#You get it this is MY game. This is the game I honk you have to play to understand my psyche | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadghosy · 7 months

Note

Hear me out

What about a moth! reader

Like the moth from sky! Children of the light that likes to fly around the hotel and honk at people sense they can't speak

And them giving candles as a way to ask"do you wanna be friends??"

(this is my first time ever requesting something so sorry if it doesn't make sense, feel free to ignore this く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡)

……ANON MARRY ME RN CAUSE I USE TO PLAY THE HELL OUT OF THAT GAME!! RN MARRY ME

HAZBIN HOTEL X MOTH COTL! READER

prompt: a cute moth character enters the ring of hell due to a malfunction of the realms

STORY MODE: you were celebrating days of love as your ikemen softly puts a flower crown on your head as you honk happily. You hugged the Ikemen as he hugs you back, lifting you for a hug spin as he chuckles lowly.

He lifted you on his back as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He pointed towards the valley realm as they wanted to celebrate your one year anniversary together. You started to spam honk excitedly as the Ikemen nods and runs into the realm. But something went wrong.

END OF STORY MODE: You just stand there as you smell blood and fire in the air. You were confused as you didn’t see your beloved Ikemen anywhere which made you honk out loud…you didn’t see their name either. You inhaled all the air you could and let out a big HONK! That got you the attention of a fellow moth man who smirked behind you. You jolted with a quick honk as Valentino poked your mask. “My my my~ what a cute little thing you are.” Valentino says picking you up like a child.

You didn’t want to die so immediately you pulled out your candle. That made Valentino drawn to the candle as he squeaks happily at the candle and take it. Before Valentino could talk to you, an arm grabbed you and sped away.

Who was the culprit who took you, it was Angel dust in his pink scooter. (A/n: don’t question the scooter) Angel heard that big ass honk and a light as he was curious and went to go look for it only to see you shaking in Valentino’s hold. He didn’t want to save you, but your small frame was shaking and he couldn’t stand it so he had to save you.

And now you are part of the hotel’s crew as they greet you with open arms.

Angel loves you dearly, you immediately warmed up to him giving him a bright white candle as his eyes shined at the light of the candle shaping like a heart. So when Angel took it and it dissolved in his hands. You were so happy you kept spam hugging him.

You literally follow all the members like a first time moth, holding out a candle as you want more friends!

Fat nuggets just oinks and follows you. You pet the cute demon pig who licks your hand back

CHARLIE LOVESSS YOUU😭💗 she picked you up and you honk hugging her back.

Vaggie admires you as well. You seem like a reliable person to bring hopes up.

Lucifer adores you..I mean you are just so affectionate. He immediately accepted the candle and he lifted you up. Kissing your head and gushing over you with tears yelling “I WANNA ADOPT THEM!”

I headcannon Charlie and Lucifer debating which color scheme suits you better as they try to take off your brown moth cape as you honk at them.

I always headcannon skykid moths to be at least like 4’9 and every time they gain winged light they get taller. 🦆✨but since you aren’t in the Sky cotl universe, you are so small so literally they treat you like a kid.

You know like your light decreases when a dark creature hits it or like basically darkness. (Especially during that damn fire trial😐) I can imagine moth! Reader having a night light that Lucifer made you with a duck light shining on the ceiling so you feel safe.

Husk doesn’t even understand what the fuck you are doing by honking at him and following him around constantly with a bright ass white candle.

Husk eventually accepted the candle which made you hug him alot..and oddly husk liked it. Now you gained a drunk uncle.

BIG HEADCANNON THAT VALENTINO WILL TRY TO ADOPT YOU, BUT ANGEL IS DEAD ASS SHAKING HIS HEAD NO AS THE OTHER CREW MEMBERS PROTECT YOU FROM THE GRASP OF THIS MOTH DEMON

As you kept getting adopted by random people, your ikemen was going around every season area asking other skykids have they seen you as he has a missing poster of you….poor Ikemen looks down seeing the flower bracelet you made him.

Back to you as you are making the whole crew paper bracelets thanks to Charlie’s trust exercises and activities.

I can see sir Pentious and you getting along to the point sir Pentious is like a caretaker when you don’t have anyone to be with. Even his egg boiz love to hang with you. Even if they don’t understand you.

You one time big honked and every light flickered since a ring of light was around you. So now the cast is little bit cautious at how “powerful” you are

Alastor would think you eat human/sinner meat as he would bring it to you, noting you don’t eat anything. 😭 DO YOU GUYS KNOW THAT GAGGING CAT?! THATS YOU WHEN YOU SMELT THE MEAT-

Alastor was so offended but he should’ve guessed that you weren’t a cannibal.

Niffty was teaching you how to clean and you accidentally drank bleach making niffty literally chase you around worried as you run.

You actually one time lost your light as you were crouched on the floor. Immediately Lucifer grabbed you up scared that you were dying as your body got out of the state and into your regular appearance.

Tbh Lucifer thought you was a scary demon crawling for your life, until you honked is when he realized it was his moth friend.

You fly around honking as you help razzle and dazzle with putting up banners. Razzle and dazzle pick you up if you don’t have enough energy to fly. You guys are flying buddies is what I headcannon.

I imagine husk is sleeping and you glide down from the stairs as you honk softly in his ear to wake him up. He grumbles at first so you decided to do a big honk. You inhaled as a ring of light surrounds the place as the honk rings out in the hotel.

“GAH!” Husk yells falling off the couch grabbing you as he thought you were trouble to only find out there wasn’t no problems. He grumbles angrily at you.

You once flew down like Batman and Angel recorded it founding it adorable.

Charlie had noticed you like to collect candles so she bought a stack of candles which made your eye light up and immediately run to your room with them.

Your mask definitely falls off your face, so imagine the whole hotel’s cast reaction to your face just being completely black with eyelashes (bruh skykid’s eyelashes are so damn pretty and long 😭)

When you went with Charlie to meet with the angels, Adam raised a brow at you because he never seen a “demon” like you. But he didn’t feel any angelic or demonic energy off you.

“What’s up lil dude…where’s your mama?” Adam says teasing you as he pats your head while Charlie watching nervously. You just honk at him and pull out a big white candle. Lute and Adam glanced at each other as Adam took it. The candle dissolved into a circle as Adam felt warm. You honk happily and hugged him.

“So can I keep this little shit?” Adam says to Charlie. “WHAT NO?!-”

I headcannon you once did the backflip emote and they all applaud you like “oh wow!”

Alastor and Lucifer are the smart ones to try to get you to call them dad…but you just honk and hug them like a little child happy to see them.

Of course Valentino is blowing Angel’s phone asking him if he seen a moth like demon….

Lucifer made you a duck cape. Like the cape was heaven sky blue with duck patterns in it. He found it so cuteee! 🦆💗

You honked madly at fat nuggets as the pig had eaten up your brown cape making angel dust make you a pink cape. It was bedazzled and it didn’t look like the sakura or valley cape you see other skykids wore once

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bodybaggage · 23 days

Text

Oh, It’s On!

DP X DC

Ensue the prank war…

---

It all started with a simple question posed by Dick as he lounged on the Batcave’s most uncomfortable piece of furniture, which he affectionately called "the Bat-Stone."

“So, has anyone actually tested the limits of Danny’s ghost powers?”

Tim looked up from his laptop, always the first to take a bait. “You mean, besides the constant intangible phase he does to avoid Damian’s batarangs?”

Stephanie, who was tending to her bo-staff but was actually poking Cass with the end of it—grinned. “I’m in. If nothing else, we’ll get some decent entertainment. Better than watching Bruce brood in the dark.”

Cass, normally the least likely to engage in such activities, simply tilted her head with a curious look that might have been interpreted as a quiet agreement. She might not speak often, but Cass had developed a taste for subtle chaos.

Jason cracked his knuckles with a smirk. “Sounds like a good way to pass the time. And besides, I’m bored.”

Danny, floating into the room with a glow of mild suspicion, was not as oblivious as they might have hoped. “You guys aren’t planning anything, are you?”

