#Pet Supermarket

[kwiki-trends]

Why Pet Supermarket is Famous Worldwide

Pet Supermarket is a leading chain of retail stores that specialize in pet food, toys, accessories, and other pet-related products. Primarily operating in the United States, it is a go-to destination for pet owners.

The stores offer a wide variety of products for dogs, cats, fish, birds, reptiles, and other small animals. Pet Supermarket is committed to providing high-quality products and excellent customer service, with many locations also offering grooming services.

In this article, you will find detailed information about Pet Supermarket. Let's get started.

Why Pet Owners Love Pet Supermarket

Pet Supermarket is well-known for several reasons:

1. Wide Selection of Products: The store provides a large variety of pet-related products, including food, toys, grooming supplies, and accessories, making it a comprehensive shopping destination for pet owners.

2. Convenient Locations: With numerous stores across the United States, Pet Supermarket ensures that customers can easily find a location nearby.

3. Expert Staff: The knowledgeable staff are trained to offer specialist advice and recommendations on pet products, helping customers make informed choices for their pets.

4. Reputation for Quality: Pet Supermarket is recognized for its high-quality products and excellent customer service, establishing its reputation as a reliable source of pet supplies.

These factors—extensive product range, convenient locations, expert staff, and a reputation for quality—have contributed to Pet Supermarket's popularity among pet owners.

Services Available at Pet Supermarket

Pet Supermarket offers various services to make pet ownership more convenient and enjoyable. Here are some of the benefits you can expect:

Pet Grooming Services

Many Pet Supermarket locations provide grooming services, including bathing, haircuts, and nail trims, all performed by experienced and trained groomers. These services ensure your pets receive professional care in a friendly environment. Read more...

[itsanimeal]

Business profile: Goodman Chemist, Dr SS Rao Marg, behind K.E.M Hospital, Parel, Mumbai, Maharashtra 400012, India, 400012, pet care store, pet food shop, near me, pet medicine shop, pet shop near, me, Veterinary Pharmacy, pet online store, mumbai, online pet shops, in mumbai, online pet store, india

[bubblellop]

I need money really badly so IM OPENING COMMISSIONS EVEN THO I ALREADY HAVE THEM OPEN

CHECK TOS, PRICES, DETAILS AND EXAMPLES IN MY CARRD!

I do have one (well 3 but) new type of commissions, and those are the "rendered crayon" ones :] It's basically a rendered sketch, very fun for me to draw and also $20 per piece, but if you become a $5 kofi member you get one monthly for free ;]

Commissions are done through my Artistree, but you can also talk to me on Discord at Bubblellop!

[eleminim]

tail'less

[edenorisshitposting]

I'm home

[arctic-hands]

Not saying we shouldn't use reusable bags regardless, but does anyone else find it disconcerting that as a whole reusable bags have gone from literal canvas (cotton, linen) bags to just another form of plastic (PET), albeit one that can be reused? Like I'm not even one of those rabid "we must ban ALL plastic no matter what!" people and I still find it odd and a bit depressing

[jormation]

[teamkrissy]

Been experiencing a lot of the old auditory hallucinations

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

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

Word Count: 5.8k

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

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

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

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

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

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

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

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

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

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

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

You always did very well.

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

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

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

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

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

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

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

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

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

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

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

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

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

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

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

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

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

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

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

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

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

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

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

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

Oh, okay then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew he was watching you.

-

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

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

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

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

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kid's running you ragged.

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

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

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

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

You know you're about to earn your keep.

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

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

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

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

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

The Original Sin.

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

"It's nice to finally meet you."

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

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

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

"How did she go out there?"

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

He laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Must've been distracted."

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

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

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

-

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

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

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

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

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

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

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

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

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

It wasn't.

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

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

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

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

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

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl."

There it was.

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

So, you should've moved.

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

You should've moved.

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

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

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

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

A simple transactional arrangement.

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

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

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

You figure Art will take what he can get.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

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

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

Winning?

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

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

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

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

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

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

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

Had he always looked this captivating?

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

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

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

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

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

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

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

Naturally.

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

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

Maybe it was fate.

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

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

Yet.

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

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

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

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

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

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

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

What a fucking sight.

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

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

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

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

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

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

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

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

"Why am I here?"

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

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

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

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

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

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

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

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

But the showerhead knew all about them.

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

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

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

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

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

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

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

You loved it.

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

Tashi's car was gone.

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

At least you didn't scream this time.

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

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

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

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

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

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

It never came.

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

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

This was going to hurt.

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

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

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

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

Like he was enjoying himself.

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

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

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

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

No hurry, but impending.

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

Now this was God's favourite.

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

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

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

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

This was more your speed.

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

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

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

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

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

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With everything he had.

