#soft tennis anime

[jellycatfriends]

amuseable sports tennis ball by jellycat

[sorryicantquitequeeryou]

I have not gushed about this anime in a long while, so here we go!

Very pretty animation and design

Each character has a unique personality with their own struggles in life that you get to learn a little bit about

Heavy real-life topics are handled in a manner that validates the issues without making the anime as a whole feel too heavy

Friendships and bonds form as they all work hard to better their soft tennis skills

Different body types and shapes

All the kids, portrayed as bullies or not, are not portrayed as bad people and you get insight into their life, why they act how they do

There is a FtM Transgender character and a Non-binary character

This anime was cut short and might not be able to finish unless we start talking about it. People need to show that they like/love this anime enough to want a second season. This means we need conversations, we need fanart, we need fanfics, and we need to watch it over and over again on Hulu, Funimation, and/or Crunchyroll! Not illegally, because that doesn't get seen by the companies that we're trying to convince to buy another season of the show.

So let's hop to it guys. This show has been way better than an escape for me, it's been a safe place. With how many real-world topics and struggles are represented in the show, there's a good chance it could be a safe place for you as well.

[melto]

hello. hello can anyone fucking hear me.

[w1tchcr4ftt]

I’ve made the executive decision that Jubilees hair constantly looks like it’s flowing beautifully in the wind despite his hair looking like a cartoon electrocuted scientists

[jewishsuperfam]

karma is such an ass

i was just laughing about how much prince of tennis my friend is gonna have to watch

and now i have to watch nine seasons of teekyu and like 76 eps of ace wo nerae

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flirts IV

Mapi León x Reader x Ingrid Engen

Summary: You have to go

It's not that you don't want to be there because you do.

It's that you have to go away for a surgery.

There's some rich woman in California who needs you to operate on her cat. She's paying an extortionate amount for your services and sending a private jet to pick you up.

You love those kinds of pet owners, the ones with enough money to fly in the very best if only because of the clear love they have for all of their pets.

But they're also clients you can't deny.

If someone wants to fly you out for enough money to keep a family afloat for a year, someone with enough influence to make or break anybody's career, you can't say no.

Even if your girlfriend is fighting for Euro's qualification.

"Do you have to go?" Mapi asks, sitting inside of your unpacked suitcase like she was Bagheera in a box.

Honey sits on the bed, head in her paws as she waits, tail wagging, for Mapi to throw her tennis ball.

"Yes," You say, trying to choose between your purple or your blue scrubs," It's a lot of money. Enough for that fancy holiday to the Maldives you guys want to take."

"But it takes you away from us," Mapi whines and Ingrid makes an agreeing noise from over by the door.

"I've travelled for work before."

"You're going to miss my match," Ingrid says and a pit forms in your stomach.

Before this job came up, you and Mapi were meant to be travelling to Norway to see Ingrid's last Euro Qualifiers game before going off in a camper van with her parents.

You'd still make it to the last part, depending on what the labs for this cat came back as but you'd have to miss the match.

You reach out for her, drawing her closer by the waist and resting your head on her chest.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I am, really. I can call up and cancel if you really want me to. I know a guy to recommend instead."

Ingrid sighs, her chin sitting on the top of your head. "No," She says," That cat needs the best care possible. We all know you're the best. Go and be a hero."

"I'd hardly be a hero. It's just surgery."

"Surgery for some woman that clearly adores her pet cat. What you do saves lives. I think that makes you a hero."

"You're so sweet, Ingrid."

"And hot!"

You laugh. "Thanks for that, Mapi. I'm sure she knows that seeing as you tell her everyday."

Mapi shrugs with a smirk on her face. "I'm sure it's nice to be reminded."

Honey whines on the bed and you roll your eyes.

"Throw the ball already. She's getting impatient."

Mapi frowns, waving the ball around.

Honey's eyes dart around erratically to follow it.

"She isn't barking, though?"

You laugh, crossing the space to take the ball and lay a soft kiss on Mapi's lips. "Because she's well-behaved, Mapi. She knows not to bark unless it's an emergency."

You throw the ball up and down to make sure Honey's still watching before you launch it out of the room.

She's off like a shot as Ingrid hauls Mapi out of your suitcase.

You still feel guilty though, through the flight, through the labs, through everything.

The cat is cute one, a little tortoiseshell with an amicable nature and a complete lack of awareness of her surroundings.

You've always been an animal person. You've always loved all of them but living with Mapi and Ingrid has just given you an even newer appreciation for cats.

The checkup happens quickly and the labs are already done and completed by the time you arrive.

Money really does move things along because all the charts are perfect and after what should have been a week long wait to begin, you manage to take a day to get over your jetlag and get to work immediately the day after.

Surgery is simple to you. It's easy and soon enough the cat is halfway to recovery.

You don't quite understand how private planes are hired and sent out, if someone has to book a runway days in advance or if they're open indefinitely.

The original plan had been for you to take a week to do this but now it's all done, you don't quite know what to do with yourself apart from stew in guilt.

You had planned to take your mind off Ingrid's game by throwing yourself into work.

You have no work though and can't help but imagine yourself in Norway with your girlfriends, curled up in Mapi's arms while Ingrid whispers to you.

You swipe away a tear as you head down for dinner, your host gracious enough to treat you to a meal for all your good work.

You've gone radio silent to your girlfriends but neither are surprised.

You're always like that when you go out of the country for work, focused only on your patient. You want no distractions.

Mapi sits slumped in her seat next to Ingrid watching Norway play their last qualifier, sighing to herself as she looks at pictures of the three of you together.

"What's with the pout?" Ingrid teases, running her thumb over Mapi's jutted out bottom lip.

"I miss her," Mapi mutters, feeling a bit like a little kid sulking.

"I know but she'll be here soon and then we go out exploring with my parents before heading back home for preseason. It's not that long of a wait."

"I don't want to wait at all."

"I know but-"

A body slumps down on Mapi's other side and both of them turn.

"I'm not really a fan of this hotdog," You say," It's not bad but I guess I'm not that hungry. Do you want some Mapi?"

You don't get an answer from her because she crushes you into a hug. The hotdog that you regrettably bought squishes between your bodies.

You don't complain though, especially when Ingrid moves into the hug as well, tightening her grip around the both of you.

"I thought you couldn't make it?"

"Money talks," You tease," And the owner felt a bit of pity when I told her that I'd have to watch this match on tv. Chartered a jet for me to come straight here."

"And the cat?" Mapi asks.

"The cat's good. Recovering."

"I'm so happy you're here."

"We're both happy," Ingrid says," So, so happy."

You grin at your girls, the smiling splitting your face.

"I'm happy to be here too."

[bunnyrafe]

𓊆ྀིhow father figure bf!rafe & soft pogue!reader met…and some bits ‘n pieces of their first time being naughty, of course.𓊇ྀི

content / warnings -> 18, MDNI. 600 f!reader, age gap, fooling around in public, daddy kink.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Rafe Cameron’s voice falls on your ears and makes you jump like startled kitten. He’s leaning over the bar with an empty scotch glass in his hand, eyeing you carefully. Almost like he could eat you alive if you make one wrong move…

It’s understandable thats he’s never seen you when you’ve barely left The Cut before. You never had a reason to, but now that you’ve been forced to get a job, the easiest place to run to was The Island Club.

Serving drinks to kooks and dirty old men in a little tennis skirt is not how you want to spend your days, but if it keeps a roof over your head you can’t complain.

“It’s, um— my first day…” Your response is quiet. You’re afraid to look him in the eye— you’ve always been demure, especially around people who were born into status on the island.

You’re sure all he sees is another pogue. A derelict. After all you’ve heard he’s the newly crowned king of Figure 8 now, whatever that’s supposed to mean… but Rafe doesn’t see that in you at all as he examines your smaller form, and the way your hands shake as you polish pint glasses.

Instead he sees a sweet girl with beaten up sneakers. A girl who’s in need of guidance and a warm environment to drown herself in, in need of someone strong and dependable in her life. You need to be held at night, and to be swept away from The Cut and plopped right into his mansion…

“Right.” Rafe sniffs once, as if he’s trying to clear his head.

And he is, because he’s sure you’re freshly twenty-one while he’s thirty and getting older every damn day…

That day you both left it at that.

But lucky for you, that’s the first of your many interactions with Rafe Cameron. Most days he’s talkative, asking random questions about your upbringing and hogging all of your attention at the bar for himself. Some days he’s grumpier than others— doesn’t even look at you while he grumbles what he wants and gulps it down a single moment later.

It’s always scotch. Or whiskey. Or bourbon.

Until one night it isn’t and suddenly all he wants is you alone. No chaser. He’s yanking you into the staff only bathroom with a harsh grip on your arm that has you whining like a wounded animal in the hallway. You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before with other servers that were just as naive as you seem to be.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he groans against your already spit slick lips, lifting you up onto the counter in one swift movement, “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and this little skirt, even when I’m fuckin’ working.”

“Do you say that to every girl you drag in here to fuck?” You whisper back, trying to rile him up but also fearing the brutal reality of it all. Since, at the end of the day, you’re fucking around with the man who can get whatever he want.

“Watch that pretty mouth of yours,” he snarls. His palms run along your soft thighs, helping you spread them even more to make room for him between your legs. You cling to him when his hand snakes down the front of your cute panties, gasping while he mumbles against your heated cheek, “Daddy doesn’t wanna be harsh on you so soon.”

“Daddy—” you choke the title out in utter disbelief, with your eyes fluttering shut and rolling back into your head just as his rough fingers rub over your clit in teasing circles, forcing your whole body to lean into him for more.

“That’s it, angel.”

He coos the words to you, determined to make you return to your closing shift with messy panties and the taste of him lingering in your mouth… “Already s’good for me.”

©BUNNYRAFE 2024

[mothdruid]

All the Work

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig x afab!reader

summary: you are Art's tutor, Patrick is a bad influence and always crashes your tutor sessions. but today you're more than okay with it.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, oral sex (female and male receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, pet name (princess and baby), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n: finally! some challengers fic!! these two have moved into my brain and refuse to leave! I hope you all enjoy!! @gretagerwigsmuse here you go babes (this is barely proofread btw, so sorry)

When you offered to tutor Art Donaldson you thought that would be it. You hadn’t been expecting his nosy and obnoxious friend. They felt like polar opposites when you looked at them. The soft and reserved Art, who seemed to be careful about the words he said to you and texted you. But Patrick was careless and all consuming, a wildfire engulfing everything in it’s path. If Patrick was at the apartment while you were there no studying got done. Art would simply shrug and just offer a smile before joining Patrick in whatever nonsense he was doing.

