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allwaswellllll · 2 days

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The Secret Of Us (1/1)

Summary: Lucien returns after three weeks away and, well, Helion's library might never recover.

Rating: Explicit

Note: I haven't written smut in a decade, so I'm scared. Pls be kind.

I felt it, you held it, do you miss us?

A03

Nestled in a private corner of Helion’s library, Elain stretched out her bare legs against the tufted cushions upon the old settee, cradling a book in her hands. The soft glow of dusk rippled through the small window, casting her skin in the warmest shade of gold. It was true her tone had changed in the year she had been at Day, freckles blooming on her sun-kissed skin. Her nose always seemed just that little bit pink, perhaps from the constant warmth or from perpetual burn. But gods, she loved it here.

She loved the High Lords son more, though thinking about that too often when he was away chafed on their already blooming and freshly accepted mating bond.

It had been three weeks now since she had seen Lucien and she missed him. The ache had settled in her chest the moment he had winnowed away, never dulling though the weeks had passed. She tried to keep herself busy, helping in the libraries, the other scholars, Helion’s two other courtiers as they planned political trips in the fall. But that ache remained, a persistent reminder of the golden thread that demanded her mate.

Three weeks was too long. She tried not to sulk but slipped every now and then. Like now.

The setting sun was so beautifully warm against her face that she closed her eyes, tipping her head back against the pillow. The peace of this court, her home, never failed to take her breath away. She had never felt quite so settled in her life, so happy and safe and loved, despite her mate currently in another territory charming the pants off courtiers and High Lords alike. She accompanied him, most of the time, but as this was his first official outing as Heir of Day, she thought it best he conquer it on his own. She regretted her choice immediately.

Like she had conjured him up from will alone, she felt him before she saw him. Snapping her eyes up, she found Lucien leaning against the bookshelf sectioned to block off this particularly private part of the library, a small smirk on his lips and his arms crossed. He watched her, eying her up and down and heat bloomed across her chest at the purely male flame alight in his eyes.

The book fell from her lap onto the carpeted floor as she spun herself off the lounge and launched herself at him. He met her halfway, his arms circling around her waist as she flung her arms around his neck, lifting her up and crushing her against his chest. His face burrowed in the crook of her neck, and he breathed in her scent deeply, squeezing tightly. A part of her felt whole again. Home. He was home to her.

‘Gods, I missed you,’ he spoke into her neck, muffled by his lips against her skin. Her laugh was choked, a lump forming in her throat as she pulled back, her hands brushing against his cheeks as she leant forward and kissed him.

He groaned against her lips, pulling her up, up, like he couldn’t get close enough. She opened up for him, like she always had, even when they were fighting against this bond, her fingers sliding down to his chest and fisting his white linen shirt. He was so warm. Their mating bond hummed in response, lighting the flame within them to touch, taste, take. Three weeks was too long. Too soon. She needed him.

Lucien seemed to have the same feelings as his hands moved down to her thighs, lifting her up. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist and even though they were flush against each other it still wasn’t close enough. She felt desperate, panicked, like if she didn’t have him now she would die. He backed them up while his lips still moved against hers, all teeth and tongue and them, spinning at the last moment so that he sat on the cushions and pulled her down onto his lap. He never let go once. His fingers moved from her waist to her neck, into her hair as he cradled her neck, kissing her deeply. She moaned against his mouth, grinding against the hardness of him against her core. Her long skirt, white and chiffon with a large slit up to her upper thigh, bunched around her waist as his free hand found her thigh, moving higher, higher, higher until he found what he was looking for and the sound that left both their mouths was not human or fae, but pure animal. She moved against his hand, breathless against his lips, needing more of him, all of him. The feeling left her breathless and dizzy, that all-consuming lust and love that she had only ever felt with him.

‘It feels like you missed me,’ he breathed into her ear, and she tipped her head back as he brushed his thumb over her bundle of nerves, slick and aching for him. Her answering moan left him chuckling against her ear and the sound sent a bolt of lightning straight through her. His lips against her ear were always her undoing, but when he used his fingers like that? She felt like she could combust right then and there.

