#neutral manicure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucksandpower · 15 days

Text

Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

1K notes · View notes

wannab3-writer · 5 months

Text

Game, Set, Love

ART DONALDSON X READER (18+)

Mature Content Warnings: spoilers if you SQUINT , Forbidden Love, Second-Chance Romance, Age Gap, Mentor and Protégé, cheating ( sorta, not on reader), SMUT, NOT PROOF READ.

WC: 13.2 k

description

After walking away from tennis at the height of his career, Art Donaldson finds himself drawn back into the sport as a favour to an old friend. His new charge, Katrina King, is a talented but emotionally young player navigating the intense pressures of the professional tennis circuit. Art and Katrina's connection deepens as they train for the 2020 US Open but a single night changes everything.

2020 BEVERLLY HILLS CHALLENGER

August 31st, 2020

Art Donaldson sat in the shaded section of the stands, his arms resting casually on the armrests. He'd made it clear to everyone—Tashi and the media—that he was done with tennis. But Martha King, a long-time supporter of his and Tashi's tennis foundation, insisted that he attend, going so far as to cover all his expenses for the weekend so he could attend. Her daughter, Katrina King, was playing her final challenger before qualifying for the US Open, and Martha believed it was something he couldn’t miss.

"It's just one set; I'm not going to sit here and beg you to coach her or anything. Just watch, Art. I think you'll find it worthwhile."

Art nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "I’m here, aren't I?" he said, keeping an aloof facade. He glanced toward the court, where Katrina was preparing to serve and begin the last set. Her movements were fluid and purposeful. He'd heard about her talent and determination, but he wasn't ready to be pulled back into the tennis world.

The game began, and Katrina's serve was powerful, almost explosive. Art watched with mild interest as her opponent, a seasoned French player, struggled to keep up. He watched her body move, head to toe, taking her in. She was tall and lean; her body was nothing less than an athletes that was for sure.

"She's impressive," Art commented, a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. Katrina’s mother smiled, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her lap, glancing over towards him.

"She works hard," she replied. "A lot like Tashi used to. I remember watching her play when she was just starting out. She had the same intensity, the same drive."

That had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Art's gaze lingered on Katrina as she moved around the court with confidence and agility. Each shot was precise. He found himself leaning forward slightly, and his interest piqued despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

Martha noticed the shift in his demeanor and cocked a brow. "It's good to see you out here, Art. I know you didn't want to come, but I'm glad you did," she said, her voice soft yet firm. Art nodded, his eyes fixed on the match.

"I'm just watching; nothing special, really," he replied, unsure if he was convincing himself or her. — Another ace, and the crowd erupted in applause. Art found himself joining in, clapping slowly, though his eyes were locked on Katrina. Something about her—the energy, the focus—reminded him of the early days, the days of fire and ice, Stanford, Wimbledon, and Tashi. It was electric.

As the match progressed, Art's arms uncrossed, and he sat forward, his attention fully on the game. Katrina was dominating, each point building momentum until she reached the match point. The rallies were intense, and the shots were sharp and strategic. With one last ace, Katrina secured the game and title, and her triumphant fist-pump met with a roar from the crowd.

Art stood, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of excitement watching a match. Martha looked at him, raising an eyebrow, her expression expectant.

"Well?" she asked, her voice warm but with an edge that demanded a response.

Art hesitated only briefly, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I'll do it," he said, realizing that he meant it. The idea of coaching Katrina suddenly seemed like an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

Martha smiled, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I knew you'd come around," she said. "Katrina will be thrilled."

Art nodded, his gaze returning to the court where Katrina stood, smiling at the applause. Turning towards the crowd after a few seconds, she found her mother’s gaze, and then — Arts, and she held a fiery look in her eyes, sporting a raised brow and sly smirk for what felt like at least a minute. One thing was sure for Katrina, on August 31st, 2020, the match wasn’t the only thing she had won that day, and maybe, just maybe, tennis had a place for him again.

THE MEETING

Katrina King walked down the narrow corridor backstage, sweaty, hot, and short of breath, the adrenaline from her victory still coursing through her veins. She was basking in her win, her smile broad and confident. But her mother's text just minutes after the game was clear: "Come to the players' lounge. Now."

She pushed open the door and saw her mother sitting at a small table with Art Donaldson. Katrina knew who he was—everyone in tennis knew. A former tennis champion, the US Open winner from a decade earlier.

Art looked up as Katrina entered the room, his eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and appraisal. Her long hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of intensity and confidence. He noticed the subtle tilt of her chin—she was used to winning, and it showed.

"Katrina," Martha said, gesturing for her to join them. "You remember Art Donaldson, don't you?"

"Of course," Katrina replied, extending her hand. Art stood, his movement deliberate, and shook her hand firmly. His hair was longer than she remembered, resembling his past self, his Stanford days, and recalling his games she'd seen on YouTube. His grip was strong.

"Great game today," Art said, his voice measured. "You played with a lot of confidence. That last ace was a killer."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, a hint of pride in her tone. She could tell he was assessing her and weighing her potential. She didn't mind—she'd done the same with him, reading up on his career and his playing style as soon as she found out he was attending her game. He was known for his

Martha cleared her throat. "But," she said, her tone turning sharp, "there were a few things you need to work on. Your backhand was a bit sloppy today. And you were late on a couple of volleys. If your opponent had been more aggressive, you could've lost points."

Katrina's expression hardened. She knew her mother was right, but the criticism was not something that needed to be said in front of Art; for God sake, she was a 20-year-old woman but felt like she was a child getting scolded in front of her peers, especially after a big win. Art watched the exchange, noting the dynamic between them.

"I'll work on it," Katrina said, her voice steady. "But I got the win, didn't I?"

"You need to be prepared for tougher competition. Complacency is the enemy." Martha replied. “If you think you can win the grand slam playing like that, you’ll be in for a rude awakening, Katrina.”

Art leaned back in his chair, watching the interplay. Katrina definitely had the spark and the drive, but there was also a stubborn streak in her.

So Tashi

When she was younger, she was always pushing boundaries and never satisfied with just a win. He could see the potential for greatness.

"She's got a point," Art said, jumping in. "There's always room for improvement. But you played a solid game today. The key is to keep that momentum going without getting overconfident."

Katrina glanced at him, assessing his words. She appreciated his straightforward approach. He wasn't coddling her, but he also wasn't tearing her down. It was a balance she could respect.

"I'm not planning on slowing down," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to keep getting better. Whatever it takes."

Art nodded. He liked her attitude. It was raw and unfiltered, just like he had been. But there was also a hint of something else—an edge that could either make or break her career. He'd have to be careful, tread lightly, and guide her without pushing too hard.

"Good," he replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Because coaching isn't just about winning. It's about building a mindset, a work ethic, and knowing when to listen. You up for that?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.”

PRACTICE

Art Donaldson stepped into the grand foyer of the White residence, feeling a slight twinge of unease. The housekeepers greeted him politely, their voices formal and distant, leading him through the opulent hallways.

The backyard was large, with meticulously manicured gardens and a full-sized tennis court at its center. Katrina was on the court, stretching with the fluid grace of a seasoned athlete. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in her matching tennis outfit, everything was neatly upheld, even Katrina.

"Hi," she said, her tone somewhat neutral, almost formal. "Ready for practice?"

Art nodded, his expression detached.

Katrina stretched a little longer, glancing at Art occasionally. He stood with his arms crossed, his posture stiff and unwelcoming. The silence between them felt heavy, and neither seemed eager to break it. Katrina was used to coaches being more engaged and enthusiastic, but Art seemed distant, as if he was doing this out of obligation rather than passion.

"Let's get started," he replied, keeping his voice level. He placed his bag on a bench and scanned the court, taking in the pristine surface and the quality equipment. It was clear that the King family spared no expense on Katrina's training facilities.

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Katrina listened with a mix of uncertainty and skepticism. Art Donaldson wasn't the type to mince words, and despite his unbothered demeanor, his comments were sharp and to the point. What puzzled her was how much he seemed to know about her style, despite only seeing her play once.?

Art continued, his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I've reviewed some of your past games, mostly the ones you lost. It's clear you have the raw strength and power, but you rely on them too much. That's great for getting those aces, but without proper technique and precision, you're risking injuries and inconsistency. We need to refine that raw power and give it more structure."

Katrina couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation. She knew she was strong, and her serve was one of the best on the circuit, but hearing someone dissect her game so quickly was unsettling. This was only their first practice; they hadn’t even started playing yet, but somehow Art already seemed to know her weaknesses better than most of her previous coaches.

Art continued, unaware of her internal resistance. "So, I've created a set of drills that will help improve your footwork and balance. It's not just about hitting the ball hard; it's about control and accuracy. If we don't work on these areas, you're going to burn out before you reach your peak."

Katrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't one to take criticism lightly, especially from someone who'd barely spent time with her. Art had a point—she'd heard similar comments before—but his bluntness felt a bit too forward for her liking. Who was he to tell her she needed refinement after only seeing her play once?

As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her strength was a double-edged sword; it gave her an edge, but it also left her vulnerable. She'd suffered minor injuries in the past due to poor technique, and she'd lost matches because of these errors. Art's critique, though harsh, had truth to it.

Art noticed her hesitation and the slight edge in her expression. "I know this might sound a bit blunt," he said, softening his tone slightly. "But I'm not here to sugarcoat things. If you want to make it to the top and stay there, you need to listen and adjust. This isn't about criticism—it's about giving you the best chance to succeed."

Katrina sighed, feeling her resistance wane. Maybe Art was a bit too forward, but he wasn't wrong. He had seen something in her that others hadn't—or maybe he was just willing to point it out where others had stayed silent. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Let's give it a shot."

Art nodded, his demeanor slightly less rigid. "Good. Let's start with the footwork drills. I'll show you what I mean."

As they moved onto the court to begin the practice, Katrina felt a cautious sense of optimism. Art was a mystery; she had only met him once before and couldn’t recall him being this cold, but there was something about his straightforwardness that felt refreshing, even if it rubbed her the wrong way at first. Maybe this coaching thing would work out after all—if she could just learn to trust his instincts.

Art watched her for a while, his arms still crossed. He occasionally offered a brief correction, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Keep your elbow in on your serve. It'll give you more control," he said without much inflection.

Katrina adjusted her stance and served again, this time with better accuracy. "I got it," she replied, glancing at Art to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded, his face expressionless.

As the practice progressed, the tension between them slowly eased. Art started giving more detailed feedback, explaining why certain techniques were important. Katrina listened intently, realizing that, despite his aloof demeanor, he knew his stuff. His advice was sound, and when she followed it, she could see near-immediate improvement in her game.

"You're not bad at this coaching thing," she remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Art gave a faint smile, the first she'd seen from him. "Just repeating what I've heard a thousand times," he replied.

Katrina tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "Didn't Tashi coach you your whole career? There must have been an adjustment when you two decided to retire, huh?" After those words left her mouth, she knew she had hit a sore spot.

Art's expression changed, the brief smile vanishing. "Yeah, she was." She hadn't meant any harm; really, it was an honest question. Art had a successful career with more than enough titles under his belt, not to mention a prior injury; it only made sense to retire when he did.

His voice grew colder. "Alright, breaks over." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.

The rest of the practice was more focused, with Art providing steady guidance and Katrina working hard to apply his advice. As the session drew to a close, Katrina felt a subtle shift in Art's attitude. He seemed a bit more relaxed and engaged in the process.

Before they wrapped up, Katrina decided to ask a question that had been on her mind. "Art, why did you agree to coach me?" she asked, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “No offense, but you didn't seem the most pleased when you got here.” She stopped and laughed. “And I know my mother's paying you well, but I'm sure you do good for yourself on your own.”

Art paused, considering his response. He looked up to the sky in thought, licking his lips only to settle his gaze on her while she rolled out her quads. "When I watched your game, I saw the determination and drive for tennis that I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Not since Tashi," he added, his eyes distant. The memory of Tashi's knee injury and the end of her career lingered in the air. “It honestly felt like I was watching her for the first time again.”

Katrina nodded, sensing the heaviness in his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew there was more to Art's story, but she also knew it wasn't her place to press further. She got up after her stretch, dusting herself off.

Art nodded, "We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. Katrina agreed, sensing that this coaching relationship would take time to develop but feeling that they were on the right track. “I think it would be a smart move to sign you up for some challengers; we’ll be able to fully gauge your abilities after a couple of weeks of training and see what we need to adjust.”

AFTER PRACTICE

Katrina stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the tension in her shoulders. The first practice with Art had been intense, and her muscles were starting to feel the strain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she took a deep breath, wondering if she'd made the right choice in agreeing to work with him.

As she got dressed, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, a rich aroma that made her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and she hoped her mom would let her have something substantial.

Katrina entered the dining room, where her mother was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand. The table was set with a carefully arranged selection of dishes, but Katrina noticed the absence of anything remotely indulgent. No desserts, no heavy carbs, just the usual assortment of protein and vegetables.

"Good evening, Mom," Katrina said, forcing a smile as she took a seat. Her mother looked up from her phone, her eyes bright but her expression serious.

"Katrina," Martha replied, her tone even. "How was practice with art?"

Katrina shrugged, picking up a piece of grilled chicken. "It was fine. He's... intense, but I guess that's to be expected from someone like him." She paused, then added, "How did you even get him to come to my match? He's been avoiding tennis for ages."

Martha's smile was tight, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Art and I have a history; we’ve always been interested in his foundational work. I just reminded him of the impact he could make by coming back, even if it was just for one match. And you know, he doesn't say no to me, not when your father and I are as generous as we are during his charity events."

Katrina raised an eyebrow, sensing the hint of manipulation in her mother's words. "So you used the foundation to guilt him into coming?"

Classic

Martha's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not guilt, Katrina. It's connections; your father and I do a lot for you and your career. There's a difference.” She paused. “The money we put into the foundations were investments for you; we would have preferred Tashi, sure, but after Art retired, she went off to coach some European girls, so we got the second best.” She was irritated. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to have a coach like Art. You said yourself you needed someone with real experience."

Katrina sighed, realizing that arguing with her mom was a lost cause. "I guess," she said, taking a cautious bite of the chicken. She glanced at the dessert tray on the far end of the table, spotting a small dish of fruit tarts. Her mouth watered at the sight of them.

Martha followed her gaze and shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "Your dietitian would have a fit. You know you're on a strict regimen."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but she didn't push back. Her mom was relentless when it came to her career, and any deviation from the plan was met with immediate correction. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, feeling her appetite wane.

“Where’s Jayden and Judea?” Katrina asked only now, noticing her siblings were missing from the dinner table.

“They went out to dinner with the rest of the kids that train with them and coach Pattcheo.”

“mmh.”

After dinner, Katrina retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. She felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. Frustration with her mom's overbearing attitude and curiosity about Art.