Which was currently happening, both downing beers and watching animal planet.

Art and Patrick were on the couch, Patrick’s arm thrown over the back with Art leaning towards him but leaving a small amount of space between them. As much as you wanted to just call it quits and leave you didn’t, something kept you in the apartment, a gravitational pull of sorts. Instead you remained at the kitchen table, books and papers that you and Art abandoned still covering it.

You only started paying attention to the program about half way through. It was about mating rituals for some animals. Patrick had something to say about every single one, Art chiming in every now and then with a joke or to agree with Patrick.

“Can you imagine that shit?” Patrick took a swig of his beer, “Dancing around and putting on a show to get laid, that’d be embarrassing.”

Art chuckled at his comments. You simply rolled your eyes.

“Isn’t that what you guys already do?” You added.

“She speaks!” Patrick teased, turning around to face you.

His arm was still across the back of the couch, his bicep flexed a little. Art simply rolled his head back to try and look at you, blonde curls moving against his forehead. You looked at them, noticing something different in their gazes, something that made your insides churn and warm.

“Isn’t that what you two play tennis for? Look good and strong so people fawn over you?”

Art looked over and smiled at Patrick, who was currently putting on his best ‘deep in thought’ look. Patrick eventually clicked his tongue and gave you a boyish grin.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Right, Art?” Patrick looked over to Art, grin still wide.

“I- I don’t know if I’d say that,” Art murmured loud enough for you to hear it.

“Come on now, Artie,” Patrick took a drink of his beer, “tell the girl what she wants to hear. We play tennis for the ladies, not because we enjoy it or anything.”

There was a bite in Patrick’s voice that time, one that you blamed the beer for. Art was only on his second beer, but Patrick was probably on his fourth or fifth. You rolled your eyes once more, turning to try and focus on the assignments once more. You hated the way that Patrick was able to crawl under your skin, find that one spot that always got your anger bubbling. But then Art would be there later, when he walked you to your car apologizing, telling him that he won’t let it happen again, even if you know it’s a lie. When you peaked back at them Art was leaning into Patrick, who was whispering something into his ear. You looked away, not wanting to become more frustrated with the situation.

“Hey,” it was Art this time, “come sit with us, forget the homework.”

Art was practically hanging off the back of the couch now. His chest was pressed to the cushions, arms hanging out while making grabby hands towards you. Patrick’s arms were out of sight now, only his chin resting on the back of the couch. They seemed to have traded personalities at that moment, Patrick looking small while Art was begging for you. You stared at them for a moment, eventually letting out a huff and a ‘fine’.

Art and Patrick high fived while you were walking over. They scooted apart a little, leaving just enough space for you to fit between them. It wasn’t a lot of room, your thighs touching both Patrick and Art’s. Heat was radiating from them, seeping through your skin to melt and entangle with the heat forming in your body. The concoction was already intoxicating and you had only had a sip of their body heat, nothing more. Patrick slid an arm across the back of the couch, leaning in a little closer to you. Art cradled his can of beer in his lap, also leaning in a tiny amount closer to you.

“Can you imagine that?” Patrick’s voice got low.

The program that was on had started talking about animals who had a more carefree mating style. Hyenas, Bonobos, and many others. Animals who engaged in polygamy and more. It was currently talking about the Bonobo, a primate that happily engaged in orgies, threesomes, and even more at times.

“I’m not sure,” you started, “it seems like a lot of work.”

The concoction of heat was rising up through your body. Patrick looked at you with a little smirk, not a devilish one like he normally did. Art’s hand grazed your thigh, grabbing your attention from Patrick. All your annoyance from before had melted away when you saw Art’s eyes. There was only a small ring of blue around his blown out pupils. The back of his fingers continued to ghost over the material of your leggings, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. It was trance like, hypnotic blue eyes with the rhythm of his fingers. The heat of Patrick’s breath ghosted over your neck now. You weren’t sure when he had moved your hair to expose your skin.

“What if we did all the work instead?”

When you turned to Patrick his nose grazed your cheek, lips incredibly close to yours. You could barely make out the color of his eyes with him this close, a glimpse of a bluish green color was all you could make out. One of his hands drifted up your shoulder, his fingertips ghosting up in a similar manner to Art’s but along your neck. Patrick’s touch was scalding hot, turning that bubbling heat inside of you into something more explosive.

The kiss was sloppy, Patrick’s tongue pushing past your lips immediately. You could taste the cheap beer and a hint of cigarette on his tongue. His hand cupped the side of your face as the rhythm continued. You leaned a little further into Patrick, his free hand moving to cup your chest. Your right hand grabbed at Patrick’s thigh, needing to ground yourself in the smallest amount. At the same time, Art’s hand started to knead the meat of your thigh, gently guiding your thighs open at the same time.

A whimper left you, Patrick consuming and silencing it. Art’s hand had found the apex of your thighs, rubbing against your clothed cunt. The sensation spurred you to kiss Patrick with a bit more force, your breast pressing tightly into Patrick’s hand. Art continued to send muted waves of pleasure with each roll of his wrist. Your hips started rolling to meet Art’s movements, wanting more and more. You broke away from Patrick, turning to meet Art’s gaze again.

“Art,” you whimpered.

Patrick had already attached himself to your neck, eyes watching the two of you. You reached out with your left hand for Art, him immediately moving forward to meet it. Your lips collided with Art’s while you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. Your other hand had found its way into Patrick’s dark curls, tugging lightly as you let him continue to lap at your skin. Your body moved in tandem with the two of them.

Patrick moved a little behind you to let your back meet his chest fully. The hand you had in his hair slipped down to the hand kneading your chest, covering it and mimicking his motions. Patrick’s other hand moved down the side of your body, pulling up the hem of your shirt to expose some skin for both him and Art. The hand between your thighs moved up, fingertips grazed your skin. Patrick’s hand left your breast, fully grabbing your shirt and pulling it further up your torso. That was when the kiss broke. Art’s lips slightly agape as he stared at you, eyes flicking between you and Patrick.

“This okay?” Patrick whispered, pulling your shirt further up.

Art’s fingers spread over your skin, eyes trained on you. You kept your eyes locked with Art’s as you grabbed both of Patrick’s hands, guiding your shirt up further and exposing your bralette to them. Patrick chuckled and finally rid you of your shirt completely. After tossing your shirt to the side, Patrick cupped both of your breasts and tugged on your nipples over the material. A moan escaped you at the sensation of the flimsy material pinching into your nipples under Patrick’s fingers.

“That’s it, let it out,” Art encouraged.

You pushed against Patrick’s grip again, arching your back and pushing your ass back into his hardening cock. You hadn’t realized the feeling of his cock on your lower back and ass immediately, having been so caught up in your own pleasure. Patrick let out a groan when he felt you grind your ass back into him. Art’s cheeks were flushed as he sat there and watched the two of you.

“Fuck,” Art groaned. He grabbed at his own hardened cock, jerking himself off over his shorts.

Patrick’s lips grazed the skin of your shoulder for a moment, only for him to bite the strap of your bralette and guide it down your shoulder. The hand for that mesh cup pulled it down, exposing your tit fully. Art’s mouth was on your tit immediately, tongue caressing and flicking your hardened nipple. Moans fell from your lips, Patrick’s cheek on your shoulder as he watched Art and guided your other bralette strap down.

Blue eyes were staring up at you, or maybe they were looking at Patrick. As you watched Art lav at your sensitive bud, Patrick’s hand came around to thread through Art’s hair, tugging lightly on the blonde curls and earning a moan from him. The vibrations from Art’s moans went straight to your cunt, making it flex and tighten to nothing more than the simple sensation and sounds.

“Look at you two,” Patrick groaned, “so fucking hot.” With those words Patrick tugged on Art’s hair a little rougher and pinched your free nipple.

Art let out a whimper that time, not expecting such a harsh tug that time. You brought one hand up to Art’s hair, covering Patrick’s with your own. Slowly your hand drifted down and rested on Patrick’s wrist. After giving a quick squeeze you started guiding it down the side of Art's neck, eventually pulling it towards your center. Patrick got the hint and chuckled.

“Use your words,” Patrick growled into your skin.

“Touch me,” you whimpered out.

“Where?” Art murmured against your tit.

That’s when you felt Art’s fingers dip below the sides of your waistband.

“Touch my pussy.”

“That’s it,” Art smiled at you and started to remove your leggings and underwear.

As soon as you were bare Patrick’s fingers dove between the lips of your cunt, finding your clit immediately. Art finished removing the fabric from your ankles and pushed your legs apart, bending down to press kisses to the inside of your thighs. Art was trailing up the inside of your thighs, Patrick’s fingers continuing the movements on your clit. Both of their names were starting to fall from your lips, a gasp coming from you when you felt Art’s tongue drag over your slick cunt and roam around Patrick’s fingers. Patrick moved his hand from your tit to your hip, trying to keep you from bucking too wildly. Art’s hands slipped around your legs, keeping you even more in place for him to lick at you.

“Fuck,” Patrick groaned while rolling his hips into your ass.

Art’s tongue slipped below your clit, pushing into your entrance and lapping at the juices flowing from your. The two of them sat there worshiping you in tandem. It wasn’t long before you were falling apart for them, coming on Art’s tongue and Patrick’s fingers. Patrick stayed circling on your clit for a moment, slowly drifting lower through your folds to meet Art’s mouth. You watched with shaky breath as Patrick pushed his glistening fingers into Art’s mouth. Art groaned around them, keeping them in his mouth as Patrick guided Art back up to the both of you.

Art’s mouth was glistening when he came back up to the two of you. Your chest was still heaving, trying to regulate itself after an orgasm of such magnitude. The both of them had taken notice of that, meeting each other’s lips instead of yours. You laid there resting against Patrick’s chest as you watched them make out. It was messy, Patrick’s tongue diving into Art’s mouth to taste you. They were both moaning and groaning over your taste.

You let out a whimper to let them know that you were ready for them. It caught Art’s attention, him breaking the kiss with Patrick. Patrick didn’t let up though, trailing open mouthed kisses down Art’s jawline and neck. Art brought a hand up to your cheek and pulled you forward meeting his lips and letting you taste what was left of you on his tongue.

Patrick leaned back from the two of you for a moment, pulling off his own shirt and then finally unclasping your bra. Once both were removed he pressed his bare chest to your back. You rolled your hips back into his while reaching forward and cupping Art through his gym shorts. Patrick mouthed at your neck and shoulder, hand coming around to rub at your sensitive clit.

“I need your mouth,” Art groaned into your mouth.

