#an easy going athlete

[adh-james-version]

Xander and Emma from Bunk’d are a version of Jegulus

[moonshynecybin]

How do you think the public perception of vale and marc changes over time in the fco au and how do they both feel about how both of their legacies are fully tied to each other now?

i think they end up being the beyoncé and jay z of the motorcycle world but sepang is the #lemonade moment because they’re both too obsessed (physically. emotionally. psychosexually.) to consider cheating on each other literally ever. also marc would physically kill them both on track

[batsplat]

Is Valentino Rossi the best rider in 1vs1 battles?

ehhhhh *shrugs* I mean. the best ever? like. who knows. the best in the field most years he was competing in the sport? maybe, I guess?

this is one of those questions where I don't really like giving definitive answers but am more interested in how you'd even go about assessing it? like, what metrics are you looking at, what are the criteria, can you put numbers to it or do you have to be super holistic about it or what. I think the 1 vs 1 is already an interesting distinctions, because that is a little different from just talking about wheel to wheel skill. they're related skill sets, but it's not the exact same

so. to bring in an example with a sample set of races I imagine most people reading this are pretty familiar with. let's say we're comparing valentino and marc in direct combat with each other. let's say we put the races where they're fighting one-on-one for basically the entire race in one box, so assen 2015 and catalunya 2016. let's say we have races where one of them is working their way through the field - and it's all building towards the confrontation between the two of them, so say a qatar 2013, a qatar 2014, an argentina 2015. let's say you have a very intense fight that doesn't last the whole race, like sepang 2015, or an extended 'duel' that is basically a defensive ride without any actual overtakes, like silverstone 2015. now, you may have noticed that from this list, valentino... kinda wins a lot of these? not qatar 2014, plus sepang 2015 is in the 'this cost both riders too much to have a winner' camp, but except for that? it's a strong record for valentino. however! the moment you take away the '1 vs 1' qualifier, suddenly the record looks way kinder to marc - you have a catalunya 2014, a phillip island 2015 and a phillip island 2017 go in his favour, while only assen 2017 is a multi-rider dogfight that involves both of them where valentino ends up taking the win. I do think when you're considering 'rivalries' and how a particular dynamic develops over time, it's worth looking specifically at what's happening in extended one-on-one combat and differentiating that from dogfights! because it is a different vibe, because it matters if you're just focused on one guy. but of course both categories still matter in assessing direct combat... even if there are also different skills involved in those different types of fights. valentino, even very late in his career, was still particularly adept at challenging and outsmarting individual riders, and it's a specific format he clearly did thrive in. so. yeah. both of these general categories are indicative of w2w ability, even if they're not quite the same - either in terms of the skills required or in terms of narrative implications

here's another issue. valentino tends to win the race-deciding extended confrontations against marc, but obviously that too isn't entirely reflective of what happened when they met each other on-track. this is because during their time together in the premier class, marc was winning a lot more races than valentino and generally had more pace than valentino, so a lot of on-track confrontations that marc came on top of where typically one-and-done type situations. overtake and move on, overtake and move on. so while you still have a misano 2014 (valentino overtakes marc and marc eventually crashes while attempting to keep up) or a brno 2014 (another valentino overtake where he pulls clear), you then also have laguna 2013 (the corkscrew move is the end of that battle), le mans 2014 (a single overtake around halfway through the race after which marc easily pulls clear), indy 2014 (an early tussle that eventually becomes more marc domination), motegi 2016 (similar, except here valentino ends up crashing), thailand 2018 (valentino can't keep up the pace once marc has gotten past)... like, we get to a place where we're risking penalising marc for 'being very fast' and not sticking around once he's gotten the overtake done, which does also feel wrong? it's an odd balance - because, again, when we're talking Actual Rivalries then it does matter who is winning an extended battle, psychologically if nothing else. like if that's the bit that mattered the most to the outcome of your race, if that's the bit people will remember years to come, if you invested a lot into winning that fight, of course it does matter. but that's narrative, not skill... is this really a good way of assessing how good someone is at 1 vs 1 duels?