She still had enough wits about her to move her fingers down to his pants, fumbling with the buttons because she needed him inside her. She couldn’t wait, didn’t want slow or teasing, she just wanted him. All of him.

When he was finally free she shifted, swatting his fingers away before she sunk down on him slowly, the air escaping her lungs with each inch. He groaned against her mouth, his fingers instead moving to her waist to help guide her and gripping her so tightly she knew he’d leave a bruise. Wanted him to.

‘Fuck Elain,’ Lucien breathed, his voice choked, and she nodded breathlessly as she begun moving slowly while her fingers gripped his shoulders. Their foreheads connected, already glazed with sweat, like the fire within them burned them from the inside out. Breathing each other in with each lift and sink, Lucien bucking his hips to go deeper, and she whimpered as she kissed him again. And again. It was messy and wet and so perfectly them that she had to swallow the ever-growing lump in her throat. Never again. She’d tell him, they were never leaving each other again.

The bond in Elain’s chest bloomed hotter, tight, and fierce, her body heightened as she rose higher and higher, the familiar coiling sensation building as she moved faster, needing him undone. She wanted him to spill inside her, come together, feel their bond reach that crescendo that was unlike any other worldly experience. She nipped on his lip, her fingers moving to his cheek as she stroked his skin. ‘I love you.’ She spoke against his mouth, or maybe she didn’t speak at all, but suddenly they both came hard, their moans and breaths filling the air around them as they gripped each other tightly through it. Never letting go.

Her forehead rested against his, slick with sweat, their clothes still on, and she breathed out a laugh as she closed her eyes. He panted against her temple, his fingers running up and down her thighs and fuck she’d never get over this feeling.

‘Let’s go upstairs so I can bed you properly mate,’ Lucien whispered in her ear and her laugh echoed in the library even after he winnowed them away.

#elucien #elain x lucien #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #lucien x elain #eluciendaily

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honestlyreadingruinedmylife · 2 days

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That’s amazing. Of course everyone needs to start somewhere. Of course I understand not everyone likes writing smut.

Young Charles Xavier x reader. She’s also has a mutation. She’s kicked out by her parents when they find out that her boyfriend is in a wheelchair. She turns up in the pouring rain with her puppy under her jacket to keep them dry and a black eye because her dad hit her (you don’t have to write that just imply it)

Hope that’s not to detailed but wanted to give you as much detail as I could to help you write it.

Can you please tag me in any future X-Men fanfiction you write.

A.N: Okay, I finally got around to finishing this. I'm actually quite proud of it given it's my first time EVER writing fanfiction and especially with it being a request. I hope you enjoy it even though it is a bit cliche at times. Also, there is slight ableism given the prompt, I did some research to make sure I wasn't using any slurs but if I am wrong PLEASE let me know. I will change it.

Word Count: 1251

Pairing: Young Charles Xavier x Female!Reader

Warnings: Ableism (Only a small sentence), gets kind angsty

You didn’t really know how they had found out. You were so careful. Building a wall of lies so thick and so far that you could no longer see the ends.

You suppose that somewhere along the lines you’d missed a spot, one vital brick that tumbled down the entirety of your life.

Your parents had only just started getting around to the idea of having a ‘freak’ of a daughter. Constantly telling you how lucky you were to at least look ‘normal’ and not like those ‘other ones’.

You were one of the good ones.

They had laid the rules out simply. They didn’t care about your abilities as long as they stayed outside the house and as long as you married a ‘regular human being’. It seemed simple enough and studying for a masters (which they paid for) you figured one more year of hiding wouldn’t be so difficult.

What you never considered was falling madly in love with another mutant. You’d been convinced for so long that you were completely alone in the walls you’d built, that when you met a man who could literally tear them apart you had no choice but to let yourself go.

The argument had started at dinner. It’d been a long day of research which had resulted in nothing but a dead end. Exhausted from sitting reading at a desk all day, you just wanted to get through the traditional family dinner and get straight into bed.

You were sitting in your usual chair, facing your mother while your father sat at the head of the table. It’d been eerily silent from the moment you’d sat down but didn’t mind given your exhaustion.