You pushed up off of Patrick and moved to lay Art back against the couch. Art started taking off his shorts and boxers before your fingers even moved to the wrist band, signaling how eager he truly was for this.

His cock was prettier than you imagined, a sparse amount of sandy blonde hair framing it. You cupped his balls first, rolling them lightly and listening to his groans. You helped position Art’s legs on either side of your knees, making it easier to bend over and take him in your mouth. Art gasped the first time he felt your tongue on the soft skin of the head of his cock. You kept rolling his balls in your hand and you took him further into your mouth. Patrick could be heard moving around on the couch behind you. That’s when you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance and hands on your hips. With a moan you pushed your hips back, an urge to get Patrick to fuck you.

It was an overwhelming sensation for a moment. The thickness of Patrick’s cock was splitting you open, all while Art’s cock was heavy on your tongue. Art groaned as you took him deep into your throat unexpectedly, the tightness of your throat spurring him to thrust up a little. You moaned around him as Patrick pulled back for a moment, only to thrust forward with force. Patrick’s thrusts were pushing you further and further forward onto Art’s cock. Small gagging and gurgling noises started to come from you, drool forming around your lips. Art’s hand moved to your hair and tugged you off him for a moment.

“So fucking greedy,” Art growled. He gripped his cock by the base and tapped it on your tongue, which you happily held out for him.

“Greedy is right,” Patrick thrust a little harsh, “her pussy is so fucking tight, meant for this.”

Art guided you back onto his cock. You moaned at the taste of him on your tongue once again.

“Wanna fuck that pussy too,” Art thrust up into your mouth as he spoke.

Patrick let out a cross between a whimper and groan before he pulled out. A hand moved from your hip to the back of your neck, tightening and pulling you up off Art’s cock.

“Go on, princess, let Art fuck that pussy.”

Even though you were more than happy to be in the position you were in, that pet didn’t send thrills through you. You shot a dirty look to Patrick over your shoulder, earning that devilish smirk from him. Patrick leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“Go on, baby,” Patrick whispered to you.

Art was lightly pumping his cock when you looked back at him. A rosy flush was covering from his cheeks to his chest, which matched the red tint that his waiting cock had. You moved your legs on either side of him, planting one on the floor due to lack of room on the couch. There was barely any time to line Art up, his neediness getting the better of him. Within mere seconds of positioning yourself above him he was thrusting up into you. Art didn’t have the same girth as Patrick, but his cock still felt heavenly inside of you. And he didn’t let up.

Thrust after thrust you were a moaning mess above Art. Your hands were scrambling to find purchase on his chest. Each thrust was hitting that perfect spot inside of you. The leg that you hand on the ground was starting to shake, the ability to balance starting to allude you. Patrick moved up behind you, snaking his hands under your shaking legs. Patrick used some of his strength to take on some of your weight, allowing you to relax a little.

“Fuck!” Art groaned as you felt his abdomen tense below your touch.

Art pushed his hips tightly to where you were connected, rutting desperately to feel closer. Hot cum filled your insides, your walls clenching tightly around Art. You could feel that Patrick was still hard against your ass, reminding you of what was still to come. Art’s breath was coating your chest as you leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. During that motion Art’s cock slipped out of you, to which was quickly replaced by Patrick’s.

Patrick’s grip was tight on your hips, almost as tight as your cunt on his cock. Patrick groaned as he watched his best friend’s cum leak out of you and coat his dick. You could barely hold yourself up anymore, Art letting you rest on his chest. Patrick leaned over you, his chest covering your back once more. His thrusts were starting to become more harsh and forceful. He pressed a few kisses to your shoulder before leaning forward and meeting Art’s lips once more. After a few more thrusts both you and Patrick were coming.

The three of you laid there in a pile for a while. Patrick was softening inside of you, but still keeping both his and Art’s cum safe in you while placing kisses on your shoulder. Art was running a hand up and down Patrick’s shoulder and back. You were trailing your fingers around on Art’s chest. The program on TV had changed by that time, now showing something shark related.

Patrick hesitantly moved his hips, his dick slipping out of you. A shuddering breath left you at the feeling of their cum starting to drip out of you. You didn’t even move when you felt a shifting on the couch cushion, Patrick getting up to track down a washcloth. It felt relaxing to actually just lay there against Art, finally not having to fully focus on anything.

When Patrick returned he cleaned you up as gently as he could, or at least that was what he claimed. Art pressed a kiss to your forehead before you got up, swiping the wash cloth from Patrick. After cleaning yourself you softly wiped Art’s cock clean, then turned and cleaned Patrick’s too. Patrick stole the washcloth and took it to the bathroom again, returning to find you and Art still in the nude and cuddling in the same position. Patrick simply moved into his former position with his chest to your back. Patrick tossed the old knit blanket on the back of the couch over the three of you. All of you just watched the shark program in silence for a moment, Patrick breaking the silence.

“Hope that wasn’t too much work,” he said quietly.

Art let of a huff of amusement.

“Not when it’s the two of you.”

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

We went from 2 pets that were generally very gentle with their toys and liked to cuddle with stuffed animals to 2 pets that want to KILL (but are somehow even snugglier and people friendly than the first 2)

[gladiatorcunt]

pwetty please more dom art, switch patrick, sub reader. that blurb was so so good i think “Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” may be the hottest thing anyone has ever said ever actually

# 🫀HONEST HEARTS 🪤 !!

cw: WEIRD VIBES, dom art switch patrick sub reader coded, heavy on the art x patrick, breeding kink/pregnancy/ambiguous baby trapping (???), art’s lowkey mean, daddy kink (referring to patrick), patrick calls you a slut, oral (afab reader receiving), patrick’s sandwiched in between you & art, anal sex (m receiving), summer heat will have you displaying behaviors and acting in ways, ambiguous era, feminization (one use of “mama” not in a mommy kink way), stream of consciousness style writing, they’re gross but so are you, reader having a hamlet holding up the skull moment

Art fucks Patrick like a bat out of hell, you lie beneath them wet and wanting as you watch patrick’s sweaty body flail around like a ragdoll. Art squishes your bodies together, pressing his weight against Patrick's back. There’s so much pressure on your lungs, you’re scared you’ll pop. The humid July air is so thick around you that the plush bedding feels swathed in a soft old film yellow tint, you and Patrick swap glassy eyes when his tip finally sinks into your tight ass. No lube in sight, you want pain that only skinny dipping in a private river after dark will fix. Reminders of youth, the sting from the current as it travels through the indents of teeth.

You would think Art had become a ferocious shark, inky pupils dripping onto Patrick's shoulder blades and toothy grins, feral and lead only by his cock at the first scent of blood he could catch. yours, Patrick’s, his. Patrick fucks your ass to the point of no return, his pace never ceasing until all you is the word “Daddy” howled out over and over. Every thrust earns art deeper inside of him, Patrick greedily rolls his hips back. In appreciation Art leans down and watches his spit highlight how cock drunk the two of you are, a see through trail trickling down both of your faces onto the pillow.

It’s like Art doesn’t have any worth until he’s fucking you and Patrick out of your minds at the same time. He hooks his chin in Patrick’s shoulder, winking down at you as he ramps up the speed of his thrusts. Patrick’s eyes tighten in pleasure-pain but any sounds he has to offer are muffled in the seams of your slick lips, you open your mouth to catch them and hoard them all. Breathy pants and whines and growls becuase Patrick may be the one getting fucked the most, but you should never forget who’s next in line to benefit from this little symbiotic expression of your relationship. You’re the atlar, solid foundation and the center of life’s devotion. Art and Patrick are the attendants, bringing you animal sacrifices in the form of their flesh and soul and hearts. In their bones and in the nerves connecting to their brain, where you all exist in an undefiled state even as fluids are spilt in between the cracks in the marble. A poor man’s kintsugi.

Patrick begs Art to cum, but you defer to Patrick when it’s your time to be a babbling brook around his thick length. Art always says yes when the other man’s balls deep in you, plus he has dibs on your pussy this week. It’s in their nature, to desire each other carnally and still keep each other entangled in steep competition even when those desires are fulfilled in excess. Art really wants a baby, you’ve been too gung ho to bounce all over the world as if it were your very own tennis court. Explaining it by using their busy careers as an opportunity, you must not know that you’re best when you’re right where they can see you. Even if they’re not there, jerking each other off to grainy security cam footage is their own bonding time. Sometimes you put on shows for them, modeling expensive lingerie that you think is going to be a surprise for their welcome home. Art always has an eye and a hold on Patrick, they both want that with you too.

“Go on,” He whispers for only Patrick’s uniquely shaped ears to hear, sorry angel. “The sooner you give our baby that nice big tangy load I know you’ve got for us, the sooner I can get their tummy swollen.”

Daddy gets his favorite kind of kisses when he floods your ass with cum, and he licks the remaining drops off your stretched rim with Art’s hand heavy on his head. You get your kisses too, from each of them until you’re sinking so far into that dreamy kind of headspace that affection from you means you lazily smack your lips together and call it a job well done. Fuzzy voices coo at you that it was indeed a job well done, squelching noises accompany Patrick reluctantly pulling out. You both whine the exact same way, Art beams and shushes you, using Patrick’s bruised ass to get rock hard and wet again for your puffy pussy.

“Just like that, fuck! Should have taken a picture, don’t you think? Make it last longer, keep you useful.”

All talk, as long as he’s alive he’ll have use. Existence breeds obsession, split three ways, the way some god intended. Like calls to like, moths to flame, water to silent desert rock, bleeding knuckles to piping hot iron, copper to silver, bones to soil, ball to grass-clay-concrete court.

Patrick hates it when you and art fight, turning him into a scared puppy. He doesn’t say to your face that he agrees with Art, that you shouldn’t leave the house amidst all the stress that a possible pregnancy can bring. Stress that’s easily worked off under their touch, stuffed full of so much cum that it might as well replace your gray matter. You can’t run laps around the house despite it being what your anxiety is telling you to do. You have to wait there on the toilet, holding each of their hands as you wait for the test results. Once the necessary time has passed, you can’t overcome your nervousness and instead wait for Art to look at one of the sticks.

You barely catch a glimpse of the test result when you’re tackled. Patrick’s on you first, sucking your tongue into his mouth while cradling your head in his hands so you don’t feel it when you bump into the wall. Art chastises him of course, pulling him back by his ear to give you some space. They’re both smiling, wide and blinding white grins so dazzling that you’re worried you’ll go blind. Their reactions alone tell you more than you could ever need to know, the monarch butterflies scurry from stomach to stomach. Those teeming with life and those forever starving. Art gives you a slow kiss and hums into you, the vibrations travel down to your flexing toes. Bubbly laughter drowns out the cracks of lightning outside, baby blanket blue on fire white.