She opened her laptop and started searching for Art's social media profiles. His Instagram was sparse, mostly old tennis photos and a few promotional shots, brand deals, and the foundation. Barley has no pictures of his daughter and no recent ones of Tashi. His Facebook was similar, with long gaps between posts. There were articles about his career, but nothing stood out.

"For such a big shot, there’s not much for me to stalk," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the limited content. It was clear that Art wasn't one for the limelight, preferring to keep a low profile. Katrina found herself intrigued.

She searched for videos of his old matches, curious to see him in action. She found a few highlights from his glory days, watching as he moved across the court with precision and grace. It was easy to see why he'd been a champion—his technique was flawless, and his focus was intense.

"Not bad," she said to herself, watching a particularly impressive rally where he had dominated his opponent.

As the night grew darker, Katrina closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Art was weird, and she wasn't sure how to feel about him yet. But one thing was clear—he had a depth that she'd have to uncover if she wanted to make the most of his coaching. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be the one to help her reach the next level.

SIX DAYS BEFORE US OPEN

It was six days before the Open, and Art stood at the far end of the court, watching Katrina as she moved through a set of agility drills. The sun was beating down, but Katrina was relentless, her movements swift and precise. As he took her in, he marveled at how good she looked. The thin layer of sweat that covered her form made her glow in the evening light, with her baby hair clinging to her face as she hit ball after ball. He drank in her curves, nearly forgetting what he was actually here for.

Art was calling out instructions, his voice clear but encouraging. Clearly, the past five weeks of training had brought them closer, both in skill and in the ease with which they interacted.

"Remember to keep your weight centered," Art said, pointing toward her feet. "Don't lean too much into the shot; it'll throw off your balance. Other than that, you’re looking good."

Katrina nodded, adjusting her stance. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he was praising her. It felt genuine, not just a coach’s platitude. She could sense an unspoken tension between them, but she couldn't quite define it. It was there, in the way his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they needed to, in the way he sometimes reached out to correct her form.

"Nice volley," Art said as she expertly returned the ball over the net. "You're really getting the hang of these drills."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, giving him a small smile. "I learned from the best."

Art chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery won't save you on the court, but it's appreciated." He watched as she moved into position for a backhanded hit, a play that had been a weak point for her. She swung, and the ball clipped the net.

Maybe she was just tired, or maybe he just looked too good; either way, she was distracted. How was she supposed to focus when he was standing with his broad shoulders and arms crossed and that damn backwards Sandford snapback observing like a hawk? She understood that’s his job; he’s quite literally getting paid to be here. Something was different though; the look he gave her five weeks ago, shit even two weeks ago, was nothing near the way he looks at her now.

“Stop.” He says, and she halts her hit.

Art moved closer, taking a pause, before walking behind her, closing the distance between them. "Here, let me show you," he said, reaching around her to correct her grip on the racket. His breath was warm on her neck, and Katrina tensed, feeling a heat that wasn't from the sun. His touch was gentle but firm, guiding her into the proper position.

"Like this," Art said, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel his presence. "Keep your elbow straight and your wrist firm."

Katrina nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and swung again, this time clearing the net with ease.

“There we go, atta girl.” He whispered while cracking a smile.

She felt hot, oh god, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. How could he say that so casually? She didn’t have to just deal with the fact that she’s now all hot and bothered, but also the guilty embarrassment of realizing she has a fat crush on her 30-sum-year-old tennis coach, who just happens to be a husband and father.

Right

Pulling away, she changes the subject, considering he’s been silent for the past minute and a half. "How's your daughter doing? And Tashi?" She felt the atmosphere shift as Art cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Lily's doing well," he replied, his voice controlled. "She's on tour with Tashi, who's coaching her for the season." He left it at that, his eyes avoiding hers as he focused on the court. "Keep hitting the ball with that form," he added, his tone all business now.

Art adjusted his pants, his expression tight, and turned to leave. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just need to run to the bathroom."

Katrina watched him go, her heart still racing from the moment he'd been so close. She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on her training, but the lingering warmth of his presence was hard to ignore. The open tournament was coming up, and she needed to be at her best, both on and off the court. The challenge would be to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“Oh, what the fuck, Art?” feeling his own disappointment, he said to himself as he did his best to fix the hard-on that was growing by the second. What would he give to be able to take a cold shower right now?

Scurrying to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the door, contemplating what just happened and palming himself.

“Fuck” was uttered in a raspy and hushed manner.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. He felt guilty forgetting hard for a girl over a decade younger than him. But that wasn’t what he really felt guilty about. He felt guilty because he liked it. She was fiery; she was driven, and the way she looked at him, with admiration, was long since Tashi looked at him with any emotion of the sort. Katrina made him feel good about himself. And fuck, was she hot. He was almost certain that as the days of training passed, the length of her skirt shortened and her tops got tighter, or maybe he just started paying attention to it.

He needed to stop thinking of her for his sanity and his cocks, because leaving every practice with blue balls for the last week and a half hasn’t been pleasant.

Splashing himself with cold water and tucking his dick into his waistband, he walks back out before she starts questioning anything.

"All right, that's it for today," he called out, clapping his hands to get her attention. "Good work. We'll take it easy tomorrow, then hit the road the day after."

Katrina straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathless from the intense workout. "I feel good about it. I think we're ready."

Art nodded, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. There was a grace to her movements, even in her exhaustion. She carried herself with confidence, but there was also a vulnerability that he'd come to recognize. It was in the way she sometimes hesitated before speaking or the way her eyes softened when they shared a joke.

"Thanks for, you know, doing this," Katrina said, her eyes meeting his. "I know you didn't have to, but... I'm glad you did."

Art felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that he'd been avoiding, or perhaps suppressing. There was something about Katrina that made him want to stay, to guide her through the ups and downs of the game. And it wasn't just about tennis. It was something deeper, something that made him feel almost protective.

"It's been a good few weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "You've got a lot of potential, Katrina. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could go far."

She smiled, a genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where neither of them moved. He knew he should step back and create some distance, but he found himself drawn in, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her eyes. There was something about her.

"All right," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Get some rest tonight. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I need you focused."

Katrina nodded, her eyes locking with his. The tension was palpable, a mix of excitement and something else, something neither of them wanted to name. Art felt the stirrings of something almost primal, a desire that had been dormant for a long time. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.

"Good night," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"Good night," he replied, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than they should. "Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." With his things packed, he walked off the court, leaving her to stretch.

The US Open tournament was coming, and with it, a new set of challenges—both on and off the court.

THE DRIVE TO SAN DIEGO

This was unexpected. Somehow, Katrina was sitting in the passenger seat of Arts Blue Bronco and had managed to snag herself a one-on-one tournament weekend with the Art Donaldson himself. Her mother had only missed three of her games throughout her entire career. The first time was when Katrina was 12. Her mother didn't attend because Katrina had just started playing tennis, and her mother assumed she wouldn't be good enough to watch, so she spent her time on holiday with the neighborhood housewives and was pleasantly surprised when Katrina returned with her first trophy. The second time was when Katrina was 16. Their grandmother had passed away, but Katrina's mother insisted that Katrina should play in the game instead of staying home to grieve like a normal person. She told Katrina that every win was one step closer to a successful career; bad things happen all the time, and you simply “need to get over it and move on." The third time was today, when Katrina was 20, after her little brother's appendix unexpectedly burst at 4 a.m. in the morning, and he and their mom had to rush to the hospital.

"How do you feel about your mom not being here this time?" Art asked, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Katrina's expression carefully.

Katrina shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of happy she's not here. It's like a weight off my shoulders. I don't have to worry about her criticizing every move I make or every shot I miss."

Art nodded, sensing the relief in her voice. "Your mom seems pretty tough on you."

"She is," Katrina replied, swirling her drink. "She talks a big game, but sometimes I think she doesn't really know what she's saying. Like when she criticizes my plays—she doesn't really get the game, you know? She just wants to be involved, but it's not always helpful."

Art felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd known parents like that, always pushing, always expecting perfection without understanding the sacrifices involved. "I'm glad I could be here for you, then," he said. "You shouldn't have to go through all this alone. It's hard enough without extra pressure from someone who isn't really helping."

Katrina shrugged, her lips curling into a small, ironic smile. "It's been like that since I was a kid. I never had much of a childhood, anyway. The little bit of teenager-like stuff I did, I had to sneak around to do it. Mom was always watching, always pushing me to be the best and to win. I never really got to be a kid."

Art felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It wasn't just empathy—it was a sense of injustice, of the things Katrina had missed out on. He'd seen it before in other athletes whose parents lived vicariously through their children, expecting them to carry the weight of their own dreams. It was a burden no young person should have to bear. Shit went through it himself with Tashi, and it eventually cost them their relationship.

"That sounds rough," he said, his voice gentle. "Everyone deserves a chance to be a kid—to have fun, to make mistakes, to figure things out without a constant spotlight."

“I definitely have to make mistakes." She paused and giggled in embarrassment. “This might be T.M.I. But my first time was with a random guy around my age that was dragged to a dinner party at his parents house.” She side-eyes Art for a moment. “Of course, while the adults did whatever adults do, we snuck off into the liquor cabinet, got so hammered, and then decided to go up to my room.”

Art only looked at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.

“Long story short, by the time we were done, everyone was looking for us — of course we were too stupid to think that anyone would notice we were missing for over an hour.” She sighs with a smile. "Anyways, it turns out they were serving desert, and when the housekeeper came in looking for us, she couldn’t hold back a scream. It's safe to say I can’t even remember how long I was grounded for.”

Art was fully laughing now, not sure if it was from second hand embarrassment or because of how unexpected this was.

“Mistakes aren’t something; you escape, believe me.” He seemed nostalgic.

"Yeah," Katrina replied, her gaze dropping to the table.

“Anyways, I’m sure instances like that’s what made me basically one of the strongest tennis players of all time,” she concludes, sarcastically exaggerating.

Art sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Strength isn't just about winning," he said. "It's about finding your own way, making your own choices, and being okay with who you are, even if it doesn't fit someone else's expectations."

Katrina looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I want," she said. "I want to play because I love it, not because I'm trying to prove something to someone else. I just... I wish I had more time to figure it all out."

Art nodded, understanding her struggle. "You'll get there," he said. "You've got a lot of potential, and you're doing it for the right reasons. Just remember, it's okay to take a step back sometimes. To enjoy the game, to find joy in the small things,

Katrina smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that."

Art returned her smile, feeling a connection that went beyond coach and player. It was a moment of genuine understanding, the kind that made all the effort and hard work worth it. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least they had each other to navigate it together.

AT THE HOTEL

After a two-hour drive, Art and Katrina King arrived at the hotel where they would be staying during the tournament in San Diego. The hotel was upscale, with modern decor and spacious rooms. They'd been given a suite with two separate bedrooms connected by a shared living area. It was the perfect setup for coach and player.

Art had just finished unpacking when he decided to knock on Katrina's door. It was only 7 p.m., and he thought it might be nice to have dinner together. A little bonding before the tournament might help ease some of the tension they have been feeling lately. There is no harm in a friendly dinner.

Right?

Katrina opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Art standing there. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than usual. "What's up?"

"Want to grab dinner?" Art asked, keeping his tone casual. "There's a nice restaurant downtown I've been meaning to check out every time I come down here."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a hint of a smile. "Sure, why not?" she replied. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach—this wasn't just a quick meal at the hotel lobby; it was a proper dinner out.

"Great," Art said, checking his designer watch. "Meet you back here in 40."

Katrina agreed, closing the door to get ready. She picked out a simple black dress, something a little fancier than she normally wears. Her brown hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in curls. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was just dinner, right?

When she stepped out of her room, Art was already waiting in the living area. He glanced up and immediately did a double take. Katrina looked stunning, the soft curls of her hair framing her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her figure in a way that made it hard to look away. Art felt like a high school boy going out on his first date. He could already feel himself stiffen.

Blinking, he gives up a smirk. "You look great."

Katrina blushed slightly. "Thanks," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "You don't look too bad yourself. Nice seeing you outside of tennis attire."

The place was dimly lit with candlelight, adding to the intimate atmosphere. As they sat down, Art felt a sense of ease with Katrina that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was nice to know that for once, something in her life wasn't just about tennis; it was about getting to know each other on a personal level.

As time passed, they got into a comfortable conversation, talking about anything and everything.

"So," Katrina began, looking across the table at him, "you mentioned your daughter earlier. Tell me about her."

Art smiled at the mention of Lily. "She's great," he said. "She's 10 and a total fire cracker; she’s starting boarding school next year. She’s got this energy that lights up a room. She loves tennis, too, but I'm trying not to push her too hard. I want her to find her own path."

Katrina nodded, appreciating his perspective. "Sounds like you're a good dad."

Art chuckled softly, then his expression turned a bit somber. "I try to be. Things have been complicated at home. Tashi and I are technically still together, but it's more for Lily's sake than anything else." He paused, glancing at Katrina to gauge her reaction. "We're not really happy, but we're making it work—for now. Nothing has really been the same since I retired, you know."

Oh, that makes sense. She tensed.

Katrina felt a guilty glimmer of hope. If Art and Tashi were essentially separated, then maybe her fantasies weren't so impossible after all. The thought made her blush, and she took a sip of water to hide it.

As the dinner progressed, they subtly flirted with each other. Art ordered a bottle of wine to keep the conversation going, which prompted Katrina to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this off-limits?" she teased. "My mother and my dietitian would be so disappointed."

Art smirked. "You have to live a little," he replied, pouring her a glass. "Besides, a glass of wine won't ruin your career. It's all about balance, right?"

Katrina laughed softly. "Isn't it ironic that a thirty-something-year-old man is telling a twenty-year-old to have fun?"

Art chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about loosening up," he said with a playful wink. "Life's too short to be serious all the time."

“You sure look like you know how to have fun,” she said in a teasing tone. It was clear her words had a double meaning.

Art smirked and quipped, “I do; you just have to pry it out of me, I guess.

As the evening went on, the tension between them grew more palpable. The candlelight, the soft music, the wine—all of it added to the atmosphere. There was an undercurrent of attraction, a pull that neither of them could ignore. By the end of the night, you could’ve cut the tension with a knife.

Art leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "We should probably head back," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "I don't want to overdo it before the tournament."

Katrina nodded, feeling her heart race. "Yeah, probably a good idea," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they left the restaurant, the night air felt cooler against their skin, but the heat between them hadn't cooled at all. They walked back to the hotel in comfortable silence, each aware of the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface, steeling glances here and there.

The tension had been building throughout dinner. As they reached their suite, Art turned to Katrina, his expression neutral but his eyes holding a hint of warmth.

"Well, I guess we should call it a night," he said, reaching for his key card. He didn't want to cross any boundaries, especially with the multiple games she had tomorrow. But the way Katrina looked at him during dinner made it difficult to ignore the desire simmering just beneath the calm exterior.