I picked the example of that specific rivalry not just because it's the one most people are most familiar with or because I love engaging in discourse about that rivalry - but because I think direct rivalry comparisons are probably the most straightforward way you can approach trying to figure out who is 'better'... and marc clocks in just behind casey as the one who has the most balanced record against valentino w2w. like, biaggi is basically a walkover, and honestly you don't really have that many extended 1 vs 1 duels except for welkom 2004. and for sete, obviously a great rivalry (and I've always believed you don't need a rivalry of equals for it to be good and fun), but also once you get past that sachsenring 2003 turning point then the balance does go out of the window. I've been thinking about this in relation to a longer ask I've ended up massively overthinking (surely not), but I was kinda startled looking back at just how one-sided valentino's record is against jorge. like, unless I'm forgetting some major battles, the most extended scrap you can point to that jorge won is for his very first premier class win at estoril 2008 - and that's also pretty much settled by around halfway/two thirds through the race. but the actual 1 vs 1's that last much of the race? catalunya 2009? sachsenring 2009? motegi 2010? well.... hm. races that build to a battle like sepang 2010 also go in valentino's favour, and even extended tussles like le mans 2011 and phillip island 2014 are more valentino W's. hell, even various short and sweet battles like jerez and indy 2008, misano 2009, motegi 2015, aragon 2016, sachsenring 2018 generally have valentino come out on top - though in this category there's some exceptions, like qatar 2008, indy 2009 and jerez 2010 that all involved jorge besting valentino in a short direct fight

which raises another problem... we do need to in some way acknowledge that valentino simply ends up in more of these fights than most of his rivals - and as a direct result ends up winning more of them. like, once jorge clicked into title winning form in 2010, most of his wins became 'shoot off the line and win way ahead of everyone else with metronomic consistency'. I'm not saying all his race wins were like that! and he did win some great duels in his time in the premier class, especially against marc. but of course, he did that kind of dominating races a hell of a lot more than valentino did - whose approach to winning races was more 'qualify wherever, amble off the line, get moving around halfway through the race and figure things out from there'. now, I discussed this point a little bit here in the context of 'was valentino still successfully mind gaming the other aliens' - but just to bring it back, valentino was deliberately approaching his races in ways geared primarily towards being able to fight his opponents, even to the level of how he set up his bike:

you see this most extremely with something like laguna 2008, where valentino flat out knew he didn't have the outright pace to win - his entire strategy was built around not being the fastest but being able to fuck with casey. in that situation, he's not got the speed, he's building his entire strategy for the win around wheel-to-wheel disruption. and this, plus the regularly mediocre qualifying and starts, does just mean that statistically speaking he's overtaking more riders in his average win than any of the other aliens are. like, if that's your primary metric, then yes! he's clearly very good at w2w! by extension he's also very good at 1 vs 1 duels! if you're looking at riders who have clocked in more than a certain number of wins and do the maths of average overtakes per win, then, yes, I would imagine he tops that metric. does that make him the best? ... well, again... it does feel like you're risking penalising the better qualifiers and starters for being better qualifiers and starters and not ending up in seventh place at the end of every single first lap

so, you've got 'how they measure up against their direct rivals' and 'average numbers of overtakes' as ways to begin considering w2w ability as well as 1 vs 1 track record. then you get into increasingly nebulous waters... here's another potential metric for w2w skill I quite like: efficiency in overtaking. not naming any names, but there are certain riders who, when attempting to work their way through the field, will just. get stuck. even though they have a clear pace advantage over the rider directly in front of them. leading to incredible amounts of faffing about rather than just getting the overtake done. obviously, valentino does like to engage in some faffing about too, but generally speaking he's only doing that when he's in close proximity to the race leader and can realistically get himself to the front of the pack fairly quickly. he's very efficient when he's actually working his way through the field. of course, this is something marc is similarly excellent at, as he has shown plenty of times this year... which. well. this is where we run headfirst into another problem: this sport has changed a lot over the years and some things are simply not at the same difficulty level as they were in past years. so, sticking with those two, which of these is a 'better' comeback? 2006 sachsenring, where valentino starts tenth on the grid after tyre problems in qualifying, at a track he doesn't really love and in serious championship trouble, but works his way to the front before having to fend off the chasing pack that is coming back at him all the way until the chequered flag? or 2024 sachsenring, where marc starts thirteenth on the grid after having been impeded in q1, at his speciality circuit that he's visiting for the first time on a new bike, and works his way up to p2 despite his fractured rib and finger in an era where overtaking is a lot harder than it was in 2006? well, first of all, congrats to both of them, very nicely done. but secondly, that's kind of the problem, right? while I'm sure prime valentino in this era would also regularly be doing that marc/pedro thing where they make the commentators go 'oh ho ho they said overtaking was impossible in motogp these days!!' - at the end of the day his approach involved some built-in faffing about that was also more feasible back in the day. if we're assessing w2w ability, we do need to make some kind of allowance for era - which also affects how often riders are likely to find themselves in 1 vs 1 duels in the first place