Dick waved a hand dismissively. “Us? Plan something? Come on, Danny, we’re innocent.”

Danny gave him a deadpan stare. “That’s literally the opposite of what you are.”

The challenge was set, and everyone knew it. But Danny, being the ghostly trickster he was, didn’t wait to be pranked first. He struck with precision.

---

The first inkling that things were amiss came when the Batmobiles began moving on their own. Jason was the first to notice, his usual vehicle—a sleek, red tank of a motorcycle—had rolled up to him as if it were a loyal dog wanting to go for a walk.

“Alright, who’s messing with my ride?” Jason demanded, but the vehicle simply honked twice in response, the sound oddly cheerful.

“It’s not me!” Tim called from across the cave, where his own ride had begun circling him like a shark. “I swear, I’m not touching anything!”

Danny floated nearby, feigning innocence with an expression that screamed, I totally did this. “You sure your cars aren’t just excited to see you?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “This is war, ghost boy.”

---

The Batcave, typically a place of stoic professionalism, had devolved into a battleground of pranks. Stephanie had rigged Danny’s usual hangout spot with a pop-up scarecrow (it looked suspiciously like Scarecrow, but with a clown wig) that would jump out at him whenever he tried to sit down.

The trap backfired spectacularly when Danny phased through the seat, sending the scarecrow careening into Cass, who simply caught it midair with one hand and set it down gently. Without saying a word, she gave Stephanie a look that said, ‘Nice try, but no.’

“Okay, point to Danny,” Stephanie conceded, wiping away tears of laughter.

In retaliation, Danny decided to step up his game. The next morning, Alfred calmly entered the Batcave with a tray of tea, his hair glowing an eternal green. Not a word about the change, not even a glance in the mirror—Alfred was far too professional for that.

Bruce, however, did notice. “Alfred, did you do something... different with your hair?”

Alfred, ever unflappable, set down the tea tray. “Just trying out a new look, Master Wayne. I believe it’s quite... refreshing.”

Bruce nodded slowly, not entirely sure if Alfred was joking. “It’s very... unique.”

Danny had to leave the room, barely containing his laughter. The dry humor had struck a chord, even with the ghost kid.

---

As the prank war escalated, it became harder to tell who was pranking who. Jason found his helmet filled with ectoplasm, while Tim’s gadgets began mysteriously glitching out, causing them to display random memes whenever he tried to access files.

Stephanie set up a system of water balloons throughout the cave, each strategically placed to drench whoever activated the trap. The grand finale was a large balloon precariously perched above the entrance, ready to douse the first unlucky victim.

Unfortunately for Damian, who had been staunchly standing next to Bruce to avoid any involvement in the chaos, his loyalty did not save him.

“I am not a part of this, Father,” Damian declared, stepping slightly closer to Bruce.

A soft ‘click’ echoed in the cave, followed by a loud splash as the massive water balloon above exploded, soaking Damian from head to toe.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damian, I thought you said you weren’t part of this.”

“I am not!” Damian insisted, dripping onto the Batcave floor. He glared at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. “This was not intended for me.”

Danny appeared next to him, intangible and dry. “I guess the water balloon had other plans.”

Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Dick burst into laughter, while Cass allowed herself a rare smile. Even Bruce couldn’t hold back the faintest twitch of his lips.

---

The chaos continued throughout the day, culminating in a final showdown where Danny—now fully embracing his role as master prankster—made every Bat-Suit in the Batcave walk out of their cases and perform the ‘Michael Jackson’s Thriller’ dance.

Bruce had walked in just in time to see his most serious suit do the moonwalk.

“That’s it,” Bruce declared, finally done with the madness. “No more pranks in the Batcave.”

But as he said it, his own suit’s visor flipped up to reveal a pair of glowing green eyes that winked at him before going dark.

Danny’s laugh echoed through the cave. “You’re gonna have to catch me first, Bats!”

Bruce sighed again, mentally preparing himself for the next round. It seemed that in the Batcave, chaos would always have a ghostly signature.

#dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc

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indulgentdaydream · 9 months

Text

Drawing Touches

Jason Todd x gn!Reader

Fluff. || Word Count: 936

Summary: You wake up on a hot summer night, Jason sleeping beside you. It’s too hot to sleep right next to each other, so why not play a game?

there’s something about shirtless jason and a groggy sleepy voice to match. Also you can see a demonstration of my left handed!jason hc in this and I didn't realize until after.

Side note: i hate the winter and i just really want the warmth even if it’s overbearing so that’s why i made it summer in this fic

Warnings: scar mentions (specifically on back), broken wrist, use of pet names (darling, baby)

Jason hadn’t gone on patrol. This time, you didn’t have to try as hard to convince him to stay while he was injured.

“I might as well,” he had sighed, sitting on the couch. His cast-ridden left hand (where your name was signed in big bold letters) rested beside him on the arm, “I can’t do much with only one hand.”

Now, the two of you were laying in bed. It was a hot summer night and your apartment had no air conditioning. Again.

You had fallen asleep in a tank top and shorts, the blankets thrown off of you early into the night. You were spread out on your back, trying to fall back asleep after waking up to the sound of a car honking in the street below. You let out a breath. It wasn’t hot enough to make you sweat through your clothes, but it was enough to be a tad uncomfortable. You turned onto your side to face Jason.

You assumed he was asleep. He was also on his side, facing away from you, shirtless. The expanse of his scarred, bare back on full display for you in the dark room. He had basketball shorts on “for decency”, and had kept the blankets covering his legs.

You watched his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths, convincing you that he was asleep. It put a smile on your face, seeing the usually stress-ridden man so calm, curled up on your bed.

Scooting closer, you reached out a hand. Ever so slightly, you began to brush your fingers along his back. Your fingers dipped and rose with the scars there, pondering them.

Some you knew, some you didn’t. Some you remembered him getting. One made you recall how he laid beneath you, coaching you through stitching him up as he tried to hide the pain in his voice.

The vibration of his grumble made its way through his skin and into your finger tips. “Thought you were asleep,” he mumbled out, voice groggy.

Feeling the guilt, you place your hand flat along his back, whispering, “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he flipped onto his back slowly, giving you enough time to move your hand, “Been awake since that car honked. Was watchin’ the window.”

Maybe he hadn’t been as stress free as you had believed, “It woke me up, too. It’s too hot to fall back asleep.”

He rubs at his eye with his right hand. His left one drapes over his stomach, the cast blending into the shadows, “Felt good.”

You looked up at him, “The heat?”

He chuckled tiredly, turning his head to look at you, his cheek squished against the pillow, “Your fingers on my back.”

You smiled at him. The two of you were still a few inches apart from each other, an unspoken agreement that it was too hot to cuddle.

“Wanna play a game?” You whispered.

He hummed, “What game?”

“Turn back around.”

Jason let out a low grumble, very close to a whine, “Wanna see you.”

You laugh again, “Turn!”

He grumbled again, turning back onto his side, facing away from you.

Your fingers returned to his back, “Try and guess what I draw.”

He stayed still as you moved your finger. You drew a big circle, which was a little shaky wherever your finger collided with a bumpy scar. After completing it, you made quick, straight lines shooting out from the circle all around it.He didn’t speak again until you were finished, “Mmmmh… lion.”

You giggled, “No.”

He let out a fake groan, “Flower?”

You shook your head, the fabric of the sheets and your pillow rustling underneath you, “Mm-mm.”

Jason thought for a moment, “Do an easier one.”

You clicked your tongue, but did so anyway. You swiped the flat of your hand across his back, pretending to erase the drawing, before beginning the new one.

You could hear the smile in his voice, “A heart.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Mm-hmm.”

He turned back around, “My turn.”

Now you flipped over, facing away from him as he faced your back. He pushed your shirt up to get to your bare back, his finger beginning to glide along your skin. You laughed as he drew a square, “It has to be more complicated than that, Jay!”

“As complicated as your first one?” He joked back.

“It was a sun. It wasn’t that complicated.”

He pauses for a moment, “It was a sun?”

You laugh, “Yes. Now make a drawing.”