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

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

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

Utterly devotional.

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

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

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

The style was calculated.

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

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

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

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

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

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

"Tell me this feels good, please."

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

You might black out.

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

He whined.

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

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

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

He was going for gold.

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

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

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

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

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

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

A deuce.

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

"Uh- I already have."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't lose- you."

[hhoonii]

ᯓ★ ENHYPEN AS YOUR BF

pairing: ot7!enhypen x reader, genre: fluff

— heeseung

gaming dates, late night phone calls, songs written about you, flirty 24/7, lets you keep his hoodies, basketball matches, “this shot’s for you” *misses*, pet cafes, making shared playlists, forehead kisses

— jay

surprise flowers, fancy dinner dates, blushing whenever he hears your name, back hugs, museums, teaching you how to play guitar, keeps a back up lip balm in case you forget yours, supermarket runs

— jake

good morning texts, building legos together, sends endless pics of layla, secret handshakes, “my girl”, staring contests, laughing at videos together, arcades, can’t control his smile around you, boops your nose too much

— sunghoon

playing with your hands, ice skating dates, candid photos of you, dad jokes, couple outfits, “just because it’s you”, always makes sure you’re on the inside of the sidewalk, squishing your cheeks, hiding behind you when he gets startled

— sunoo

doing face packs together, photo booths, “you’re cuter” “no you’re cuter!”, cheek kisses, filming tiktok challenges, weekend getaways, watching horror movies, always knows what you’re feeling, gives the best gifts

— jungwon

camping date, silly poses, chasing each other at the park, can always spot you in a crowd, falling asleep in each other’s arms, watching romcom movies, always opens water bottles for you, holding hands under the table

— ni-ki

head pats, playing roblox together, tickling each other, workout dates, one on one dance lessons, drawings of you, sharing headphones, constant text updates throughout the day, going to concerts together

[shibearu]

it’s cold and dark outside but i have to venture out to get food but i don’t wanna go into the cold and dark :/

[innerfare]

Flowers

Summary: what sort of flowers (or alternatives) they give you

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid, Usopp, Robin, Nami

Genre: fluff

——— 

Luffy: Not one to buy you flowers. Instead, he picks them. Sometimes they’re weeds he thought looked pretty, other times, he presents you with a lush bundle of pink carnations you think he must have picked from a commercial flower field (this man has no concept of private property). He’s always very proud to present them because he worked hard to secure them; you'd better give him a kiss for his effort. Has, on occasion, accidentally brought you some that are poisonous. Also once brought you a bundle of radishes because he thought you would like the color. Receiving flowers from Luffy can be a bit like receiving a lizard from your pet cat.

Zoro: He won’t really think to buy you flowers until one day you mention that camellias are pretty. He takes that to mean you like camellias, specifically, and not that you’d like to receive flowers in general, so he always buys you camellias, and you think it’s so sweet that you never correct him. He’s not actually a proponent of apology flowers because he thinks a ‘bribe’ cheapens it, but he will bring you flowers when he knows you’re having a hard day. He might also buy you a small bamboo plant that you two end up treating a bit like a pet, giving it a name and everything. 

Sanji: Classic red roses, at least a dozen at a time. He’ll buy you roses in shades of white and pink, as well as the occasional yellow, but a dozen red roses is his go to. He also makes very good use of the petals. Doesn’t need a special occasion to present you with a bouquet. In fact, he always makes sure you have fresh flowers on your nightstand. Additionally, he’s learned to cook a few dishes with edible flowers in them for you, presenting you with all manner of chamomile, chive blossom, and pansy dishes. 

Usopp: Will buy you cheap supermarket flowers on his way to come visit you and will regale you with a long, fanciful tale of crossing oceans and deserts to secure them from the only spot in the world those particular flowers grow, a tale filled with sweet and funny anecdotes that makes you giggle as you trim the stems and place them in a vase of water. He’ll tell you that the flowers have special powers and properties, such as bringing you luck or living forever so long as you smile every day. 

Robin: Is an expert on hanakotoba, the language of flowers; she read a book on it once and thought it was so sweet and beautiful that she read it cover to cover several more times. She always buys you flowers with a specific meaning and then happily explains that meaning to you. Giving you flowers brightens her day as much as it brightens yours. White anemones (sincerity), daffodils (respect), and forget-me-nots (true love) are some of her favorites to give you. 

Nami: Not a traditional kind of girl. She won’t hesitate to buy you roses if you like them, but she gravitates more toward violets, daisies, and the like, smaller flowers that speak to both of you. She’s also a proponent of buying you a single flower that you can put in your hair, and she has bought you a selection of floral hair accessories so you always have flowers for your hair on hand; her favorite is the primrose crown she bought you. 

