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miguel-ohara-eater · 9 months

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Spider DNA 🕷️

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(red: Miguel)

(summary: you caught Miguel in his office rutting, and he asks for help. only for you to find out another defect of his spider DNA)

CW: monster fucking, aggressive sex, biting, clawing, licking, uses of degrading names, 2 dicks, slight choking if you squint, edging, anal.

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12:46 PM.

You just had gotten done on a mission with Peter B, walking down the lobby halls and squeezing past a couple of the other members with an empanada in your hand.

You'd popped into the cafeteria, grabbing two empanadas (one of which you'd already eaten by then) and the second one for Miguel.

Miguel and you have never really spoken since you first were recruited, but sometimes he'd make small talk that surprised you considering he'd never really talk to anyone. So you thought it would be nice to bring him some lunch as he's locked up in his lab as usual.

You make your way down Sector 4, getting in the elevator as it goes up and you keep your hands around the empanada container, making sure it stays warm.

The large doors finally open as you get to the top, walking down the hall and past several big machines from Miguels projects, the lights dark as usual.

The closer you got to the main part, the heavier the buzzing sound in your head became, your spider senses tingling but you ignored it, assuming nothing could possibly happen.

But then you get to the end of the hall, leading to the main part of the lab and you see Miguel hunched over his desk, helplessly and aimlessly humping the side of a table.

His face was a flushed mess, biting his bottom lip with his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to have some sort of relief underneath his suit.

His grunts and whimpers fill the lab, as he claws and bites at the desk, humping repeatedly.

Your eyes widened, an unexplainable knot twisting in your stomach but in a... good way?

You go to take a step back but by the time your heel had lifted off of the ground he was already standing up and glaring at you.

"what are you doing here.?" he snapped

You didn't know what to say, so you just held up the empanada in the small cardboard container.

"... empanada." you mumbled, your eyes still wide.

His platform was already on the ground, so he was in front of you within seconds. His eyebrows scrunched together and with every breath he took he let it out in a small growl.

"um... here." you say shakily, putting it to his chest as if you expect him to take it.

but instead he grabs your wrist, the empanada falling out of your hand and he yanks you closer, absolutely staring into your soul.

"don't want it." he says in a low voice and tilts his head, leaning closer and he... sniffs?

your eyes widen and you feel his breath behind your ear as he smelled you.

"help me." he whispers, his tone making you wanna get on your knees right then and there.

"with what?" you say trying to keep your voice less shaky than before.

"what season is it cariño?" he mumbles, his other hand moving around you to the small of your back as his other hand keeps hold of both of your wrists.

"summer?" your tone is confused and he sniffs the crook of your neck.

"breeding. breeding season." he grumbled. oh. he was rutting. it all made sense now, the behavior change, humping his desk, smelling you, you must've forgotten he was 50% spider. but now it made sense and you were horny just from watching him for those 15 seconds of the humping so how could you say no?

"what if we get caught?" he took that as a yes, immediately biting slightly into your neck and ripping the crotch out of your spider suit.

"h-hey!" you said and he got on his knees, ignoring you and pulling your legs apart as he stuck his tongue in between your folds.

you almost fell backwards, and he held you by the waist and aggressively moved you over to the wall, pressing you back against it and he pulled your legs over his shoulders and stayed on his knees. his tongue desperately lapping at your clit, sucking and slobbering all over your already wet pussy.

"you're gonna be so good to my cock." he mumbled into you, the vibrations making you whimper and put your hands in his hair.

his hands clawed into your thighs, digging into the skin slightly and the longer he desperately ate you out, the tighter the familiar knot got in your stomach.

"f-fuck Miguel I'm gonna-" damn it.

the knot painfully faded away, Miguel had already stood you back up and was cleaning his face off with his tongue after denying you to cum.

"you're here for ME hermosa." he hissed, grabbing your chin and hunching over you.

you just nodded, and he turned you around and pushed you against the wall

he buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.

then he pulled down the neck of your spider suit, revealing your skin and he licked from the crook of your neck to the back of your ear.

your eyes widened and you looked at him, his eyes were closed and his face was flushed but still buried into your skin.

it was... cute. but that cute thought immediately was yeeted to another side of your head when he opened his eyes and grabbed you, hoisting you over his shoulder and he walked back to his platform and slammed you onto the desk.

before you could even say anything his suit dissipated, revealing his toned body and muscles which were even hotter underneath the suit but further down, two rock-hard (at least 10 inch) dicks were staring right at you.

"I'm gonna fuckin ruin you." he growled, grabbing your chin and making you look up at him.

"tw- how- huh?" you couldn't even get the words out, looking down at his monster cocks.

he rolled his eyes and squoze your chin harder

"it's a defect. 50% spider dna. remember? spiders have two reproductive organs, so I get two dicks." he snapped

you looked up at him, wide eyed and you didn't even know how he was gonna fuck you.

"and you're gonna take it like the whore you are."

you didn't know what to say, but the thought of two dicks absolutely ruining you like that sounded like the best thing ever.

you nodded, and he flipped you onto your stomach and positioned himself behind you, arching your back with one arm under your hips and the other arm around your neck with his face in your shoulder.

you whimpered, the two heads of his cocks poking against your entrance and your anus.

he stuck his fingers in your mouth, still not putting his dick in.

"suck." he commanded, and you wrapped your tongue around his thick fingers and started sucking.

the position was uncomfortable, bent like a pretzel but that's how he liked it. that's how you liked it.

without warning, he bottomed out. a loud squelch followed by a shriek from you and a groan from him entering the air.

you squeeze your eyes shut, your hand reaching up and grabbing onto his arm that was around your neck.

"god you're so tight..." he groaned, thrusting in and out without giving you time to even adjust to the monster cocks filling both of your holes.

"you were made for me. you're my whore." he whispered in your ear, licking your jaw as he thrusted mercilessly into your holes.

you moaned loudly, your hand clawing at his arm and your mouth sucking harder on his fingers.

the sounds of skin slapping, squelching, groaning, whimpering, and moaning were the only things you could hear. the occasional degrading things or sweet nothings Miguel would whisper into your ear made your brain go foggy.

you could feel him everywhere. he was all over you, and inside you. you swore you could feel every single vein on both of his cocks.

next thing you knew you'd came 4 times and he had 3. he was a whimpering mess, biting your shoulder and fucking you at the same relentless pace as he was before even if the overstimulation was killing him.

"I'm gonna get you so fucking pregnant baby.." he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and biting into your neck.

"you wanna have my kids? Yeah baby?" he cooed, even if he knew you couldn't answer.

your jaw was slack, eyes rolled into the back of your head and your pussy and anus still milked his cock for more cum.

"mm you're so good to me cariño." he muttered, both of your guys cum dripping out of your holes.

"so so so good. God I love this pussy... I'm gonna make you a mama and use you like a whore everyday." he ranted, his face red and his eyebrows scrunched in concentration of cumming just one more time.

his hips stuttered, his pace faltering and it was a familiar thing by now.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-" then his 4th load of warm seed was shot into your holes, making you moan and he pulled out with a squelch.

he collapsed onto you, his arm slipping out from underneath your hips and out from around your neck and the only sound you could hear now was his soft breathing.

you'd thought you'd died, the white stars fading away from your vision and you laid your head on the table.

"fuck..." you sighed, and he slowly sat up and covered himself with his suit.

"I'll make note to call you next time." he muttered, helping you off of the table and he just tossed you a tissue.

you stood up, cleaning yourself off with the tissue but with the amount of cum coming out of you it wasn't enough and you could barely even stand.

he looked at you, then walked past you to his holographic screens.

"take a plan b." he said without even looking at you.

"um... okay."