He poked your side a little first before continuing. You almost chided him for drawing another square, but he built off of it. A sharp arch above it, with smaller, indistinct details below the arch, in the middle of where he drew the square.

His hand rested on your waist as he waited for you to think and guess, “A house?”

He leaned in and kissed your shoulder, “You got it, darling.”

You giggled and tried to flip back over again, but got blocked by his chest.

“No more,” he hummed. He nestled his head into your shoulder, pulling you back into his chest, spooning you despite the warmth in the room. “Sleep time.”

You huffed, though unbothered by his cuddles, “You didn’t like my game?”

You feel his smile against your neck, “Loved it. I’m just tired, baby.”

His right hand rests against your sternum. You pick it up, kissing his knuckles, before intertwining your fingers together and placing his hand back down, “Goodnight, again, Jay.”

He smiled, “G’night again.”

…

“Jay it’s too hot to cuddle.”

“Yeah, no, I’m remembering that now.”

Side note: did any of you play this game as a kid? It never had a name, but my mom and i would do it all the time. It was just a question of “can i draw on your back?” Lemme know!

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x m!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fic #red hood x m!reader #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood #dc #dc fic #dc x reader #missy writes

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sunsburns · 3 months

Text

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

reblog to support your writers!

#and that is tea #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #patrick x tashi #art x tashi #tashi x art x patrick #challengers 2024 #challengers smut #art challengers #challengers movie #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi’s hotel room

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wileys-russo · 3 months

Text

maternal instinct (4) II a.russo

(1) (2) (3) maternal instinct (4) II a.russo

"thanks for the shirt big foot! i like red." bella beamed as alessia began to unbuckle her from the car seat with a smile, clad in a small arsenal jersey on top of the hoodie and sweats alessia had to fight her to put on underneath given the cooler weather.

"good. red is the best!" alessia winked, honking the five year olds nose and making her giggle before helping her out of the seat. "i can carry it! you have your bag already." bella held her arms out for her backpack as alessia assisted her to shrug it on, tugging her hood out from beneath it.

"i've never watched a football game! mummy doesn't like sports and my daddy prefers cricket which is so boring. is football boring? whats it like?" bella asked, bouncing excitedly on the heels of her feet as alessia popped the trunk and grabbed out her own bags.

"definitely not boring!" the blonde promised slinging her gymbag over her shoulder and pushing the trunk closed before holding her hand out for bella.

"so there's two teams-" alessia began to explain football, simplifying it as much as she could for the small girl tightly clinging onto her hand who hung off of her every word.

"-and then whatever team scores the most goals, wins." alessia finished her story right as she arrived inside, having taken the long route through from the back of the stadium to avoid anyone seeing bella, knowing how seriously you took her privacy.

"ohhh, and that will be you!" bella grinned as alessia chuckled. "i hope so. when i score i've been told i make airplane arms, like this-" alessia let go of her hand and straightened her arms out like a plane, bella collapsing into giggles at the sight.

"she does! air russo we call her." alessia looked up at the new voice, leah appearing from one of the physio rooms with laura in tow, the two of them with fresh strapping on their knees. "leah!" bella waved happily, pausing for a moment to look up at alessia.

"you can go say hi." alessia murmured with a nod, patting the girls back in encouragement as she skipped forward. "i'm isabella but everyone calls me bella!" she greeted laura who seemed a bit taken aback, looking between the five year old and alessia with a confused frown.

"would you like to come see the change rooms?" leah offered, addressing alessia more so than bella, the blonde quickly checking the time and nodding. you were due to meet them in around a half hour, before pitch inspection and before the crowds all really came rolling into meadow park.

"is she-" laura started as leah took bella's hand and continued on forward, alessia shaking her head with an amused smile. "no, she's my friends kid, i've been babysitting for the weekend." alessia explained as the austrian nodded in understanding, the pair falling into conversation as they followed where leah had gone.

not at all to alessia's surprise by the time she arrived to the change room bella was busy talking a few of the girls ears off who listened eagerly, the blonde wincing slightly as she realised bella was recounting the story of her head lice.

she'd of course already checked with you as many things ahead of time as she could think of, going as far as to type out a list of questions and sending them to you around one in the morning last night, getting a reply not long after eight this morning with some answers and that you were just leaving.

you understood bella would be around her team and her friends and had no issues with this, assuring alessia repeatedly that you trusted her and knew bella was in safe hands, still finding her nerves and uncertainty endearing as always.

which is how you found her a little while later, eyes canning the horizon nervously, bella chattering away as usual but you could see the blonde wasn't really listening.

then, she spotted you, relief flooding her features as her body visibly sagged a little and she squatted down, pointing you out to your daughter whose whole face brightened making you grin.

you were still a fair few metres away but bella cleared them in seconds flat, throwing herself at you as you caught her easily and spun her around like you did when she was much younger and smaller.

"i missed you so so so so so so so so so-" bella started as you threw your head back with a laugh. "babe breathe!" you tickled as she paused and inhaled deeply. "-so much!" she finished as you attacked her face with kisses, her giggling filling the air as you headed over toward alessia.

"hi." you greeted the footballer, eyes quickly raking up and down taking her in in her uniform, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"hi." the blonde echoed back with a slightly shy smile of her own, the pair of you hugging as well as you could with bella dangling off your hip who wound up joining in, looping an arm around either of your necks.

"mummy leah said i could inspect the pitch with her. can i?" bella asked, busting out her best puppy dog eyes which you always struggled to really say no to. "yeah you can go, but come right back here after so we can find our seats." you placed her down, watching as she raced over to a blonde stood a few feet away, tugging on her hand.

you caught the girls eye and she raised her hand in a wave which you returned. "thats leah, the pizza thief and gatecrasher from the other night. i think bella might even like her more than me!" alessia rolled her eyes playfully as your daughter headed onto the field with a couple of unfamiliar girls all in the same uniform as the blonde in front of you.

"so should i take her to dinner tonight instead?" you questioned with a smile, alessia's mouth widening into a small o. "not funny, seriously not funny." the taller girl warned as you shook your head, tugging her in for another hug now you didn't have a five year old hanging off you.

"thank you so much for looking after her less, seriously. it takes a lot for me to trust someone like that and you just proved me right to trust you." you mumbled, feeling her squeeze you a little tighter.

"thank you for trusting me." alessia mumbled back, hand rubbing circles on your back as you nearly melted into her. "and the head lice! god i am so sorry about the head lice." you winced as the pair of you pulled away causing the taller girl to laugh.

"hey no need to apologize, my hairs never been cleaner."

"-and then which ever team scores most, wins." bella finished recounting how football worked to you, after the game had finished with arsenal winning 3-1. "oh really? well thank you bell, i finally understand now!" you sighed hitting your palm against your forehead.

at alessia's request you were waiting for her to come find the pair of you, since she still had bella's booster seat you'd left your car back at your apartment and ubered to the game.

you'd been given a lanyard by the blonde earlier on, a family and friends pass that meant you were able to wait by the players lot, sending slightly nervous smiles to those who passed you clearly a little wary of who you were.

though it was obvious bella had made her splash with more than a few of the players coming to say bye as they made their way to the cars, not that it surprised you given bella was a chronic chatterbox, something she got from her father.

"hey bell." you sat down beside her on the railing you were hanging by waiting for alessia, the girl looking up from where she was pretending a stick was a magic wand, kicking rocks about and chanting at them.

"so you know how daddy and olivia live together." you started, referring to her fathers long term girlfriend, your daughter nodding. "you like olivia right? you guys are friends?" you continued as bella nodded yeah. "yeah and she's daddys special friend." bella chirped as you now nodded.

"well. what would you think if alessia was mummys special friend?" you asked a little nervously, looking at her as the girl seemed to pause and tick things over. "would she come live with us?" she asked with a small frown.

"no, she'd still live across the hall. but it means she would come over more, maybe sometimes she might have sleepovers, we could all go do fun stuff together the three of us." you explained gently as bella nodded slowly.