Katrina held up a finger. "Okay...” she paused, feigning a thought. “But we didn't finish the bottle of wine," she said with a playful smile. "And my mom's going to be back for the second day of the tournament. This might be our only chance to… get to know each other; we’ll have to throw it out if we don’t finish it tonight, just sayin’."

The wine was definitely hitting.

Art hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

They moved into the shared living room, which had a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. Katrina grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses while Art flipped through the channels on the television, settling on a random movie for background noise. It was an action film with a lot of explosions and fast-paced scenes, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

As they settled onto the couch, Katrina poured them each a glass of wine. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was an underlying current of flirtation. They started talking about the tournament, about tennis, and then about life in general. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and playful banter.

"You know," Art said, taking a sip of wine, "I didn't think I'd enjoy coaching, but I'm glad I came back for this."

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Coaching? You're more like a mentor," she teased. "Plus, you're not that old to be called a coach."

Art chuckled. "Careful, or I'll make you run extra laps tomorrow," he replied, giving her a mock stern look. "I'm not that old, but I've seen a lot in my time."

"Sure, sure," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically ancient."

They both laughed, the sound filling the room. As the conversation continued, they found themselves leaning closer to each other, the space between them shrinking with each passing minute. The flirting became more overt—the playful touches on the arm, the shared smiles, and the lingering glances.

Art felt the tension building and the pull growing stronger. He knew he should keep his distance, but the way Katrina looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, made it difficult to resist.

"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you're more than just a talented player, Katrina.” He looked at her with a dark gaze. “There's something about you that makes it hard to stay away. Even when I know I should."

Katrina's eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at his words. The air between them felt electric and charged with anticipation. There were no words left to be said; they leaned in without even noticing, and there they were, on the hotel couch, lips smashed together. The wine glass in Katrina's hand tilted, spilling a few drops onto the couch, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.

The kiss was intense, filled with the desire that had been building for weeks. It was risky, even dangerous, given their roles as coach and athlete. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them caught in a whirlwind of emotion and longing.

Sprawled out like a couple of horny teenagers making out on their parent’s couch, it was almost comedic.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged, and their eyes locked in a mix of surprise and exhilaration. The movie played on in the background, the noise a distant echo as they sat there, close together, knowing that everything had changed in a single moment.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Art broke the silence first.

“Yeah, we really shouldn't.” She pulled back for a moment. “But we already did.” She moved up to fix his nonexistent collar. “Unfortunately, I have this really good coach, and he’d hate to see me not finish something I started.” Sha gazed up at him as she finished giving him a cheeky smile.

She was giving him that look, a look that said nothing less than fuck me.

Art couldn’t do anything more than chuckle and give in. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you disappoint him.“ He told her as he lifted her up into his lap.

“You’ve gotta live a little, you know.” She said it in-between kisses. His lips, his neck, and his jaw. There wasn’t an inch of him; she wasn’t going to kiss tonight.

“You’re right.” Their mouths dance together, their tongues fighting for dominance. Arts hands were taking all her in. Her dress pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands under it, grasping her tits. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, Katrina.” He breathes out in a hushed manner, biting at her lip.

“Prove it to me, Art.” She says she is pulling her dress over her head. He stopped taking a moment to drink her in; she was beautiful.

“Holly fuck.” He rasps out, unclasping her bra, leaving it to be forgotten, much like the wine.

Katrina could feel the raging hardness beneath her. Grinding into it, she lets out a moan as he kisses and sucked on her exposed breast. “Every time I’d walk on the court, and I’d see you wearing your tight little tennis outfits, god,” he rasped while bighting his lip. “All I could think about was how I wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there.” He picked her up and started walking to her bedroom. “Now, I get to be a good coach and teach you a thing or two.” He threw her on the bed, peering over her with hungry eyes and breathing heavily. “Will you be a good student and let coach fuck some knowledge into you, huh, baby?”

“I’ve never let you down, have I?” She answered him, looking up at him from the bed, her big doe eyes saying everything for her. “Show me how it’s done, coach.” She wet her lips seductively.

“Well, first, pretty girl, it’s important to get warmed up. You need help warming up, babe.” Art drags his finger from her thigh to her stomach and back down to her panties. Slowly pulling them off. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he gazes up at her with hooded eyes. He kisses along her thighs, sucking now and then, making his way up to her sopping cunt. When he does reach her, he begins lapping at her like a man who’s been deprived of water for forty days and forty nights.

“Oh my God, Art, it feels so good.” She could feel herself getting short of breath. It was so good, better than anything she had fantasized about while taking the shower head for a spin. Grasping his hair in her hand, she can’t help but grind her pussy in his face, making both him and her a sloppy mess.”

“You’re so good for me; you've always been a fast learner, you know.” He pulled up, leaving trails of kisses as he made his way up and onto the bed. “My pretty girl,” he says, looking down at her with a smirk, his chin wet with her juices. He gets off the bed and starts to strip. His shirt comes up first, giving her the opportunity to get up on her knees and run her hands over his toned abs as she continues to kiss his neck. He follows with his. Belt slipped off his pants, his cock springing up, strained by his boxers. Katrina can’t help but feel her mouth damn near water. Pulling his boxers down, she lets a glob of her saliva leak on his cock before taking him into her mouth with a moan. Art only grabs her hair in his fist before letting out a deep moan and letting his eyes roll back. “Really got a mouth on you, huh, pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “Taking me all in.”

He pulls out, a string of saliva following, only to drip down from her chin onto her chest as he motions for her to lay back down on the bed. “You ready to get that pretty pussy fucked?” he leans down, sucking on her nipples. “You’ve warmed up enough, don’t you think?”

"Yes.” Its barley is above a whisper.

“What was that? You’ve got to use your words, Kat." He says, slightly pulling away from her lips, waiting for a better response.

“Please fuck me, Art.” She moans out, “I need you now."” She pulls him back down for a kiss, lining her hips up with his. He’s teasing at her entrance for a moment before she grabs his lower back and pulls him in the whole way. They both let out a sigh of relief as she felt her walls stretch around his length and he felt her wetness embrace him.

He’s fully thrusting now, with his whole strength, his hips snapping into hers with purpose. Grunts and moans are coming out of both their mouths.

"Switch,” she says, suddenly pushing him back a bit, only for her to get on top, grinding her hips in circles while riding him. “You’re so good, Art; you make me feel so good,” she’s breathless, guiding his veiny hands onto her chest. “I’ve ouched myself so many times fantasizing about this, thinking about how I’d take your cock.” She slips his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them for a second. “Even better than I dreamed,” she smirked. She could feel the pit inside her tighten; she was close, and she could tell that he was too.

She looked down at her and motioned for Art to open his mouth, and when she did, she let her spit trickle down into his mouth with a satisfied grin. That was it for him; after she did that, he started hammering on her mercilessly.

“Oh my god, harder art.” She says this with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He obliged his vice like a grip.. Her ass was so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His pace was uneven with labored breaths; he let out one loud moan before pulling out and cumming all over her stomach, some even getting on himself. She didn’t even have the time to process what happened before she was pushed onto her stomach.

There he was again, nose deep in her aching pussy, only this time it was from behind, and he was going between her cunt and her asshole. Moaning into a pillow, it didn’t take long for her to finish all over his face, collapsing onto the bed, flat on her stomach.

After a long and hot shower, Art lay on his back, his arm around Katrina as they were in bed, enjoying the stillness of the night. The hotel room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow that created an intimate ambiance. Katrina's head rested on his shoulder, her hair cascading over his chest. It felt comfortable and natural, like they belonged there.

Art turned slightly to look down at Katrina, her face peaceful and relaxed. He traced his fingers gently along her arm, a simple, affectionate gesture that made her shiver slightly. It was a closeness that was rare for him, something he hadn't felt in years, and he cherished it.

"You're something else, you know that?" He said, his voice low and warm. "You've got this way of making me feel like I'm twenty again. I don't know what it is, but you bring out a side of me that I thought was long gone."

Katrina smiled, her eyes still closed as she nestled closer against him. "That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

Art chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Yeah, it's a good thing," he replied. "I really enjoyed tonight. It was... different from what I'm used to, but in the best possible way. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into coaching, but being your coach has been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time."

Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. "I'm glad you did," she said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. It's not just about tennis—it's about everything else. You made me realize it’s not just hitting a ball with a stick."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, a simple, tender gesture that spoke volumes. "You've got a lot of talent, Katrina," he said.

Katrina blushed, feeling a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the physical closeness. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot coming from you. I feel the same way, you know. You make everything seem a little easier, like it's all going to be okay."

Art nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just affection—it was a sense of connection, a bond that he knew was special.

Katrina sighed contentedly, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, grounding her in the moment. She felt safe, secure, and genuinely happy. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time, and she wasn't ready to let it go.

Art tightened his arm around her, holding her a little closer. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Katrina by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.

THE TOURNEMENT

Katrina woke up to an empty bed. The warm spot where Art had lain the night before had cooled, and there was no sign of him in the hotel room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was early, but she figured he had probably gone to start prepping for the tournament—they had a busy day ahead. It had been a long night.

She sat up, stretched, and looked around the room. Everything was in its usual place; nothing seemed out of order. Art's clothes were gone, and her things were neatly put away, almost as if he had never stayed there.

Strange

Katrina didn’t dwell on it. It made sense that he might have moved his things back to his room to get ready for the day. After all, he was her coach, and today was important.

She got dressed in her tennis gear, taking her time in the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up. The uncertainty about where Art had gone was starting to creep in, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to get worked up—he'd turn up soon enough.

Katrina made her way to the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Art there, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. It was odd; usually, he'd leave some sort of note or text. She grabbed one of her pre-prepared meals from the fridge and ate it while waiting for him to return, her mind running through the drills they’d be doing later that day.

After what felt like an eternity, Art finally walked in, holding a cup of coffee from the café downstairs. Katrina felt a rush of relief. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "You went out for coffee?"

Art nodded, but his demeanor was noticeably colder than usual. His eyes were distant, and his responses were curt. "Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was flat, lacking the warmth she had come to expect from him.

Katrina felt a flicker of anxiety. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. "You seem a little off."

Art shrugged, barely looking at her. "Just focused on the tournament," he said, his voice detached. "We've got a lot to do today."

Katrina felt a pang of confusion. This was a complete 180 from the night before. They had shared something special, something she thought was meaningful. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. But now he was acting as if it had never happened. So she pressed the issue.

"Art, why are you acting like this?" she asked, her tone edged with concern. "Last night was... well, it was nice. What changed."

Art set his coffee cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm being a responsible coach," he said, his voice cold. "You have important matches today. We can't afford distractions."

Katrina was taken aback by his abruptness. "Distractions? Is that what last night was to you?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Art sighed, rubbing his temples. "Katrina, we can't do this. You need to be focused. What happened last night." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was a mistake, and I need you to be serious about this tournament."

Katrina felt a surge of anger and hurt. "A mistake?" she said, her voice sharp. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened. You can't just switch like that!"

Art's expression was stern. "You need to act like you've got an important game today, because you do. And I have to be the coach you need, not something else."

Katrina felt her heart sink. This wasn't the Art she knew. The warmth and connection from the night before were gone, replaced by a wall of professionalism and distance. But there wasn't time to press further—they had to get to the court and start their warm-up drills.

The argument left Katrina feeling disoriented and hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. She had to focus on the tournament, even if her coach seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. As they headed out the door, she tried to shake off the feeling, knowing that the game ahead demanded her full attention.

FIRST MATCH

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, introducing the players for the Challenger tournament. The crowd applauded as Katrina King and Alexis Grace stepped onto the court, each acknowledging the fans with a wave. Art Donaldson watched from the sidelines, his eyes focused on Katrina as she moved to her position.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first match of the US Open," the announcer said, continuing on.

Art knew it would be a challenging game. Alexis was a good opponent who could hold her own, but based on states alone, this should be an easy win, for lack of better words. Art felt a pang of guilt for how he'd acted that morning. He'd been cold and distant, trying to maintain professionalism, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wished he could go back and handle things differently, but now wasn't the time for regrets—Katrina needed his support.

The first set began with Katrina serving. She delivered a somewhat strong shot, but Alexis returned it with ease, sending the ball back with a blistering forehand. Katrina scrambled to keep up, her movements swift but slightly off-balance. She managed to return the shot, but Alexis was already at the net, volleying the ball with precision.

Art watched, his heart racing. Katrina had the talent, but he could tell she was getting into her own head. The missed points seemed to weigh heavily on her, and she was starting to lose her composure. He couldn't blame her—his behavior hadn't helped.

Katrina's next serve was strong, but Alexis anticipated it, returning the ball with a slice that landed just out of Katrina's reach. The crowd murmured, sensing the momentum shift in Alexis's favor. Art clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. He needed to be there for Katrina, even if she didn't want to hear it right now. Her errors were becoming more frequent. A double fault here, a missed volley there—it was starting to add up.

Art's internal thoughts were filled with frustration and guilt. He knew he had to do something to help her, but he also knew her head wasn’t focused on the game. As the set progressed, the tension in the stadium grew. Katrina's shots were becoming more erratic, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake.

Finally, the set ended with a decisive point from Alexis, securing her the first set. The crowd erupted in applause, but Art felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

Katrina King sat on the bench, her racket resting between her knees, and tried to catch her breath. The set break was supposed to be a chance to reset, to gather her thoughts, and to prepare for the next game, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her body felt tense, and her heart was heavy with doubt.

This match was supposed to be a warmup, and I’m making a complete fool of myself. She thought, scrunching her brows as she looked up at the sky.

Her hand gripped the racket tighter, the familiar texture offering a semblance of comfort.

A mistake

This morning kept replaying in her mind, each word like a weight pressing down on her. It had thrown her off and shaken her confidence. She couldn't understand why he'd suddenly turned so cold.

What the fuck did I get myself into? She wondered, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

She glanced at the sidelines, where Art sat, his arms crossed, watching the court with a distant expression. He was focused, but not on her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and his detachment made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone out there.

He's just a coach. I don't need him to win. I've been doing this on my own for years.

But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her emotions swirled. Last night felt like a turning point, like they were connecting on a deeper level. And now, all that warmth and all that understanding were gone. It left her feeling hollow and unsure of her next move.

Forget about this morning. Forget about last night. Forget about Art. Just play the game. That’s all you're good at anyway.

She couldn't forget, not when it felt like her world was shifting beneath her feet. The pressure of the tournament, the expectations from everyone, and now the unexpected 180—it was all too much. She needed to find her focus, but it felt like she was battling more than just an opponent on the court. She was battling her own doubts and her own insecurities, and it was starting to show.

The umpire's call signaled the end of the break, and Katrina stood up, her legs feeling heavier than usual. She couldn't afford to let this slip away. She had to find a way to center herself and regain the focus and determination that had brought her this far. But as she walked back onto the court, she knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of doubt were growing, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to push them back.