"and I'll have Lyla make you a new suit."

you nodded, then left and got in the elevator. hoping that you would be able to run fast enough so nobody saw your ass and pussy hanging out, but the idea wasn't that bad, leaving the empanada long gone and forgotten about, cold in it's box.

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THIS IS MY FIRST WRITING PIECE 🥳🥳

I hope you all appreciate it, I hope it's good 😭

but thank you to @pissjuicencumballz for the idea.

SEE YOU ALL OCT. 2!!!

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mediacircuspod · 11 months

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This scene was absolutely beautiful BUT it’s also the crux of the issue. You guys this is where the problems start. Because—because Crowley’s already cast out, he finds COMFORT in the idea that they are lonely together. “As far as he can” becoming “as far as they can” is an END to his complete “otherness” and something to appreciate, to covet, and to find solace in. He’s finally not alone.

But—and this is important.

Aziraphale does NOT feel that. He can’t.

This moment is completely and utterly devastating for Zira. He finds out he’s not damned and sure, he’s relieved. But he’s no longer “an Angel” in the way that he’s learned is right. He’s now unchangeably and forever; less holy—a concept that is dearly important to his identity. “[Going] along with heaven as far as he can” is a FAILING on his part. Not heaven’s(at least to him). There is no solace or comfort—he finds existence like that—just the two of them—achingly LONELY. And that’s just how his perspective demands to be taken. It’s the only perspective he is capable of in that moment AND after it, too.

Take into account Crowley has went from having no one AT ALL to having SOMEONE. And he puts EVERYTHING he has into it. This is not good. It’s unfair to Aziraphale. And it’s unfair to himself. On the opposite side, you have Aziraphale. Who has just went from having the ENTIRE HEAVENLY HOST, to having this SINGLE demon— who, one minute ago, Aziraphale thought would be dragging him off to hell.

And the part that aches is that this perspective hasn’t changed. Aziraphale feels like his existence is lacking because he wants so badly to be GOOD. And good is Holy. Good is heavenly. He’s the problem for having morals that are misaligned.

Spoilers for the last episode:

Aziraphale has just been given the validation that he is not only GOOD but the most HEAVENLY Angel there is, the Supreme Archangel, even. And if heavens morals are now HIS morals, then that’s EVERY PROBLEM SOLVED. With a bow even, because Crowley’s basically on heavens side anyway, he’s GOOD, isn’t he? He’s been good this whole time, so why wouldn’t heaven want him back? Reinstating him as Angel would fix everything. They can be together, and they can be good, and they can be HOLY. All Aziraphale’s conflicting emotions about loving Crowley can be packed away because Crowley will be perfect again—and surely Crowley wants to be perfect—wants to be forgiven.(sorry everyone, that hurt me too, oof) Aziraphale is SHOCKED by Crowley’s refusal. He’s devastated that his version of perfect is treated as something naive and distasteful.

Crowley’s devastated too. He’s just lost “their side”. A concept that for 5000+ years has been THE ONLY THING he puts love into besides his car and perhaps his plants(And humanity, but he’ll never admit to that—I’m looking at the “No more dying” scene). Crowley is constantly being devastated by Aziraphale. He’s “too fast”, he’s too evil, he’s too good sometimes. Crowley has always been TOO MUCH. But this is different because for four years, he’s had “them”(on their own side) without the hiding, and without the denial and without Aziraphale constantly putting former jobs between them. PLUS he has a mountain of trauma centered around the concept of “forgiveness”, so that’s not great considering Aziraphale’s last words to him(THAT HE HASNT SAID ALL SEASON EVEN WHEN HE MADE CROWLEY APOLOGIZE IN THE FIRST EPISODE, AHHHHH). He’s losing everything and he’s desperate: Why isn’t he enough, hasn’t he been enough these last 4 years? Hasn’t HE been enough the last 6000?

Aziraphale has always been enough for Crowley. But being enough for Crowley doesn’t fix how Aziraphale has never been enough for himself, not since Job. He looks at this offer as a chance for HIM to be enough, and for Crowley to be FORGIVEN. Crowley looks at it as a betrayal because it’s Aziraphale saying Crowley ISNT enough, and he NEVER has been.

But that’s not what Aziraphale is saying. He’s saying, “Let me fix it for you”. Crowley is hearing, “Let me fix you for it.” Two completely different and completely horrifying concepts.

And then Crowley needs to say HIS piece(oh my gosh, btw, this was heartbreaking).

“Let’s be together on our terms” is basically what I’ve distilled it down to. But Aziraphale hears, “Let’s run away from our problems”

Aziraphale doesn’t want to run away, and Crowley doesn’t want to change who he is.

They both want to be together so badly but they don’t understand why they each want it so differently. And Aziraphale can’t compromise because he’s brainwashed and LOATHES himself. And Crowley can’t compromise because he’s traumatized and LOVES Aziraphale just as he is. Crowley doesn’t want to be good on heavens terms. He can see Heaven for what it is; “toxic”. He hates heaven not only for what the Host did to him, but for HOW THEY TREATED Aziraphale.

They both don’t understand each other because for all the pleading and presenting and monologuing, they never once in that whole conversation, actually talked.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #go season 2 #go2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #crowley and aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

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lqvesoph · 3 months

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She‘s WHOSE daughter??? || LN4

gif by @formulaonedirection

lando norris x webber!reader

summary: After releasing your new album you go to the Bahrain Grand Prix to finally see your two favorite Aussie’s. What you didn’t expect is to meet a certain Brit as well.

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

masterlist | taglist

Part 1

yn.adams: Thank you for all the love on GUTS!!! Tour is coming I promissssse but now off to Bahrain🏁

comments:

gracieabrams: YOURE UNREAL

rachelzegler: all american t*ts frr

danielricciardo: Okay who am I fighting today🥊

oscarpiastri: See u in Bahrain (finally)

> yn.adams: FINALLY!!!

> oscarpiastri: You‘ve become busy since becoming a world star🥲

fan: SHES COMING TO BAHRAIN!!!

> fan: FINALLY!! Its been ages

fan: Has she ever been to a race??

> fan: Well… I mean obviously LMAO😭

fan: U supporting Red Bull or Mclaren this weekend?

> yn.adams: Rbr obviously!! Not even Oscar can get me into that orange Garage🤨

> oscarpiastri: It’s PAPAYA!!!

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*~*~*~*~*~*

"GOOD MORNING!!!", an australian accent yelled into your ear just moments after you entered the Bahrain paddock.

You flinched, immediately slapping the person’s arm. "Daniel!!!", you called and pushed the driver away from you as he tried to pull you into a hug.

"I‘ve missed you so much", he mumbled, pressing you close to him and ruffling your hair after, which made you slap his hand away from your head.

"You seen Osc yet?“, you asked, looking around you, spotting a few photographers whose camera’s where direct to you. Daniel shook his head. "Nope, I thought you‘d come together. I‘m surprised you’re only here now."

You rolled your eyes and kept walking with Daniel. "I was on a video call with my team, discussing the upcoming tour. We gotta work out a schedule and call the venues and stuff", you replied. "We‘ve been on there even before the album came out and I still haven’t completely made up my mind."

"Indecisive little shit", Daniel laughed, making you slap his arm with a chuckle. You made your way to the Red Bull hospitality, Daniel waving at a few people from Mclaren that he was still friends with even after he left the team at the end of the 2022 season.

"I think Kelly and P are in there", he told you before hugging you goodbye. "If you see Oscar, tell him I‘m looking for him", you said, smiling and ruffling through Daniel‘s hair as some sorta revenge, before quickly stepping back and running up the stairs to the entrance.

Daniel laughed and pointed a finger at you. "I‘m gonna get you back!" You giggled and waved as you walked backwards into the hospitality.