"like what?" "mm well like go to the movies, go for dinner, go to the park, go bowling. whatever we want! but it means she would be around a lot more, and if you don't want that i need you to tell me okay? i won't be upset." you promised sincerely, always ready to put your daughters needs above your own much as it might hurt.

"i like big foot. but if she's your special friend, does that mean i can't be friends with her anymore?" bella asked, standing and going back to poking at rocks with her stick. "not at all, the two of you still get to be friends, and spend even more time together. did you have a good time with her this weekend?" you asked, watching with a small chuckle as she waved her stick around with a yell and a dance.

"yeah really fun! we got to wear special hats, i flew a rocket, we made pizza and watched bluey, and she even gave my teddys a bath and taught them how to breathe underwater!" bella glanced at you with a face eating grin which you couldn't help but mirror.

"sounds very cool. so, you're okay if alessia and i are special friends?" you confirmed, bella nodding with a hum and swinging her stick around, hitting it into the railing and groaning as it snapped in half.

though as she picked up one half and hurried off to grab the other someone beat her to it. "woah mutant! you didn't tell me you knew magic?" alessia gasped holding the snapped stick in her hand.

"she calls me mutant, its my nickname like hers is big feet." bella explained to you over her shoulder as you pulled a face and nodded in understanding.

"bella have i ever told you how i got these big feet?" alessia quirked an eyebrow dramatically as you stood and grabbed your daughters bag.

"...from a spell that went horribly wrong!" you smiled as alessia lunged at the five year old who squealed and raced off, the blonde chasing after her as they both used their snapped sticks to cast pretend spells at one another.

"great, guess i'm going to dinner with my kid and my big kid." you chuckled to yourself, following after them to the car as they hid behind things trying to shoot one another with their newfound magic.

"i could have carried her less, you just played a full ninety minutes." you whispered quietly where the three of you stood together in the elevator headed on up to your floor.

"i told you its fine, and that i could have taken her and my bag." the blonde smiled nodding to her arsenal gym bag slung over your shoulder, both of you pausing for a moment as bella stirred but didn't move.

the two of you fell silent as you reached your floor, your keys plucked from your pocket as alessia very carefully carried bella inside once the door was unlocked, following after you to her bedroom once it was closed.

tugging down the covers with one hand alessia lowered the five year old into bed with the other, moving aside so you could tuck her in, flicking on the star lamp by the base of her bed.

you brushed bella's hair out of her face and chuckled at the way her mouth hung open as she slept soundly with a shake of your head, kissing her forehead and backing up, alessia stepping out of the way as you both hovered in the door frame for a moment.

"she's so perfect." you sighed with a soft smile, alessia mirroring it beside you. "yeah, must get that from her dad." you gave her a playful side eye and pushed her, very slowly pulling the door shut with the quietest of clicks.

"safe." you sighed after pausing by her door for a minute, no little footsteps or voice crying out your name meaning bella was indeed out like a light.

"you know for a tiny girl she packs away food, must be that ghastly tummy monster." alessia tutted as the pair of you returned to the living room.

"well you did a pretty good job working up her appetite with all those magic spells, one of them must have been for hunger!" you teased, grinning at the way the strikers cheeks blushed.

"don't apologize, it was cute. very cute." you cut her off before she could speak, arms winding around her neck as you looked up at the taller girl with a fond smile, pecking her lips a few times.

"you're really good with her less, and she really likes you. which is why-" you let her go with a small sigh. "i'm giving you once more chance to walk away. if all of this is too much for you, i would understand, and i'd never hold it against you." you promised sincerely taking a little step back.

"honestly?" alessia questioned as you nodded. "honestly."

"well honestly-" the footballer took a step forward clearing the gap you'd just made. "-i am absolutely crazy about both of you, and i'm in, all in. if you'll have me." the girl chewed her bottom lip, apprehension filling her features.

"yeah? "yeah. so..." the girls hands settled themselves on your hips as she paused to take a deep breath, bright blue eyes locked with yours.

"will you be my girlfriend?" "i'd be honoured."

"but what do you mean you've not seen man on fire?" alessia scoffed, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at you where she stood in the kitchen awaiting the popcorn to finish.

"exactly that. i've not seen it!" you laughed, having repeated yourself five times now much to the strikers horror each time. "well that simply won't do. we're watching it, its on prime!" the blonde nodded toward the tv.

"but what about anyone but you? babe we were supposed to have a cheesy rom com night!" you protested from the lounge, raising an eyebrow at her as she pulled the popcorn out, opening the bag and yanking her head back as hot air pillowed out.

"change of plans. you need a movie education my girl!" alessia tutted, pouring the popcorn into a bowl as you groaned. "if i knew you were such a film bro it might have changed my answer when you asked me out." you muttered, grabbing the remote none the less.

"hey! i'm not a film bro, i don't even know what that means!" the blonde gasped in offence, grabbing the snacks and moving back to the lounge. "wait! get me a hoodie." you held a hand up after she'd placed the food down and was about to flop herself down on top of you.

"get you a hoodie..." "...now?"

"mother mutant!" alessia rolled her eyes, flicking a piece of popcorn at you but heading off to fulfill your wishes none the less. with bella at her dads for the weekend it meant the two of you could spend some quality time together.

which meant you got your girlfriend to yourself for once without her teaming up with your own daughter against you, the two having become quite the inseparable pair and alessia loving nothing more than teasing you about it.

though as much as she might be a big kid at heart you really couldn't deny the way alessia had stepped up to help you with bella too.

she hadn't missed a single school event since the two of you started going out, a bright smiling face bella always found easily in the crowd when you were often needed backstage given you were a teacher yourself.

she came along to any doctors appointments knowing how nervous they made bella, distracting her with silly voices and made up games while you pretended not to notice the chocolates slipped from her pocket.

there was no good cop bad cop routine either.

at first the blonde did struggle a little to find where she sat with discipline, never doing anything without consulting you or checking in but with time and trust she grew into her own relationship with bella as more than just your special friend.

and her insticts grew too.

you were in alessia's apartment for dinner, pizza night a much loved and somewhat demanded routine every friday night now, and nothing made you melt more than watching how kind and patient alessia was with bella when they cooked together.

you were sat at the island plugging away at your yearly class reports, bopping your head along to the music alessia had floating around the apartment as her and bella prepped.

"mummy what do you want on your pizza!" you felt a tug on your hoodie and looked down, laughing as bella handed you a piece of paper with a bunch of ingredients listed with small tick boxes.

"her idea, i just helped." alessia winked seeing you send her a smile at the little menu. "here." bella handed you a pen as you booped her on the nose with it and ticked off a few things, placing both back into her eager hands.

"thank you!" the girl bowed making you laugh before scurrying off into the kitchen where alessia was waiting. you'd gone back to your laptop, assuming the blonde had everything under control.

"bella no!" was all you heard, looking up to see a blonde blur sprint across the room, scooping up your daughter out of the way as the knife block toppled and they all fell right where she'd been standing.

"i'm sorry! i just wanted to get the tray for you." bella's bottom lip began to wobble as alessia exhaled shakily and sat her up on the counter as you appeared and very carefully picked up the knives.

"hey hey hey no mutant don't cry. i'm sorry for yelling, you just scared me a little bit but i know you didn't mean to." alessia engulfed the girl into a hug, rubbing her back as tiny sniffles sounded and you met the blondes panicked gaze.