The final set was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Kat had lost the first set to Alexis, barely clawed her way back to win the second, and now faced the challenge of closing out the match.

A whirlpool of frustration was consuming her. She knew she should be playing better than this. Alexis was a competent player, but she shouldn't have been able to pressure Katrina like she was doing now. The missteps, the errant serves, the missed volleys—it was all spiraling out of control. She knew she had to get her head back in the game.

"Come on, Katrina," Art muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He knew he should’ve never said what he had this morning, and God did he regret it. Not even because it threw her off her game, but simply because it wasn’t true.

I didn’t mean it, Kat.

Alexis returned Katrina's second serve with a deep forehand, forcing Katrina to run to the back of the court. She managed to get the ball back, but it was a weak return, and Alexis took advantage, hitting a powerful backhand down the line. Katrina struggled to reach it, her footwork sloppy.

The crowd murmured, sensing the shift in momentum. Katrina felt her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Get it together," she told herself, trying to drown out the negativity in her mind. She took a deep breath and prepared for the next point, knowing she couldn't afford to lose her composure.

Art clenched his fists, watching Katrina's struggle. He wanted to shout words of encouragement; right now, he needed Katrina to find her focus and to play like he knew she could.

The next few points were a back-and-forth battle. Katrina managed to win a couple of rallies, showing glimpses of her usual skill, but Alexis was relentless. Katrina's errors were piling up, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake. A missed serve here, a poorly timed volley there—it was all adding up, and Katrina felt like she was falling apart.

He knew he had to do something to help her, but he wasn't sure what. She was slipping, and he could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the frustration. He wished he could just rewind the morning and start over.

Katrina's frustration boiled over as she missed yet another shot, sending the ball wide of the sideline. She clenched her racket, her anger turning inward.

What the actual fuck kat? She felt herself slipping.

Art watched as Katrina's confidence seemed to crumble. Every point felt like a battle, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. The crowd's cheers seemed distant, drowned out by her own inner turmoil. She needed to find her focus and remember why she loved the game in the first place.

Katrina King stood at the baseline, bouncing the tennis ball as she prepared to serve. The pressure was immense. The score was tied, but this was match point for Alexis.

"Just get this right," she told herself, bouncing the ball one more time. "Keep it simple, focus on your form, and breathe."

She threw the ball up and swung, her serve powerful but lacking the usual precision.

The umpire's call was clear: "In!"

Alexis immediately raised her hand, signaling her challenge.

Katrina tensed, holding her breath. Fuck. She had already accepted defeat.

The electronic system, designed to track the ball's trajectory, sprang into action. The large screen above the court displayed the replay, with the lines highlighted in bold white against the blue surface.

The slow-motion replay showed the ball’s descent, curving slightly in its flight. It landed, from this perspective, millimeters inside the line, causing the crowd to murmur in anticipation. The pause felt longer than it actually was, with everyone waiting for the official verdict.

Alexis stood with her racket resting on her shoulder, her expression tense and unimpressed. She glanced at Katrina, who remained at the baseline, her stance rigid.

The electronic system confirmed the umpire's call: "In!" The word flashed across the screen, accompanied by a graphic showing the ball's exact position—just inside the line. The crowd erupted in applause, and Katrina allowed herself a small smile. She was relieved that the serve was good, but she knew she couldn't let her focus slip.

Alexis nodded curtly; her challenge was unsuccessful. She adjusted her grip on her racket, preparing for the next point. The moment of doubt had passed, and the game resumed its intensity.

Art saw Katrina's moments of ease, but he also saw the hesitation in her footwork and the slight tremors in her hands.

Alexis's return was a deep shot to Katrina's backhand, forcing her to pivot quickly. Katrina reached for it, but her timing was slightly off. The ball clipped the net, but it went over. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief as Alexis scrambled to reach it. and get her racket under the ball just in time.

The volley was clumsy, but it kept the rally going. Katrina's heart raced as she tried to regain her rhythm. She could feel the momentum slipping away, and she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. Alexis, however, was relentless, keeping the pressure on with precise shots to the corners of the court.

Art clenched his fists, chewing his gum while watching Katrina's struggle. He felt the intensity of the moment, knowing that this point could determine the outcome of the match. He wanted to find a way to ease her nerves, but all he could do was watch and hope she could pull through.

The rally continued, with Katrina barely managing to keep up. Alexis played a drop shot, and Katrina lunged to reach it. She got there just in time, but her return was weak, giving Alexis the upper hand. Alexis moved in for the kill, smashing the ball toward the baseline.

Katrina dove to reach it, her body hitting the ground as her racket connected with the ball. It went over the net, but it was a high lob, an easy shot for Alexis. Alexis jumped, delivering a powerful overhead smash that Katrina couldn't hope to reach. The ball hit the court with a decisive thud, and the umpire called the point.

Art felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd erupted in applause. He knew Katrina had fought hard, but the internal turmoil had cost her the match. He saw the frustration on her face as she stood up, brushing off the dirt from her fall. She glanced toward him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, defeat, and tears.

Katrina knew she had given it her all, but it hadn't been enough. She felt the weight of the loss, knowing that her own doubts and the fight with Art had played a part in her performance. As she walked off the court, she felt a mix of disappointment and a lingering sense of confusion about what had gone wrong—both on and off the court.

Art made his way down to talk to Katrina. She was sitting on the bench, her head down, a towel draped over her shoulders. Art approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his tone gentle. "It's just one game; you’ve got three more today. You can still turn this around. Just focus on your game, okay? Don't let this get in your head." He finished and tried to embrace her in his arms for some sort of comfort, but his efforts proved futile because before he could fully hug her, she pushed him off.

Katrina looked back at him, her eyes watery, cold, and distant. "Oh, now you're being supportive?" She shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to the coach who was so concerned about being professional this morning?"

Art winced, feeling the sting of her words. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt. "I know, I messed up," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Katrina shook her head, her expression hardening. "I don't need your fake support, Art," she said, standing up. "Just let me play my game."

“Kat, don’t be like that.” He said he was stepping forward, trying to get a hold of her.

“Be like what, Art?” she said, feeling her anger rise. “I shouldn’t act like you treated me as if I were a late-night tinder hookup.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t be like this if you would have had the human decency to treat me with a little respect, even if you regrated it!” She took a breath. “You know what the worst part is; you could have waited for the tournament to be over to shit on me, on us, like that. At least I would’ve left this stupid fucking weekend with a champion title and cup.” She started walking away from the locker rooms. “Guess once your balls are empty, you come to your senses, huh?” She hadn’t even bothered to turn around for the last bit.

"Kat, wait!" he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Please, just give me a minute."

Katrina turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough today? Did you finally decide to be a good coach?"

Art knew he deserved that, but he needed her to hear him out. "Just let me explain," he said, his voice desperate. "Not here. Let's go outside, away from everyone."

She hesitated, clearly still furious, but she didn't pull away. Art led her through a side door and out into the area behind the arena, where it was quiet and they could talk in private. He released her arm, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Katrina, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but urgent. "I'm sorry for everything I said this morning and for telling you it was a mistake. I didn't mean it. I was just... scared."

"Scared?" Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Scared of what? Scared of actually caring about someone? Scared to give up the overdone, nonchalant act you’ve got going for you?"

Art shook his head, struggling to find the right words. "I was scared that I was crossing a line," he said. "I was scared that I was too old for you and that being your coach and being with you would mess up your career. I was worried that we'd end up like... like me and Tashi."

Katrina's anger flared. "I'm not Tashi!" she shouted, stepping closer to him. "So stop comparing me to her; I'm my own person, and I'm nothing like her!"

"I know," Art replied, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're not her. But that's what scared me. I don't want what happened to me and Tashi to happen to us. I didn't want to mess up your game, your career, or... anything."

Katrina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you sure did a good job of that," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at what happened today! I lost because you couldn't make up your mind about what you wanted!"

Art felt a pang of guilt, knowing she was right. "I know," he said, his voice low. "I was selfish. I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. But now I see that I hurt you anyway, and that’s the last thing I wanted." He is groveling.

Katrina looked at him, her eyes still blazing. "So, what do you want now?" she asked. "Are you just going to apologize and then go back to being cold and distant?"

Art stepped forward, taking her cheek gently in his hand. "I don't know what we are, Katrina," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But I know I don't want to stop whatever this is. It's special. You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, and I can't keep ignoring that."

Katrina's anger softened, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Art felt the connection between them, the tension that had been building for weeks, and he knew he couldn't let it end like this.

"I was wrong this morning," he continued. "I was scared, and I acted like an idiot. But you... you're amazing. You didn't deserve the way I treated you, and I know the game today was my fault. You were distracted because of me, and I'm sorry. But I know you're going to win this. I believe in you. I always have, and that hasn’t changed."

Katrina's expression softened, her anger giving way to something else—something that felt like forgiveness. Art leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, his hand still gently cupping her cheek. She responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed against the concrete wall.

The kiss was long and intense, filled with the emotions they’d both been suppressing. When they finally pulled back, their breathing was heavy, and their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Art pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before laying his against hers.

“Are you ready to bring another title home, pretty girl?” He says, gazing into her eyes.

She looked up, her eyes glistening with a familiar spark. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.” She held a soft smile, bringing him in for another kiss.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #challengers #challengers fic #challengers x reader #mike faist #mike faist x reader #challengers universe #x reader #smut #Art donaldson x oc

1K notes · View notes

ichorai · 10 months

Text

paranoid android ; series masterlist.

track two of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x reader (gender-neutral)

series synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

wc ; 27k and counting!

themes ; angst, fluff, action, smut, lovers to kind-of-enemies

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence, death, nepotism, smut, coriolanus' descent into evil </3

chapter one: wool. snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. how much of you was lying, just as he was?

chapter two: button. what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

chapter three: weave. there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

chapter four: thread. “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter. “of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

chapter five: stitch. and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

chapter six: skirt. coming soon!

chapter seven: tie. coming soon!

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow series #series masterlist

2K notes · View notes

heartlilith · 8 months

Text

WHAT THE VENUS SIGNS REMIND ME OF

🩷Oddly specific things I think about when I hear ______ venus

Aries Venus: Summer, rubies, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, rollercoasters, fast cars, the color red, vampire fangs, Saturday nights, liquor stores and gas stations, fireworks, sour candy, cool bic lighters, “you’re mine”, Mario Kart, boys who wear nail polish, fuck it energy, oversized sweatshirts, middle finger emoji, cherries

Taurus Venus: Satin pillowcases, white candles, pearls, mirrors, hand holding, walking someone home at night, vinyls, red lipstick, full lips, fancy dinner dates, the wine and dine, old romantic movies, wallets and purses, hotels, French manicures, old money, “I won’t get on my knees for no man”

Gemini Venus: Driving around at night listening to music, reading to someone, comedy shows, mimosas, Samantha from Sex and the City, libraries, nerd kink, hot teachers/student kink, emerald green, laughter, swing sets, looking out of the window and just watching, untied shoelaces, dogs and puppies, dad jokes

Cancer Venus: Soft feather pillows, a bowl of warm soup, a bubble bath, tears and running mascara, babies and how babies laugh, poetry, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be”, hot tubs, hot coffee, teddy bears, heartbeats, soft hands & skin, lotion, bagels and cream cheese, doodling in your journal

Leo Venus: Lip gloss, mojitos, getting drunk at brunch, diamond tennis bracelets, drunk texts you regret sending later, the block button, lonely nights, shooting stars, blowing bubbles, piggy back rides, art museums, glittery eyeshadow, jumparoos, birthday parties

Virgo Venus: Taking a shower, Dove soap, smooth skin, symmetry, butterflies, the smell of books, getting a facial or going to the spa, chicken caesar salads, the good tasting water, chunky headphones, acoustic guitar, running errands, getting your eyebrows done, neat handwriting, neutral colors, sushi

Libra Venus: Blush, dimples, Y2K fashion, Hello Kitty, makeup skills, those little hand mirrors, princes and princesses, cupcakes, pedicures, Margaritas, taking pictures, art, castles, Disney movies, daisies, spin the bottle, cartwheels, soft hair, bubblegum, skincare, watermelon and pineapple

Scorpio Venus: Psychology, neck tattoos, “until death do us part”, Kings & Queens, snakes, sacred sex, chess, secrets, hickeys, the feeling after you stay up all night, the feeling of being at a concert, roses, knives, tequila shots, legs intertwined, dirty martinis, sparklers, Avril Lavigne, fantasy books, true crime and dark history

Sagittarius Venus: Clouds, rock climbing, rappers, Hip Hop and R&B, going on vacation, açaí bowls and fresh fruit, sun kissed/radiant skin, the color yellow, retreats, history, yoga and Pilates, spicy food, “it is what it is”, curly hair, the smell of weed, casinos, the last day of school, Las Vegas

Capricorn Venus: Leather, red wine, the cow pattern, cowgirl boots, the color brown, espresso, dark chocolate, briefcase of money like in the movies, the movie Scarface, whiskey on the rocks, bosses, owls, turtle necks, caramel, wearing suits, lingerie, business, New York City

Aquarius Venus: Lightbulbs, telescopes and microscopes, LED lights, hamsters, college parties, glitter, peace signs, 70s concerts, food trucks, skipping school, “fuck it”, diving in the pool, the beach at night, disco balls, getting detentions in school

Pisces Venus: Mermaids, kittens, cartoons and Disney princesses, champagne, Webkinz, little kid stories like Goldilocks, 3 Little Pigs, Hansel and Gretel, clear glittery lip gloss, holographic, snowmen and icicles, swimming in the pool, flower gardens, glow sticks , picnics, bumblebees, sand castles, elementary art class, 3D movies

Book a Reading 🩷

Masterlist 🩷

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astrology community #astro community #sagittarius #scorpio #leo #cancer #venus signs #venus #Leo venus #Aries venus #Taurus venus #Scorpio venus

1K notes · View notes

hanasnx · 1 month

Text

MINORS DNI 18+

LOGAN HOWLETT likes femininity just fine, but you’ve noticed he’s particular towards the brand of femininity that guys think girls like. You may be partial to a neutral shade of pink, but he likes magenta of all colors on you. Diamonds may be pretty, but he thinks bedazzle on clutches and cheap heart jewelry do the trick. Long acrylics so chunky they’re impractical, heels that could break ankles they’re so tall, cheetah print, and gaudy make-up. You notice, with no judgment placed upon it, that it reminds you of hookers at dive bars. So you dress cheap for him. You wear a little magenta leather dress with the most dazzling pleaser heels, just to try things out. “Where are you goin’?” he asks in subtle awe, looking up from his movie on the buzzing TV—that he was half-assed watching. But you shrug as if to say ‘nowhere at all.’ You invite yourself onto his lap, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you as he obediently sets his feet down and off the coffee table, pushing out his hips to accommodate you. Elegantly, you straddle his thighs wrapped in denim, and brace your manicured nails on his chest. Impatient hands place tentatively on the fat of your hips, squeezing into the rubbery texture of the cheap leather. “Baby, you ain’t trying to tease me, are’ya?” Is about the last words you hear out of his mouth before those heels find a home on his shoulders, having folded up the skirt of your dress to fuck that hole you tempted him with.