You want to be loved in a way that’s wrong and out of sorts, your arousal is heightened by what your paranoia tells you will be someone’s undoing. Yours or theirs. Both. No one really needs pure intentions to love or be loved at the end of the day, and maybe that’s something to be grateful for. There are people who can love the sin as well as the sinner. Your hormones are doing a number on you, that much is clear, if you’re philosophizing about the morals of being in love when there more than likely are none. There’s just that so much time to think, that initial fear of being left when you yourself would be too overencumbered to. Art picks up on these kinds of thoughts more often than Patrick, who’s just happy to belong somewhere and to someone. The former busies himself with the heft of your tits. Sucks the life out of your hard nipples and then some, he adores when you come begging with a dripping cunt after a late afternoon nap because you had a very good dream.

“Lie back angel, working so hard right now… you need a break, mama.” Art giggles, engaging in a riveting one on one conversation with your throbbing clit, rapidly flicking it with his tongue as he locks clear eyes with your sleepy blinks. “Pussy’s gushing like a fountain now, ‘s so chubby too, I hope you never fucking work off the baby weight.”

Later they’ll wipe you down from the shower with their tongues, slurping up the water droplets like they’re bugs hovering around an in bloom blush pink flower because they’re freaks like that. Patrick’s out on the now usual run to the nearest convenience store for your latest cravings, he’ll try it with you too no matter what it is. Art does his best, but you’re too sensitive to others being nauseous to handle seeing his skin almost cartoonishly flood with a light mossy green undertone. Fall brings a whole new array of food combinations and flavors of snack cakes just waiting for you to inhale them worryingly quickly. Art brings your focus back to him with a teasing nip to your bud, closing his lips around it and giving it a firm suck as the front door unlatches. The crinkling of plastic grocery bags reach your ears before Patrick’s corny “Honey, I’m home!” does. More single minded than a dog with his bone, the bags clatter to the floor and his shoes pound the floor on the way to where you’re cumming on Art’s face in a flash of white.

Patrick frowns, “You know I don't like you being a slut when I'm not there, now you owe me two rounds.”

Art reminds the other man that you might not have the energy for the two rounds he’s imagining, full of slapping skin and ghoulish howls, Patrick simply says that you can drift off while he ruts away. Into you or on you, so long as his puffy tip is touching some sort of skin, makes him wish he could burrow and dig a tunnel inside you. Live in one of the chambers in your heart, Art in the other, your kids in the next, a no vacancy sign boarding the last of them shut. You tilt your head to the side so he runs his nose along the faint line of your pulse. He should record the echoing rhythmic thumps for when they’re traveling and can’t sleep without their missing piece. His chest burns when the words well up and won’t come out how he needs them too, how can you express that you need to live in someone’s very dna without letting your huge dick do the talking for you? He’ll quite possibly never know, maybe a rare showing of Art riding Patrick into the center of the earth as he gasps for life saving breath will be enough for you.

[tinytennisskirt]

I keep thinking about halloween and I know it's far away but my mind keeps wandering to boyfriend vampire art headcanons or a small blurb about you wanting him sucking your blood for the first time after you begged him to do it (you want to see what it was like) and he was so soft about it "Idk if it's a good idea, I don't wanna hurt you :(" if you wanna write something about that it would be sweet don't feel forced to

vampire boyfriend! art donaldson headcanons with a plot. mostly plot. 🧛🏻

this idea is so cute i did not do it justice but i liked it a lottt

warnings: all over the place, i wrote this while running errands teehee. mentions of blood, scratching, teeth!!! cute vampire boyfriend but a lot of nonsensical vampire stuff idk. SMUT.

MDNI 18+

- he’s so cute he’s so cute! and it’s not sooo bad the age difference. he wasn’t bitten until recently so now your favourite stanford tennis player to watch between classes when you’re bored is just a little bit paler…

- with all my love for twilight i really want to let this boy sparkle because he deserves it, but i’m going to say he’s a day-walking vampire with no sparkle just to keep appearances up.

- vampire art who can hear your heart beat just a little harder than usual when you first walk up to him. you’re pretty, he notes, too pretty. if his heart could still beat the way it used to, it would have been pounding. it’s not an off chance the two of you are finally meeting, but it feels meetcute. nervous laughter at your immediate mutual attraction fills the air. he leans against the wall behind him and you get to talking, really talking.

you start walking down the path behind the courts together. “i’m not a tennis person, but i come here between classes.”

“that’s fair. what are you in?” art asks. he wants to know everything about you.

“media stuff, boring.” you tell him. but he tells you it’s not and he has a lot to ask you about it. you get into other things. movies, music, things he likes, things you like in common. there’s so much.

- you make him forget what he is. for the most part, he hates what he is now. hates how tired it makes him look. he hates having to hide his extra strength in tennis. and now he’s met you, this delicate girl who wouldn’t be so delicate if he wasn’t who he was now. you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and he’s laughing and it slips his mind that touching you is dangerous. you have that same blood running through your veins that he is so hungry for at the end of a day.

- you ask if he wants to get coffee. he’ll be sick if he eats food like yours, but he agrees. he doesn’t know why he can’t say no to you. suddenly your number is in his phone and you have plans to meet tomorrow afternoon.

- vampire art drinks the blood of animals. he hates himself for it. he hates all of it but it’s the only way to get by now without hurting anyone. he tries to be ethical about it, tries to make it so he doesn’t feel like an animal himself, but it’s hard and it’s messy and the bathroom in his dorm is not a good place for it.

- he sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands just thinking about you. it’s not a vampire brood but it’s his own version, thinking about you and your conversation from earlier. he’s so into you. it’s bad. how is he going to date someone so human now? he can be friends with any human, he was one not too long ago, but to date you? fuck, it’s going to be rough. and hard to do. that is, if you let him date you. part of him hopes that after coffee, you’ll lose interest and he won’t have to worry about it.

- he orders a coffee and thank god it has a lid, he can pretend to drink it. it feels silly. you’re sitting across from him and your perfume is all you are. it’s all he can smell. it’s beautiful, smells expensive but he knows it’s just his senses making it smell stronger. you get to talking and he’s a good listener. he’s honed in on hearing you and only you, your words and your heartbeat.

you’re swirling the ice around in your drink. your heart is beating hard in your chest. it’s cute. “i actually texted the wrong number.” art admit to you. “i used a four instead of eight.”

“oh no,” you cover your smile when you laugh. he hates that. you’re too pretty to be doing that.

he smiles sheepishly, “so i said hi to some guy named mark. friendly guy, just… not you.”

“poor guy.” you grin. “missing out. should have invited him anyway.”

“should i have?” he laughs. “you’d be okay with third-wheeling?”

he makes you smile. it’s one of his great accomplishments. “i think i’d be okay.”

- he’s thinking about how he could ever kiss you, his mouth so close to you. it’s not like he had fangs or anything- he got away with slightly pointy canine teeth, nothing out of the regular, but how could he… he’s a little scared of it. and how badly he wants to.

- he takes in and remembers all of your interests, often making callbacks and you like how much he remembers the little things.

- you end up spending the afternoon with him. without anything to eat all day he’s getting hungry and it’s not a good thing. it starts making people feel like good options- an uncontrollable thought to his mind that wants absolutely nothing to do with what the machine that is vampirism tells him he wants. you two walk through the park and dusk and he’s trying not to smell you so much anymore because you just smell good. and it’s disgusting how he feels about doing something so vile to someone who doesn’t know anything.

- nothing scares you away. he walks you back to your dorm. he puts away his thoughts of blood to say goodnight properly- you deserved that. you thank him for paying for coffee and for the afternoon spent with you and you’d think he’d see it coming with the acceleration of your heart, but you kissed him goodnight. a firm, few second-long kiss. and it’s fucking perfect. and it’s sweet. and he finds himself not so worried about it- it wasn’t bad. maybe he could date you if he could kiss you. put the fact you’d become food out of his mind…

- so you do date. or go on more dates. getting friendlier, laughing over stupid things, watching him play tennis, you’re around and you’re this perfect beam of light. he really likes you. like really likes you.

- he kisses you again. this time it’s his doing, he’s practiced being gentle. he used to be gentle. he pulls you in with soft, almost perfect skin, and he’s cold. not ice cold, but cold like a person who had spent too much time in a basement, just a little chilled. but his hands barely touch your skin, he’s maybe too gentle, but the kiss is perfect.

- thing is, you ask him what you are. where this is going and if his mouth could go dry, his would. he’s shy about it. he doesn’t want to get into this but he doesn’t want out. he wants you. and after all he’s been through so far, he deserves to be happy and have something good and he’s sure that’s you. so he asks you what you want.

“i would like it if we… continued to date. i don’t know how you feel about dating, but me, personally… i would want a label.” you say, shy, like you’re afraid he’s going to reject you after all this. he’s not a player, he can’t afford to be.

“i want that too.” he smiles. “i’m not a casual… person.”

“me neither.” you smile back. you’re blushing and you’re so pretty. so it’s decided. you don’t even know you have yourself a vampire boyfriend!!!

- tennis player boyfriend is already one thing. he’s in your dorm room before games realizing he has to go, he has to go, he’s late for practice. he’s fast, so he’s not so worried, but you are. you’re worried for him. you’re kissing him all the way to the door and he’s grinning as you practically kick him out. he stays just an extra second to kiss you more. he’s getting better and better at being gentle. it’s easier when he’s well-fed.

- art is still art so he’s needy. he’s addicted to the way you smell, he’s addicted to how warm you are. he comes right back over after practice, still feeling chilled like he’s straight out of a walk-in fridge and he’s immediately on top of you, head laying on your chest while you stroke his hair. he wishes more than anything for the peace of falling asleep in your arms, it’s his favourite place to be. but he’s not so lucky.

- not eating gets harder to hide from you. you’re his girlfriend, you want dinner and how is he just going to sit with you and not eat? it’s a girls worst nightmare to eat alone. he knows that, you tell him that and you’re kissing his face and he’s apologizing for not eating with you, big grin on his face because it’s hard not to when you’re kissing his cheeks and eyes and nose and lips. it’s the first time he debates telling you what he is. but he won’t. not yet. you’re too busy complaining sweetly about him not eating with you.

“art, please, come on. i hate this.”

“im not judging you,” he laughs. “eat your food.”

“alone? so mean.”