Looking around the room you quickly spotted Kelly with her daughter Penelope sitting on a creme coloured couch.

"Heyy, honey", she greeted you and got up to hug you. "Hey, darling", you then said and lifted Penelope up who was reaching her arms out to you.

Just when you sat down, your phone chimed with a new message.

Osc🧡: Meet me in front of Mclaren

You: I‘m not going in tho

Osc🧡: Well I can’t really walk into Red Bull can I?

You: 🙄okay

"I‘ll be back soon, Oscar just texted", you let Kelly know and high fived P who giggled as you did. Jeez, how much you missed that little sunshine!

You glanced around the front porch of Mclaren‘s hospitality but didn’t spot Oscar. And as you didn’t just want to walk into the building you stayed where you were, next to the steps leading up to the entrance.

"You walked in with Danny, right?", someone spoke behind you, making you turn around. The confused expression on your face quickly leaving when you came face to face with the other Mclaren driver.

He sat at one of the tables with another curly haired guy and a blonde girl.

You nodded. "Yeah", you simply said. "You wanna come up here?", he asked, gesturing to the empty chair next to him.

You‘ve never spoken to Lando Norris, all you knew about him was through stories from either Oscar or Daniel. You knew that he spent some of his winterbreak with Danny and Martin in Australia. Daniel had asked you to come along as well but you were busy with the release of your new album so you had to decline.

You looked around you one last time, trying to find Oscar but failed, so you nodded and took the few stairs up to the table the three of them were sitting at.

As you stood directly in front of them, you saw how the blonde girl recognized you. You‘ve always been good at reading people but over the last years you‘ve become incredibly good at telling whether people recognized you when facing them. Even if they try their hardest to hide it, that small second when their eyes widen in realization was enough for you to tell.

"I‘m Lando", he introduced himself, holding a hand out to greet you. "Y/n, nice to meet you", you smiled, trying to ignore the urge to tell him 'I know, I‘m friends with Daniel and Oscar'. "Max and Pietra, friends of me", he then gestured over to the people sitting across from you.

"So, how do you know Daniel?", Lando asked, crossing his arms on the table. "I‘ve known him since I was 8 years old, I think", you smiled, remembering tiny 8 year old you giggling and blushing when first talking to Daniel at the British Grand Prix. "Really?", his eyes widened. "How did you meet?" "Uh, through my dad, he‘s from Australia as well", you answered, leaving out most of the details.

"You‘re australian?", Lando questioned with raised eyesbrows. "No no, my dad is. My mom‘s from America and I kinda grew up between California and Canberra", you explained.

"However, for some reason she likes to ignore her australian origin", a voice said behind you, making you smirk as you recognized the familiar Melbourne accent.

You turned around in your chair and stood up before wrapping your arms around Oscar. "Hey, princess", he laughed. "How‘ve you been?"

"Bit stressful with Tour at the minute but it feels so good to be back here!", you grinned.

As you turned back to the other three, you couldn’t help but notice Lando‘s confused face. Maybe it was the fact you basically jumped Oscar or that he‘d called you 'princess', something he‘s been doing ever since your first Tour when you got gifted a little crown from your fans because it matched the dress you were wearing on stage.

"I se you‘ve made friends already, might wanna stay here for the race?", Oscar asked with a smirk. You slapped the back of his head in an affectionate way. "Nuh uh, nice try, Piastri", you chuckled. "I‘ll be watching from Red Bull, you know that."

The confused expression on Lando‘s face only seemed to deepen with everything you said so you gave him a quick explanation. "My father used to work at Red Bull, so it‘s the team I‘ve grown up with and I‘m not leaving that."

Oscar snorted at you little white lie but you rammed your elbow into his side to get him to keep quiet.

Lando nodded, still slightly confused by the way you and Oscar acted with each other but before he could question it, a team member walked out of the door and told the two drivers to start getting ready for the race.

"I‘ll see you later, okay? You‘re driving back with Daniel?", your best friend asked. "I haven’t talked to him about it but-" "Okay, then I‘m taking you back to the hotel", he interrupted you with a grin.

"Jeez, splitting my time with you two like you‘re my parents", you laughed but agreed and hugged the driver goodbye.

"Bye, bye!", you waved to Lando, Max and Pietra before walking back over to Red Bull.

*~*~*~*~*~*

After the race and all the podium celebrations, you waited in front of the Mclaren hospitality for Oscar, scrolling mindlessly on your Twitter while ignoring the 22 unread messages from your management.

"Hey, Y/n", a voice said behind you, making you look up from your phone. "Lando, hi. Congrats on your race", you smiled. "Thanks, could’ve been better but we‘ll try again next week", he shrugged.

"Jeddah, right?", you asked, not having memorized the calendar quite yet. The driver nodded and played around with the orange lanyard in his hands.

"You coming?", he dared to ask after a few seconds and from the way his fingers fiddled with the orange band faster, you could tell how nervous he was. You shrugged. "I don’t know yet, I’m quite busy with work at the minute, so probably no. But I‘ll definitely be in Melbourne", you replied, trying to lighten the mood by adding the last sentence.

"Pietra told me you’re a singer", he revealed, making you smile at the memory of the blonde girl. "I could tell she recognized me", you admitted. Lando chuckled. "She said she tried her hardest to not let it show but was freaking out on the inside! She‘s actually quite mad at herself for not asking you for a picture!"

You giggled again and shook your head. "She could’ve asked, I wouldn’t have minded", you said with a small smile. "If she’s at a Grand Prix just let me know and I promise I‘ll find her." "I‘ll let her know", he nodded and looked to the ground with the cutest smile you have seen in a while.

The combination of the brunette curly hair, the british accent, the smile and his dimples, drove you crazy and made you heart skip a few beats. But you tried your best to keep it together.

Little did you know that Lando quite literally felt the same about you. Your long hair, along with the color of your eyes and especially your smile made his heart beat a little faster as well.

You stayed in silence for a few seconds, just looking at each other admiringly before a voice interrupted your starring.

"Princess!! Sorry for being late!", Oscar called while walking out of the hospitality with Lily‘s hand in his. You smiled at the sight of your best friend’s girlfriend and send her a little wave which she returned with the hand that wasn’t wrapped in Oscar‘s.

"That‘s okay, I had Lando to keep me company", you chuckled, making the brit smile a little. "You ready?", Oscar asked and you nodded.

He said goodbye to Lando and started walking down the stairs.

"I’ll see you in Australia?", Lando asked one last time. You nodded your head with a smile. "Oh for sure, I wouldn’t miss this race for the world!", you chuckled. "Great!", Lando whispered under his breath and gave you a little wave which you returned before following Oscar and Lily.

"What do you think of him?", Oscar asked as soon as Lando was out of hearing range. "Lando? He’s pretty cute", you simply stated, not daring to mention the other words floating around your head. Nice, pretty, gorgeous, hot and handsome were just a few examples.

"Why do you ask?"

Oscar smirked. "No reason, really!"

tagged: redbullracing, danielricciardo, oscarpiastri

yn.adams: bahrain dump (feat. my two favorite aussies)

comments:

oscarpiastri: You‘re an aussie as well…

> yn.adams: But I‘m not tho…🤷‍♀️

> oscarpiastri: Y/n🤨

danielricciardo: I‘m shown before Oscar

> yn.adams: rolling my eyes as we speak

> fan: LMAOOO

fan: Am I seeing you in the Mclaren garage?

> yn.adams: JUST FOR A SECOND!!!

fan: The race weekend is better when ur there

liked by yn.adams

fan: How does she know Oscar and Daniel??