#ch: logan #logan howlett thought #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x fem!reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #wolverine imagine #reader insert

669 notes · View notes

imagine-a-life-like-this · 3 months

Text

Ways To Say : I Love You

Word Count : 6.6k

Warnings : swearing, brief sexual content (like maybe 2 sentences), food, workout, brief mention of blood (nose bleed), maybe slight angst but not really, tried my best to make it gender neutral but mentions of makeup and manicures/pedicures

Synopsis : Best friend Ateez realizing they're falling in love with you and the different ways they show it.

Seonghwa

Wants to build Lego with you

He used to enjoy building Lego alone, on live with Atiny, and the odd time with San. But as he realizes he’s falling for you, he wants to share one of his favourite activities with you. He wants to share everything with you.

Seonghwa would take time to set everything up perfectly before you came over. Drinks and snacks set up along with the Lego sets he bought specifically for this occasion. One for him and one for you. Though he would never admit to it, he bought this specific Lego set for you because it reminded him of you the second he saw it.

He even sat down each of the members and told them to leave the two of you alone, though that didn’t happen. They each took turns interrupting your time together for one reason or another. You never noticed the scowl on Seonghwa’s face whenever they came in because every time you looked at him, he was smiling. It was hard for him to stay mad when you were around.

Spa days

The idea came to him when you were complaining about your skin, wishing it looked as smooth as his. He called you over on one of his days off and ushered you into the bathroom. You were confused but it was Seonghwa, so you allowed him to do whatever it was.

He had bought you all the same products he uses and went through his routine with you. If he was paying attention, he would have seen the pure adoration pouring out of your eyes as you looked at him. It was a passing complaint you made that you didn’t realize he took note of, and it melted your heart realizing how much attention he pays you.

Spa days became a regular thing between the two of you. And Seonghwa would continue to get more and more elaborate with them. Buying new face masks to try, getting manicure sets so you could do each other’s nails, and even getting the fluffy white robes to complete it all.

Now he has an entire photo album on his phone dedicated to pictures of the two of you with different face masks on. He scrolls through them when he misses you.

Shopping together

Shopping with you has honestly become one of his all time favourite things to do. He loves spoiling you, even though you always fight him on it, telling him you can pay for your own clothes. He’d never tell you, but he loves seeing you in the outfits that he not only picked out but also paid for. It’s like the possessive side of him comes out seeing you dressed head to toe in something he bought for you.

He also loves watching you put together outfits for him. You try to match his fashion sense, but even if you didn’t, he would wear every single outfit, because you picked it out. He walks out of the change rooms with a wide smile in every outfit, and always ends up buying every single one, even the ones you made just for fun.

Today you notice Seonghwa seems a little off as he flicks through the different articles of clothing, but you chalk it up to exhaustion. And then he turns to you, holding up two outfits that are very similar, and you cock your head to the side asking who they’re for. His voice his soft when he answers, “Couple outfits. For us.” He was smiling nervously as he waited for your answer. But there really was only one answer to give, because how could you not fall in love with Park Seonghwa?

Bonus

“I can’t believe that fucking worked!” Jongho exclaimed when he saw the two of you enter the dorms in the matching outfits. You and Seonghwa just shrugged and smiled at each other before heading into his room. He had everything set up for your usual spa day, except this time you asked him to put the face mask on for you.

He sat you on the bathroom counter and stood in between your legs as he carefully put the mask on your face. He stole a quick kiss and then asked you to put his mask on him.

Hongjoong

Lets you choose his nail polish colour

Everyone else knew about his feelings for you before he did. They would watch as he looked at you with a certain fondness in his eyes he didn’t have for anyone else. He even left the studio more often so he could spend more time with you. But none of it made it click for him until you were looking through his nail polishes and asked if you could choose the next colour.

He agreed immediately, absolutely zero hesitation. Oh. OH. Oh fuck. But when he looked over at you, seeing you holding up a bottle of nail polish with a wide smile, everything felt okay. It felt better than okay. And he suddenly had a new favourite colour. Though his favourite colour seemed to change every week, matching whichever colour you picked out for him.

He would think of you every time he looked down at his painted nail. When he missed you, or was nervous, he would look down at his nail, and picture you with that same wide smile, and everything would feel okay again.

Sneaks candid pictures of you

Hongjoong loves taking pictures wherever he goes. He loves preserving the memories. Loves looking back through them and remembering the places he’s been, the people he’s met. But the more he falls for you, the more pictures he takes of you.

When you’re sleeping, eating, laughing, existing. If the two of you are out and about, he snaps a couple pictures of the scenery, but most of the pictures he takes are of you. Enjoying the view, or just standing there. No matter what, you look perfect to him, and he can’t help but take a million pictures trying to capture your beauty.

He has an entire album on his phone dedicated to pictures of just you. The members teased him about it when they found out about it, telling him he was down horrendous. He absolutely was, and he really didn’t mind.

His camera has even more pictures of you. Enough for multiple exhibits of just you. Wooyoung told him he should rent out a building and put on an exhibit just for you as his confession. And he hates that he entertained that thought for a couple days. Going as far as calling a couple different places to see how much it would cost to rent it out for a day. But then the possibility that you might find it weird or creepy crossed his mind, and he canceled everything.

Shows you every new song first

Hongjoong calling you in the middle of the night to show you a new song became your new normal. The first couple times you were angry. But then you realized how special it was to be the first to hear every new song. And he started having your favourite coffee ready for you when you arrived, and you started loving these moments.

He seemed nervous when he called this time. More nervous than normal. But you weren’t sure if you were making it up in your sleepy state or not. Hongjoong was usually nervous when showing you a new song, wanting your honest opinion, even if it meant you hated it. You never did. He really is a musical genius.

You sit in your usual spot, a cup of coffee immediately being slid into your hands. “I want you to pay extra attention to the lyrics of this one.” He could barely meet your eyes, but you ignored it, nodding and preparing yourself for the song.

You quickly realized that he was confessing his love in this song, and felt your heart sink a little. Part of you hoped your feelings weren’t one sided, but it seems like that’s the case. But you tried to keep the smile on your face so he wouldn’t think you hated the song, or worse, catch onto your feelings. But he saw the split second of sadness on your face and realized that you weren’t catching on.

So he slides the lyric paper in front of you. And the first thing you notice is the title. Your name.

Bonus

“I still think you should have done the private photography exhibit of all of the pictures you’ve taken of them.” Wooyoung said when Hongjoong announced your new relationship. You looked over at your boyfriend, seeing his face turn red.

“Meet me in my room later.” He told Wooyoung through gritted teeth. “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” You shake your head.

“No, no. I want to see these pictures. Please?” He could feel himself caving the second he saw the pout on your face.

“Make sure you ask to see the ones on his phone too.” San added with a wink before running away so Hongjoong couldn’t catch him.

Yunho

Brings you coffee/food when you’re studying/working late

Yunho knew when he met you that you were going to be more than a friend to him. It was so easy to talk to you and spending time with you made him happy. He knew he was going to crush on you. But he didn’t know he was going to fall this hard.

Standing in the long line to get your favourite food, he checks his phone again. It’s nearing 10:30. You said you would be done at 11. He’s next, so he knows he’ll make it time to meet you outside with the food.

He’s not sure when this little tradition started. Whenever you’d be out late, he would go pick up whatever it was you were craving and bring it right to you for whenever you finished. He remembers the first time he did it, surprising you with dinner after you got out. You were so happy you almost cried. He remembers you hugging him as tight as you could, and he didn’t want you to let go.

That’s when he knew this was more than just a crush. Because in that moment, he knew he would do absolutely anything to see you that happy again. He would even steal the moon for you.

Playing video games together

It started with you asking him to teach you how to play his favourite games. You would sit on his lap and he would guide your hands until you learned all the controls. No one has to know that you purposely took longer to learn the controls so he’d hold your hands longer.

One day he surprised you with your own set up so you two could play together. Though you preferred when he was teaching you, you still loved this time together. The two of you could play for hours without realizing it, getting lost in each other more than the game, but no one had to know.

Even finds himself only playing when you were available, because it’s only fun with you now. Though he’ll play with the members if they ask, it’s still more fun with you, but he’d never tell them that, (they know).

When he’s on tour and unable to play, you’ll still call him when you play. He smiles the whole time as he listens to you play his favourite game, and he wonders why he didn’t teach you sooner.

Slow dancing together

You’re not sure when it began. The sudden slow dancing around the dorms when it was just the two of you. One day, Yunho just put on a song, held out his hand, and asked you to dance. And how does one say no to slow dancing with Jeong Yunho?

The first couple times were clumsy. Missing steps, tripping over each other, skipping beats. But neither one of you cared, because it was just the two of you, and you were having fun. You didn’t even notice that Yunho was playing the same song on repeat.

Soon it became a thing. As soon as it was just the two of you, Yunho would put on the same song, hold his hand out, and ask you to dance. You never said no. You loved the intimacy of it. Of being in his arms, of being close to him.

After a while, you both got the hang of it. Sweeping around the house together with ease, as if it was second nature. As if this is what you two were born to do; dance together just like this.

Today he smiles down at you, his eyes filled with love as he looked at you. And the words spill from his lips before he can stop them. “You know, this is good practice for our wedding.” And for the first time in months, you trip over his feet.

Bonus

“This is why you ask us to leave whenever Y/n comes over?” Mingi asks as he walks in on you two slow dancing. “Just confess already.” You both giggle.

“I did that last week, princess.” Yunho tells Mingi, pulling you into his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Don’t tell me you said something cringey like this was practice for your wedding.” Mingi could tell by the look on Yunho’s face that that’s exactly what he did. “Oh come on! How many months of planning and that was the best you came up with?”

“Hey! Between the two of you, only one of you is in a relationship.” You spoke up in defense of your boyfriend. Yunho chuckled when Mingi’s jaw dropped.

“That’s my baby.”

Yeosang

Shares all his food with you

Now Yeosang didn’t mind sharing most of his food with his friends, but when it came to certain things, he would rather bite their finger than share even a bite. But when it came to you, he wouldn’t hesitate sharing everything, even his chicken.

It came as a surprise, even to him, when you asked for a bite of his chicken and he handed it to you with no hesitation. He was smiling to himself as he watched you take a bite, your eyes widening slightly as you nod your head. “Yours is so much better.” You had exclaimed. And he wasted no time in switching your plates so you could enjoy your dinner.

He finally understood all those people who said they could feel full just watching someone they love eat. And he knows he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Especially if it meant you would smile at him like you are now. Your arm linked with his was just a nice bonus.

Spontaneous trips

The second he knew he had the week off, he was at your place with two plane tickets to the place you’ve been wanting to go to for a while. He remembers you showing him pictures of the places you wanted to see there, the different foods you wanted to try. And he knew he wanted to be the one to take you.

He loved that you didn’t ask questions. Just quickly packed a bag with lots of excitement, and then the two of you were off on a week long vacation. It was one of the best decisions he ever made, if he was honest. A close second to leaving for KQ.

Despite all the other tourists and the locals, it felt as if it was just the two of you. All his focus was on you, and most of the pictures he took were also of you. Except for the few he took to post for Atiny. And when he leaves for tour in a couple weeks, he knows he’ll be scrolling through these pictures, waiting for the next time he could take you on a trip.

It didn’t take long before it became a tradition for the two of you. Whenever he had an extended break, he would buy two plane tickets to a destination you haven’t been to. You’ve learned to keep a bag packed so you’re ready to go when he comes to pick you up.

Yeosang also started planning short trips to places around Korea for his shorter breaks, because he just wanted to spend all his breaks with you. He loved getting to spend this one on one time with you, loved showing you places he’s been on tour, showing you the world.

He also began sending you pictures of the places they were while he was on tour, making a mental list of the ones you seemed excited to see. Yeosang had an entire list in his phone of the places he wanted to take you, complete with sights to see and food to try under each one. The list was ever growing, and he can’t wait to show each place.

Let’s you practice makeup on him

It started with a simple, “Sangie, can I do your makeup?” and ended up becoming a weekly thing you liked to do. You’d sit in his lap and gently apply the products on his face. It soon became one of his favourite things to do with you because he loved having you so close, loved how intimate it felt.

As you did his makeup, you would compliment his features. Tell him how pretty you found him. Atiny helped him not hate his birthmark, but you? Oh god you? You made him fall in love with it. The way you’d trace it softly with your fingertips with a soft smile on your face, whispering the word pretty every single time. You never covered it, telling him it was one of your favourite parts of him.

You helped him see himself through your eyes. He’s never felt so pretty, so confident. And he realizes he can’t hold back anymore. He wants you, needs you, loves you. You’re sitting on his lap, his arms are wrapped around you so you don’t fall, and your face is so close. You told him you were going to turn him into the fairy prince he really is. “Sangie! Your cheeks are so red I don’t even need to use blush. You’re so cute!”

You boop his nose and he knows that this is his chance. He slowly leans forward, risking everything in this moment. It’s slow at first and then fast and sudden. He captures your lips in a kiss and waits for you to push him away, but you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back. He risked everything, and it was worth it.

Bonus

“Oop my bad. I just needed to grab something. Please carry on.” Yunho says as he tiptoes into the room and grabs something off his bed and leaves again. “Guys! They were kissing! It finally happened!” They heard as Yunho made his way back to where the rest of the members were.

“Kissing?! Before marriage?!” Wooyoung yells and Yeosang can hear him running to the bedroom before he was stopped by someone, probably Hongjoong.

“Just accept that he likes Y/n more than you.” Jongho teased. Yeosang chuckled and you blushed. Then he brought your face closer to his, bringing you in for another kiss.

San

Buying/sharing plushies

San loves plushies, it’s just a well known fact. He has favourites of the ones he owns, but he loves them all. And he enjoys buying new ones that he finds. He also loves you, which is not a well known fact. He doesn’t even realize it at first, until he’s standing in the plushy aisle in a store, holding one that reminds him of you, and he feels happy.

He buys it immediately, gifting it to you the next time he sees you. San watches your eyes light up when you see it, and he has a need to see it again. You told him you’ve been jealous of his collection, and before he could stop himself, he’s offering half custody to you.

That’s where it began. Every weekend the two of you would swap a plushy or two. He was nervous to part with his favourites at first, but you would send selfies of you with them doing random things together. Like having a movie night, or a spa day, or just eating a meal together. And he loved it. So much so he made one of the pictures the wallpaper on his phone.

You always made sure to take good care of his plushies because you knew how much they meant to him. They always came back in the same condition they left, except they smelled like you. It became his new favourite thing. And he would cuddle the ones that smelled like you at night, imagining it was you next to him instead.