Ace: He’ll bring you bouquets with a lot of variety that the nice lady at the flower shop helped him put together. He usually builds these bouquets around sunflowers or orange lilies, and he gets very smug when his flowers brighten your day. He’ll also pick flowers for you, but he’s very conscious to only pick the ones that are not weeds. If he finds a field of sunflowers, you will be getting as many as he can carry. Never, ever visits you empty-handed, always brings at least a bouquet of flowers with him. Treats securing flowers for you like hunting for dinner and is always so proud of his bounty.

Law: Gravitates toward orchids, especially in darker shades of pink, purple, and blue; they feel a little moodier and less kitschy than the red roses Bepo tells him he’s supposed to buy to woo you (side note: imagine Law getting relationship advice from Bepo). One night folded an origami flower for you, and you liked it so much that he spent the rest of the night folding an entire bouquet, though he pretends it only took him five minutes. He doesn’t actually give the origami bouquet to you so much as he just sets it on your nightstand one day and mutters something about how the flowers won’t need water. He gets kind of annoyed if you make a big deal out of it. 

Sabo: He’s gone for very long periods of time, so when he returns, he’ll bring you a bundle of peonies or calla lilies, but he also bought you a cherry blossom bonsai tree so you can have flowers even when he’s away. The bonsai tree ends up becoming his baby, and when he is home, he spends quite a bit of time tending to it, to the point you get a little jealous. But it brings you lots of comfort when he’s away, a symbol of your love that’s firmly rooted and eternal. Side note, he will most definitely use flowers to seduce you. 

Kid: If it’s at the point where he’s buying flowers, this man is so far beyond pride he won’t flinch at purchasing a bundle of pink tulips, even if they clash with his outfit/aesthetic. He also presents you one night with a bouquet of metal flowers he made himself. He spent ages on it, but he really didn’t mean to. He intended to make one but got absorbed in his work and made an entire bundle of dainty little metal flowers. He’s oddly proud of himself for making something so delicate and would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[muffuletadiver]

semi related to the last post I reblogged, but I remember there was this youtube couple who owned a raccoon who would bring that thing to the grocery store....get it out of there!!

[johnleeswife]

Mephisto

Pairing : Sylus x reader

Context : Inspire by Sylus “Crow” voice call

Warning : None

It’s been a day ‘Mephisto’ in your home. You don’t know why Sylus sent Mephisto to your house. You are not in danger, not in a difficult situation, and you are surely not in a position to be spied on. But here you and Mephisto are staring at each other silently. “Are you going to be here until Sylus tells you to go?”, Mephisto answers with his crow voice. “Fine… Sylus said I can order you around so… I’m not holding back”, Mephisto seemed taken aback by what you said and made a sad noise.

At first, you make Mephisto do something simple like switch on and off lights, open the curtain in the morning, etc. Then you realize that he can project a small screen, oh boy what a life safer he is. You make him report the weather in the morning before you go to work, showing you the recipe of your current viral food that you try to make and you make him show you a list of current hit songs. Yes, you make him play the songs.

Slowly, you begin liking Mephisto by your side. You won't feel lonely when you come back from work and he make your dream come true to have a pet that you don’t have to worry he’ll die because of your lack of care. He accompanies you during your study, cooking, cleaning, everything. Suddenly he disappears and you start to worry. Then you hear a knock on your door.

It’s Sylus behind the door, you welcome him and invite him inside. “It’s your day off right? Let’s hang out”. You still amaze by how he knows everything about you. “Yes… but Mephisto is missing, we have to find him”

“Don’t worry about him, he is a big boy, he’ll do fine”

“Do you make him go out to mission?”

“No, things get better these days and I don’t need him for the time being”

“I’m starting to worry him”

“He’ll be fine, come on, get dressed and we’ll go out”

You and Sylus heading to a supermarket that surprisingly you always go to. “You need milk, cereal, eggs, and cheese and you're out of softener”. You stop walking and stare at him unbelievably. “What the hell Sylus how do you know all of that?”

“You wouldn’t wanna know sweetie”

“The he-”. You unconsciously raise your voice, making everybody in the store look at you. Sylus just walks down the aisle and smirks at you, leaving you behind.

After that, you two go back to your home. Of course, Sylus is the one who paid everything, you didn’t hold him back too. When you arrive at your home, Sylus starts unpacking the groceries and then puts them in the cupboard like he’s living here. You feel a chill down your spine if you think of it. “I think you have all the ingredients to make that viral food. Do you want to try to make that?” Sylus then asked.

“Oh yeah, I do. Mephisto can you-”, you almost forgot that Mephisto is missing. “Sylus, I still worry about Mephisto. Do you really don’t know where he is? Don’t you have some kind of remote to monitor him?”