“i’m not-“ you kiss him, “-mean. i just had food before you came over, that’s not-“ you kiss him again and he pushes you away gently, “-mean.”

“it’s so mean,” you tell him. he just laughs.

- when he kisses you, it’s almost like he’s both afraid to let go and afraid to keep you close, so it ends up a little more desperate and needy than a regular kiss would be. you’re a fan of it though, it makes your heart pound in your chest when he pulls you in by your waist, cold hands on your skin. you swear he needs his circulation checked. he kisses you, hand trailing up from your waist to the side of your jaw, gently holding you in place. his kiss over time becomes less gentle and for the sake of what his diet was, i won’t say he kissed hungrily. you kissed him back just the same, hands in his perfect blonde curls, pulling him from the entryway of your dorm room and over to your bed, the door shutting behind him. he crawls over your body and suddenly the kiss is deeper. more. and he’s been in this situation before but never like this. you’re kissing and you start kissing down his jaw, his neck. and in obscure vampire logic, he’s able to reproduce- let’s not get into the details, even stephanie meyer couldn’t explain it right- but he’s hard and he hates it because he can’t fuck you. he’d probably hurt you. it already took some effort to kiss you, fucking you was different. how did he know that what he needed now to get off wouldn’t hurt you? you’re hot, your skin is hot, and you tell him you want him and he wants you just as badly, just as desperately, but he tells you not today, but does ask if you’d take off your shorts for him. cold fingers do their work and he’s so fast… his fingers move so fast it’s almost unreal.

- you’re on the phone with your girlfriend talking about how good he is with his hands, saying you had to call her to ask if she got home from a concert okay. he doesn’t mind the lie- you’re excited about him and he loves it. he’s a little bit proud of himself if he’s honest. he’s glad he can please you without doing it all. it’s cute you called your friend. he chuckles to himself.

- like mentioned before, he almost forgets he’s not who he used to be. you don’t mind that he’s cold or that he never eats with you, you hold him just the same. you fall asleep and he wishes with all his might that he could sleep too. but he’s awake without rest, eyes closed, hands gently tracing over the skin of your upper arm. when you’re asleep is when he gets to think critically about this- about how he’s not going to age as you do. if you choose to stay with him past college, that is. he’s a needy little romantic and he doesn’t want anything else but that. he’s committed.

- he’s debating telling you around halloween. cliche, fucking perfect, but he can’t hide it forever. you’ve been together four months. doesn’t seem like much, but you’re so skeptical sometimes he swears you see through him.

- he’s sweet, pays for things, takes you places, treats you so well. but there’s something he’s keeping from you and you can feel it.

- it goes on. he’s still your perfect boyfriend it’s october 24th, his head is in your lap, your fingers in his hair and he says it straight up. tells you. what and who he is.

“for halloween?” you smile. he shakes his head no. “you have the perfect teeth for it, you wouldn’t even need to buy them.”

“y/n…” he trails, eyes meeting yours, looking up at you.

“i could be one too.” you’re still smiling. “could be hot. let you bite me.” as if he hasn’t thought about that. potentials. but you don’t mean it.

he doesn’t know how to say it. so he just looks at you. soft eyes, begging you to believe him. but so scared that you’ll think he’s crazy or worse, be scared if you do believe him.

- for the sake of writing and for my ease let’s just say it’s believable. so you’re a little taken aback. lose the logic here, it’s an AU. your breath catches just a little. he’s afraid you’re going to run or scream or something, the way your heart picks up. he sits up from your lap, he’s looking at you, you’re breathing a little weirdly.

“i’m sorry.” he says. he’s sorry. he’s really sorry. you’re shrinking away from him and if his heart could, it would feel like it just tightened as if it was vacuum sealed. “i’m sorry, i should have told you.”

“it’s okay,” you nod. your heart is pounding, he deducts it’s not so okay. “are you- how do you- why- how?”

“bitten. late after a game. stupid, changed my life, i don’t even- it’s hard.”

“you don’t look like you’re-“

“it’s not like the movies, i’m me just… different diet and… pale.” he’s trying to be straightforward with you but it’s hard when all he wants is for this to pass over. and it’s not easy. it won’t just pass over. you have a million questions about everything and he confesses the entire truth. he hates it. he hates every second of admitting who he is. you’ve asked the same question about four times over and your heart hasn’t stopped pounding.

- art isn’t a bad guy. he’s not going to sit there and expect you to just go with it. he looks at you with his eyes soft and understanding, “i know it’s not what you wanted. or expected. i want you to know that if you leave, i understand. i like you, i really fucking like you and i want you to have what’s best and if that’s not me, that’s the easiest thing in the world to understand.” and you blink. you like him a lot. he makes you laugh, he makes you smile, but he’s something else. something potentially dangerous. you smile at him and it’s bittersweet. you tell him you need time. and he understands. he doesn’t ask you to stay, he grabs your bag and your sweater for you and you say you’ll talk to him soon. it’s with a heavy heart that he says goodbye to you. he knows the chances of you coming back are slim. you didn’t run from his dorm, but your pace wasn’t slow.

- he wished he could sleep this off. this feeling. he wished he hadn’t said anything but on the other hand, it wasn’t fair to you to pretend he was something he wasn’t so you’d stay. he wanted good things for you. and it was completely fair that you walked away. he thinks about you day in, day out, during tennis, during classes. but he’s got forever to find someone else, he just has to let this pass over him.

- you text him, say you’re coming over. and he’s at the door before you even knock, he heard you coming. “i’m sorry- i just-“ he’s excited but he’s afraid. too excited to see you back here- why are you there? “hi.” he’s so cute, standing in his doorway. he’s wondering if it’s wrong to think of you the way he did two weeks ago. he wasn’t clear on if you’d broken up with him or not.

“hi,” you reply. “can i come in?”

he’s nodding, moving out of the way for you to come in. you sit on his bed. “i didn’t expect you to-“

“come back? neither did i…” you replied. “but i was so… empty, i just- i miss you more than i seem to care about what- who you are. and it’s been killing me.” you admit, almost a little whiny and he’s glad to hear it. “i missed you.”

“i missed you too,” he says, shutting his door behind him. “a lot.”

you tuck your hair behind your ears, “i know everything, i just… how much does this affect everything?”

“only as much as you let it,” he says candidly. “i don’t eat regular food and i can’t have children.”

“what about garlic?” you almost smiled. he missed that. god, he missed you. so fucking much.

“i can have garlic.” he chuckled, stepping closer to where you were sitting. you pat the space beside you and he sat down next to you, thigh to thigh. “i don’t want to scare you.” he says. “i don’t want to hurt you. and i don’t want to leave you.”

“i don’t want that either,” you nod, eyebrows furrowed. “if i stay- am i in danger?”

“i wouldn’t ever hurt you.” he nods back. “it’s animals only. only. strictly. and i brush my teeth fourteen times after.”

“okay.” you reply. “art, i want you. you.”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

“i’m sorry about the two weeks-“

“don’t be.”

“i really am, i just needed-“

“it’s okay.”

“i was trying to wrap my head around-“ he kissed you to shut you up. he was so glad for it. so glad you kissed him back, it was all he thought about when the nights were empty and quiet. you, how warm you were, how good you smelled.

- vampire boyfriend!!!! it’s almost ignorable. you have a reason why he doesn’t eat with you, you know why he’s cold, it’s more reason to keep your arms around him. you can’t brag about it, but it’s a fun little secret so it’s sooo worth it. and it’s hot. you don’t want to admit it, but it’s hot. you’d always admired how sharp his teeth were, it was cute, like a cat. but he had a reason for it and you were finding it hot. your search history was

biting kink

blood kink

vampire smut

that isn’t you!!! but you were curious that’s all. And you like his teeth a lot.

- he’s so pretty and he’s so skilled in making you feel good. he won’t let you do anything to him, swears to god the best thing for him is what he can do for you. you’re making out and his hand slips between your legs, down your underwear, they’re cold but they don’t feel that way after a while. he’s fast, it feels like some sort of toy, it’s too good. you are forever glad you didn’t walk away and never return. you’d miss the proud smile on his face when he makes you finish three times in a night.

- it takes a while for art to do the simple task of kissing your neck. it’s not so simple, it scares him still. but the thing is, the moment his lips are on your jaw, your whole body has goosebumps and you don’t expect it to feel as good as it does. maybe you spent too much time on the internet, maybe you were developing some sort of feeling about it. he kissed gently, close-mouthed down your neck, feeling your body tense and your heart beat hard and fast in your chest. he hasn’t done anything else, he’s only kissing your neck, but what you’re into is a major turn on for him, so he continues. he likes nothing more than it as he continues.

- it gets worse. you’re together almost a year now and it’s going so well but if art touches your neck whatsoever, you’re making out against some wall in some cupboard and you’re begging him to fuck you.

“please, please, please,” you’re on top of him in your dorm room and he’s saying no, but he doesn’t want to. it’s not like your begging is a pressure on him, believe it, he wants you so fucking badly.

“i want you so badly, i can’t- i could hurt you.”

“what if i like it?” you whisper between kisses. your hand down the front of his pants, he’s groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t usually let you do what you want but it’s getting harder and harder to not.

“like it?”

“i want it.” you tell him. “please.”

“i can’t-“ he’s raising his hips to meet your hand as you move it up and down his length. “i want to, i really fucking want to, more than anything, but i can’t. i don’t- i haven’t-“

“we can go slow. i’ll go slow, let me do the work, please?”

he wants it. the imagery in his mind is already killing him. “i promised to be gentle, i could grab you too hard or i could bite, i don’t know what i’ll do, i don’t trust myself.”

“you bite?” you giggled a little, as if the idea wasn’t a little intriguing. as if it wasn’t hot.

he grinned back, kissing you again, “i’m not sure.”

“you don’t… touch… yourself?”

“no, i do, believe me, i do, but it’s different, i can’t hurt myself- fuck-“ he’s trying to get his words out but your hand is good. your hand is perfect. “i could hurt you.”

“what if i want that?”

“me to hurt you?”

“what if i don’t mind it? i don’t mind bruises, art, just don’t break my bones.”

“i wouldn’t- i don’t know if i would or not, that’s what i’m afraid of.”

“and everything you’ve been afraid of,” you pick up the pace of which you stroke him. “has it turned out okay?”

he groans into your open mouth, nodding slightly, soft eyes meeting yours. “mhm.”

“mhm.” you nod back. “you can hurt me, art.” he moans louder. loudest. “i can take it.”

- another few months go by without. he’s taken to letting you grind on him. it’s practice, he says, but really he just finds it hot. you, your little skirts, making it fun for him. but you can’t stop thinking about you fucking him and frankly neither can he. the romance continues.