Pool days

San loves the pool. He could stay in the water for hours, just chilling, swimming, vibing. Him and the members tried to go whenever they could, but it wasn’t nearly as often as he wanted. When you moved to a new place with a pool, you offered for him to come over whenever he wanted and the two of you could enjoy pool days together.

He jumped at the opportunity to spend more time with you, and the chance to show off his body. He’s worked hard to get it to where it is now, he’s proud of it, and he wants you to enjoy it. Wants you to ogle, stare, drool. He hopes to be the person in your horny fantasies. The one in your wet dreams.

Little did he know that checking him out was exactly the plan when you offered for him to come over. You’ve seen pictures, but you wanted to see the real deal. Wanted to see it up close and personal. Your eyes were glued on him and he was soaking it all in. He felt a sense of pride watching your eyes follow him everywhere he went. You were taking mental pictures for a late night alone.

“Join me.” He says after jumping into the pool. You were sat in a lounge chair, enjoying the view, but you could also enjoy the view from up close. San watched as you took your clothes off, leaving you in your swimsuit. And he realized that he was unprepared to see you in a swimsuit. Only preparing himself for you to see him in his swimsuit. And now he has to figure out how to get rid of his boner before you both decide to get out of the pool.

Carries you around everywhere

You’re not sure when or why it started, but San developed a thing for carrying you around. Whether it was a piggyback ride, or he was just picking you up in his arms. He never seemed to have a destination in mind, just wandering around with you on his back or in his arms. He just loves having you close.

He’s always been a clingy guy, but he wants to be clingier with you, if that was possible. That’s why he wants to carry you everywhere, so he can always have you touching him in some way. Your touch is his favourite.

He’s picking you up as soon as he sees you, something you’ve become very used to over the last couple months. Though it seems as if today he has a destination in mind because he’s not just aimlessly wandering around. Before you can ask where you’re going, you’re being set down in front of a man you’ve only seen in pictures and videos on the internet. “Soulmate 1, meet soulmate 2!” San beams.

“Hey! You can only have one soulmate!” Wooyoung pouts. You can’t help but giggle.

“You’re my platonic soulmate. Y/n is my romantic soulmate.”

Bonus

“San has a s/o!” Wooyoung yells as he runs off to who knows where. You’re still standing there, staring at San with wide eyes, but he just looks at you with a smile, cocking his head to the side. He looked so cute, and you felt so lucky that he saw you as his soulmate.

“I love you.” You blurted out suddenly. San just chuckled, pulling you into his arms.

“I know.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too.” You were too shocked to ask how he knew, but it didn’t really matter. Because at the end of the day, he loves you too.

Mingi

Smiles/laughs more when you’re around

Yunho noticed it first. The almost automatic smile that would make its way onto Mingi’s face whenever he saw you. Even just being in the same room in you would make him smile. How he laughed at all your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. Mingi would laugh like it was the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Every single time.

Whenever Mingi was having a bad day, Yunho would call you over, and Mingi would brighten up almost instantly. “Heard you’re having a rough day. Want to talk about it?” You’d ask with such a soft voice and so much affection pouring from your eyes, Yunho felt like a third wheel immediately.

It was as if you two were in your own little world. Mingi would play with your hand as he rambled about his day, and you listened to every word. When he was finished, he would look at you and smile, and it was like a weight was lifted off of him. Even if nothing was fixed, everything was better.

“I love your smile.” You told him once. “It’s my favourite thing about you.”

Will do anything to make you laugh

His smile was your favourite thing about him, but your laugh was his favourite thing about you. To him, your laugh sounded like pure joy, pure happiness. Your laugh could make even his worst days better. Your laugh makes stars shine brighter, makes hot chocolate taste sweeter, makes colours more vibrant. He could write an entire album based entirely on your laugh.

So whenever he sees you upset, he’s on a mission. He will do absolutely anything to make you laugh. Even if it involves embarrassing himself repeatedly. Funny faces, dumb jokes, falling over. He’ll even get the members involved if nothing else seems to work.

This is when the others started to clue into his feelings for you. And they all wonder how you can’t see it, when it’s so clear and in your face.

Clumsier when you’re around

Mingi is always clumsy, but he tends to trip over himself more when you’re around. It’s as if he completely forgets how to walk, forgets where his limbs are and how they work, whenever you come around.

A few times he overpoured his drink because he saw you as he was pouring and got distracted by how attractive you are. He didn’t want to look away, couldn’t look away. You’re magnetic to him. Ethereal. “You’re spilling.” You pointed out to him with a giggle.

“I meant to do that. Thought the counter was thirsty too.” He tried to play it off. You just nodded and helped him clean it up, making a comment about how the counter must have not been that thirsty after all. And that was the final straw for him. He was in love with you. Irrevocably so. The words almost came spilling out like the juice on the counter, but he bit his tongue. Do you feel the same?

When you left that day, the other members gave him a pep talk so that the next time you came over, he would confess to you. Every doubt he had, they would squash away.

What if Y/n doesn’t feel the same? They look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

What if forget what to say? Write it down. Practice. Just like our songs. Pretend they are lyrics.

What if I can’t speak? Here. Use this whiteboard.

What if… You’ll do great, princess.

The second he sees you, he’s tripping over his feet to greet you, literally. He falls flat on his face in front of you and your eyes widen as he just lays there. You wonder if he knocked himself out by accident, but then he picks his head up and looks at you. He’s smiling, but you can see the blood dripping from his nose, and you go to rush to help him, but he starts speaking before you can do anything. “I’m just falling for you physically and emotionally.”

Bonus

You sat next to him on the couch, dabbing up the now dried blood under his nose. “You’re lucky it’s not broken.”

“Hey, I got a s/o out of it so it would have been worth it.” You couldn’t help the blush that dusted across your cheeks, but you shook your head to try and hide your flustered state.

“Oh my gOd! They’re dating your honor.” San said as everyone piled back into the dorms.

“What happened to your face?” Jongho asked.

“Did you say something stupid so Y/n punched you?” Wooyoung joined in.

“I tripped.” Mingi mumbled, looking down at his hands. You grabbed one in your own, lacing your fingers together, and giving a quick squeeze, reassuring him that everything was okay.

“That’s our clumsy princess.” Yunho chuckled.

Wooyoung

Teaching you to cook/cooking together

Wooyoung loves to cook. Especially when he’s cooking for those he loves. You became one of his favourite people to cook for when he realized he was falling. Part of it was to make sure you were eating well, the other part was just him wanting to show off, show you he’d make a great partner.

And then you asked him to teach you. He could feel his heart wanting to beat out of his chest as you looked at him with your pleading eyes. How could he deny you when you looked so cute begging him like this?

He loved how domestic it felt to be in the kitchen with you like this, the two of you cooking a meal to eat together. You were chopping the vegetables, having a little bit of trouble, when you felt arms wrap around you. He gripped your hands with his. “If you do it like this, it’s easier.” He said softly in your ear, causing shiver to go up your spine. You stuttered out a thank you and tried to replicate his moves on your own.

Wooyoung still did most of the work, but he gave you all the credit, taking a bite and telling you that you did such a great job. It made you laugh, and that’s all that matters to him.

Teaches you Ateez choreography

Every comeback, the members ask their idol friends to do dance challenges with them to post on Tiktok. Fans love to see the little interactions between their favourite idols and see them try each other’s choreography. You were no different. Even tried to learn some of the dances yourself.

Wooyoung had once walked in on you trying to learn the choreography to Seventeen’s new song and decided from then on he would teach you Ateez’s choreography. Your face lit up when he offered, and you told him that you always wanted to learn, but some of the dances looked really hard.

Just like he was a great cooking teacher, he was also a great dance teacher, and you picked up on the moves quite quickly. “You could be our ninth member.” He had joked a few times with a smile on his face.

“8 makes 1 team.” You responded with a smirk. You were right, of course. But that still didn’t stop him from making the joke every time you nailed a new dance. He was proud of you and he hopes you know that.

Now every comeback, Wooyoung comes to you first. He can’t post the dance challenge he films with you, but he can look back on them when he misses you.

Mani pedi dates

It started with him wanting to pick out the colour for you. And the design, if you got one. Then he started scrolling Pinterest for ideas for you. Which then turned into him saying you should get nails to match their albums. And then finally, matching nails.

You would make the appointment when he was free, he would pick the design for both of you. It was relaxing and a great bonding experience for the two of you. He loved spending the couple hours it took for the both of you to get mani pedi’s together. Catching up on the days you were apart. And he would pay every single time. For both of you. No matter how much you protested, so you just gave up.

Today, the nails weren’t based on any Ateez albums, or songs. He chose something with hearts. “I’m confessing.” He tells you, and your heart sinks. He likes someone? “I want to introduce you to the person I’m in love with today. Come over for dinner?” He loves someone. He’s in love with someone. You just nod, and the two of you go your separate ways.

You dress as nicely as you can, hoping the makeup you put on covered the sadness you were feeling. “I can do this.” You chant to yourself as you make your way over. “I’ll meet them and then I’ll move on from him.” You say before ringing the doorbell. Wooyoung answers with a smile, taking your hand in his, and whisking you inside, where you see a table set for two, but no other person.

You try not to think too much of it. Try not to get your hopes up. They’re probably running late. Or maybe they’re in the bathroom. And you’ll soon see how perfect for Wooyoung they are, and then you’ll go back home and drown your sorrows in a tub of ice cream. “Y/n, meet the person I’m in love with.”

You bring yourself back to reality. Stood in front of a mirror. And everything clicks for you. “You’re a little shit.”

Bonus

“He did what and you still said yes?” Seonghwa asked. “Did you at least hit him first?”

“They kissed me.” Wooyoung answered with a proud smile. “A lot.”

“Okay they don’t need to know all those details.” You place your hand over his mouth, telling him to shut up.

“No, no. I think we do. Please, tell us more.” Yeosang teased.

Jongho

Clingy with you

Jongho doesn’t realize he’s falling for you until a movie night where you cuddle up to him, and he doesn’t squirm away from your touch. In fact, he softens under your touch, feels safer under your touch. That’s when he looks over at you, your attention still on the movie, and he realizes he loves you.

From that point on, he becomes clingy with you. Greeting you with a hug, goodbye hugs, cuddles whenever he sits next to you. It just feels natural to be touching you in someway. And it becomes a common sight for everyone to see that no one catches on to his underlying feelings for you.

He loves to play with your hands or the rips in your jeans if he’s nervous. Jongho has also started grabbing for your hand when walking around, so he doesn’t lose you in the crowds, and so you don’t wander off if you find a stray cat.

When he has a particularly bad day, he’s coming to you immediately. Laying on top of you on the couch or in bed, his head on your chest, your hands in his hair. It relaxes him immediately. Just listening to your heartbeat, feeling you play with his hair, it feels like home. Sometimes you hum your current favourite song softly, sometimes you’ll tell him about your day. He loves every second.

Going to the gym together

The gym is where Jongho gets most of his alone time. Sometimes another member or two will tag along, but they tend to stick to their own routines. But the second he heard you mention wanting to start going to the gym, he offered for you to join him.

He helped you get a routine going. Taught you how to use the machines. Jongho was basically your personal trainer that you didn’t have to pay. You just didn’t know how to tell him the whole reason you agreed to join him was to watch him workout.

But he knew. He had overheard your conversation with one of your friends who was asking why the sudden interest in the gym. It’s not that I’m interested in the gym per se. But watching guys, watching Jongho workout? Yes please. He wouldn’t lie, that single sentence, that single revelation, gave him a boost of confidence.

He started wearing tank tops when he knew it would be just you two at the gym. Would make sure to be somewhere nearby so you could have a nice view. He would smirk to himself whenever he caught you watching instead of focusing on your own workout. If it was you, he didn’t mind one bit.

Always comes when you call

The first time was when you missed the last bus. It was late and seconds away from raining. And you really didn’t have the money to Uber. You called Jongho almost in tears, and he was in the car before you could even finish your sentence.

The second time was when your friend bailed last minute and you didn’t have any other way home. You apologized even more than the first time. He reassured you that it didn’t matter him what else he had going on, he would always come when you called. Always.

And he did. Even on the days when you were just calling because you just didn’t feel like taking the bus after the day you had. He never complained, was never upset. He was always smiling when you got into his passenger seat, reassuring you that he really didn’t mind picking you up.

It was another day of you calling for him to pick you up. He was already in the car the second he heard your ringtone. You apologized for calling, and he could heard the exhaustion in your voice, could hear the tears you were trying to hold back. If he could, he would have broken every road law just to get to you faster.

“I’m so sorry.” You apologize again. He takes in your tired state and tells you once again not to worry about it. “I just feel like I’m always bothering you.”

“Would it make you feel better if I was your boyfriend?” He says suddenly. “Fuck I didn’t mean to say that.” He can’t look at you, but if he did, he would see you looking at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. You’re speechless, unsure of what to say. Because you would still feel like a bother, but you would feel better in general if he was your boyfriend.

“I mean maybe.” You answer finally. “I think you’ll have to ask me to find out.”

Bonus

The two of you walk into the dorms hand in hand, ready for the chaos that is about to ensue. “I knew it!!” Yeosang exclaimed when he saw the two of you. “Everyone said I was insane for saying Jongho liked Y/n! But look at them now!”

“Technically you’re wrong.” Jongho replied. “I love Y/n.”

“Holy shit?!” Wooyoung exclaimed.

“I knew there was a reason you were going to the gym more often!” San added in.

“My s/o likes watching me workout.” Jongho tells them with a smile, and you look over at him in shock.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

@mxnsxngie @maeleelee @cadenonlinelive @weird-bookworm @turtledove824 @lakoya @lookitsjess @yukichan67 @qveenbibi @palindrome969 @goddess-of-the-dark

pink means I couldn't tag you 🥺

#ateez imagine #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez #park seonghwa x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #jeong yunho x reader #kang yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #song mingi x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #choi jongho x reader

509 notes · View notes

dirtylittleheart333 · 4 months

Text

A GOOD, KINDA BAD GUY

Matt finds someone who is stuck in an elevator. Concerned, he sits with her to keep her mind off her situation and learns some things about her. What happens when those elevator doors open just enough to let him slip inside?

Paring: Matt x OC Warning: 18+ Smut Notes: Listened to 'We are scientists - Nobody move, Nobody get hurt. Type: One-shot

A GOOD, KINDA BAD GUY Matt walked through the deserted, dimly lit hallway, on his way to the elevator. The thick, heavy carpet underfoot, was patterned with dark colours of burgundy and royal blue with shades of neutrals. It was meant to disguise dirt and dust from heavy footfall, along with keeping noise to a minimum. The walls were pained in a neutral fawn shade, that held art on simple canvas. None of them really matched but Matt shrugged his shoulders as he turned the corner that would take him to the two set’s of elevators.