"its okay, she's okay. thank you!" you mouthed, nodding reassuringly as alessia sighed, still holding your daughter tightly as her own heart rate steadied itself, trying not to think of what might have happened if she wasn't paying attention.

bella had even signed up for her very first team sport, which of course just so happened to be football.

alessia drove her to and stayed at every single practice, making arrangements with her own team to leave training early every wednesday to do so, and arriving late on saturday mornings so she could be at as many of the games as she could.

though much to her hidden heartbreak bella was following down more of a defensive pathway rather than like the striker alessia had tried tirelessly to build her up to be.

then after around nine months of the two of you dating and not long after alessia had ended her lease and finally moved in, it happened.

you were at one of bella's games, alessia's taller form pressed tightly behind you, both of you wearing a multitude of layers and hugging tightly as the chilly winter frost nipped at your noses.

much to her dismay alessia had wrestled bella into an undershirt, though you could already see how bright red her nose was getting as you prayed she wouldn't get sick.

it had all happened too fast for anyone to really process, bella played in an all girls league but with their opposition short one of the girls brothers was filling in, a year younger but a head taller than all of them.

you knew deep down he hadn't meant to do it, likely only trying to copy one of his footballing idols he'd seen do the same thing every week on tv in the premier league, but still it happened.

bella was dribbling the ball down the right side as everyone else hovered right by her, you and alessia often quietly joking they were like a little pack of seagulls chasing a chip the way they hovered together in a tight little huddle.

but the boy had gone sliding in for the ball, only it was very poorly timed and he collected bella instead, sending her crashing down to the ground as a gasp echoed through the crowd.

your eyes widened and you felt alessia's arms clamp even tighter around you, her own sharp inhale of breath heard right by your ear.

then came the crying, and the yelling, and the same word repeated over and over.

"mama! mama! mama!" you'd gone into fight or flight mode ready to race onto the tiny pitch, but then it clicked, that wasn't you, you were mummy, it wasn't you she was calling for.

"go, less go!" you pulled away from your girlfriend who gave you a confused look. "she's not calling for me, she wants you. go!" you pushed her with a nod, alessia opening and closing her mouth like a stunned fish but stumbling over none the less.

now of course a part of you had been jealous, it was you bella was supposed to want when she was hurt, you who were supposed to comfort her, you were her mother.

but there was a larger part that just felt something much warmer, softer, tinglier. the feeling that now bella had two of you to look out for her, two of you she trusted to comfort her when upset and help bandage her up while hurt.

you were finally a family.

#woso community #woso #woso x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Wicked Games 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The clinic waiting room reflects the silent turmoil of your existence. You sit in the rigid plastic chairs and stare at the wall. Your mouth still tastes of bile. Only minutes ago, you were in the bathroom, spewing up your guts. It’s as if you’re own body is trying to convince you of reality. You don’t need this test, idiot, you’re fucked.

When your name is called, you follow the dour nurse to a room. She goes over your chart and your reason for coming. She puts the clipboard in the plastic pocket mounted on the door and shuts it behind her as she goes.

The doctor is thirty minutes behind. She gets you a stick to pee on and takes blood to send to the lab. The first test comes back positive but the second will take longer to process. It doesn’t matter. It’s really just repeating what you don’t want to hear. You are pregnant.

The detached treatment has you feeling even more dejected. You’re given a stack of literature at the front desk before you go. You toss it in the bin by the building entrance and trod on.

It isn’t just the child, it’s the father. You know deep down it can’t be your husband’s. It’s been too long since you... did that. As much as you want to lie to yourself, you can’t. All that’s done so far is dig the hole deeper.

So, you don’t have much of a choice. You can’t afford it. Not financially, physically, or emotionally. An innocent child doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess you’ve made.

First, you need to leave. You already have a plan. You’re packing your bags as soon as you get home. Wendy said you can crash for a while. You’ll have to figure it from her couch. Once you’re settled, you’ll go to another clinic and do what needs to be done.

It isn’t the baby. Your marriage was already over. It just hurts. It’s not acceptance, it’s giving up. You can’t fix this. You tried so hard and it just didn’t work. The wasted time if worse than the wasted effort.

A car honks but you barely notice. There's always someone raging in the streets. It comes again, shorter than before, and an engine whirs up to the curb, sliding in between two parked cars. The silver paint glares in your vision.

“Hey,” the window rolls down, “how’d it go?”

You stagger and face Steve Rogers as he hooks his elbow over the open window. You shake your head, “Excuse me?”

“I was right.” He says. It’s just a fact, not smug. Just a statement.

“Stop. Please. Leave me alone. I told you--”

“You can’t run away from me.” He clicks free his seat belt and opens his car door. Before he can get out, you’re on the move. He catches up to your easily. “It’s mine.”

You splay your fingers in frustration and keep walking. Please, just go. “No, I’m married. It’s up to me and my husband.”

“I know you haven’t been fucking him.” His language has you skidding to a stop. You turn to him, aghast. “I can smell it. For a few days after.”

“It would be more than a few days ago,” you snap.

He scoffs, “yeah, it would be.” He stares at you and your heart flips.

“Have you—have you been following me?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks back at you. He doesn’t need to say it. You know.

“How long?” You hiss.

“Look, that night...” he begins.

“No. That night nothing! It’s over. One night and it’s not going to be the rest of my life. Alright?”

“I’ll take care of you and the baby. Your husband won’t be happy to know that you and I--”

“He’s not going to know, Captain.” You snarl. “He can’t know. Alright? This is a mistake but it can be undone. Got it? So go and live your superhero life while I scrape the barrel.”

“You’re going to leave him anyways so why are you doing this?” He asks. His tone is so fucking annoying. As if it’s all so easy.

“How do you—oh my god, oh my god. Please, back off.” You put your hands up and take a step back.

“You can’t just get rid of my baby,” he follows you as you fall back into step.

“Go.”

“No, I won’t let you.”

“I’m begging you--”

“Just like you did that night. I know you didn’t forget.” He grabs your arm and pulls you around to face him. “You can’t. It was the best night of my life and you just disappeared. I can’t let you go again.”

“Let go of me,” you wriggle in his grasp.

“I’m trying to help you. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do all this. I can help with the baby. Please.”

You stare up at him defiantly and tear away from him, “I don’t need you to save me. That was my first mistake. Thinking that a man could ever do that.”

You turn and stomp away. He calls your name but you keep going. You can’t look back. You’re terrified. Deep down you know if he doesn’t follow you then, he will find you later. This whole time he’s been playing your shadow and you never even knew it.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #wicked games #captain america #marvel #mcu #avengers

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asapeveryday · 4 months

Text

YOU BELONG TO SOMEBODY ELSE

Pairing: Nika Mühl x Reader

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on reader tho!!)

Summary: having a crush on someone who’s taken is complicated. Doesn’t stop you though! (I’m sorry)

A/n: was gonna be a Paige fic buttttt I’m in a Nika mood. ALSO PLS DONT HATE ME FOR THIS. It’s based off of a request +this song, I thought the concept was entertaining. I love Nika and her bf. This is fiction. Pls chill on me.

HER BREATH, harsh against your neck as she presses herself against you is enough to make your head spin.

She’s leaning half her weight on you, laughing against your skin at how you stiffen up. To Nika, it’s probably because she’s gross and sweaty. She doesn’t know it’s more because her touch prompts you to think thoughts you can’t shouldn’t think of her.

“You’re slow today.” She says cheerfully. “Don’t tell me you’re slacking now, baby.”

You almost shudder at the pet name but recollect yourself. “Since you’re so pumped up you shouldn’t need my support.” You scoff, playfully shoving the Croatian girl off of you. She fakes a stumble but gracefully catches herself.

“Careful! If I get hurt then you’re gonna hear from Geno.” She smiles.

You just shake your head, grinning to yourself. “Your bitching and moaning is ten times worse than the old man.”

The two of you walk around for a while. This was your usual routine, running your favourite trail twice a week, then walking for a bit before grabbing a bite to eat. Routine or not, it also happened to be your favourite part of the week.

Why wouldn’t it be? Seeing Nika like this; tight shorts stopping mid thigh, sports bra exposing her toned body and flashy belly piercing, hair pulled into a tight ponytail, giving you perfect access to the beauty that is her face.

Running with her meant being able to look at her without others around to notice, it meant listening to her breathing quicken and slow, or holding your own breath when she’d slightly pull up the edge of her shorts to examine the accumulating colour on her already tan skin.

To say you had a crush was an understatement.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “when’s your next game?”

Did you know when the next game was? Of course. You knew when all her games were.

“Day after tomorrow.” She grins, tilting her head signalling you to prepare for a question. “Am I gonna see you at this one?”

“Nika..” you force out a sigh. “Such bad timing. I have a thing.”