> fan: Through her dad obviously

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landonorris started following you

Part 2

taglist

Please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist or text be if you want to be taken off x

@im-an-overthinker @buendiabebeta @hungryhungariann @ohthemisssery @kenopsiababe @sawendel @enjoymyloves @ricsaigaslec @ravenqueen27 @temqr1 @leclerc16s @theamazingsimplethings-blog @coldmuffinbanditshoe @hotchnisscm97 @moneymasnn @justme2042 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @pleasantducktimetravel @anthonykatebridgerton @lisannehus @hannahholland1811 @lighttsoutlewis @mydutchproblem @dan3avocado @alwaysclassyeagle @cocomiracle @allthisfortommy @soleilgrec @cheeryara-blog @person2345-blog @aquamariene-me @judespoision @sbgal @teti-menchon0604 @darleneslane @flower-name @mehrmonga @paolexsstuff @kiskso @honethatty12 @namgification

#lando norris #f1 #mclaren #oscar piastri #daniel ricciardo #mark webber #ln4 #quadrant #landoscar #dando #landan #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris one shot #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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dumbass-sappho-stan · 30 days

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hit first and hit hard || challengers

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀, 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝘆

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴/𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪꜱᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ 3 ᴛᴏ 4 ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!

🇼🇴🇷🇩 🇨🇴🇺🇳🇹: 7.9k

Part Two !!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙨

It seemed almost trivial when you'd joined your middle school's tennis team as a favor for a friend. She'd prompted you with positive words and affirmations that it'd "just be for the season" and "for fun". Tennis hadn't even crossed your mind only being mentioned for the celebrity players like Billie Jean King or Andre.... well, they weren't important enough for you to remember them. Or the championship with the silly name, "Wimbledon", at first when you'd learned of it you'd thought it was made up.

But it wasn't and you were set up for tennis during your middle school career. But to the shock of yourself and others—you were a fucking good player. You sailed across the court in "gym shoes" (which were really Converse) and baggy school-issued shorts. Being a twelve-year-old girl running around the court and playing fervently was surely tiring but you worked hard and long, strenuous hours.

Every time you'd trip over yourself trying to catch a ball on the other side of the court, you'd get up. You were determined to be good at something; tennis would be it. You didn't particularly know what fired you to work so hard, especially, at a sport you'd joined as a joke.

It seemed strange but lit a deep fire when you stepped on the concrete court, staring at your opponent standing opposite. The fire nipped at your fingertips when you picked up the heavy racquet and the neon atrocity that was the ball.

It made you feel powerful when you slammed, although not the best serve at first, the ball across the court in a serve that would ensue the rally and the pure enigma that followed—the breath of life that was tennis.

You'd worked pretty hard with your doubles partner, the friend who'd invited you, and you both had managed to snag your state female youth's championships doubles title for ages 12 to 14. To say you were pleased was an understatement, you were thrilled. You'd thrown yourself into the sport for the newfound love of it, and it got your parents off of your ass about joining stupid, fucking 'extracurriculars'.

The year after, you were put into the girl's circuit matches during the year and played throughout. Your intense training paid off so much that you'd shed the doubles-only path and managed to play singles. Somehow, by the chance of something holy, you managed to get to the USTA Girls 14s National Championships just before the start of your freshman year.

𝙎𝘼𝙉 𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙂𝙊, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2002

14 years old and deathly terrified, you waltzed to San Diego where you were sure you'd meet your fate (death), to lose to people you were convinced were so much better than you. Even though your love of tennis had thrived, you weren't dumb.

You weren't exactly the richest girl on the block, unlike most tennis players. Tennis, you'd learned that to be extraordinarily good or at least decent, with not a lot of raw talent, required lessons; lessons (the good, professional ones) cost a lot of money. You had benefitted from the fact that your school coach was very dedicated once she'd gauged your true love of the sport and soon forced you into a training routine that you dutifully followed.

But all of that didn't matter as you stepped into the stadium. All that mattered was the talent that you possessed, not the rich girls in their juicy couture, that you wished you could steal off of their bodies, their pristine Nike tennis shoes, or their stupidly expensive tennis outfits. You had yourself and your fabulous Wet Seal white skirt that you'd hand sewn so it looked pleated, sorta.

You walked around the stadium for a while, trying to find the locker room to place your stuff down before your match started. It was against some girl with the sorta name that reminded you of the state of Idaho with how forgetful it was. Nevertheless, you sauntered around the halls until you heard a loud, distracting clamor that came from behind you.

The sound of very loud overlapping voices clouded your mind as they all repeated the same name as if gospel:

𝙏𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝘿𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙣

You had turned your head slightly back to be met with a figure. A tall, beautiful girl entered your vision. And that was the beginning of the end for you.

She walked down the hallway with the entourage of players, adults, and coaches alike following around or behind her. Every step she took felt like the world shook around her, hair slicked back into a ponytail-braid, her outfit branded with some sports brand, and her face... A face that read of more conviction and drive than you'd ever seen in your short life.

You were still walking in an awkward position, head craned backward to gaze at the girl who was a few meters behind. She enraptured you, in more ways than one. It was strange how eye-catching she was, and she must've been popular too if she had everyone following her, or that was your thought process at least. Well you were thinking until from that stupid position you were in, you made eye contact with her.

Her deep eyes had met your own quickly, a flash of confusion on her face before it shifted back to its original stone confidence On the other hand, you had let out a small gasp of embarrassment (?) or some sort of flustered emotion, and scuttled along to the nearest door along the seemingly endless hall.

To your luck, it was the locker room, and even better it was emptier than a school library. Walking to the nearest bench you set your backpack down and let out a shutter, "Jesus Christ.."

You sighed and looked at yourself in the mirror, then began to change, and then you were ready. While you were lacing up your gym shoes, ACTUAL tennis shoes, your mind wandered to that girl again.

Tashi...it made your heart clench up and your palms sweat. Everything about today was beginning to make you panic, especially that girl, but you couldn't think about it much before your coach burst into the empty room. She hollered your name and her voice reverberated throughout the room— you blinked you were on the court and the stupid, forgettable girl stood on the other side of the 24 meters, doing whatever stupid, forgettable girls could do. You started your routine, blocking out anything that was deemed a distraction.

The match soon started, and everything seemed drowned out by you and the girl's grunts. The ball sailed across the net, again and again, but it seemed to be quite the easy game. The no-name girl couldn't backhand for her life and eventually, you caught her during the second set. The poor player simply couldn't take your, albeit shaky, jump serve and the ball barely skimmed the tip of her racquet.

You nearly felt bad for the girl, she looked so enraged when she lost. A forlorn battle cry left her lips, her racquet taking the brunt of the anger as it shattered. The girl's expression wrenched, she reminded you of a wounded animal being left for dead, or already on its way.

Bled out and begging.

Nevertheless, you bustled off the court and into the locker room, your coach had already congratulated you on your way out so you were stranded alone. The vibrant cobalt blue of the lockers almost blinded you upon entry but there were more pressing matters, there she was. "Good game," Tashi emitted, standing in the far back of the room. She looked less, terrifying than before... more human. A slight half-smirk or smile on her face flourished, it appeared almost natural.

"Oh! Thank you," You beamed, your smile widening at her praise, it'd felt like winning again. "It's my first time here so I was sorta hoping to win." A laugh escaped your lips awkwardly, slowly trotting over to where the other girl stood.

"I could tell, you looked as if you were about to like to shoot yourself or some shit," She chuckled drily, rummaging through her things while you stood there, like a statue. A very graceless statue.

"Yeah," You answered meekly with a laugh, though it sounded more like a squeak. You didn't know what about this girl made you sweat, you'd never heard of her, who the fuck was this bitch—Your stream of consciousness was soon cut off at the girl's gaze returning to you.

Tashi's expression had slightly toughened, but you chalked it up to being her opponent. She spoke once more, "Well, I got my game," She slung the huge bag over her shoulder and started on her way, before turning again to face you. "See ya..." She trailed off and awaited your name, giving you an expectant look.