Unbeknownst to Matt, Zarah had entered the elevator a few minutes earlier and slumped against the mirrored interior. Since it was her last day at her job, she stayed late to see that everything was in order and up to date for the next employer taking over her position. It had been a long day; it had been pouring rain, her Uber driver had hit on her prompting her to get out a block sooner than her actual location, and she had to take an Uber because her car battery was flat. All she wanted to do was relax in a tub full of bubbles and then climb into her bed. Life had other plans though, and the elevator came to a jolting halt.

Matt pushed the down button between the two elevators, illuminating it in a glowing green. He tilted his head up expecting to see which floor the elevators were currently on and which direction they were travelling but instead, he found himself looking at a blank screen. He cocked his head to the side a little, waiting to see if there was any indication the cars were running. There was no sound to denote they were even functioning. He thought it was strange since they had been working only an hour or so before. Matt let out an audible sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned. He mulled over the thought if he wanted to just go back to the apartment or if he wanted to pursue his original plan; going for a midnight walk.

As he stepped forward, the doors behind him made a clanking noise, and then they creaked open. Matt glanced over his shoulder but the doors stopped, only leaving a small, narrow opening that he guessed would barely fit a hand through. The lights in the elevator were low and soft music floated out, along with a soft, flowery scent.

‘’Oh my god,’’ he heard a soft voice say, ‘’please!’’

Hands slid between the opening of the doors, and long, elegant fingers with perfectly manicured nails closed around a door, ‘’open you…motherfucker! I can’t with this tonight,’’ the soft but now agitated voice said. When the doors didn’t move, a groan escaped through the doors and the fingers let go and then disappeared back into the elevator.

Then he heard what he thought was crying. He couldn’t be 100 percent sure, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was crying. As he turned to the elevator again, he wondered if the voice was agitated or rather, upset. Maybe a mixture of both since being stuck in an elevator could have had several emotions surge through the body. The nervousness of being confined and closed up in a steel box for an extended period of time was not something pleasant to contemplate, let alone actually being in that situation.

Matt stopped in font of the doors, not wanting to leave anyone that was in distress, let alone stuck in an elevator, alone, in the middle of the night.

‘’Hey,’’ Matt said, ‘’are…are you okay?’’

There was a brief silence, then a sniff before she answered, ‘’not really; I’m stuck in an elevator.’’

‘’Yeah, I can kinda tell…that’s why I’m asking,’’ Matt said, concerned, ‘’did you try the emergency button? Or the one with the bell on it?’’

‘’It doesn’t work,��’ she replied and sighed, ‘’ and I’ve got my finger on the bell right now… nothing. This is the third time I’m getting stuck in it. I just have to wait until it feels like working.’’

‘’Oh,’’ Matt said and put a hand up on the cool metal door. ‘’Do you live here?’’

Again there was a brief silence and he wondered if she was was having a difficult time in there or was she shy and cautious? ‘’Yes,’’ she said eventually, her voice shaky from crying, ‘’I live here.’’

‘’Why don’t you tell me about it…this place…maybe something about yourself?’’ Matt said, turning around. He then sat down on the thick carpet, leaning against the elevator. If he couldn’t help her, he could at the very least keep her distracted until the elevator decided to work or help came along from other services.

‘’You don’t have to stay and keep me company. I appreciate it, but -’’ she was saying when Matt cut her off

‘’Maybe you’re keeping me company. I was going to go out for a walk because I couldn’t sleep, and I don’t know if I feel like walking down 30 flights of stairs,’’ Matt said

‘’We’re on the thirtieth floor?’’ she asked

‘’Yup,’’ Matt said

‘’I get so scared every time this happens,’’ she said barely audible as her voice cracked and Matt knew she had started crying again.

‘’Oh, hey,’’ Matt said, turning himself to sit parallel with the elevator, ‘’you’ll be okay. Just talk to me. Tell me…what’s your name?’’

‘’Zarah,’’ she replied, ‘’what’s yours?’’

‘’’I’m Matt. That’s a nice name…I’ve never heard it before,’’ he said

‘’Thank you, everyone just calls me Zar. I like your name too. Matt is a solid, strong name.’’

‘’Thanks,’’ Matt said with a light chuckle. That had actually made him feel good.

‘’Do you live here?’’ she asked

‘’No, my brothers and I are visiting a friend for a few days. We got a van and we’re doing a summer trip across the US and staying with friends we know in some cities so we can get a little relief from being cooped up in a van all the time. We left Boston and we’re going back home to LA,’’ Matt said and she gasped softly

‘’I’m moving to LA in two days. My uncle is a real estate tycoon, so to speak, and he asked me to run one of his offices there. So you said we’re on the thirtieth floor?’’ Zarah asked

‘’Yeah. What floor do you live on?’’ Matt asked

‘’I’m in apartment 69, so one up,’’ Zarah replied

‘’That’s a good number,’’ Matt said softly and Zarah started giggling softly, making Matt smile. He didn’t think she would hear or get it if she did. Not so quickly anyways, but she was quick. The giggling turned into laughter.

‘’I can’t disagree. It is a good number,’’ she said and then fell silent, her laughter suddenly stopping. Matt frowned. He wanted to hear more of her laughter, he voice, and her sweet, infectious giggling. When she had abruptly stopped laughing, it felt like someone had snatched Matt and put him out into the cold on a winter night.

He heard some noises – a sigh, a click of her tongue, a frustrated moan, and then a sound he knew really well; the sound of fingers tapping on a phone keyboard. Just about anyone could recognize that sound.

‘’You okay in there?’’ Matt asked and leaned against the frame of the elevator, stretching his legs out as he stared at a mark on the opposite frame, just above his shoe.

‘’I’m…yes, thank you,’’ she said and silence once again fell around them

Matt had just opened his mouth to say something to keep her from thinking of her situation when she began singing softly, but it was the words she was singing that had Matt snapping his head up.

‘’Not like this, I’m not going out This is not love, I’m a glorified doorstop sticking my foot out for you..’’

‘’You listen to Domonic Fike?’’ Matt asked, sitting up straight

‘’Yes,’’ her small voice said and he could tell there was a smile forming on her face, ‘’you do too?’’

‘’Yeah…that’s my favourite song!’’ Matt exclaimed

‘’This is amazing, I don’t know that many people who listen to him,’’ Zarah said and then sighed again. He could hear her standing up. Then, there was some feint noises he couldn’t put his finger on what they were, but he knew she started pacing. He closed his one eye to try and peer through the narrow gap of the doors to see her, but he couldn’t make anything out. He heard her typing on her phone again and then sniff.

‘’Zarah?’’ Matt asked

‘’It’s so hot in here. Is it possible to loose air or am I just freaking out? I haven’t been stuck in here for this long,’’ she said and Matt could hear the panic rising in her voice. It was higher pitched than before and she was also talking at a rapid speed. Matt had to think fast to try and piece together what she had actually said.

‘’Zarah, you won’t run out of air, okay? I won’t let that happen. I know the space between the doors is minimal but it’s better than nothing,’’ Matt said and stood up.

‘’It’s so hot,’’ she said again and he could hear her blowing air from her mouth to try and keep calm

‘’I…I don’t know what to say…take something off…I guess?’’ Matt said and ran a hand through his hair, not believing he actually said that. Ah, fuck. His mind reeled as he wondered if he fucked up. He really liked her, and was hoping at the end of this, they could at the very least see each other but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she told him to outright to fuck off.

‘’I kinda have,’’ she said in almost a whisper

Matt smiled, relieved she had spoken to him and the thought that she was a little risky and taken something off was a little arousing. ‘’It’s alright. Look I’m going to put my hand through the space and if you feel like you need to, and you’re freaking out, just hold it okay?’’

‘’No, Matt,’’ she protested as he slid his hand through the gap. It was a tight squeeze but he managed.

‘’It’s okay,’’ he persisted

‘’No, it’s not. If the doors close, it will literally break every bone in your hand. I will not allow that,’’ she said

‘’I’ll risk it. I don’t like hearing you upset,’’ he said and then he felt something on his fingers. It was warm and wet and as fast as it came, it disappeared again. It started with his little finger and ran up to the index, causing Matt to retract his hand. ‘’What the fuck was that?’’ he asked

‘’I licked your fingers. Don’t put them in here again,’’ she said and Matt burst out laughing. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t that.

‘’You think that’s going to stop me?’’ he asked

‘’It should. I bite too. Those are some nice long fingers though! Don’t tempt me to do anything else with them, Matt,’’ she responded and sucked in a breath, ‘’look Matt, I appreciate you so much. You actually have no idea how much but I can not let you do that. You will lose your hand if these doors suddenly shut.’’

‘’Alright. I do need my fingers,’’ he said

‘’Yeah. Do you wanna tell me what for?’’ she asked

Matt laughed, ‘’use your imagination,’’ he said

Zarah bit her bottom lip, holding back that she already did. She had yet to see the man himself but, she had had already envisioned him. He was so sweet and kind. He had a voice that made her stomach flip every time he spoke and the fact that he was so concerned for a complete stranger made him even more appealing. Then she saw his fingers and she was happy that he hadn’t heard the little moan that came from her.

‘’So this elevator thing happens often?’’ Matt asked, pulling her from her thoughts

‘’Mhm. This used to be a hotel but they renovated and made it into apartments. It’s an old building, and though it’s been made into modern apartments, it still runs on the ancient system that ran the hotel. It’s a beautiful place and the apartments are huge but there are problems. This elevator does this…every 3 or so months. They can’t find a fault after the elevators get going again so technically they can’t fix the problem…’’ she said and trailed her sentence off when Matt heard her phone ding faintly. Again she sighed and typed something in response to the message.

‘’How long have you been staying here? I think my friend only moved in a month ago,’’ Matt said

‘’A year,’’ she replied shortly and her voice hitched again

‘’Zarah, why do you keep getting upset every time you message?’’ Matt asked, realising that every time he had heard her fingers racing across her screen typing, she got upset.

‘’I’ve had a bad day. I…I broke up my ex a few days ago and now he just won’t leave me alone. Today has been particularly bad. He keeps sending me these messages that are…’’ she said and took a deep breath. Matt waited for her to continue but instead he heard a whimpering cry.

Matt was slightly alarmed at how much he felt his heart tugging for her, and at how much he wanted to protect her. He heard her phone ding again and she let out a tiny sob. He hated that she was trying to hide her hurt and crying from him, but he also understood that sometimes people found it difficult to show those emotions openly.

‘’Zarah, pass me your phone,’’ Matt said

‘’Why?’’ she asked

‘’Do you trust me?’’ Matt asked

She pondered for a moment and nodded, not thinking that Matt couldn't see her. ‘’Zar?’’ Matt called

‘’Oh. Yes, I trust you. You wanted to lose a hand because of me…yes I trust you,’’ she said with a shaky voice

Matt laughed, ‘’okay then, pass me your phone. Does he know you’re moving and where too?’’

‘’He knows I’m moving but he doesn’t know where to. He doesn’t even know my uncle asked me to work for him. He spends all his time practicing with his so-called band with delusions of grandeur. He is always walking on a dead end street even when there are side roads leading to much better things. I took care of him for a year, paying all his bills. I haven't even been with him in 6 months...you know... because I don't trust him but I was still playing along. I’m so stupid. I always fall for the bad boys that are no good for me. Now I’ve put my foot down and decided to move on and he thinks I’m the worst person to roam the earth,’’ she said

‘’You’re not stupid, Zar,’’ Matt said softly, ‘’it seems to me you had a kind heart and were willing to help someone out. It’s his loss and he knows it. He knows you’re not losing anything but you’re gaining a lot by looking out for yourself. You’re also not the worst person…he wants you to be the worst person in his story now and will probably leave out all you did for him, but it’s not going to affect you because you’ll be happy…maybe in a relationship with someone that will appreciate you and actually look after you for a change. Maybe the next guy will be a good guy mixed with a touch of bad but only the good kind of bad.’’

‘’Good kind of bad?’’ she asked quizzically

‘’Yes, the good kind of bad,’’ Matt laughed, ‘’though maybe you have never come across those kinds of guys. Again, use your imagination.’’

Zara laughed, ‘’Ooooh I get you! That…does sound so nice,’’ she said seductively. Matt wasn’t sure it was supposed to come that way, but it did and it was alarmingly provocative to him.

‘’Pass me your phone,’’ Matt said again. ‘’You need to change your number tomorrow.’’

‘’Yes. First thing,’’ she said and pushed her phone through the door.

Matt took the phone – it was unlocked and an unread message was alerting. Matt quickly opened it before the phone locked again, and the messages opened up. He read a few messages and took a breath as he shook his head. No wonder she was crying and upset and now, he knew why she sang wurli. The guy was rude, belittling, vial, controlling, and commanding in the messages. While Matt had thought about sending him a text back to tell him to stay away from Zarah, he also knew it wouldn’t help. Guys like him cared about no one but themselves. Guys like him…were all mouth and no action. She was far too good for him.

‘’Zar…I was going message him but it would be fruitless. The best thing you can do with a guy like this is cut him off. Don’t respond. I might be wrong, but I’m 99 percent sure if you stop responding, he won’t message you again. It’s like…you’re feeding the ego in him, if that makes sense,’’ Matt said

‘’Okay,’’ she said softly and Matt was just going to push the phone through the door when the doors silently slid open. Both Matt and Zarah looked at the doors, then at each other in shock that the doors were opening. She was sitting on the floor at the back of the elevator, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open. As soon as they were wide enough for one person, maybe two if lucky, to get through, they began closing again.

Matt’s mind raced – there was no time for her to push herself up from the floor, move forward and get out of the elevator, let alone gather her things. Nope, there was only one solution and that was for Matt enter the elevator. As the doors were closing he, turned his body and slipped through the narrow space just in time before they closed.

‘’Shit,’’ Matt said through a laugh, only making it just in time. He pulled his eyes off the doors and turned them to Zarah.

‘’You,’’ he said softly, a smile forming on his lips as she got to her feet.

She bit her bottom lip and was going to reach for her jeans when the elevator once again stopped. The halt, so unexpected had Zarah falling into him as she lost her balance at the same time he reached out to keep her from falling.

‘’Shit, sorry,’’ Zarah said and looked up up him as she straightened up

Matt shook his head slowly, left to right, ‘’what for?’’ he asked as their eyes connected.

Zarah swallowed hard and took a step back, but immediately regretted it. His arm around her waist, his hand softly touching her slim hip had felt right. So right, but why? They had only just met. However, he was the first man she had met who exuded sex from every pore. He was ridiculously good looking…hot…sexy…she stared, but not meaning to. His eyes were gorgeous, his features so strong and chiselled. His most kissable lips and straight nose tied together to form perfection. He had pierced ears…a weakness she had with men.