- he brings you roses on a whim. it’s cute. he knows you like them. he gets the dark red ones for you.

- he’s fast, he can be to McDonalds and back in only a few minutes depending on the speed they make their food. you call him, you mention it once and he brings it to you. and every time, sweet boy, he apologizes for not being able to eat with you.

- he’s so into you. this is it for him, he’s sure. you’re the perfect mix of everything and you share so many interests. you’re kind and sweet and funny and you get him. and understand him entirely. he could not care less when other girls talk to him. usually the first words he says to anyone is something casual about his girlfriend. ‘sorry i’m late, i was at my girlfriend’s debate’, and other things of the sort. he’s cute like that, but annoying to a few other people.

- loses his mind if you hold his face in any way, it’s actually one of the things that makes him think fucking you might be something he could do. you cup his face and he looks at you with those puppy eyes and your thumb grazes over his lower lip and he’s kissing you like he’s not scared. you’re in his arms, he picks you up, crawls over you on the bed. his first instinct is to kiss your neck to drive you as crazy as he is and it’s only a matter of time before you’re begging him again.

“please, art.”

“i want you so fucking badly,” he mumbles, cold hands desperate over the skin of your waist. “i do, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry. fuck me.”

“i can’t. you know i can’t-“ but your hand down his pants is wearing him down already.

“it’s been more than a year. art, it’s okay. it’s no different than grinding.”

“it’s different,” he tells you, he’d be blushing if he could. “come on.”

“come on what?” you grin, stroking him harder. his breath catches for a moment, but he grins back at you. “art. it’s okay. you don’t need to be so afraid, i promise i can take it.”

“and what if you can’t?”

“then we tried.”

“you won’t say that if i hurt you.”

“if you hurt me it’ll be my own fault.” you tell him sternly. “i’ll be in control, i’ll go my own pace, you just lay back, it’ll be good. i promise, you don’t need to be afraid.”

“baby…” his hands on your waist.

“let me.” you say. “with your consent.”

“i said i wouldn’t hurt you… there’s no guarantee-“

“it’s no different than the grinding. i promise.” you begin to slide your shorts off, eyes locking with his. “if not, that’s okay, but i just- i know you won’t hurt me.”

“if i do?”

“i’ll take it.” you tell him. he’s consumed by his own lust. his worries slowly fading out. “let me fuck you, mhm?”

his pants at his ankles, he’s turning slowly onto his back. you climb over him, kissing him hard. the sharp of his tooth grazes your lip and the violence begins. he groans as your hand slides over his own neck, kissing him.

“slow,” he says. and you nod, slowing the way you’re kissing, your hand moving to cup his face in a kiss. you’re everything, how can he resist what he wants so badly? you’re perfect and you smell good and you’re kissing him sickeningly slow and it’s almost sweet. “please.”

“you’re saying yes?”

“yes.” he swallows hard.

“i didn’t pressure you?”

“no, i want it so fucking badly, you have no idea,” he smiles, kissing you again. there’s no escape. “i want you. just… slowly.” he pushes your hair behind his ear. “you’ll tell me if i’m hurting you.”

“maybe,” you grin.

“hey-“

“i will.” you nod. “can i?”

“slowly.”

you looked at him, nodding slowly again, reaching down under him. he was trusting you, he was holding you to this. the tip of his dick slipping against your entrance. it was unreal, it was real, it was cold but it wouldn’t be for long. he inhaled sharply and you kissed you. he was a little pathetic, the way he acted as you slowly, extremely slowly, sank down on him. it was ends meeting, it was waited for. the sound he made was one he didn’t think he’d make, but you were all he’d been wanting. he could have finished right there and then, just at the feeling of you. warm, tight.

- vampire art, with vampiric tendencies, digs his fingers so hard into you that you were sure it would bruise. it hurt in the best way. you moved slowly, up and down, a pace that didn’t scare him. he felt so good, so perfect.

- he’s surprisingly melting under your touch as you slowly ride him. it’s how he is. somewhere towing the line between himself a little bit submissive. he’s letting you, he’s trying to be unafraid, letting himself get lost in how you feel. you’re close, neck kissing distance. his hand slips around the back of your neck and he kissed the exposed skin. you moaned, going slightly faster and he braced your hips, wary. too wary. but he let you continue to rock.

- he controls your hips, rocking you back and forth a little more as he gets a little less scared. and he’s kissing your neck, moaning against it. open mouth, sharp teeth grazing your neck and he isn’t even aware of it. it hurts, its natural, he’s hurting you but it’s not as bad as you thought. his lips send goosebumps over your skin, he’s not aware, he’s lost in the way you’re fucking him. he’s letting you go faster, harder, you’re both moaning. he’s close already. you don’t mind that at all.

- vampire art, poor boy, he’s coming undone already. it’s a little pathetic but in the best way. hes being fucked so good, the way he’s imagined the past year- he’s not aware of his teeth and the reality that he could bite you is too real, when it was only half a joke. he could bite you, he could, he wants to, you want him to, it hurts.

- “please,” you mumble, and he’s suddenly too aware of what he’s been doing and he’s suddenly terrified. he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s been doing it unconsciously.

“oh fuck-“ he tries to pull away, but it’s his downfall, he finishes hard, too fucking hard and he’s pathetic, melting under you, moaning and grabbing you so hard it hurts and you’re close to follow suit, your hand down between the two of you working your clit. your hand moves at his squirming and you forfeit your orgasm as he finishes so pretty. he makes the prettiest sounds, loud and the people in the dorm next to yours must fucking hate you. he was breathing hard, his lips pink, still in a state of desperation. “no- nonononono,”

you slowed to an immediate stop for him. “hey, what’s wrong?”

“your neck, my teeth, fuck- i’m sorry,” his chest still rose and fell, his cum leaking from between you both. “i’m so sorry-i-“ nervous boy. nervous vampire boyfriend!!!

- he takes to your comfort the moment you grab his face and tell him it’s fine. you like it. you want it. his scared eyes soften out again. if that was all the damage done, no blood drawn, it was successful. you liked it. it was more than good. so fucking good.

- you take care of him until he calms down entirely. you soothe him by holding him close, a wet cloth against the scratches on your neck. he’s the kind to apologize softly. he’s always apologetic, he’s good at it. you kiss his temple, stroke through his curls. you can go without finishing. the ratio of his orgasms to yours were uncountably inbalanced.

- after that you end up practicing more. calling it ‘practice’, it’s just sex. it’s good sex. he worships you like you’re the immortal being. he learns to be gentle. doesn’t help that don’t want him to be. it’s another year of being together and you throw it at him. “bite me.”

“hm?” he looks up from tying his laces, his hat on backwards, all cute.

“bite me.” you stand above him, he rises to his feet, arms wrapping gently around your waist. “it’s been two years and i’m not going anywhere. i want you to do it.”

“you don’t want it.” he tells you, swaying into the hug. “i promise.”

“i know. but it’s my choice.”

“it is your choice but it’s also mine if i choose to bite you. i want you and i know you’re not going anywhere, i dont need to make you the way i am just to say that.”

you shake your head, “bite me. or no sex.”

he just grins and shakes his head, “nice try.”

“think about it.”

he nods again, “okay. i will. i promise.”

- it’s another year before it happens. vampire boyfriend is scared of doing it, what if something goes wrong? what if you hate him for it? what if, what if… you make him nervous. you want him, he knows it. more ways than one it would be nice to not have to worry about biting you when you fuck.

- he works up the courage to take the risk and he comes to yours around 11:30pm. you’re up, you were just finishing an assignment. you greet him with a kiss and a long hug. he needs it. he’s never not in need of it. he wants to cry, he wishes he still could. he feels like it because he knows what you want isn’t good but you want it and he wants you do some part of it feels right. and okay. he tells you what he’s thinking and you take all of it in. but you nod.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” he says.

“it’s going to hurt. i’ve told you before i can take it.”

he shakes his head, “and what if i can’t?”

“i’ll heal.”

“baby… “ he almost sits at your feet the way he’s talking to you.

“it’ll be okay. you can hurt me. it’ll be worth it when you’re stuck with me forever.” you smile and he smiles back.

- he can do it. and you kiss him. which is the first step. the second is triggering his weakness, cupping his face. and suddenly he’s on you. and you’re undressing and it’s messy and it’s harsh and it’s sloppy.

- art is usually very sexually calculated he knows what is needed and he does it and he’s fucking perfect at it, but this is messy and desperate and hot and not even he wants to have any sort of control. he just knows what’s going to happen is going to happen. you’ve never been more turned on with anticipation. for the first time- even though it sounds bad, art is on top. he doesn’t need you in control at the moment, he’s fucking into you and it’s hard but not too hard that it could cause harm- it’s good. and it’s got, and you’re kissing him through harsh, sharp breaths and there’s no time to be wasted. he’s ramming into you with a force you didn’t know he possessed that is also so contained. you wished it wasn’t. And his lips graze your neck. you moan, that familiar shiver of pleasure rippling over your body. his body, thrusting, the movement making for perfect friction. he kisses your neck gently, and you feel his teeth graze your neck.

- he’s fucking you but his emotions are strong and he’s rethinking but this is it. he said he would. his hand reaches down to play with your clit as he fucks you, his attention to three places at once is enough to drive you crazy. you’re waiting, skin hot against his, and you don’t expect to like the way it hurts so fucking badly when he sinks his teeth in. pain mixes with pleasure, sharp teeth in your skin. his lips catch any blood, taking it in. it’s good, it’s too good. he keeps his teeth in long enough for him to feel whatever it is that would change you seep into your bloodstream. you’re moaning when he expected a scream and it’s hot. it’s too hot for him. his teeth slowly come out and the wound heals over near-immediately, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing your neck again a million times, new scars instantly formed. you kiss him harder than you ever had, feeling your skin start to burn pleasantly, warm like the feel of being close to an oven on a cold day. and his hand working, his dick sliding in and out, you finish simultaneously, almost.

- he rides out the high. and before cleaning anything he’s checking if you’re okay. you’re blissed out. gone. and he’s watching as you grow paler the next few hours in his arms. you’re telling him he did such a good job. so good. and you fall asleep for the last time. changed.

[pedrilcvr]

pedri fic where he’s feeling playful and does something that elicits a loud noise and gf!reader is obviously worried bc hello and he’s holding in his laugh until she rounds the corner and sees that he’s completely fine and it’s just fluff OOOHHH…

New additions — Pedri Gonzalez.