Immediately you complied, sputtering out your name and watching the brunette's eyebrows raise in interest? Or that's what you assumed. Your name rolled off her tongue as she said it aloud, and then a second time to you, offering you that intense stare.

"Huh, well, see ya.." Then Tashi Duncan walked right out of the room. Something sparked in you as you saw the girl leave. You didn't know if it was loathing, admiration, or absolute fucking torment. Hell, to this day you don't know what it was. What you did know was that this girl was something; you wanted to be a part of that something. To be a part of her.

So you were.

𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙍𝙆 𝘾𝙄𝙏𝙔, 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙍𝙆, 2006

𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘊𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳

The sun beaded down on the courts on the day of the US Open. Unforgiving in its light as it scorched the earth's wide terrain, making sure anyone who left the house that day within the sun's climax would surely get a foul burn. But it didn't matter, everyone was there on the day of the US Open. The fourth and final title any tennis player would need to get a Grand Slam and it all took place in the 'Greatest City' in the world as some say.

New (fucking) York.

You'd finally made it, US Open. It was juniors, sure, but the US Open itself felt like a badge of honor. Being here, aged 17, was everything you worked for the past five years. You felt like it was your birthday, Christmas, and waking up to see the goddamn tooth fairy all in one day. You'd walked past your opponent upon entering the court. Something you'd mastered within the past years was the benefit of the poker face. You set down your bulky bag on your side of the court, got your racquet out, and stretched. Your mind went silent as everything was called to a hush.

There was no coin flip, everyone knew who was serving first. But the question was, who would win?

Tashi had always been the better of the both of you.

You both stood, at opposing ends of the court, staring at each other awaiting the next move. Tashi gripped the ball like a vice and gazed at you. It honestly made you feel naked but you didn't show. There was no place in your world right now to fuck this game up. THWACK THWACK THWACK

The ball took its beating as it wafted from end to end on the green concrete. The loud sounds of grunts and cries intermingled, the sheer forces converging.

When playing with Tashi it almost felt as if you were one. Just as you knew what move she would make, she'd predict yours. You gave her your backhand, and she yielded a forehand. Play after play, you both gave a fight worth seeing. At this point it became a game of endurance, to see who could persist under each other's brutal grasp.

If it was a game of who wanted it badly enough Tashi would've won every single time. But a game of spite? That's something you couldn't afford to lose.

It was the last game. Tashi had won the first one, and you had won the second after managing a dive for a ball for a drop shot, subsequently, skinning practically half the skin off your right knee. But it was all worth it. The third game started with the serve and then you played like hell. Your body was not yours in that moment, it was the games. Your legs pounded into the concrete as they sidestepped, swerving and twisting your body to keep up with the rally. It felt as if the rally had gone on forever. You just needed to tie the set and you'd have the advantage.

You could tell Tashi was starting to break, she looked undoubtedly tired but wouldn't let up. The last hit she gave, a loud THWACK was sent across the court and you plunged to get the ball, it barely touched your racquet... The stands erupted in applause for Tashi as an expression of euphoria broke out upon your opponent's features. She won. "COME ON!" A loud battle cry ripped through her as her tennis racquet tumbled to the ground and a smile broke out on her features. A grin had even broken upon yours, watching your best friend win

Rather than shaking hands as typical at the end of a game, you ran to the net, leaped over it, and enveloped her in an air-tight hug. It was returned with the same amount of vehemence, and a peck to the apple of your cheek.

You wanted to slightly cry or maybe even frown at the aspect of losing but you couldn't. Tashi's win was your win, right?

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It's getting hot in here

So take off all your clothes

I am getting so hot...

The music hovered through the air as you and Tashi danced along the dance floor. The party on Long Island seemed a bit daunting to you, going to a social event right after a grueling day full of a tournament in the sweltering sun. But you sucked it up, put on your fetching little dress with high heels, and danced your heart out next to your best friend.

The dresses swung around in tandem while Nelly blasted through the speakers, you laughed with her hooking hands together, spinning throughout the floor.

While dancing you saw the chick Tashi had played before the final, she was sobbing to her parents, looking distraught. "God would you see that chick," You muttered to Tashi's ear, a small smirk forming.

She looked back at the girl, eyebrows raised and a surprised smile. Tashi spoke your name, "I never took you for a bitch," feigning a scold to you, and held your gaze, before busting out in a laugh.

You followed suit, giggling as well. The Russian girl had cursed Tashi out at the end of their match, needless to say, she wasn't the friendliest girl.

"Karma's a bitch, Tash!" A laugh slipped out of your mouth as you practically leaned on Tashi, keeping up dance in between you two. She looked down at you, smiling at your answer with that signature Tashi Duncan grin. Not exactly a smirk, but not an earnest smile.

You returned it, getting lost in her deep brown eyes for a moment, it felt as if on the floor it was just you two. You and Tashi dancing, you didn't know, and maybe would never know, that Tashi knew how you looked at her at that moment. She merely just didn't care.

However, your moment was interrupted by her words;

"Come on, I'm thirsty," She announced, still giving you that impish smile. You only nodded, your wrist was soon snatched up by your friend and promptly yanked off the dance floor. You followed Tashi, finding a cooler nearby, she snatched up two drinks and then led you onto some chairs.

Tashi down first, sipping whatever fruity nonalcoholic drink and you sat on the arm of the chair, of course. You sipped your own drink and stared out in the crowd, but something, no, some guys entered your peripheral vision— they were walking straight toward you. At first, all you could get from the figures was that one was blonde and the other brunette. Upon further inspection, they were the two doubles players, Fire and Ice.

This caused you to nudge your friend with your leg but they'd already appeared.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

By some form of charm and fascination, you found yourself on the beach, smoking a cigarette and captivated by two young men. You came to find that their names were Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig and that they were undoubtedly head over heels. You had a sneaking suspicion they were already members of the Tashi Duncan Fan Club just based on their awestruck faces.

You sat on the rock next to your friend, legs crossed and head turned toward her before shifting to the ocean. A little smile had been laid on your features since meeting with them. They were so.. appealing. If that was a word to describe them. When asked earlier by Tashi, "Who was fire and who was ice?" There was no straight answer so you made one up yourself. "Y'know, I think I've figured you two out." You declared, turning your gaze to them. They both tore their gaze away from Tashi to you.

"What have you figured out?" Patrick inquired playfully, raising his brows unanimously.

"You're fire," You pointed directly at the brunette, "And you're ice." Then pointing to the blonde, a smug smile replaced the other as you took a puff of the cigarette. "Am I wrong?" Art chuckled at the assumption and shrugged, "I don't know is she, Patrick?" He asked his friend, matching your 'matter-of-fact' tone.

Patrick stared at you for a moment, his eyes sized you up, almost the way Tashi did. Confident, all-knowing. From the tips of your heels to the hilt of where your dress dipped into your chest, all the way up to meet your fierce eyes. He readjusted himself in his chair.

"That's up to you, Art." He replied, never breaking the eye contact. This time, Art didn't respond to anyone and only chuckled at the stupidity of the conversation. Though this didn't satiate you, before you could reply with another quip, your phone buzzed.

This caused your face to change as you whisked your shiny light pink Motorola Razr out of the strap of your heel to see who would be calling you—Your mother. "Damnit," You huffed, screening the call and clutching the phone. "Tash, it's my time to go." You started to stand up from the rock, as Tashi turned her head to gaze up at you.

"Your Mom?" "Yeah, who the fuck else." You muttered in annoyance, brushing off the sand that stuck to your leg. Tashi sent you a sympathetic look but she already knew this routine, it wasn't any new to her that your mom would want you back home. Especially, if she knew you were out with random boys.