She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow now, the look in itself is not alien to you yet still incites a drop in your stomach. You hate disappointing her time after time.

“Seriously? How do you manage to have a thing every single time I have a game?”

You shrug. “I’m sorry, Niks.” You frown, not lying. “I wish I could go,” again, not lying “but stuff just keeps coming up.” ok, now you’re lying.

She doesn’t say anything, just eyes you suspiciously.

“I might be free after though.” You sneak in hopefully.

“Fuck yeah!” She squeals, slapping your back. “Cus’ when we win imma need you right next to me partying.”

You smile at her hand on you, at her happiness with your presence.

“Wanna go eat now?” You ask. “I’m starving.”

A car pulls up by the curb the two of you walk through and lets out a slight honk.

Now Nika’s face scrunches up. “Oh (Name), totally my bad, I forgot to tell you I’m going out to eat with my man today.”

Fuck your man. “Thats okay Niks.” You say. “All good.”

“It’s alright anyways. I’ll be seeing you Friday night after we win, and hey, at least try to watch the game online!”

And with that you watch her scurry off towards the passenger seat and happily jump in, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek and buckling her seatbelt. Her boyfriend waves at you slightly, aware of your friendship with Nika but not so aware of your infatuation. You want to scowl, but you force a smile.

You’re there standing, watching as the car pulls away and starts on the road. You don’t miss how Nika turns around to hold your eye until the car fades out of your vision.

You don’t know how much longer you can do this.

How much longer can you go on with this? With overthinking every lingering touch, restraining yourself at the sound of her voice, finding ways to run into her, knowing her schedule, being there for her wins and losses, wishing ill on her perfectly boring friendly boyfriend.

With every stride of her muscular legs beside yours, matching your pace, synchronized breathing, eyes meeting each other on perfect timing every time, you refuse to miss how she begs for your presence at important events. She refuses to miss how you freeze at the sheer mention of her partner.

She’s moody when you arrive at the bar. It’s different from the usual post-game celebration spot, less frat-like and more artsy. Warm lighting, hip hop blasting, decor littered fittingly with NBA and WBNA players.

You can see her clearly, leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, her drink half full on the counter behind her. She smiles when Paige shoves her playfully, but it fades as soon as the blonde turns her back.

You swallow the thought that she’s like that because she thinks you’re not gonna show. You know if you encourage things like that, it’ll only get ahead of your better judgment.

That being said, you were sure to dress exactly how she likes sexy. Hair done with intricacy that almost warranted a breakdown, makeup natural and with intention, clothing showing off how hard you’ve worked on those long runs. The way her lips slightly part at the sight of you is enough to short circuit your brain.

Ignoring how her friends seem to share looks at your presence, you slide up beside her as smoothly as possible before taking a sip of her drink.

“Good game.” You smile.

“You watched it?”

“I always do.”

“Yet you never come.” She scoffs.

“I can’t.” You say through gritted teeth, and it’s the truth. If you saw her play in real life it’d only make you want her more. “But I’m here now.”

You bump shoulders with her. “I’m here to celebrate my Nika.”

“Your Nika, huh.” She turns to you, lips turning upwards into a dangerous smirk.

Before you can respond, Paige is beside you. Her cheeks are unnaturally pink and she’s laughing up a storm that only screams intoxication. “Last I heard this was a team celebration.” She grins. “We love you and all, but why’re you here?”

You’re embarrassed and unsure what to say, but Nika immediately speaks up.

“Cus’ I want her here.” She quips, not too hostile but still enough to get the message across. With her quick words and beautifully furrowed brows she’s practically written BACK OFF in sharpie on Paige’s forehead.

“Aight, aight.” Paige chuckles, hands raised in surrender. Her teammates just shake their heads, and soon enough everyone disperses.

Getting drunk with Nika was a rare but amazing once in a while occurrence. She was not the type to be irresponsible, but the two of you were approaching a dangerous zone after an hour or so of talking and drinking. She couldn’t get a word out without laughing, and you couldn’t stop bouncing your leg to distract yourself from pouncing on her right then and there in front of all the other college kids.

“Have you ever thought of cheating?” She finally manages to hack out between giggles. You’re in a daze at the question, it’s too much to handle combined with her flushed face and batting eyelashes.

“Cheating…like on my partner.”

“Pfft, yes, who the fuck else?” She throws her head back. “Have you even dated? I never see you with anyone.”

“I’ve dated.” You say curtly, downing your drink and ordering another. “My last girlfriend was five months ago.”

“You had a girlfriend when we met?” She asks, eyes wide.

“I did.” You scoff. “We broke up, hic, like a couple weeks after you and me started running.”

“Huh, weird timing.” She mumbles. Your heart literally skips a beat, and you almost choke on your own spit.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She rushes, waving her hand dismissively. A beat of silence passes between you and her.

“I have thought of it.” You sigh. “Of cheating, I mean. It’s kinda why I broke it off with the last girl. I felt bad.”

“You’re better then me.” She grumbles, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh?” You smile teasingly, leaning into her slightly. “Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s great.” She says, the words a frantic mess leaving her mouth. “He treats me good. I just have….” She says, trailing off.

“I just have doubts about him. And interests in someone else.” Nika exhales, lips attaching to the rim of her drink and eyes flitting to yours. She’s saying something to you with her expressions alone, dissecting her words was a whole other job.

“And does this person share your interest?” You mumble, shifting in your seat.

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “I see em’ a lot. She looks at me like she’s interested, but she doesn’t get too close.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Nah, she doesn’t.” Nika shakes her head ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to get her with me more. Y’know, good seats at my games, drinks with my friends. She’s always busy.”

You can’t help but shudder at how she licks her lips in between words as her eyes search your face for any sort of reaction.

“Maybe she’s thrown off by that boyfriend of yours.”

“Do you think if she knew the boyfriend wouldn’t stop me, she’d still give it a chance?” Nika says slyly,

“Hm.” You say, legs pressing together. You can feel your pulse in your pussy and it’s getting hard to ignore. You consider your options before settling with “with a grand gesture to prove it, I don’t see why not.”

“Grand gesture, huh.” She leans into you, her lips just grazing your ear. “I might have something in mind.”

And with that, you’re on your feet and being led by hand through what feels like masses of people. You almost stumble at one point, head slightly spinning from the alcohol in your system and the speed she’s pulling you, but she doesn’t stop. There’s a twinkle in her eye that excites you to your core.

You’re embarrassed immediately when you enter the washroom and there are two girls by the sink touching up their makeup. You and Nika stand by the door excruciatingly awkwardly, her hand tight around yours.

The girls notice the shift in the air, or perhaps it’s Nika’s hazel eyes shooting a glare only opposing teams usually see that causes them to exchange a knowing look and leave as swiftly as the two of you came in.

In an instant her lips are on yours. You find yourself wishing you weren’t so drunk, you’ve only been fantasizing about this kiss for the five months you’ve known her and the three months prior you noticed her around campus. Despite the speed you hope to remember every breath in excruciatingly slow detail.

It’s a rush so aggressive you wonder if she’s making up for lost time. Your back hits the wall for a moment before you’re hoisted up onto the sink. When you let out a gasp she finds opportunity to meet your tongue with her own, deepening the kiss.

“Do you actually want me?” You whisper between kisses, feeling her brows furrow at your question. “Or is this just something to get back at your little boyfriend.”

“Don’t even start.” She snaps, pulling away from you ever so slightly. Her calloused hands are firmly planted on your hips, and her lips are hovering just above yours. It’s impossible to for you to hold any eye contact at this proximity, but she doesn’t struggle at all. “Why d’you think I always want you with me to celebrate n’ not him?”

You just shrug, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you now.

She places a chaste kiss on your lips, different from the ones before. “I’ve never asked him to come with me to a bar with the girls. I’ve never asked anyone who isn’t on the team except for you.”

Now her kisses are trailing down your neck, she’s licking spots softly before sucking on the supple skin so tenderly, unmatched compared to the earlier feverish pace. “I’ve literally been begging you to come to my games, babe, begging.”