Suddenly, your father put down his utensils, “I’ve set up a dinner, next week with the neighbors boy,”

Thinking you hadn’t heard correctly, you turn to face him, “pardon?”

“It’s about time that you start thinking of settling down,” your father continues, “most normal girls your age are on their way to having their first child,”

You hear the implication in his voice even if he hadn’t outright said it. Irritated, you push your plate away.

“I am a normal girl, dad,”

You hear your mother sigh, but you can’t seem to look away from your fathers face that twitches in irritation.

“You know what I meant,” he says your name as if it's a burden. He says it as if you were a curse on his normalcy.

You roll your eyes, “yes I know exactly what you meant, father, and I’m not going to be dressed up like some doll to be paraded for the neighbors boy,”

Another twitch, you know you are pushing him too far, but you can’t seem to care anymore.

“He is of good breeding and a wealthy background,” he picks up his utensils again, “the dinner will be on Monday,”

“Breeding?! I’m not cattle, father,”

Your fathers face contorts into a scowl and you know he’s losing patience with you, “He will assure you are the last of your kind in my bloodline,”

You can feel your whole body shaking, “I will not go to that dinner, father,”

You hear your mother whisper your name, you suddenly realize that the shaking wasn’t just within your body but the whole house. With your emotions rampant you couldn’t control your powers as naturally as you normally could.

Breathing in and breathing out, you calm yourself enough to stop the shaking. Your father, however, is maroon with malice. You have pushed him too far.

“I will not let my grandchildren be the offspring of a freak and a paralytic!”

You feel your heart stop. Your mind is racing, unstoppable thoughts wreak havoc in your head. He knew. He knew and now your life is over.

“Father-”

“You thought I wouldn’t find out?” Your father continues to yell, “you thought I’d let you disobey me without consequence?”

You could feel your breathing increase as you enter a panic. Everything is muffled, your father continues yelling but you can’t hear a thing he is saying. You have to get away. You have to get to Charles.

Without realizing, you stand, turning to leave the table, trying to find an escape. With one step, your father is in front of you, rough hands clamping down on your shoulders, forcing you still.

“Let me go,” you whisper, looking down away from your father.

“I forbid you from seeing that man again!”

“Let me go,” you feel the ground tremble beneath you.

“He’s one of you isn’t he?” Your fathers grip tightens on your shoulders, “he’s a freak!”

“Let me go!” You shout back in his face. You don’t initially feel the strike, but you can feel the heat begin to blossom around your eye. And you feel the ground erupt into endless shudders as you watch your father lose his balance and fall to the floor.

With the last of your strength, you run towards your room grabbing your research and your puppy that likes to sleep under your bed. As you race to the front door, you glance at your mother fussing over your father, who is still laid on the floor.

Stopping you turn to face your parents, “I am not a freak. Just because I am different doesn’t mean I’m lesser than,”

You turn to open the front door and with foot out your childhood home, you turn one last time, “I’ll never treat my children the way you’ve treated me, mutant or not,”

With those final words, you run into the rain, hailing the first taxi you see.

It wasn’t until you were at Charles’ front door, drenched and with your puppy under your coat, that you realized how bleak your situation truly was.

No home, no parents, no education.

With nothing left to lose, you knock as loudly as you can, hoping anyone would hear you over the pounding rain.

Almost immediately, the door swings open.

Hank at first looks at you with confusion and then concern. He drags you inside and in the same breath yells for Charles.

The second you see Charles look of concern as he approaches you, you feel the tears start to form in your eyes. Finally able to let go, you feel yourself crumble with the weight of the night.

In no time, Charles holds you in his arms, stroking your soaked hair, whispering into your ear, “it’s okay darling you’re safe now, you’re safe here,”

Once you’ve calmed down, you pull away from him holding your own weight again. His hands don’t leave your face, careful with your already bruising eye.

He whispers your name. He whispers it like prayer, like there’s no one else in the world except you and him. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, “How about we run you a warm bath?”