"Hey, I gotta go, my mom's calling me." You announced to the rest of the company with an awkward grin and some weird hand motion where you limply pointed past them. "Aw really," Patrick whined playfully, "We'll miss you so much," He took a sip of his Coke with a smirk. "Do you really have to go?"

Art joined in, "Yeah, are we that terrible?" He asked teasingly, his lips upturning into a grin that mirrored his friend.

A slight flush had flitted across your face, the awkwardness replaced with a sense of sheepishness. Your reply died on the tip of your tongue as a familiar hug enraptured you from behind. "Oh don't scare her, she's shy. Aren't you?" Tashi jested, giving the boys a flippant glare, her head leaning on the crook of your neck.

You scoffed lightly and rolled your eyes, "No, just tired." A small huff left your lips as you leaned back into your friend's grasp, before turning around and hugging her back tightly. You loved your best friend deeply, she'd chosen you from the start and you still were in awe.

Pulling away from the hug, Tashi kissed the apple of your cheek as always and you grinned.

"Bye Tash," You chirped, finally leaving the sandy rock and onto the beach, passing by the boys before you were stopped by their silly farewells.

"Rude, no goodbye?" Patrick shouted, incredulously with a grin.

Art called out your name, "Bye, I'll see you at Stanford!"

You let out a small giggle to yourself as you skipped off back to your hotel. The boys stared at your figure as it got smaller and smaller, away in the distance.

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Later that night, while lounging in your room, watching stupid mindless late-night television there was a knock at your door. Perplexed, you walked over to the door and opened it to reveal your best friend.

"Tashi?" You asked tiredly, "What the hell are you doing here?" Your eyebrows drew together at her devious smirk, the way she looked at you made you think she was about to tell you something you really weren't gonna like.

"Well, you remember those two boys?" She inquired with her Cheshire smile, and you nodded slowly. "They want us to go to their room!" Tashi squealed, grabbing you by the shoulders happily.

Your expression shifted to one of confusion, "You mean they want you," You corrected with a thin, wiry smile.

Tashi scoffed, "No, they said 'Bring your hot friend too', " She moved her hands from your shoulders to connect with your own. "Please? It'll be fun I swear! They have beer!"

"Tash, I don't know about this," You pouted, trying to appeal that you didn't want to go, "Maybe we should think about this, I mean-" You were unfortunately cut off by her hauling you out of your room by your wrists.

"No, we're going, it'll be fun," Tashi stated with vitality as if it were fact rather than opinion. She pulled you through the corridors of the hotel, which conveniently, you learned, the boys were staying in the same one.

It seemed never-ending, the red and green carpeting looked dirty, and looking at the skeevy carpet did not help the unsettling feeling you had in your stomach. It just didn't make sense that they both wanted you there or maybe the idea of being desirable by guys that hot threw you off a bit.

"Tashi, please promise me that I'm not just being brought along so one guy doesn't hide in that bathroom while you fuck the other?" You look at her desperately, trying to search for an answer that registers in your brain. Tashi only ignored your question by giving you an expression that read, 'Shut up, you'll be fine'.

You've gotten that look throughout your friendship but it felt more militant now. So, you did shut up and kept on walking until eventually the red-carpeted trail ended at room 206, that was when Tashi released you from her iron grip and you two stood at the door.

The sound of the knock echoed throughout the empty hotel halls. There was silence and no one opened the door. The second time you knocked, more like pounded, but a knock nonetheless. Rustling and hushed voices were heard on the other side of the door, causing you and Tashi to both giggle a bit to yourself before the door was opened.

"Hi,"

"Hey,"

They welcomed you into the room, though they both looked reddened and disheveled. The room smelled like cigarettes and looked sloppy as fuck, but what would you expect from two teenage boys?

You and Tashi both took seats on the carpeted floor, and you brought your legs to a criss-crossed position while the boys took the spots across from you two.

"So, did you take like Mommy and me classes together or what?" Tashi asked teasingly, earning chuckles from around the circle. "You guys just seem like brothers."

Art laughed, "Well that's what the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy will do for you," A laugh simmered once more and you quirked your eyebrow.

"Shit, you guys went to boarding school for tennis?" A curious grin blossomed across your face, "I didn't know they had actually had those."

Patrick nodded his head, "Yep, I've been bunkmates with him," he pointed a finger toward Art, "Since we were 12."

You bobbed your head, "That makes sense," The beer can was finally passed to you and you took a sip. "You both definitely have a gayness to you."

Tashi laughed at your words as the boy's faces dropped, not expecting those words to spill from you. It was deathly silent other than you and Tashi's giggling.

"Well, are you?" Tashi asked between laughs, earning another loud laugh from the two of you at Patrick's smirk and Art's panicked spluttering to defend himself and his friend.

"No, we're NOT gay," He corrected with a nervous smile, "Just because people go to boarding school doesn't mean they're gay. It wasn't even all boys, there were girls too." Art seemed pleased with his own explanation but that didn't stop the onslaught of giggles between you and your friend.

"Okay, sure," You snorted, taking another sip of the beer before it was snatched out your of grasp by Patrick. You shot him a playful glare to only be met with one back.

"Though, does this happen often?" Tashi questioned the boys with a flirtatious gaze, "You bring back two girls to your room?" "Or do you usually..?" The words died on the tip of your tongue as you finished the sentence, giving them an expectant expression. A few seconds passed by with no one speaking until...

"Well..." Patrick started, making you and Tashi wheeze in amusement as Art immediately cut him off.

"No."

That was the beginning of the tale of how Patrick taught Art to jerk off. Though you didn't find the conversation all that interesting, hearing about juvenile masturbation wasn't the topic you wanted to listen to. So, you began to space out until the question was turned on the both of you.

"What about you two?" Patrick asked sleazily, a permanent smirk written on his face. "Ever get lonely so you both..." The sentence hung in the air as you and Tashi glanced at each other. You didn't want to answer that question as that was truthfully some personal information that may or may not be true; luckily, Tashi was better at these things.

"That's for us to know and for y'all to find out," She passed the beer to you and you graciously took it from her hands. You resolved to be a bit of an asshole and finish the beer.

"We're out of beer," You put the can down on the carpet and looked at the rest of them, smiling thinly. Internally you were hoping this meant going back to your hotel room and returning to watching infomercials, but unfortunately, that's not what happened. What happened is something that truly signals the beginning of the intertwining between you and these individuals.

Tashi stood up first, her gaze as heavy as lead as she looked down upon the rest of you. The mood of the room had unmistakably shifted into one you weren't sure of, she sauntered to the bed and sat down on it. Her eyes settled on you first as she used her finger to signal you to the bed. You stood up and followed her command senselessly, not knowing what exactly was going to occur.

The two boys had watched the interaction intensely, you hadn't noticed but Tashi did. She always did. Her eyes darted to the boys and then you and a mischievous glint highlighted in her eyes.

She grabbed you by the cheek and stared strongly into your eyes. Your already skittish smile turned to one of confusion as you were confused about what exactly your friend was planning.

Tashi leaned really close to your ear and whispered, "Let's give them the show of their fucking lives," and so you did.

Her lips crashed to yours and before you knew it you were making out with Tashi Duncan. One of her hands had slipped from your face to your ass, and she seized it causing you to exclaim slightly into the kiss but nothing to stop you from it. The intense kissing and touching went on for a while, and her soft hands slid on your exposed thighs as your own hands stayed stationary on her own cheek and waist.

Tashi had pulled away first, her lips pouted from the kissing, to look at you with that same bold gaze but it soon left you in favor of the people who were still on the floor. Your eyes followed her gaze until it landed on them as well; they looked absolutely hungry.