Sylus stops whatever he is doing and faces you. “Really now? He’ll be fine. Aren’t you hungry? Come on let me cook you something”. Something strikes Sylus today that he treats you well, you wonder what it is. After Sylus is done cooking, you two eat together in your living room while watching a movie. Your mood doesn’t light up a little, even with Sylus’s cooking.

“I still worry about him Sylus”

“Why are you making a fuss about him now? Didn’t you don’t like him before?”

“Well he’s kinda great company, I didn’t realize that I was lonely until he came”

Sylus places his point finger on his forehead and looks at you. “Do you feel lonely right now? Let me remind you that I was behind him all this time”

You turn around to face him. “But you not him, he doesn’t bark like you”

“You like a submissive man I see. As you wish, I’ll become like one for you” Sylus makes a smirk face and places his head on your lap. You are shocked to see Sylus on your lap, adding that Sylus snuggles his face on your stomach and puts his hand behind your back. Now you can’t move because of him.

Knock sound on your window, you see Mephisto knocking on your window. “Mephisto! Sylus, Mephisto is back!”. As you want to open the window, Sylus’s hand wraps around you tighter. “Sylus, I can’t move”.

“He has his sharing, now let me have mine”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mine…”. You sigh defeated. So childish. Let's just say the rest of the day, Sylus is not letting you go and Mephisto just flying out site your place. You feel sorry for Mephisto.

[gilverrwrites]

Some of many (entirely self indulgent) fluffy/domestic Dick Grayson headcanons just because I love him.

He ADORES having a passenger prince/ss, someone to chat to, to point out cute dogs, and to sing along to Spotify with.

However, of the entire family, he is the worst driver.

Damian doesn’t even know how to drive yet, and somehow Dick is still worse.

It's not so bad in the car. He's known to ‘accidentally’ drive above the speed limit, take a few risky sharp turns and whatnot, but that’s about it.

But if you’re ever on the back of a batcycle, hold on for dear life.

He really doesn’t get enough credit for being the family's resident daredevil type.

He’s drifting, doing wheelies WITH NO HANDS.

Of course, he wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t 110% certain of your safety, but if you get scared he will tease.

You’ve gotta be able to stand a certain degree of teasing with Dick.

More often than not he outright does not respond to being called Dick by you. Cute pet names only, please. Dickie at a minimum. “Dick? Whose Dick? I only know Bubba.”

And vice versa, say goodbye to your actual name unless he’s mad at you.

His wardrobe is yours (within reason obviously, can’t have you parading around in his Nightwing suit).

He especially likes seeing you in his boxers and t-shirts, or especially his dress shirts the morning after a fancy event.

But he also raids your wardrobe, does not matter if you’re considerably smaller than him. He’ll wear your tees like crop tops in the summer, and won’t hesitate to squeeze your socks over his feet if he doesn’t have any clean ones.

And unless you do his laundry, or he’s been back to the manor recently, he rarely has clean socks.

Leaves you his cologne bottle if he’s ever has to go away for more than a few nights so you can spray whatever you like to be reminded of him.

Big on PDA, always draping himself on you when you’re out places. Arms around your shoulders on walks, plays footsie with you under tables. Will dance with you in the streets when you’re walking home drunk or kiss you in the rain.

Unless he’s around family, in which case it’s like a switch. Their teasing is relentless, and he doesn’t mind too much when it’s just him, but it really gets under his skin when they make jokes at your expense, even if they don’t mean anything by it.

Not to mention he’s leading by example, he doesn’t wanna see his younger siblings sucking face with anyone up close, so he’s not gonna subject them to watch him do it.

Always says he wants more chill dates where the two of you just relax at home and watch a film or something but that never happens. In the event that he isn’t needed elsewhere he either

Gets touchy 5 minutes in and you spend the night doing it instead.

Complains that you need a very specific type of snack or something, and takes you shopping at the only supermarket at does it, then there’s a great fast food joint you’ve gotta try, oh and he knows a rooftop nearby that has a great view you have to let him show you, come on.

He’s restless!

The only times your stay-at-home and chill dates succeed are when gaming is involved. Keep his hands and brain occupied.

Does not enjoy cleaning or cooking, but he’s not completely incapable. He often plays up his ‘inability to cook’ at home cause he knows the responsibility of cooking for everyone will fall on him should Alfred be unable/away, and god knows he’s a people pleaser. He won’t say no, so prevent them from asking.

He’ll cook for you though, it’s nothing special but he’ll do it.

Chores often take twice as long with him around because he’s always getting distracted dancing to the radio with you, or just touching you, he can't help it, you’re just so great, you’re a perfect little domestic team together.