With no strength left to speak and knowing you didn’t need to, you nod into his hands, closing your eyes and soaking in the comforting warmth he exudes. From within your jacket, you feel your puppy shuffle, stuck in between your torso and Charles’ legs. Pulling away slightly, your puppy leaps away from you and begins sniffing around Charles’ wheelchair.

“I see you’ve brought a friend, darling,” he chuckles, as he watches your puppy continuing to adventure.

You hiccup trying to find the words, “I couldn’t leave him in that house,”

Charles looks back at you, his blue eyes wide adoration, “he has a home here, he’ll always a home here,”

#charles xavier x reader #young charles xavier #charles xavier #fanfic #charles xavier imagine #xmen x reader

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skoulsons · 1 year

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Active shower thoughts

“You won’t help?”

“I can help you”

And shin looks distraught when the latter is said to her

#ok wait no this is so complex #I believe baylan is parting from her for a specific reason #not a ‘leave me alone I want to be away from you’ reason #but something bigger than that #to baylan- at least #but that’s not really considering shins..:#I’ll say emotional (??) needs (????)#which isn’t the wording I’m looking for #I think she’s been alone most if not her whole life #with the exception of Baylan #and I think the hc possibility of her wanting a bigger circle is good #but also.#but I think baylan parting from her hit her more emotionally hard than she probably thought #he’s probably all she really knows. hes taught and trained her into everything she is #and for him to part from her #In a ‘sending off to college’ fashion #is borderline terrifying #because it’s baylan #practically her father #and the man she knows and has known the majority of her life is leaving her so she can go and find her footing #and while that is scary enough- the woman who is her enemy says ‘I’ll help you’#but she doesn’t want ahsoka’s help #she wants baylans. I believe she’ll always want baylans #she looks distraught because she wants baylans help!!!!!!!!#oh my GOODNESS there sso much here #ahsoka tv #ahsoka spoilers #baylan skoll #shin hati

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anthromimicry · 4 months

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forever thinking about how, according to maslow's hierarchy of needs (or simply the self-actualization pyramid) that is basically this motivational theory in psychology that's made up of a five-tier model of human needs, that misao went from being on the third tier in her childhood to reverting back to the first tier currently which is food, water, warmth, and rest.

[ here's a picture of it for reference, y'all ]

so, in other words... she is just trying to survive SO badly right now at this point in her life, that she can not even worry about things like safety or security and especially not friends. and that is UHH... i might, or might not be sobbing right now

#ALL POWER DEMANDS PAIN AND SACRIFICE: musings.#NO SLEEP OF THE INNOCENT. NOT FOR YOU: character study.#it takes the fact that misao has just been trying to focus on satiating her most basic instinct (to feed) to a whole NOTHER level tbh ;;#like idk what to say besides i am in pain thinking about how lonely she must be especially at night whenever thing's are quiet and-#she doesn't have anything to distract her from the fact that she has no one to depend on and no one who absolutely NEEDS her.#and of course her refusing to at least try to overcome her fear of vulnerability may play a part in this... but you have to remember that-#misao has never had the proper time nor the space to just focus on herself. to just focus on what she wants but i am in no way trying to-#demonize ryuuji or kaiyah here because that would just be wrong... i'm just saying that she doesn't really know who she is you know?#i mean when she isn't around other people and taking care of them. she genuinely DOESN'T know because that is what misao has done for most-#of her life until about 400 years ago or so?? yeah. and so misao turned to doing something that would fulfill her but not in ways that-#would attribute to her mental well-being. just to her physical well-being and misao may appear to be this super-friendly as well as-#confident person on the outside but i feel as if misao feels like she's broken inside because she cannot get out of the cycle of pushing-#people away when they get just a little bit too close to her. and it's like 😭 i mean yes she does have a LOT of trouble empathizing people-#because she has to fake being able to put herself in other people's shoes most of the time but misao kind of wishes she wasn't that way.#because it DOES isolate her from the rest of the population because misao feels like she just... doesn't get it. like she's missing-#a fundamental part of herself that people like ryu seem to have but she has been cursed with being perpetually alone both by her own hand-#and because of just how she is.