The way they both looked at you reminded you of ravenous lions hunting their prey in the wild. Your hand clutched at Tashi's hair when your mind came to the revelation that the way the boys stared at you made your body feel hot. Hotter than it already was from your make-out session with Tashi.

"Well, are you gonna sit there and watch or join us?" In a flash, the boys clumsily ran to the bed, Art on yours, Patrick on hers. As soon as Art could even lay his eyes on you, his hands and lips followed. Hot kisses were laid on your jugular, but it didn't feel too lascivious, it felt pristine. His touch was soft and once he had dipped his head all the way to your sternum (thank god you had won a tank top), he pulled it away and laid his lips onto yours.

Art's lips were soft and moved rhythmically against yours, you kept up fine and collected his downy blonde curls in your hands. You managed to obtain dominance in the kiss, legs slipping together and locking in with his, your body soon taking precedence over him. His hands moved up and down the small of your back, subtle sounds emitting from his lips that one could classify as moans. It made you feel hotter inside, a deep pool of something warm had clouded your entire bloodstream, only fueled by every movement from the boy who so desperately kissed you. It felt nice to be wanted.

With the eagerness of your own fling you'd forgotten there was an opposite party within your midst, and they were getting it on in the same manner. But what you didn't expect was for Tashi, over the lewd noises, to say anything during the liaisons.

"Okay, switch."

Soon after you removed yourself from Art, begrudgingly, and were snatched up by Patrick. Patrick proved to be the rougher lover, skipping the foreplay and immediately rushing into raw, teeth-clashing kisses that shook you to your core. His hands felt like hot wax over your body as he palmed your breasts and the other slipped into your shorts and onto the smooth skin of your ass, delightfully exemplified by the shortness of them. His kisses were desperate and borderline depraved, you'd never been kissed so passionately before you practically didn't know what to do. Yet you'd let him take the lead after a while, his hand had slipped up from your ass to beneath your shirt, toying with the back of your bra.

Unfortunately for Patrick, the moment was cut abruptly by Tashi, with her ever-persisting smirk, pulled away from Art and nudged him toward you and Patrick, seeing what would transpire. The blonde had slid toward your left and started attacking an open space left at the arc of your neck, leading the brunette to sway to your right side of your neck.

Your whole body felt like it was ablaze, the touch of them both was overwhelming, and the skin-on-skin contact from both boys discerned a deep feeling being dug from you. Your eyes had been wired shut since your switch over to Patrick; they fluttered open for a wink to see one of the most erotic scenes that wouldn't even be found in the chasms of your mind.

Tashi stood a few feet away drinking in the sight with an unreadable but smirking expression. You couldn't tell if she loved the sight because it turned her on, or if she loved that she had this much control over the three of you. Faces and bodies tangled and lips slowly traveled up to your earlobes, and your eyes shut once more as the sensation of the boy's lips traveled to your own within their trail. However, you soon pulled away as the sensation of two people kissing you at once wasn't really a turn-on.

Regardless, by the power of your two open hands, you pushed their heads together as they soon mindlessly locked lips, hands leaving you and they pawed at each other. Leaning back, you watched the scene unfold with ardent interest. This was almost as hot as experiencing it, you suspected as your own smirk spread across your features.

Their kissing continued for a while, you and your best friend watching the boys thoroughly lock lips. But, the moment was not to last, Tashi stepped over and took your wrist, drawing you away from the sinful scene and back into reality.

"Okay, we're done," Tashi announced, a quaint smile on her face while you appeared positively confused and flushed, "It's been nice."

The boys stopped their kissing shortly after to give you both a baffled expression. They both glanced among the two of you, their eyebrows drawn in a line as they tried to configure what the fuck just happened. Patrick always assumed, to this day, that Tashi was just jealous of not being the 'center of attention'. Art, on the other hand, found Tashi to be envious but not about what Patrick presumed about.

"But what about your numbers?" Art asked, sitting up and looking very alarmed. Patrick assumed the same position and expression, they almost looked like twins, if it weren't that they were distinguishable in every way possible.

Tashi paused for a moment, she looked to be in deep thought to the naked eye, but you knew her—she'd planned this. "Well, you'll play for them of course," The words rolled right off her tongue, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. Expressionless, you turned your gaze back to the boys as they looked stunned.

Tashi looked at you to continue, "Oh, uhm...Yeah, may the best player win.." Your cheeks started to burn once more from the mortification from whatever this tryst was finally setting into your brain. The other girl seemed pleased with your answer and toted you along to the door.

She opened it partly, looking them over with that stare, before saying, "We wanna see some good fucking tennis."

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

Hunger hurts

But I want him so bad

Oh, it kills...

Fiona Apple spilled from the shitty iPod you'd set up in a glass cup as a speaker, working on whatever homework was given to you in your classes. Outside of hitting a ball with a stick, you would like some life skills, so... well your major was something you could worry about later. All that mattered now was two things; Tennis and your friends.

Surprisingly, you weren't a complete social reject and you did have friends outside of Tashi and Art, but they weren't actually welcomed. Tashi could fake many things but fake friendliness? She couldn't bring herself to that low level.

Speak of the devil, Tashi waltzed into your room, clad in athleisure. "God why are you listening to wrist-slitting music," She inquired humorously, an impish smile playing on her face, "Lighten the fuck up, this is California."

"What the fuck do people listen to in California?" The slam of your textbook echoed in the small room while Tashi sauntered to your bed. You leaned back and soon your head was in between her knees and you looked up to her.

"I don't know Pitbull?" Her finger flicked at your nose and you flinched, groaning in the process. "Really?" You asked warily, finally standing up with a crack to the back, "That's news to me..."

The girl giggled at your fatigue and let out a sigh, "You're so lame," Rolling your eyes in response you sighed yourself and trained your vision on her. "So, what's up? Why'd you come from your 'precious time with Patrick', " You mocked, "To see me?"

Tashi scoffed, "You're so damn dramatic," She uttered your name with gusto, moving to make space as you dropped onto the bed. The silence was comfortable, the two of you laying there and staring at the popcorn dorm ceiling.

"I think Patrick is in love with someone else."

Sitting up on the bed, your eyes shot down to Tashi's face. Her expression wasn't even of sadness, anger, or anything you could gage as negative. She just looked bored. "What do you mean, 'in love' with someone else?"

She shrugged and looked away from you, "That's just what Art told me the other day after practice," The bed shifted as she turned her whole body to face you. "He mentioned something about Patrick just wanting this to be a sort of fling, or that he wasn't 'committed' enough for me."

A small scoff left your lips, and a skeptical look passed over your features. "How could Patrick not be in love or committed? It's you, Tashi, he's not gonna do any better." You proclaimed affectionately, trying to present a sense of hope for your friend but you knew the dramatic irony of all of this.

Tashi took in your words with a thin smile and nodded, then yawned. "I don't truly care, you know that," Your name fell from her lips, "I just want to rest now if that's fine with you." A reply didn't come from you as you watched her slowly descend into an unprompted nap.

The music still played softly through the room while you were left alone with your thoughts. You knew two things now; One, Art Donaldson was a shady bitch. Two, now he had made it your problem and you were keen on solving it.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

"Art!" The echo of your voice thundered across the Stanford Tennis Courts, provoking the boy to look your way. You stormed into the court with a dynamic expression and at first Art had waved to you with a grin on his features but soon gauged that you looked like you were about to bash his head in.

The distance between you two lessened and lessened, quick strides made til you were feet apart. "Art Donaldson, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Playing... Tennis?" He replied in bewilderment, a gesture to the empty court was made with his racquet that was still in hand. "What's up?" He seemed genuinely confused, which only fueled the wrath you held.

"No, Art, you're not playing fucking tennis, you're playing damn mind games!" Spitefully, you slapped the racquet out of his hand and maintained his gaze. A gloss of paleness overrun Art and his confused expression shifted to one of bitterness.