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader, no mention of y/n

Summary: In the midst of making lunch, you hear a loud noise, almost pained, come from outside where unknowingly, your boyfriend was sitting. Nearly stumbling over every object possibly, you get outside only to find him with… a dog?

Disclaimer/s: mentions of light dog bite and a butter knife.

A/N: FINALLY HAD INSPO TO WRITE FOR THIS SINCE HIS NEW DOG ANNOUNCEMENT?? Welcome Nilo. Okay it took me a bit to actually finish this so im late but…

Finally arriving home for your lunch break, you find your way to the kitchen almost immediately. Hunger reached all points of your body, making you nearly salivate as you took out the ingredients to make a quick sandwich.

Usually, you would first find your boyfriend, but the house was a bit quieter today, so you assumed he was still at practice.

With no loud noises of him gaming or a tv show playing in the background, you open your phone to play some music. Clicking shuffle, you smile to yourself the second Frank Ocean’s “Ivy” starts playing.

As you begin the sandwich, spreading apart the two pieces of bread, you hear a slight… growl?

Instantly, your body goes rigid. One thing you hated for certain, were wild animals that growled. Pausing the music, you freeze, waiting for another noise. Thats when you hear it.

A loud, almost pained, “Gahhh!”

Your heart drops to your ass as you recognize who the sound was coming from. As if it kick started your brain, you grip the butter knife you’d been holding tight in your grasp as you stumble around the kitchen counter.

Making a bee-line toward the back patio, you find yourself nearly tripping over all the scattered things on the ground. Maybe if you looked a little harder, you would have noticed the “objects” were toys, and not your boyfriends scattered clothing like you’d assumed.

“Pedri!” You yell out, over and over again, mumbling small curses in between as you do reach down to pick up the object you’d nearly slipped on.

Without looking you toss is aside, grimacing at the dampness of it. What the fuck was going on?

“Pedri! Where are you!” You shout again, worry lacing every syllable as you finally reach to the sliding glass door.

Opening it with a harsh pull, you let out an exasperated sigh, your eyes land on your smiling boyfriend. Smiling? His face drops the second he notices the worry etched into your face.

“You okay?” He asks, still sitting on the wooden flooring. Thats when you notice whats on his lap.

Everh inch of you that once felt concern, was now just confused. “What the hell is that?” You point to the little black dog that was sitting ever so still and panting, a tennis ball in its mouth.

Not looking at what you were gawking at, Pedri feigns innocence. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Pedro. Why do you have a dog in your lap, and better yet! Why did you sound like you were being strangled, I thought there was an intruder!” Your voice raises just a tad as you wiggle your hand that still held the butter knife clutched in it.

A laugh escapes Pedri’s lips as he struggles to stand, still holding the animal in his arms. “And you planned on defending me with… that?” He glances at the knife in your hands before laughing, “I’m fine, he just bit me.”

“Bit.. You?” Your lips form a slight frown as you look down at the puppy, “i’m sure he deserved it.” You say in a baby voice, setting the knife down on the railing before scratching behind his ears.

Offense flashes across Pedri’s face, “what—“

“What’s his name?” You interrupt, scratching under the dog’s soft chin, a look of endearment replacing your frown as you take the pup from Pedri’s arms.

“Nilo.” He answers. Pedri adored the way you took him so gently, cradling him like a baby. “So we can keep him?”

Once again your eyes snap toward Pedri, “oh I dunno.. between work and your practice—“

“Please! We’ll make it work, please.” He was begging now. Your big strong boyfriend was begging. So of course you folded.

“Fine! Fine.” You chuckle, pressing a kiss to Nilo’s head. “Welcome to the family, Nilo.”

DTS , @halfwayhearted ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི love you…

[amymbona]

Patrick Zweig is the type of guy that makes fun of you for playing dress up with dolls and still sleeping with your stuffed animal, but the next time he comes to your place and sees that bunny plushie on your bed, he becomes almost attached to it.

He's just resting on your bed, casually perched up against your pink, soft pillows, mumbling something about his practice with Art and tennis, he doesn't really hear himself to be honest, and casually picks up the stuffed bunny in his hands. It's comical but also really cute, how he holds the toy under its armpits, as if it was a baby, and taps its hanging feet against his own chest, making it walk.

"And then Art hit the ball. I thought he wouldn't cause - y'know - I threw it a bit off to the side and he usually doesn't really run to get it. You know him, classic Art. But then he hit it and I had to like- Jump! Boom!"

He keeps rambling about the Wimbledon worthy moment, imitating the movements that have happened on the court with the plushie's little body, swinging its arms around to really make it look like it. The sight makes you giggle, mainly the underlying innocence and child-like vulnerability with the way he handles the toy despite making fun of it earlier. You're definitely gonna tease him about it later.

[poppy-metal]

i NEED the one of you gets sick trope with arranged marriage au… if it’s patrick that’s sick… reader drops everything. drops all animosities. makes him your grandmothers famous cure-all chicken noodle soup, laid up in bed all day with him taking care of him. he’s too weak to be mad about anything, and everything is fuzzy but he looks up and there you are, light shining through your hair, like an angel. he says your name softly while you clean up the tissues he has strewn about his bed.

“yes patrick?”

“why are you so nice to me?”

you laugh, and feel his forehead. he’s burning up.

“because i’m a nice person. i wanted us to be friends you know.”

he groans, partially in pain, partially in acknowledgement.

you dab at his hot skin with a damp towel.

“is there anything i can do to make you more comfy?”

“no. stay here.”

“ok.”

in truth i don’t know what patrick would do if you were sick. i feel like he’d leave and feel so bad about leaving and the come back. he’d probably find you trying to make you both dinner. he would have to bridal carry you to bed. you would fall asleep on the way there through your massive house. he would feel a softness he had never felt. perhaps.

WAHHHHHH

vulnerable patrick..... acting like he has the plague. you even consider offering to call tashi - because you wonder if your presence is just making him feel worse, but then he asks you to stay and you can't help the excitement that burns in your chest. you perch beside him on the bed like you're trying not to startle a large beast - like one quick movement will cause him to lunge for your throat.

you don't know what to talk about. you realize you haven't had a conversation with your husband that wasn't awkward or stilted or tinged with hostility and sarcasm. you realize you don't know much about him, and yet you know so much. you know what his favorite meal is - you know how to press his shirts, you know he prefers wearing silver to gold, you know what kind of products he uses in his hair and how he always starts the night on his back but ends up on his stomach by the morning. you know that he likes his coffee black, and that he runs every morning for two hours. you know he prefers morning showers to night showers. you know what kind of smoothie he likes to drink before he's off to practice. you know that he's good at tennis and his schedule.

but you don't know him. not as flesh and blood person. you don't know what his favorite color is. if he prefers movies or shows. what he believes in. what about tennis makes him want to pursue it so boldly. you don't know his favorite animal or what his plan would be if a zombie apocalypse where to suddenly happen. he's a stranger that you're married to. the one who has a ring wrapped around your finger, but doesn't own your heart.

you look at him and realize he fell asleep. a part of you melts a little, because he's so soft like this. his face if flushed from fever and the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks is more prominent with the amount of sun he's been getting this summer. his hair is free of product and it looks silky soft against the silk of the pillows he's laying against. you resist the temptation to touch it for exactly 10 seconds before you cave. your hand cards through his hair - and you sigh. it is soft.

downy and more brown in the soft low lighting of the room. sometimes it looke almost dark enough to be black, but it's just a rich deep brown. you pet through the strands and imagine a place and time where this could be a common occurrence. where it wasn't strange to stroke your husbands hair as he slept.

his chest rises and falls slowly, peacefully. you wonder if he dreams. he's a quiet sleeper. soft breaths puff through his red nose and you bite your lip as you look at his plush mouth. rosy and pillowy and inviting. he has a little bit of a shadow - some scruff. it's incredibly endearing. everything about him is boyishly charming right now and you find yourself drawn forward. just a little. until your lips tenderly brush against his.

in that split second you imagine a marriage where you have a husband who kisses you like they do in the movies. you've always been a romantic, despite the cards you were dealt. always secretly yearning for those in the rain confessions and kisses that looked all consuming. you knew from the start you'd never get to fall in love. your husband was always going to be chosen for you. it's what you were quite literally made for. to continue a legacy, nothing more.

romance was a fools wish.

and yet. you craved. you yearned. you desired.

you kept these wants so tightly held to your chest that they'd never be found out. patrick had compared you to a doll, and it had only hurt so much because he was telling the truth. you were a doll. a wooden marionette on strings. pull me where you want me and make me dance.

but you weren't all wooden. not on the inside. it would be so much easier if you were. then it wouldn't hurt when patrick left to go to his other woman. then you wouldn't find yourself looking at him and wishing you could be closer. then you wouldn't be here seeing him sick and having it tug on your heart. you wouldn't be stealing a kiss right now.

but if one stolen kiss was all you could have, then maybe it was alright.

you pulled back and cupped his cheek. warm. less hot than earlier today. he'd probably be fine by the morning. you let yourself pet his hair gently for some time, until he began to stir, and then you pulled back.

when his eyes blinked open foggily and he licked his lips - you were already standing. gathering up his things. "im going to get you a cool compress," you tell him and use the excuse of feeling his forehead for fever to touch him one last time. "I think you'll be feeling better soon, though. you're alot less warm."

patrick looks at you - and there are no shields in the way in his sick haze. he blinks at you and his long lashes brush his cheeks, unfairly feminine and beautiful, longer than yours - and he sighs. "you're like a little. fairy."

you pause and look at him strangely. "a fairy?" despite yourself, you feel the corner of your mouth tilt up.

patrick nods, hair shifting on the pillow. "you're all sparkly and floaty."

you press your lips together to trap your smile from growing. "I fear you've gone mad with fever."

his arm twitches, you realize he was trying to gesture at you but couldn't with how he's all tucked in bed. his head rolls instead, chin dipping. "you even talk like you're from a fairytale."

you feel your cheeks warm. "speech lessons." you explain, and he shakes his head.

"its not just that. you glow and shit."

your eyebrows come together. he really has gone mad, you think. "you're very silly." you tell him.

"you're fucking silly."

you purse your lips to stifle a giggle. "im getting you a compress. I'll be back. try not to follow any faires to neverland while I'm gone."

in the wake of your absence, patrick stares at the empty spot you vacated. you leave a cloud of your vanilla scent that wafts over him and makes him close his eyes.

she made a joke, he thinks.

and if a couple days later you come down with the same fever that took patrick and he worries over your limp figure on the bed, wondering how it could've gotten you too, when you were such a careful person - you keep the secret of your stolen kiss to yourself.