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dunadaan · 4 months

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I’ve been feeling Créa creep up on me as of late and today I went back and reread my little document where I type up random ideas for scenes/fics and I was like. Wow who wrote this. This is really good. Why isn’t there more of this damn. But also wow I really put miss créa through the blender and she is a fine red mist a lot. But that is the life of a ranger…and even when she’s not a ranger anymore I press blend on high and she is sadly used to that

#(I forgot what made me think of it but I had this fantastic idea post war where Créa has tried to keep herself together)#(and it’s one specific incident that really makes her crack- I wrote a really compelling idea of her having PTSD and it unexpectedly)#(manifesting in a place where she didn’t anticipate it. and ofc it’s medieval medicine so they don’t know what PTSD is exactly but they)#(not like we know ptsd anyways. so it’s a really interesting exploration of grief and suppression and dealing with it- or not dealing with)#(it in this case. bc she’s avoided it for years and she’s like. god I fucking miss being a ranger so much. that was ME.)#(now I’m not a ranger anymore and I lost my entire identity)#(she can’t return to Evendim for a long time and desperately misses it. most of her friends are dead)#(or gone up north or treat her differently)#(she feels really isolated and alone even though she’s aware she’s not but it’s a lot to deal with!!! and I didn’t quite have an ending)#(but it was really compelling and I need to return to it one day)#(the other one I wrote ideas for and wrote a small scene was crea’s first experience meeting rangers)#(back when the angle was new. sighs. the potential…crea interacting with and learning ranger culture for the first time)#(after being alienated and kept away not of her own will. and her having a scene with faeron and standing on the bridge with him)#(but also of her thinking of what her life might’ve been like had she not been lied to about her heritage or had it hidden)#(she’s at a huge disadvantage-she barely knows dúnedain/elf history or sindarin etc. she could’ve had a whole different life)#(and AGAIN the theme of GRIEF- grieving smth that was kept from you. a life you’ll never have but could’ve)#(anyways. that probably all could’ve been in a post LOL and not in tags)#(but yeah damn!!! I was writing some good stuff!!!)#(now I wanna replay all the LOTRO areas again..)

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xxlethal-lunaxx · 6 months

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If anyone relates to this even just a little bit, then I'm so sorry.

#• luna lavinchi speaking •#living with cptsd #cptsd vent #complex ptsd #diet culture trauma #monsters inside me #toxic health culture #ex vegitarian/vegan #emotional flashbacks #health documentaries #dark side of veganism #i should have never been forced to watch these as a child..my mind wasn't ready to understand the information nor tell what was real or not #-i cant try sushi or even think about fish without feeling physically sick and dizzy. i haven't had McDonald's since i was like 6ish years-#-old..i never wanted to share this information but i need to vent. I feel embarrassed and rude for not liking a food chain that most of the #-population does. Smelling or seeing McDonald's makes me wanna puke so bad because of everything those documentaries would say.#I will never be able to eat McDonald's in my life because of how sick and terrified i feel when thinking about the food even the drinks-#-scare the shit out of me. I'm so pissed that I'm triggered. All of the sudden i smell something in the house that smells like McDonald's-#-then the memories come flooding back and i feel like puking so back so i cant even eat dinner. i know this may seem stupid but i am-#-genuinly scared. Im tired of this shit and tired of feeling alone in this.#(anyway sorry. if you read my vent then i appreciate you)#tw food talk #tw diet culture #tw vent in tags #(dont even get me started on parasites cause thats a whole fucking trauma itself. damn it i hate it all. i hate it so much)#(also note: my therapist made me feel so validated weeks ago when i told her during my session that i was traumatized by monsters inside me-#-she literally knew the name of the show before i could even say its name. and she said she also cant watch it and that she saw it as an-#-adult who doesn't have ocd. so she told me she can't even imagine how terrified i was to watch it as a child who was developing ocd.-#-therapist W)

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puzzlekinq · 6 months

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cant sleep because im seething with anger