"Listen, whatever you've heard about-"

You cut him off, "No, what I've heard about is that you're spewing bullshit to both of my friends and I don't fucking like it." Art scoffed and rolled his eyes at your statement, "What bullshit is that?" He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That Tashi doesn't love Patrick and Patrick doesn't love Tashi," You replied with vigor, narrowing your eyes at his aloofness about your remarks. The blonde gave you a thin smile, "And?"

It took a great amount of restraint to not punch his face in as being an asshole is something you'd never taken Art for. "And? What do you mean and?" You paused for a beat to see if he'd respond, it stayed quiet. "You're fucking up both of our friend's love lives," You continued, "That's, oh I don't know? Wrong?"

He had looked like he was listening but still said nothing to you. "Well? Have you anything to say for yourself? About your actions?" This did cause Art to let out a long sigh and meet your eyes.

"I mean, what do you want me to do?" He asked you tiredly, "Watch my best friend basically leave the girl of my dreams for weeks at a time, to come back for only 5 seconds to then leave again?"

It struck a despairing chord within you when he uttered the phrase 'girl of my dreams' but tried to not let it phase you. It wasn't about you, it never was, it was about Tashi.

"Yes, Art! That's exactly what I want you to do," You groaned with annoyance at his selfishness, it amazed you how selfish this boy was. "You're supposed to push your feelings aside for your friends, Art," Admonishing him finally seemed to make him look even smaller in front of you as his shoulders slightly sagged.

He looked up at you for a beat, with those sad teardrop-blue, puppy dog eyes begging for pity. You almost gave in like last time, quarreling and then awakening up to find yourself in his bed the next morning, but it wouldn't be like last time. You were soft back then, you had to stand on business.

When you didn't budge he looked even sadder if that was possible but you kept your gaze on him, "I know it's hard to think of what would've happened if you'd won that match. At this point ask for a rematch if you're this desperate," You grumbled, but this caused Art to perk up a bit with, finally, a passionate look in his eyes to match yours.

"Oh, shut up," Art snarled, "You're so fucking hypocritical as if no one sees the way you look at Patrick. Or the way Patrick looks at you," A nervous flush soon reddened your face, you couldn't deny he was right.

There were flirtations here and there from Patrick but that was just his natural manner, or that's at least what you told yourself. It was normal that he'd walked onto you changing one too many times, or commented on every single fling you'd had since meeting you, or how... You stopped listing the reasons that his actions were 'normal' in your head as you were met with Art's harsh gaze. Which was quite frankly terrifying to be under.

So, you broke first and in one swift motion your hand was on his face and your lips crashed onto his.

Safe to say there was no more discussion.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

Waking up in Art Donaldson's bed is not one of your proudest accomplishments. It's transpired too many times for you to count but every time it happens you feel a little shred of your self-respect wither away. His body was partly laid on top of you and his head was buried in the valley of your chest. You observed how peaceful he looked as he slept, blonde curls tousled and messed up from the night before and pink lips perfectly pouted.

Everything seemed peaceful in these moments, it was even better than the pillow talk Art always seemed to have while you were attempting to get your sleep. Though in your mind everything was but peaceful. You couldn't seem to shake the ache of what Art had said the day before.

The girl of his dreams, eugh, it made you want to crucify yourself on a burning cross. You always knew the two boys were wrapped around Tashi's finger but you had convinced yourself you fit in somewhere right? That you were liked by Art? I mean he had to, you'd been both fucking for about a year since you'd gotten to Stanford! He'd always gotten jealous when you had other men around, he had to love you just as much...or at least a little? You were a person who existed outside the realm of Tashi's Tennis world... Right?

Clenching your eyes shut you let out a shuttering breath before reconnecting back to reality. You had to get out of this damn dorm room. You tried to slip out of the bigger boy's grasp upon you but it worked to no avail. He only whined and pulled you closer.

"5 more minutes," Art muttered and buried his face further into the skin. Sighing you drove him off of you harshly, leaping out of the bed and starting the search for your previously discarded clothes. This action caused an even louder whine from the male as he finally awoke from his tranquil slumber to observe you. He pouted at the sight of you leaving.

"Do you really have to go?" Art asked as if the events of yesterday had never happened, "I know your schedule you don't have any classes today." Throwing on whatever clean shirt of Art's that was available you didn't respond to him, too busy with your own thoughts. The lack of an answer only made the blonde pout more and he sighed dejectedly.

"You know I love you right?"

The blood ran cold in your veins, "Excuse me?" Your head whipped toward the bed-bound boy, an indecipherable expression on your face. This compelled Art to smile, taking this as a sign of you being shocked that he could love you, that this was the shock of happiness. Oh, how the blonde was so wrong.

"I love you," He said your name tentatively, every syllable dripping from his lips like sweet honey, "I've loved you since that day at the beach."

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you felt yourself consumed by an indescribable misery from inside. What sick joke was he playing on you? Lamenting on the lack of Tashi's love to express his to you? He was definitely playing with you.

"I... I don't know what the fuck you're playing at Art," Your voice trembled with rage, "But it has to stop right now." Art's once joyful expression shifted to one of confusion, something he seemed to love to do these days.

"What?" He asked, "I'm not playing at anything, I love you?" It sounded like a phrased question that caused you to scoff. You snatched up your shoes from the door and angrily put them on, ignoring the way he had started to call your name.

"No, the fuck you don't Art!" You shouted, silencing the boy in front of you, "You think you're always fucking winning and that you're the good one! That you're not fucking around with other people because no one would ever expect that of you!" Your voice quivered under the overwhelming amount of emotion you felt.

"God, I feel like I'm fucking shadowboxing here, you drive me fucking crazy." The tears felt cleansing against your dried face, "I can't keep playing this game anymore, Art. You're too much."

The room went noiseless for a beat, when you finally turned your teary eyes to Art he looked speechless. It stayed like that for a few minutes, the both of you staring at one another. His mouth finally opened:

"Are we talking about Tennis?"

The door slammed on your departure from Art Donaldson's dorm and you didn't see yourself coming back anytime soon.

🇪🇳🇩 🇴🇫 🇵🇦🇷🇹 🇴🇳🇪

Part 2 is here! Please read it!

Please like or comment, and thank you for reading <3

#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers #challengers x reader #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #challengers 2024 #tashi donaldson #x reader #fem reader #angst #art donaldson smut #challengers fanfic #patrick zweig #love square

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sillysealll · 4 months

Text

(edited)

Batkids gang!AU

So this post will be the checkpoint for this AU

The stuff written around the characters on this drawing are, for the most part, obsolete (especially the ages) or will be slightly changed so only use the character cards as references for them (found in the story's parts)

Some lil details : this AU takes place in the YJ cartoon universe during the 5 (?) years gap between season 1 and 2 (bc I never got over the 1st season). So as you must've guess it we'll see the team, minus Robin obviously,, It is also mostly Dck-centered

I'll try as much as I can to not be too ooc but they're all aged down and most the stuff they went through hasn't happen yet in this universe, only the formative ones kinda..? But they're not vigilantes here, just street kids trying to survive together.

And finally this is just me having fun with the DC universe, please don't take this too seriously. It is mainly supported by headcanons of mine. Im no comics writer and errors will most likely be made but hey that's part of the game and I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless !

--This AU was inspired by the fic The Birds by @oceanera12 on AO3 read it it's so good--

The story :

here’s the beginning !!

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Extras : how the gang came to be , pile of siblings , them being siblings

#dc comics #dick grayson #robin #tim drake #jason todd #Damian Wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #Dw Barbara is somewhere #batkids gang au

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Text

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

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#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia!au #mafia boss price #assistant reader

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