Now you scoff. “Are you serious? Do you think that makes it obvious you want me?” You say, attempting to keep a steady voice though it’s so hard when she’s nipping at you and tainting your skin purple and pink with lovebites.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her breath now warm between your thighs. “Can I make it up to you?”

You stare at her, pouting. You want to say no so badly, you want to push her away and tell her she’s awful for this, but you know you’re no better. You know your touches linger too long on her back, you know the way you think about her makes you just as guilty, which is why when you see her begging between your legs there’s no possible answer you could give other then yes.

And with the utter of your approval Nika is diving headfirst into the current you’ve both been swimming to avoid, her skilled hands holding your skimpy underwear to the side as her lips plant kisses near and on your pussy. You open your legs wider for her, and to thank you her tongue swirls manipulatively around your clit.

The bathroom is starting to blur through your vision, throwing one hand over your mouth to stifle too-loud-sighs while the other hand grasps Nika’s brown hair.

With every huff, whine and jolt she sends through your body you feel a growing sensation in your core. The brunette girl laps at your folds, sucking on your clit while her fingers tease your entrance. The combination of her fingers and mouth turn your sighs to whines and quiet cries of her name.

“See how sorry I am?” She mumbles between your legs. “So, so sorry baby. I shouldn’t be playing with you like that and assuming you know what I want.” Nika smiles, every word spoken sending shivers down your spine.

“S’okay.” You exhale. “Don’t stop.”

Once her fingers find the perfect pace she rises to meet your lips. Her kisses are passionate and messy, you couldn’t care in the slightest though. With every bite of your lip and curl of her finger you feel closer and closer to the edge.

“You close?” She whispers, and you nod timidly in response. Nika gives you the sweetest smile as she pumps in and out of you, your breathing is frantic and somehow in sync with hers. You think about how many times you’ve been so synchronized, but never like this. She bares a triumphant look, maintaining eye contact when you climax all over her fingers. Nika presses sweet kisses to your lips and you bask in the realization of what has just happened.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget she belongs to somebody else, because in this moment she is yours.

#Spotify #fanfiction #fanfic #uconn wbb #rpf #nika muhl x reader #smut #nika mühl smut #nika muhl smut #nika mühl #nika muhl #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #uconn x reader #dej loaf #jacquees

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mrs-weasley-reid · 6 months

Text

SPEED OF LIGHT•••

bau!team x bau!reader

Synopsis: speed is one of the bau team's special skills. Traveling from one state to another, one address to the next, catching unsubs in the blink of an eye. So when one of the members was put in danger, you didn't hesitate to prove that you belonged in the team. WARNING: cursing. silly goofy time with derek and spencer A/N: a short fun blurb

"We'll be there," Spencer flipped his phone, turning to you and Derek with a horrified look.

Derek raised his brows, "What is it?"

Spencer gulped, "The unsub is Mary, and JJ's with her." He couldn't hide the worry in his voice.

You felt the same sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had to get there fast, or JJ would be in serious danger. None of you wanted that.

Derek was about to jump on the driver's seat when you stole the keys from his hand. "What are you doing? This is not the time to play games."

"I'll drive, hop in." You stated and claimed the seat, buckling yourself up.

Spencer said your name in panic, "We don't have time for this. We need to hurry!" He argued, all while hopping on the backseat.

You rolled your eyes. Men. You sighed in your head, starting the engine. It was ironic enough how they continued to complain yet still glued their asses on the leather seat of the SUV.

"Then buckle up and shut up. Derek, either you strap yourself on your seat or get out of the car. The clock is ticking." Your voice vibrated authority, which was rare, much less nonexistent in their vocabulary of your personality.

Derek didn't say anything but still reluctantly sat on the shotgun seat. He gave you the address, and as soon as his seatbelt clicked, you slammed the gas pedal.

Their bodies automatically hit the back of their seats. The speed of the black SUV you're in seemed impossible to reach. Its engine growled loudly.

You loved car racing, finding yourself on race tracks every time you had a chance. You loved the high, the thrill of speeding down the asphalt burning at the touch of your tires.

On the contrary, you never drove during cases, letting Derek or Emily or Dave or Hotch or JJ, basically everyone—Spencer was no exception—get a hold of the wheel. They never questioned it, more so, assumed that you were a horrible driver. And maybe your driving skills at the moment would only prove their assumption, but you paid no mind.

Spencer and Derek watched in fear as you earned angry honks from the poor patrons. You had the badge and gun to reason in case any of the civilians had the guts to block you.

You had one mission: get yourselves to JJ's aid, fast.

"W-watch, watch out!" Derek stammered in fear for his life. He had never experienced such speed before, feeling his skin stretched off to the back of his head.

Spencer fell silently dead in the backseat. His skin was pale, lips sealed from utter anxiety. He could feel his stomach dance into knots, mocking him. He gripped his seatbelt tightly, turning his knuckles white. He could've sworn his ass was holding onto his seat.

In a matter of seven minutes, which was supposed to be a normal thirty-minute drive, you parked the car with a screech.

You got out of the vehicle, fishing your gun from your holster. You made your way into position, unbothered by the 150 mph drive.

"What happened to you guys?" Emily hushed at the two gentlemen behind you.

Derek's eyes were watery, and Spencer's hair looked like he just emerged from a tornado.

"Our lives flashing before our eyes," Spencer exclaimed in horror. "You wouldn't know how it feels." He was staring into the distance as if he was watching some kind of horror film on the air.

"Sure," Emily shrugged, "Not like I faked my own death and had a funeral or anything."

Hotch was approaching when Derek and Spencer tiptoed away from Emily. "Did something happen?" He interrogates.

Emily only stared at the two with a weird look, "That's what I want to know too." And your small stature came into her sight, "I think she broke them... somehow."

Derek may have acted cool about the entire thing, but his stomach constantly shrunk, making him gag every three seconds. "I'm never going to complain about your driving," He whispered to Spencer as they settled themselves in position.

Spencer nodded and gulped the vomit he was holding in his throat, prompting Derek to do the same. "Yeah, yeah, me too."

And that day remained a mystery to the entire team... plus you were officially banned from driving.

bau masterlist | masterlist

#criminal minds #criminalminds #cm #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #ssa spencer reid #ssa emily prentiss #ssa aaron hotchner #ssa jennifer #ssa derek morgan #ssa david rossi #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #bau team

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sl0t4matt · 5 months

Note

Marc Guiu and reader making up after an argument pls

m. guiu | into it

ik hector doesn’t have his license yet but here he does ok?! also sorry i got carried away and wrote smut :o

warnings: toxic relationship, smut, not proof read

“are you actually fucking kidding me, marc?” you scoff, grabbing your things ready to leave. you were sick of his shit. sick of him taking his anger out on you when you did nothing but support and be there for him. how could be so mean? you understand that him loosing a game would get him upset, but making it seem like it’s your fault, when he should’ve been the one to kick the ball in the net is just not fair.

“yeah run away, like you always do when it gets tough.” he walks after you, shrugging his shoulders. “marc, don’t you take your shit out on me, because the both of us know it’s literally not on me you can’t kick a ball.” you shake your head, clearly having enough of your boyfriends whining. “fuck you can be such a-.” he stops himself before saying something stupid. “yeah, no we’re done. don’t even try to call me because i won’t come back. i mean it this time.”

you walk out the house, catching marc’s sister on the way. “hey, what happened, i heard yelling, are you guys okay?” she gives you an concerned look, probably noticing the tears that have been building up in the corner of your eyes.

before you completely break down in front of her, you decide to give her a nod, before leaving. you couldn’t believe marc. he has gotten mad about his team losing many times, but it has never been this bad. sure you would fight, it’s just something that was part of your relationship, but maybe that isn’t so normal after all.

you were both toxic playing stupid games with each other like how to make the other jealous. you loved it, the fights, the trouble. it’s what kept your relationship entertaining, but now you weren’t so sure anymore.

just fucking great! now you have to walk home. you go to walk on the other side of the street, when you suddenly hear a honk, making you jump. you turn to see hectors car stopping beside you. “shit, you scared me! what the hell are you doing here.” you sigh, shaking your head. “came to take you home.” he answers. “i’m f-.” “just get in the damn car, y/n.” hector interrupts you. you roll your eyes, walking to the passenger seat.

you wouldn’t have needed him to drive you if it wasn’t so dark out. “did marc tell you to drive me?” you ask, looking over at him. he doesn’t reply, instead he keeps looking at the road not giving a reaction, so you must take his silence as an answer. “what happened?” you can’t help but scoff. “as if marc didn’t tell you already.” he shakes his head. “he didn’t. he just told me he fucked up again and that i should pick you up.”