#been laying here for like 40 minutes fantasizing about finally snapping and telling my mom everything i really think and feel #if i ever came out to her she would end up cutting me off like she did to my aunts and uncles and cousins #basically im alone and my parents and siblings are the only family i can be in contact with right now and its isolating #off topic but yeah #i miss having a big family and people besides my parents that i could rely on. people i felt like i could actually breathe around #idk. whatever #why do i feel responsible for her actions all the time. its been my job to keep her stable and listen to her vent for years #but i never say anything about my own feelings. because she would make me feel stupid and ridicule me. lol #all she does is make me feel like shit most of the time. shes always in a bad mood and shes always whining and always pessimistic #and yeah i get along with her for the most part but lately her attitude has been weighing on me a lot. i cant criticize or disagree with her #because she'll just get mad. shes always been an angry person. thats why i hardly spoke to her from ages 10-15 #maybe i jsut wanted to give her another chance. maybe i felt sympathy for her. shes had it rough her whole life #but when shes still bitter no matter how many times i comfort her and let her vent and cry to me and when she chooses her husband over me #every single time he fucks up (which is like. constantly) and always takes his side when they inevitably make up after a huge fight #it feels like i'll never be able to make her happy. it feels like i should stop trying. if she wants to be full of hatred #and have a shitty husband then fine. i cant fix her like and i cant hold the weight of her mistakes #*life

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zemnarihah · 6 months

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my best friend has been very distant w me lately and i asked today if she wanted to hang out and she said she probably couldn't bc it's her brothers birthday but she would let me know if she could and i have her location and i just looked and she's at her boyfriends house rn....

#we have it bc we're roomates so we started sharing locations when we first moved in like in case someone doesn't come home at night or smth #she recently told me that she wants to move out bc she has always wanted to live alone and she can finally afford it. and i asked her #directly like is there an issue because she is so non confrontational so she has never ever mentioned me doing anything that bothers her #and i said please tell me if there's something wrong because it would really suck if there was and i never got a chance to fix it because #you never told me. and she said no it has nothing to do with that i really just feel like it's time for me to live on my own. and a couple #days ago she was like okay i'm next in line for my apartment i'll probably move out in april. and i try to get her to hang out still and #she always has something else going on and i swear every night this week she's been at her boyfriends.#and if i see her around our apartment and try to make conversation at all she's so like short about it and barely responds like will only #give one word answers. i feel like it kind of started when i started dating e but i realized that i was spending less time with her and i #didn't want to be the girl that loses all my friends bc of a boyfriend so i started specifically reaching out to hang out with her and she #says no most of the time and never asks me. like i don't know what else i can do.#i'm like maybe it's bc of her boyfriend? bc they've been on again off again for a long time and previously when they were together it was #really distant with her like i barely saw her EVER. and they were mostly broken up for the past couple years and have been together i think #for a while again... but she knows i don't approve of that relationship and so she would like not say when they were talking again. so maybe #since lately they've been hanging out or dating or WHATEVER she doesn't fucking tell me what's going on with him. maybe that's why.#i literally like try to think of ways it could be my fault and maybe i'm being crazy but i cannot even think to blame myself for more than a #fleeting second bc i'm like. i have ASKED HER directly if there is an issue or something i do that bothers her and she says no. so even if #i'm somehow pissing her off would i ever know to change anything?? i just feel so frustrated bc it's like she's an entirely different person #to me. like this is not the person i know. and i don't know what else i could possibly do like i feel like we need to sit down and have a #conversation about it but what good does that do if she just acts like nothing is wrong. but i don't want to lose my friend i have such a #hard time making friends. i've known her since i was 14 like i can't imagine my life without her. we were the only two in our whole friend #group in high school to get out of the church i still love those other girls but we have so little in common now.