As she stared, so did he. His eyes raked up and down her body, his smile getting wider and wider with each second that passed. She was slightly shorter than he was, with big eyes that, although red from crying, were gorgeous. Her long wavy cherry auburn hair framed her heart-shaped face perfectly in layers while her full lips and nose were perfectly proportioned. She clearly worked out with her tight, toned body. She was only wearing a pair of black and pink panties, riding low on her hips, and a black fitted t-shirt that was straining against her breasts. Matt could see her hard nipples outlined by the fabric, indicating she was wearing no bra. His semi turned into a full-on hard-on. His eyes veered to the floor and saw her jeans lying in a pile next to her handbag and a bra that matched her panties on top of it. A bottle of perfume lay behind the jeans along with a note pad and pen. Her empty pink Converse were neatly together by the jeans. Where she had been sitting was a denim jacket laid out with tissues balled up, scattered to the left. On the other side was a Yeti water bottle.

When his eyes finally met hers again, she opened her mouth to talk but nothing came out. Matt let out a laugh and took a step closer to her.

‘’So, I’m Matt,’’ he said wanting to break the comfortable but long silence.

Zarah smiled and sucked in a breath, surprising herself – had she even been breathing since he joined her in the elevator?

‘’Sorry, I’m…half dressed, it’s just been so hot in here. I even sprayed perfume to get some cool relief but it was such a short reprieve. It lasted a full second. But I don’t usually walk around like this,’’ she said

Matt shrugged his shoulders, ‘’I didn’t for a second think you did but, maybe you should,’’ he said

Zarah laughed. There it was! That laugh that had Matt aroused, that no other woman had ever achieved.

‘’So I guess the elevator’s stuck again,’’ Matt said, taking another step towards her.

Zarah nodded. Oh god, she was stuck in an elevator with the sexiest guy she ever laid eyes on, who was willing to sit and help her through it…who was willing to crush his hand for her. Then, her breath got caught in her throat as Matt took his jack off and slung it to the floor on top of her jacket. Her eyes widened at the tattoos on his arm and her eyes shifted to his groin. He was definitely hard and he clearly had a package to be proud of. She bit her bottom lip and smiled, but she quickly lifted her eyes up to meet his.

That’s all Matt had needed to know; she was decidedly in for this. ''You’re right, it is hot in here,’’ he said with a grin that made her moan internally. That grin would be the thing to unglue her.

‘’How long do think we’ll be stuck in here for?’’ he asked and removed his air forces heel to toe, kicking them off carelessly, not even bothering to unlace them. One landed near her jeans, while the other landed on it’s side near the door.

‘’I…it seems to have a mind of it’s own,’’ she stuttered and closed her eyes briefly feeling herself getting wetter and wetter as she felt desire and lust rise with his intoxication.

He lost his socks next. ‘’I have a confession to make,’’ he said and licked his lips, ‘’I saw you this morning in the lobby. I was waiting for my brother to tie his shoes when I saw you rushing to the door and then you slipped out of the building but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since. I don’t know why. I think your beauty captured me. I wanted to go for a walk tonight because I couldn’t sleep but I couldn’t sleep because I was wondering who you were, and if I’d ever see you again. Then this elevator thing happened and I got to know you – a faceless stranger, but you’re as beautiful inside as you are out. Strange how life works sometimes.’’

‘’You’re my good, kinda bad guy,’’ she whispered and her mouth curved into a devilish grin

‘’Let’s find out,’’ Matt said and slid a hand onto her neck, his thumb brushing over her cheek before he smiled and pulled her to his lips. Matt was sure to take it slow, he teased her with his tongue and played across the seam of her lips. He tasted her, moved his mouth across her cheek to her ear, and kissed her gently there and behind it. He enjoyed her as she moved her head to give him access. He kissed down the column of her throat to her neck, found a spot on her neck that caused her to shiver under his mouth and then he slid back up to her mouth. Her lips were slightly parted now and Matt bit lightly on her bottom lip, testing her, and when a moan escaped her, he smiled inwardly. His tongue scraped across her teeth and he gently touched the tip of her tongue with his. She smiled before she pushed her tongue into his mouth. She knew that was good guy Matt. She knew good guy Matt, he was sweet, kind, soft, and caring, but she wanted to see bad guy Matt now... all while bad boy Matt wanted to be freed from his restraints. When Matt grabbed a fist full of her hair she gasped in surprise but melted into him as he deepened the kiss. Holy shit he was a good kisser! If he was half that good in bed, she knew she had a winner.

When the kiss ended, he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, breathing deeply from the kiss.

‘’Are there camera’s in here?’’ he asked, his eyes darting around the elevator.

‘’Broken, like everything else,’’ she said and pulled her own t-shirt off, her breasts bouncing free

‘’Anyone ever tell you, you have perfect tits and a perfect kisser?’’ he asked as he lost his shorts, setting his hard dick free

‘’Damn,’’ she whispered more to herself than him. ‘’Anyone ever tell you that you have a perfect dick?’’ she asked, with a smirk not able to take her eyes of his rock hard, straight cock that she couldn’t wait to taste and wrap her lips around

‘’I don’t care about anyone else,’’ he said before his head descended for another kiss. This kiss wasn’t like the first. This one was hungry, needy, probing and hot as a hand slipped into her thick mass of hair and his fingers curled through it to deepen the kiss and to let her know he was in control. She moaned into his mouth as a reward and his hands then slid down her back and cupped her taut ass cheeks, pulling her even closer. He wanted to feel every inch of her velvety skin against his. He pulled from the kiss and dropped his head to clamp onto one of her nipples, driving her wild. His hands went down to her panties and he pushed what little material there was down her sides.

‘’You sure you want this?’’ he breathed, lifting his head, his lips so close to hers again, they brushed as he spoke.

‘’Uh-ha,’’ she answered simply, unable to form words as his fingers brushed over her smooth pussy. Her breathing elevated with anticipation, her breasts pushing against his chest with each deep breath. He grinned and began creeping his fingers inside her wet pussy. She trembled and moaned…then whimpered when he stuck a second finger inside her, stretching her. She threw her head back - he was not a beginner; he used his two middle fingers not his index and middle.

‘’You’re a tight little one,’’ he whispered close to her ear sending a shiver through her body. He pulled his fingers out and lightly put them to her clit sending mini explosions through her brain.

‘’Well? You didn’t quite answer me. Do you want this? If you don’t answer me, I’ll know not to continue,’’ he said in a low voice this time

‘’Yes!’’ she said throwing her head forward, ‘’oh fuck yes please…I want it…need it. You. Please don’t stop, Matt,’’ she said almost breathlessly

As she said the words, he began rubbing her sensitive clit. The sensations were slowly starting to wave through her body, then she felt the big wave approaching, wanting to come crashing down. She gripped his shoulders and started to shake when he entered his middle finger inside her again. Her muscles contracted around his finger, then he entered his ring finger and she soared. She was so close.

‘’I’m gonna cum,’’ she breathed, pushing herself down onto his hand

‘’Not until I’m inside of you,’’ he said, taking his fingers out of her. With her legs weak and wobbly, he slid an arm around her and pulled her close to him. She felt his solid dick press on her stomach, his pre-cum smearing on her hot skin. The coolness of the liquid against her hot skin, and thought of all his pre-cum caused her to moan.

‘’Fuck me,’’ she said through gritted teeth

‘’That’s all I needed to hear,’’ he said and put his hands on her ass cheeks and lifted her up as she wrapped her legs around him then kissed him. He took a few steps and slammed her into the wall next to the car operating panel. One of the first things he had done when he got into the elevator was to observe everything – the mirror at the back of the elevator had a handle bar but the two side panels did not. She smiled into the kiss and ground against him, then he moved his mouth, kissing her jaw line and then down her neck as she arched her back and tilted her head back. His chain with a horse on it, dangled down and rested on her hot skin. The coolness of it made her arch her back even more and Matt pulled his lips from her neck.

‘’Fuck, put me inside you,’’ he breathed and Zarah reached between their bodies and curled her hand around his thick, long dick and lifted her self slightly. She put him at her pussy entrance and dropped herself down, slowly sliding onto his perfect dick.

‘’Oh fuck yes!’’ she cried surprisingly loudly but Matt loved a vocal woman. He sucked in a breath through his jaw clenching at the tightness and the amazing feeling of her wet, hot silky pussy.

He took his one hand off her ass, feeling secure she had her legs wrapped around his waist tight enough that she was leaning her shoulder blades against the wall. He grabbed both her wrists and lifted her arms up, pinning them to the wall with one hand as he drove in deep into her.

‘’Oh god that’s deep,’’ Zarah breathed

‘’You feel fucking amazing, and you’re so fucking gorgeous,’’ Matt said as she clamped around him, her pussy warm, wet and inviting as he stretched her.

Her breathing picked up, as he felt her muscles starting flutter around his dick. Her chest heaving, she whimpered and arched her back at the pressure on her arms, displaying her breasts so beautifully he couldn't help but suck and nibble on them. She moaned again, and he tightened his grip on her arms.

‘’Oh fuck,’’ she groaned and pushed herself into the wall, ‘’I’m gonna cum.’’

She was at his mercy, he was totally in control and she loved it. This is what men were supposed be like – a gentleman out side the room and a beast inside it. This is what Matt was trying to prove to her and she was more than happy for him to prove it to her over and over again.

‘’Just cum for me baby. Cum all over my dick,’’ he said in a low voice that sent a shiver straight down her spine and she did.

With an ear shattering scream, she came as it rocked through her body. She trembled and shook, surprising Matt as how strong her orgasm was. A smile spread across his handsome face as he felt a splash against his groin and her pussy held him a vice like grip. He felt her legs starting to weaken with the orgasm ravaging her body, so he leg go of her wrists and placed his hand back on her tight little ass.

She brought her arms down and draped them around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. ‘’Your dick is amazing,’’ she said and lifted it with a smile on her lips.

‘’And you’re fucking gorgeous,’’ he said and captured her lips as he kept slamming into her, never missing a beat. He would change the pace at times but never missed a beat. The moans and grunts that came from him was only a further turn on for her as wave after wave hit her and rolled into one another as soon as one orgasm stopped, another rolled in and washed over her.

The sounds of his cock pounding into her wet pussy and his balls slapping her ass echoed off the elevator walls, mixing with their moans. A fine sheen of sweat on both their bodies glimmered in the dim light and there was nothing that could have stopped either of them, not even if the elevator decided to start up again.

Matt felt the orgasms starting to weaken her even more so but he knew she didn’t want to stop. While his legs could support them both, there was also a factor of her contributing by distributing her weight onto his hips as much as possible but she just couldn’t anymore. He didn’t want either of them to get hurt in any way, so he slowly pulled his throbbing dick from her.

‘’Wha…what’s wrong,’’ she asked, concerned as she lowered her legs

Matt laughed, his arm around her waist still holding her tight to him, ‘’absolutely nothing is wrong. Everything is right.’’

Zarah smiled and then squealed as he smacked her ass. She giggled and bit her bottom lip as Matt lifted a hand and pushed some hair that had plastered onto her cheek with all the sweat as he lowered his lips and kissed her forehead and then her lips.

He turned her around in his arms and pointed at the hand railing, ‘’bend over and hold onto that. It’s a little more stability for you,’’ he said and she smiled widely at him, eagerly which excited him even more.

She bent forward, her ass in the air and Matt let out a moan at the fantastic view right in front of him. She had the most perfect round ass with a smooth, pink pussy glistening with their juices. He marveled at her in awe at the way her body dipped and bent. With her body, the way she moved, and how flexible she was, he wondered if she was a dancer or did ballet. He made a mental note to ask her because he wanted to find out more about her. He wanted to know everything about her.

Zarah looked in the mirror right before her, at their reflections and smiled as he pushed himself back into her. She gasped in pleasure and he moaned, throwing his head back. Fuck he looked good! He went all the way in, hilting inside and bottoming out drawing groans from each them. When he brought his head back down, he caught her in the mirror and smiled slowly. He gave a nod and she let out a seductive moan as he began to pound into her. She dropped her head as he bottomed out again and when she saw the view from that angle she felt her legs buckle but Matt held onto her hips. It was such an amazing view she felt another strong orgasm coming on.

‘’Oh fuuuuck, Matt,’’ she said and held on tighter to the bar

‘’Yeah, I’m not gonna last much longer,’’ he responded breathing hard and their eyes connected in the mirror again.

‘’Oh my god, oh fuck…yes…yes..yes…’’ Zarah shouted then cried out in a lengthy moan as she spiralled out of control. An intensity hit her stronger than she had ever felt before. Her body was consumed by a blissful yet powerful wave as pleasure sparked through her body. Matt, looked on as her pussy squirted all over his cock. He watched her writhe, and he knew he couldn't hold it any longer. His fast and furious fucking was replaced by long, hard, and deliberate strokes. With every stroke he ground himself into her, making sure his cock owned every inch of her pussy. He leaned over Zarah and placed his hand around her neck, then pulled her up causing her pussy to grip him tighter. ‘’You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had,’’ he said and she felt his dick twitch deep inside of her as he let out a whimper that turned into an animalist growl as he shot load after load into her pulsing pussy. His cumming, moaning, voice, and his hand around her throat made her cum one last time. She slumped against him and looked in the mirror again. They were a mess but they were a hot fucking mess. Both of them were breathing hard and he let go of her throat as she went back to her original position. Matt pulled his still-hard cock from her and she let out a groan when he pushed a finger into her and hooked out some of their combined cum. He leaned over her again, holding his finger in front of her mouth.

Their eyes connected once again in the mirror, ‘’next time I wanna cum in your mouth,’’ he said and she opened her mouth and willingly took the cum and sucked it off his finger. She smiled and licked her lips.

‘’Nothing would make me happier,’’ she said and purred like a kitten licking her lips again. It really was good.

The elevator suddenly jolted again and began moving. Matt burst out laughing and pushed his lips to hers quickly and both got up to get dressed. In their rush to put their clothes back on, they only glanced at each other and smiled.

When it stopped, the doors swooshed open like they were in perfect working order and had never broken down. Matt took her hand in his and pulled her out of the elevator.

‘’Do you know where we are?’’ Matt asked

‘’My floor, where it was originally supposed to stop,’’ she said noticing a familiar looking plant near the elevator doors.

Matt nodded and stepped closer to her and cupped her cheeks with both hands then tilted her head up. He smiled down at her, ‘’I really need to get cleaned up so I can go back or my brothers will call the troops out to look for me. I don’t want to leave here though and not know what going to happen,’’ he said and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, ‘’I really…really like you Zar.’’

Zarah smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘’I really…really like you too, Matt. I think you’re my good but with a little bad kinda guy.’’ Matt laughed, ‘’yeah, I think so. How about I came to your place later…and we try your apartment number out and move that to LA when we’re both there?’’

‘’That sounds like a brilliant plan,’’ Zarah said and pushed her lips to his.

Thank you for reading, you're very much appreciated. If you want to be tagged, please let me know under here or via a message. I'm kind of busy a lot but do try and post as much as possible. Again, thank you so much!

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #the sturniolo triplets #Sturniolo #Spotify

431 notes · View notes