[just-a-ghost00]

Mini PAC - Details about your soulmate/TF using game cards and letters

Group 1 - Cassette

Banana card : they are fruity! If they’re a man, they have big D energy. They are joyful. They come from a warm climate country. Possibly an island.

Bunny card : this person is super cute and lovely. They look like a baby. They are very kind and soft with others. They have a high sex drive. Their teeth and ears could be parts of their body that you like about them. They feel very innocent and vulnerable.

Airplane card : this person likes to travel for fun and/or travels a lot for work. They live at a distance from you. They enjoy fast communication. They are active. They are curious and love to be challenged.

Letters : T H U N L I I O E Z E I C U Y I M A

Words or names I picked up on ( feel free to add more to the list in the comments) :

Liam, Theo, Noah, Noe, Zain, Zina, Zelie, Mona, Mina, Naim, Chloé, Chile, Lucy, Milan, Athene, Luna, China, mole, eye, cutie, cinema, zinc, camel, thyme, chain, lion, Leo, Helio, Nile, mint, maze, hazel, mountain, cunt, aconite, Lyna, Lina, Alice, menace, county, yen, Celine, TMI, TUE(sday), OCT(ober), autumn, Ciel, honey, Luca, Han, menu, hate, anime

Group 2 - Subway

Bicycle and train card : they live at a distance from you but it could be easily accessible. They enjoy traveling and/or they travel for work. They like biking.

Dress card : they are pretty feminine. They like to dress unconventionally. So if they’re a man, they like to wear skirts or high heels, to put on makeup. If they’re a woman, they’re a bit of a tomboy. They enjoy fashion in general. They could be a model.

Dolphin card : they are sociable. Their family matters a lot to them. They are very sensitive and in tune with their intuition. They have a kind and generous heart. They are playful, even flirty. They like water and/or leave near a body of water.

letters : W E E M S A U T T B A E E O R E N R

Words and names I picked up on (feel free to add more to the list in the comments) : tenor, Muse, water, Mona, Mason, Saturn, Beau, war, ram, Taurean, brat, bae, West, euro, won, MON(day), mount, sun, tarot, bus, runes, tan, beast, Roman, Roma, Meteora, Mars, ASMR, Ares, Arena, amore, nature, muerte, mentor, senor, Matteo, master, webmaster, woman, man, Erasme, Bruno, brunette, same, torn, tears, BTS, Naruto, Moana

Group 3 - Snacks

Letters X L N E J E E A O N A H N N L I R W L

Words and names I picked up on (feel free to add to the list in the comments) :

Hélène, Helena, Nia Jax, jail, Leo, Xena, hell, Joan, Joana, Jane, Jean, Jona, jean, Noel, Noe, Noa, lion, JAN(uary), Wall E, halo, hola, hello, Axel, Hoax, Jihane, Will, Jorah, horn, Jael, Jeanne, norn, helix, Halle, alien, Rollex, Rollin, Alienor, Jolie, Rio, Janeiro, Nelliel, Ronnie, Leon, Johann, Neil

Watermelon card : They support Palestine. They come from a warm climate country. They love summer. They love watermelon. They like your juice ;)

Tennis ball card : They are athletic. They enjoy tennis or any type of ball game. They got balls ;) They are swift and fast. They communicate quickly, they are witty and sarcastic.

Socks card : You'd feel very cozy with them. They have an odd but warm personality. They enjoy date nights snuggling by the fireplace or Netflix and chilling. They have cold feet.

[the-froschamethyst4]

The Sun isn’t even Down

𖤐Paring: Husband! Alejandro x Tired! Wife! Readers

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, married couple, some hints of smut, flirting, language, kissing, badly translated Spanish, mention of children,

𖤐Summary: Y/n and Alejandro have married for 5+ years now, and Alejandro still can't get over how many times this girl takes naps

————

————

8:00AM

Alejandro sits on the couch after waking up, he made his cup of coffee, and sipping on it as he tries to find something to watch on the TV.

As he settled with a random channel and watched it he could hear the sound of shuffling, knowing it was his wife, he smiles looking over the couch seeing her.

Messy hair, over sized t-shirt, no short or pants, and fuzzy animal slippers. She let's out a yawn and made herself her own cup of coffee.

"You look so beautiful," he says.

"I look like I was fighting with a rat...and the rat won," she says, pouring her creamer into her mug and moving to her husband, placing her mug on the coffee table in front of them, her feet propped up on the table and she hugs his side earning a smile from his lips.

As he focused back on the TV, it wasn't long till he hears soft snores. He looks down and sees Y/n passed out.

"Really? You just woke up," he whispers.

Alejandro and Y/n have been married for 5+ years, and all Y/n seemed to do in her spare time was sleep. She works of course and she puts on a fake smile and chugs close to 3 cups of coffee just to keep herself awake and an energy drink coming close behind the coffee.

She tries to stay awake at work, but once she's home kicking her heels off, she plops on the couch and sleeps for who knows how long could be an hour and could be 7, it depends on her day.

Hell there was time she came home at 6 in the afternoon and fell asleep not waking till 5:30 the next morning.

Alejandro rubbed her messy hair, she stirs in her sleep and opened her eyes.

"I was sleeping."

"You just woke up 10 seconds ago," he tells her with a chuckle.

"I didn't get any good sleep last night."

"Mi amor, you were passed out, I tried to wake you up to roll over back on your side and you didn't, so I had to sleep on the little space I had."

"Well, you hog the covers."

"You do that too, amor (love)," she just pouts as Alejandro chuckled and kissed her temple. "You're so cure when you pout," he says.

Y/n's phone started to ring seeing it was her mother-in-law, Carmen.

"Why is my mami calling you?"

"Shh," Y/n shushed her husband and rolled over her side facing away from Alejandro and answered her mother-in-law with a yawn coming out.

Alejandro just listened to Y/n as she spoke to his mother. His mom was very loving towards Y/n, Alejandro was very nervous his family might not like her, but boy was he wrong.

If Carmen wanted to, she'd probably would've adopt Y/n.

"Mami!" Alejandro says next to Y/n's ear.

"Yeah, that was your son," Y/n says, picking at her overgrown nails needing them to be cut and polished. "She says hi."

"I wanna hear her say that-MAMI!" Alejandro took his wife's phone, she allowed him to take it and she rolls over to face him. "Mama, por que no me llamas? (Mommy, why don't you call me?)" He whines to his mother.

Y/n could just barely hear her mother-in-law. "Ocupado! Desde cuando? (busy! since when?)" He says. He groans and gives the phone back to his wife who kept talking to each other on their pervious topic.

"Rude," Alejandro says as Y/n shooed him away.

--------

10:13AM

Alejandro was getting ready for him to go to the gym, putting on a sleeveless shirt, gym shorts and his tennis shoes. He found his headphone making sure they were connected to his phone.

He jogs down the stairs seeing the channel was changed to something else, he smiles and leans over the couch, seeing his wife.

Asleep

Of course. Alejandro scoffs and gently taps her butt jolting her awake from the sudden smack on her bare butt. She smacks his hand away earning a chuckle. She jokingly took her slipper off hitting his arm.

"Asshole, I was dreaming about the beach," she says.

"I know, amor," he leans over the couch kissing her cheek giving her one more pat on the butt and walking to the front door. "I'm heading to the gym...do you want me to help you with the garden?"

If Alejandro mentions something like helping with the garden or having to do anything around the house, Y/n will usually stay up and do it.

"Huh? The garden? I mean...I can do it..." she says, popping her head over the couch to look at her husband.

"You sure?" She just nods. "Okay, I'll be back," he says, walking out of the house.

Y/n rubs her tired eyes and goes upstairs stretching and getting some clothes on. A black tank top and some jean shorts.

--------

12:00PM

Y/n tried to stay awake as she was digging some holes in the freshly de-weeded garden patch. Alejandro spent all day yesterday taking out weeds, a watering the dirt to make it easy for Y/n to plant in the garden and with the rain from last night also helped.

Y/n teared the seed packet of sunflowers and planting them. She sits on the knees wiping sweat from her forehead, she took a swing of her water when something soft brushed against her.

She turns seeing the neighborhood street cat brush up against her. He didn't belong to anyone, but she called him Pinto Bean or Bean for short, his little paw pads look like Pinto Beans hints his name.

She coos at him and picks him up kissing his soft head. No one else can pick him up scared he might be carrying around diseases or something, but he loves Y/n because she feeds him and give him attention, but still let's him roam around.

She placed him back on the ground and he stayed with her the entire time she was planting the garden. She could hear a loud exhaust, she looks up seeing Alejandro pulling into the driveway.

Bean stayed by her as Alejandro popped out of his car.

"What's the cat doing here?" He asked.

"He's helping, leave him alone, Alejandro," Alejandro doesn't like the fact that Bean comes around looking for food and attention from Y/n.

"Go shoo-"

"Alejandro!" Y/n smacks her husbands leg. Bean crawled onto Y/n lap as she was still putting seeds into the ground.

----------

Alejandro sat in a lawn chair with water in his hand as he watched Y/n, she bends over in the dirt planting tomato's next. He watched as her butt was on display in front of him, he couldn't help but smirk.

He gets up and walks behind her, she sees a shadow loom over her. She looks up to him standing over her.

"What?"

"You just look so sexy, all dirty, sweaty, the sun beating on you, you small huffs of breaths...you drive me insane, amor," he bends down kissing her lips, cupping her cheeks to deepen the kiss.

"A-Alejandro, not now...please."

"Tired?" She nods as he chuckles picking her up and taking her into the house.

------------

5:00PM

Y/n was on the couch on her back using Alejandro's thighs as her personal pillow. She opens her eyes hearing the TV all of a sudden get loud, she rolls on her side facing the TV and watched what he was watching.

He placed his big hand on her waist gently rubbing it, and cooing at her.

"I've been thinking-"

"It' never good when you've been thinking."

"Hey now. I'm serious...I was talking with Rudy the other day and him and his wife are...pregnant..." She looks up at him knowing where this might be going. "I was wondering...if you were ever up for it...we can try?"

"Try," she sits up and looks at him. "With me always being tired, you want me to be even more tired?"

"I love you being tired baby, who cares, I'll be taking care of you anyways with our child. You carrying our child, I think...we could do it," he say, cupping her chin and pulling her into a kiss.

"Are we even ready?"

"I feel like a lot of people ask that, we are financially stable, we have a big house, I work a lot, you work a lot, we save our money all the time, I think we are," he tells her.

"Okay, so...when shall we start?"

"Now," he picks her up taking her into the bedroom.