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palms-upturned · 2 years

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#meg talks #SORRY rant incoming bc holidays. are the worst #but im just so sad and tired #i get why my dad wants his new marriage to work out and it’s not like i ever wanted them to fail #but his wife is. kdgsejfjjd she sucks!! she’s the reason he had to go back on his promise to house our little bro!#and yet he asks US to try and help him fix things w her even tho until recently we didn’t even know she apparently had such a problem w us??#we were perfectly nice and polite to her and didn’t do anything to bother her #barely even talked to her at all!! left the lovebirds alone to whatever they wanted to do!#and yet she has apparently been losing her shit at him every time he does anything to help us?!#like sorry u married a man w children and then didn’t expect him to actually be a parent to them but get fucking real?#that’s supposed to be YOUR CHILD now. and ur trying to kick him out after he spent almost a whole year in hell #and tried to stick it out for so long specifically bc he didn’t wanna inconvenience anyone #fuck you!! go to hell lady!! why are WE having to appease YOU?#just bc ur parents sucked u think u can tell our dad to just leave us to starve?#u think u can boss around my little brother who is the strongest and most hard working of all of us?#lol. lmao even.#get fucked.#if u think i won’t figure out a way for us to make it through life without you then you’re funny.#i’ll be a better mother than anybody ever was to us #coughs anyway. sorry. feeling raw today

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mars-ipan · 2 years

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thinking abt natphi

#me n a friend at the time decided both of our dnd characters would be stuck in that difficult place between ‘besties’ and ‘deeply in love’#and i think about it ALL THE TIME #but that friend and i don’t talk anymore (no falling out we just grew apart) and. idk #it’d feel weird to talk about their oc considering we don’t talk #but i think about that relationship natphi has soooo often #bc nat spent a lot of her life alone. most of it #and then she met luca (the friend’s oc). and the two got on like a house on fire #and i don’t think natphi realizes it. but she’s in love #and. i dunno they’ve both been through some shit but they find comfort in each other #and luca sometimes helps natphi perform #and they keep almost kissing backstage but they Never Talk About It #plus luca has a backstory element of looking for a girl she lost- a girl she loved #and that adds a whole other foil #natphi refuses to even entertain the idea that something could be happening. luca’s eyes are elsewhere #don’t fuck this up just because of your ego #and while luca isn’t my character and i can’t speak for her. i think she feels for natphi as well #but she has to deal with that conflict of past vs present. does she sacrifice a blossoming romance to chase after someone who may be dead #or does she try to move on despite how much of a betrayal it feels like #idk there’s just so many LAYERS to it. they’re in love but they don’t acknowledge it. they’re tragic and yet they’re beautiful #and i think they exist in that stasis for a long time #idk if they ever get together. i like to think they do but maybe not #maybe they’re stuck in limbo forever. star-crossed #they have each other’s friendship yes. but there’s something else there and they struggle to realize it #idk i’m thinking abt the song butch 4 butch and it is literally just them #but once again. luca isn’t my character so i’d feel bad using her likeness #but i also don’t wanna replace her. luca is important to natphi’s story #idk maybe i should contact that friend. if i get their insta i could credit them in any posts including luca #we were good friends too. bet it’d be fun to catch up #natphi

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champ-wiggle · 2 months

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'She is so old': One-eyed wolf in Yellowstone defies odds by having 10th litter of pups in 11 years

By Patrick Pester, published June 3, 2024

Wolf 907F recently gave birth to her 10th litter of pups, which researchers say is likely a Yellowstone National Park record.

Wolf 907F walking past a trail camera in Yellowstone National Park. (Image credit: Yellowstone Wolf and Cougar Project)

The alpha female of a Yellowstone gray-wolf pack has defied the odds by having a 10th litter of pups at the age of 11.

The one-eyed wolf elder, named Wolf 907F, gave birth to her latest litter last month, the Cowboy State Daily reported. Gray wolves (Canis lupus) have an average life span of three to four years, so it's rare for them to reach 11, let alone have pups at that age.

Wolf 907F has given birth to pups every year for a decade straight since she became sexually mature, which Kira Cassidy, a research associate at the Yellowstone Wolf Project, said is likely a record for the wolves of Yellowstone National Park.

At age 11, Yellowstone’s Wolf 907F has lived more than twice a wild wolf’s average life expectancy. In this photo from April, she was pregnant with a litter of pups that she’s since given birth to. (Courtesy Yellowstone Wildlife Project)

"Every day, I expect that she might die just because she is so elderly, but I've been thinking that for the last few years, and she keeps going," Cassidy told Live Science.

