for sole custody with an application which involved Sharypova's accusations, but it was denied. Thus, she sought out the penalty order route.

The main issue is that as Sharypova's accusations were published in articles, they were available to the public. Her rendition of events, her evidence, it was all there for the public to see. So Patea sharing a story with similarities to hers is not coincidental.

On that note, among the expert witnesses Sascha's legal team had for the trial was a linguist named Raimund Drommel who had analysed Patea's words and could prove that she had copied Sharypova's accusations on purpose. And also one of the messages Sascha's defence lawyer Alfred Dierlamm mentioned having proof of at the start of the trial:

Source: X

Anyway, that's just my view. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. I'm not here to try and convince anyone to think / not think a certain way. I just want to run a supportive blog for a tennis player I like and share viewpoints and aspects of the story which are often overlooked by the media, but are no less valid.

Please take care ❤️

[cursed-rwby]

What playing Super Smash Bros for the first time feels like.

[eunivrse]

love is war. [armin arlert]

summary: it’s only a matter of time until one of you gets pushed over the edge.

content warning: college au, tennis player armin & reader, mean armin cuz he’s my fav yas, spitting, unprotected sex, semi public sex, creampie.

note: this started as a tennis player hc but um yeah. also title is dedicated to kaguya sama: love is war bc the season finale had me SCREECHING.

tennis player armin, who always seemed so composed and graceful whenever he’s swinging his signature blue racket, innocent smile always plastered on his face whenever he’s shaking his opponent’s hand after winning a match.

he’s talented and diligent, never missing practice and always a delight to be around no matter the situation. you’ve been eyeing him since the beginning of the season, the men and women’s tennis practices just happened to be at the same time, so naturally, you cross paths from time to time. whenever you’re in break, you often find yourself staring at the guys— specifically at armin.

there’s something off, the way his slate is too clean, no one ever saying anything foul about him, and the fact that he’s on everyone’s good side.

but you eventually shake your suspicions off due to your teammate, pieck, always teasing you for staring too hard at him. “he’s perfect isn’t he? handsome, wise, good at everything he does…” she would ponder and you’d just shrug, not necessarily disagreeing with her, but you’re fascination with him goes deeper than his appearance.

everything you initially assumed went into play when he got you posted up against the netted wall of the court after everyone had left since you agreed to your coach’s request to practice with him in preparation for his tournament next month.

it’s no doubt that you’ve been provoking him to get a reaction for the past hour, pulling your skirt up a little too high without shorts underneath, then bending over to pick up the green ball that has fallen to the ground. not to mention scuffing his pride by grumbling insults such as, ‘pretentious’ and ‘shallow’ under your breath, obviously enough for his ears to catch.

you asked yourself how much it’s going to take for him to at least snap.

to your surprise, it didn’t take longer than an hour.

“are you really gonna go this far just to piss me off?” he hisses against your ear, the wall rattling behind you, his toned arms trapping you. armin already knew you were plotting something like this judging by the intense way you’d stare at him whenever he’d catch a glimpse; he thought it was cute that you were willing to go that route.

truth be told, he’s also had his eye on you like you’re a fucking prize. you were always just there, running around all pretty with your little skirt and tight sports bra.

“you know, i really love slutty girls like you. fuckin’ love it.” he huffs as he hooks your leg around his arm and pins it to the wall behind you, your panties hanging on your ankle. the fresh evening air fanned against your pussy, and the fact that you’re out in the open like this makes it all the more exciting.

without the patience to completely pull down his shorts, he snugs his long, slightly curved cock into your tight cunt, though you only kept a sly smirk. “and i really love easy men like you.” you spat on him, a blob of saliva splattered on the corner of his lips. instead of being visibly insulted, his hips slapped against your pelvis, endowing himself in your muffled pleas, drool already soiling the yoke of armin’s shirt.

his thumb sneaked up under your white skirt and against your clit, rubbing ragged circles on it. you bit your lip hoping that you wouldn’t scream to the whole campus about just how good the dick you’re getting is right now. the court is empty, the sun on its course of setting, the blue hues of twilight splayed across the sky. the only sound you could hear is your whimpering, armin’s needy grunts and the wet slap of his cock fucking into you.

god, his favorite part was looking at your face, eyes threatening to close, stains of tears trailing down your cheek. he kisses your lips, slipping his tongue in between and swallowing your moans.

pulling out shortly after, you gasped, “‘m so close, ‘wanna cum so bad,” his dick pulsated as response to your sudden pleading. your fingers were fisted on his blonde locks, his face just barely a millimeter from yours. he paused for a moment to appreciate your disheveled demeanor; lipgloss stain across your cheek and sweat all over your body, he wanted this moment to be more than just a one time thing.

“fuck, sweet girl. you look beautiful when you’re begging. let me take care of you, m’kay?” he whispers and you could only nod while his cockhead inched its way to your g-spot, your tits contained by your sports bra struggling to bounce from his jagged thrusts.

“armin, i’m gonna cum, ah fuck, ‘m gonna cum so hard, please, hah— armin, please cum in my pussy, fuck…!”

you felt as if you were seeing yourself in third person, life flashing before your eyes as you came around him with a silent scream of his name. your vision was white for a split second until armin himself reached his limit.

he locked his hips inside you to pump you full of cum, his hand grabbing your jaw to look you in the eye, your expression hazed. he’d never seen anything like it and he’s completely obsessed.

armin pulled out, a strand of cum connecting his tip and your clit while the rest dripped down your thigh.

“so this is what you’re really like,” you chuckle, your chest still recuperating, his arm protruded with veins all across from having to carry your leg for such an extensive amount of time.

he helped you regain composure by scooping your waist and walking you to the nearest bench where your stuff are.

“so same time tomorrow?” he quips, that familiar stupid grin that fools everyone around him lighting up his pale complexion once again.

you scoff, “i guess.”