“we’ll at least he knows he did.” you breathe out a laugh. “seriously, what happened?” he repeats. “he’s just bitching about the lose of the game and literally behaves like a child, acting like it’s my fault. he also almost called me a bitch… so told him we’re done.” hectors eyes widen, looking like they are about to pop out. “wait what? you broke up with him, like for real this time.”

you giggle, nodding. “i’m just done with all the fights, you know.” you look out the window watching the peaceful road, with almost no cars to be seen. “but you guys love it.” he furrows. “i’m just tired lf it, you know?” he nods. “that’s fair, he’s dumb for treating you like that.” hector says, before shutting the motor down, because you arrived home. “what are you doing right now?” you ask hector, since you guys haven’t talked much previously. “nothing, why?” you smirk. “you have to stay with me! we haven’t had our gossip sessions in so long.” you nudge him. “yeah, if that makes you feel better.” he smiles shrugging. “definitely. god, there’s so much tea!!” you walk over to your house

…

“i still love him, even if he does stupid shit like that you know.” you tell hector, while stuffing the chips in your mouth. you would probably die if anyone saw you like this, but it’s only hector, he’s seen you your worst times. even though he’s marc’s best friend, he never told him anything when you would talk about him. that’s why you can talk so openly with him about anything, he just won’t tell anyone. “then why don’t you get back with him?” hector asks. a knock on the door cuts in your conversation. “y/n?” you hear marc’s voice, making hectors mouth drop in a gasp.

shit, this looks so wrong right now, with hector laying in your bed as well as yourself. you walk over to the door, opening it a tiny bit to see his sad looking face. he genuinely looks like he’s sorry. you look back to hector that sits dumbfound in your bed. “who’s in there?” marc asks. you shake your head. “no one.” you answer way too quick. he pushes open your door, revealing hector that is sat on your bed. you look him in the eyes to see an hint of reaction, but he doesn’t show any.

“why is he here?” marc asks, way too calm, it’s almost scaring you. “we just talked.” you say your eyes meeting with the ground, mentally preparing yourself for the yelling. “okay.” he just nods. you look up at him, a furrow on your face. have you heard that right? “can i talk to you..alone?” marc scratches the back of his head, nervously. you nod following him out.

“did you fuck him?” woah straight to it marc! also what the fuck? “what the fuck, no!” you exclaim. “okay.” he nods. “marc, can you explain yourself other than replying with an “okay”. why are you here?” he just keeps head low. he almost looks like.. he’s intimidated by you.

“i wanted to apologise.” he finally looks at you. suddenly hector comes out of your room. he points to the door awkwardly, mentioning he’s gonna leave. you give him a smile before looking back at marc.

“marc..” you start. “no please, don’t say anything, just hear me out. i shouldn’t have talked to you the way that i did. it was stupid of me to take everything out on you, because you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and i would never want you to feel guilty of something that i did. i understand that you probably never wanna talk to me again, but i just need to make sure that despite what i said, you know that i love you.” something in the way he’s saying it makes you believe him, but you’re not sure if you can forgive him so soon.

but fuck, he has no right to look this good right now, you’re supposed to be mad at him! his lips plump and red from the way he’s been biting on them nervously, his biceps broad and strong as he crosses his arms and his eyes looking lowly down on you. how can you be mad at him, when he looks like that? “you’re on probation, i guess.” marc’s eyes light up. “what’s that supposed to mean? please. are you ever going to forgive me?” he asks, needing to know. “like i said, you’re on probation.” you reply, getting closer to him. “that isn’t a yes, y/n. do i need to get on my knees and beg for you?” you can’t help but smirk. “getting on your knees wouldn’t be such a bad idea, actually.”

“fucking hell, well we can always make that happen.” his hand makes its way to your waist, pulling you onto him. in a matter of seconds his lips are on your’s. he tightens his hands on your waist and runs the other up your back, pressing you harder into his chest. your hands move in his hair, pulling him closer, if that’s even possible. he parts your lips with his tongue, to deepen the kiss. his hand on your waist loosens and trails down the side of your body, until he turns it to grab your ass. he lets out a low groan, bringing his other hand also down on your ass. you pull on his bottom lip slightly, making him smile in the kiss before reconnecting them again.

he squeezes your butt, muttering a quick “jump.” before picking you up and carrying you to your bed. he sits down, your legs each spread as you straddle him. he grips your hips, moving them back and forth so you’ll grind on him.

he groans as you feel his dick twitching under your cunt. he unbuttons his pants, making you slide your hand in them to feel his hard and veiny dick. you always forget how big he is.

he groans, taking your hand out of his boxers. “i want to make you feel good.” can he get any hotter? you smile at him, while dropping beside him on the bed. he lifts your arms before taking off your top and throwing it on the ground. he begins sucking and kissing your neck, most likely in order to cause hicky’s so everyone knows who you belong to, but it feels too good right now, to care about. his hand slides down to your loose pyjama shorts, touching your clit. you let out a whimper. you forgot how well he knew what you liked. “you look so good, ma.” he says now kissing your tits, sucking on them like a newborn.

his mouth moves back on your’s, when he slides his cold fingers into your shorts, forming goosebumps on your skin. he immediately finds your hole pushing his fingers inside of you without an warning. he keeps stretching your walls, causing you to moan in his mouth. you part your mouth in the kiss, marc taking the opportunity to bite on your button lip, tasting your cherry flavoured lipgloss. he plumps his fingers in and out of you, whispering sweet words in your ear, in order to show his love for you.

his mouth moves from your face, down to your body, where you need him the most. he starts eating you out like his live depends on it licking and sucking in all your juices. you push his head deeper in your cunt, needing to feel him deeper. “marc i need your dick, please.” you moan. he looks up to you, eyes glistening, having waited for you to say that. as soon as the words left your mouth, he instantly turns you around, having your face meet with the pillow. he pulls your pants down, following with his own. you turn your head to watch him pull out his dick. lord, you’re not sure if you’re ever going to get used to his size.

he stretches your cunt as he slides into you, having you bite in the pillow in order to not let embarrassing sounds out of you. he fills you up moving, his dick in and out of you. your eyes almost fall to the back of your head, from rolling them as he fucks into you relentlessly. “fuck, so tight, ma.” he groans. you move your ass up, for yourself to feel him deeper, according to the fact he isn’t fully in you yet. “fuck, y/n. if you do that one more time i’m gonna come.” he curses.

he buries his dick deeper inside of you, his balls hitting your butt, making you whine of pleasure. he spanks your ass, fastening his peace. “marc!” you cry, as you feel him hitting your g spot. he moves rapidly, squeezing your waist. your legs begin shaking, signalling marc that, you’re gonna come. “do it.” he demands. with a cry, you cum around his cock, making him twist inside of you and pull out, coming on your belly.

he breathes heavily, his sweaty chest rising and falling with each breathe he takes. “fuck.” he mutters before getting up to take a towel from your bathroom. you look on your cum covered stomach, then back at marc that’s coming back with the towel. he smiles slightly, as he wipes it all off of you. “how are you?” he goes to lay beside you, his arms naturally finding their way to your waist, hugging you. “for a person that won’t be able to walk for the next hours, i’m doing great actually.” he laughs, pecking your shoulder.

#barca #fc barcelona #pablo gavi #joao felix #fermin lopez #hector fort #marc guiu #pau cubarsi #marcgui

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