Cassidy has calculated that only about 1 in 250 wolves in Yellowstone make it to their 11th birthday, with just six recorded examples since wolves were reintroduced to the park in 1995. The oldest of all of these great elders lived to 12.5 years, according to the National Park Service.

Wolf 907F lies in the snow in Yellowstone in 2015. (Image credit: Kira Cassidy/NPS)

Wolf 907F is the oldest wolf to have lived her whole life in the park's Northern Range, where there is more prey but also more competition from other wolves. Wolves rarely die of old age in the wild, and in Yellowstone National Park, the biggest threat is other wolves.

"In a protected place like Yellowstone, their number-one cause of death is when two packs fight with each other," Cassidy said. "That accounts for about half of the mortality."

One of Yellowstone's oldest wolves, Wolf 907F is pictured here with her pack last year. She's the gray collared wolf on the lower left. (Courtesy Yellowstone Wildlife Project)

Wolf 907F is the alpha female of the Junction Butte pack, which has between 10 and 35 members at any given time. Cassidy noted that this is a large pack — the average wolf pack size is about 12 individuals — and that reduces the risk of being killed in territorial fights. Wolf 907F's experience also gives her pack an edge.

"Packs that have elderly wolves are much more successful in those pack-versus-pack conflicts because of the accumulated knowledge and the experience that they bring to that really stressful situation," Cassidy said.

Wolf 907F has likely boosted her pack's survival chances outside of battle, too. Cassidy noted that the Junction Butte pack rarely leaves Yellowstone's border and that Wolf 907F is "savvy" when it comes to things like crossing roads and avoiding humans.

Wolf 907F, Yellowstone's aging matriarch at 11 years old, only has one eye. She's the fourth wolf to pass by this trail cam. (Courtesy Yellowstone Wildlife Project)

What makes Wolf 907F even more impressive is that she does all of this with only one functioning eye. Researchers aren't sure what happened, but her left eye has been small and sunken since before she turned 4. "You would never know [when] watching her," Cassidy said.

Like other elders, Wolf 907F takes a back seat in hunts now that she's older, and she spends most of her day hanging around with the pack's pups. Cassidy and her colleagues have counted three pups in her current litter, which is smaller than the average litter size of four to five but not surprising. A 2012 study of Yellowstone wolves published in the Journal of Animal Ecology found that litter size declines with age.

"The fact that 907 is still having pups is amazing, and her litter being small is expected given that she is so old," Cassidy said.

A few of Wolf 907F's offspring now lead packs of their own, but most of her pups never reach adulthood due to the perilous nature of being a wolf. However, Wolf 907F and the others in the park don't seem to live like death is on their mind.

"They are happy to be with their family going from day to day," Cassidy said. "Even if they have injuries or are missing an eye or something really stressful is going on in their life, they move through that stress and go back to seemingly really enjoying their life."

At age 11, Yellowstone's Wolf 907F - the gray wolf in the center of this photo from 2020- has lived more than double the typical lifespan of wolves in the wild. (Courtesy Yellowstone Wildlife Project)

#wolf #yellowstone #nature #animals

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purposefully-lost · 3 months

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The task of devising a personality for Alex's dad that isn't just Long-gone/Offscreen Deadbeat fhdhDNDZ

#i think more than anything else he's just always been... neglectful #when chris first got dropped in his lap after Milly's death there was a lot of guilt #and then a lot of Chris lashing out and screaming and fighting him at every turn until he just gave up. all but left her to fend for herself #especially now that Chris is an older teen they probably just ignore each other most of the time #until they do something to upset one another like Chris stealing from him #i think.. Nathan's probably got a few hard rules / values he stands by #and he goes through these phases of more strongly enforcing them on Chris as if it makes up for being an absent parent her whole life #stuff like making curfew or she gets locked out or not being alone with boys #he doesnt like her going out to the woods- especially by herself- or the fact that she's rebelled so hard against femininity #he's a military man from a miliary family so he's got all those.. strong convictions and chris has spit on all of them

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heavenbarnes · 4 months

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I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

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