here's another plausible metric: last lap battles. this is ALSO something that is super era-dependent. casey in his whole time in the premier class gets involved in like? about four battles that are still going on in the final lap? there's definitely a few I'm forgetting, especially if they weren't for wins/podium places, but it's definitely not a lot. compare and contrast with how the 2017 to 2019 era played out. everything back then was tyre management, tyre management and more tyre management, and dovi in particular was big on the 'eh let's win this race at the slowest possible pace' thing, where everyone crawled around the track as slowly as they could get away with before pulling the pin a few laps before the end. obviously, the characteristics of that era were a) very beneficial to dovi, in that they rewarded both those who knew how to make those specific tyres work (and his decline in 2020 was largely linked to the changes in tyres) and those who were very good at managing last lap duels, but b) inherently were more likely to produce last lap duels than a few other eras. like, in the alien era, which regularly featured gaps of. idk. seven seconds between the front runners, the characteristics of those bikes (as well as those riders) just meant you had very few battles that lasted that long. so inherently, it's harder to judge riders like, say, casey on how good they are in that kind of situation, not least because you are working with such a tiny sample size. and those battles are a big feature of how we remember 1 vs 1 duels!! people love last lap duels!!

now, yes, obviously valentino's record in 1 vs 1 last lap duels is very strong, and there's really only a few he loses over the course of his entire career. dovi is another strong contender in that particular category if we're just limiting ourselves to riders this century (which we are). (unfortunately, those two kinda took turns to be competitive so we didn't really get much of a direct h2h, but off the top of my head I think it's a pleasing 2-2? dovi takes qatar 2008 and le mans 2011, valentino takes qatar 2015 and argentina 2019. I feel like I'm definitely forgetting something.) but again, you do end up in caveat central with this metric. look at marc, who was reliably finding himself in last lap duels specifically at tracks he and/or the honda were quite poor at - again, ragging on that record too much does feel like you're penalising him for managing to get there in the first place. on the other hand, is it really fair to take too much credit away from dovi in handling those situations - surely, at the point where you're arriving in the last lap together, you're at a stage where both riders have a decent chance of winning? on the third hand, it is worth pointing out that dovi is more often than not in the lead going into those last laps, and is fending off a sort of on-the-edge last gasp 'might as well have a go' marc attack. 'last lap battles' is inherently quite a loose term, and how much should who's leading going in be considered a criterion? does it matter if you actually have an overtake or not? does it matter when in the lap the overtake happens? it's obviously quite an arbitrary category... sete makes a mistake headed into the last lap at sachsenring 2005 that gives valentino the lead, while marc makes a mistake on the penultimate lap of catalunya 2016 that essentially ends his victory challenge towards valentino. how do you compare those?

and at a certain point, you need to get away from the headline numbers and start thinking about what it actually means to be good at 1 vs 1 duels. you get into categories like 'race management' - choosing when best to make your attack, balancing risk and reward, not making risky overtake attempts for no good reason when you could just wait for half a minute longer, making sure not to needlessly fuck your tyres while pushing too hard too early. there's ability to actually execute overtakes, which is a question of race craft, creativity, and also about being able to play the opponent. there's various defensive abilities - somebody like pecco exemplifies this, who is both very hard to initially overtake in part due to his ability on his brakes, but is also adept at immediately re-overtaking (a favourite trick of his mentor too, as it happens). to borrow from another sport's terminology, you can contrast 'conversion' and 'steal' rate - if you have the superior underlying pace at crucial stages of the race, are you actually converting that into your maximum achievable result, or conversely if you have inferior pace, can you steal a result your pace doesn't 'merit'? obviously, you get a massive blot in the copy book every time you fail to convert any kind of result by crashing out or by bagging yourself a severe penalty for your race conduct. what about the psychological dimension? your ability to put pressure on another rider, e.g. by showing them a wheel here or there, to force them into a mistake rather than 'just overtaking' them via pure skill? is reputation and intimidation part of your skill set when it comes to wheel to wheel ability? the off-track 'work' you're doing on the opponent, and the prior weight of their expectations for this fight... your ability to study and analyse riders to pinpoint where they are at their strongest and weakest, while also figuring out where they're going to expect an attack and where they won't - maybe even sucker them into thinking it will come from somewhere differently than it actually does... on sheer weight of his track record, you'd have to say valentino is pretty much peerless in some of these categories. and, yes, some of these skills are weighted quite clearly towards the '1 vs 1' element over the 'multi-rider dogfight' element of w2w skills. they're more about terrorising a specific rival than thriving in the chaos

so. what does all of this mean. what's the actual answer. is valentino the best at 1 vs 1 duels. well. who knows. even if we're ignoring the historical dimension and limiting ourselves just to this century, there's too many confounding factors - from different racing eras within that time span to different individual approaches to racing - to allow us to truly evaluate who the 'best' is. I think the cleanest way to summarise it is... from the great riders this century, valentino is the one who most depends on his 1 vs 1 skills (and w2w skills more broadly). that's his unique selling point in a way you wouldn't say it is for any of the others... the guy who gets closest is dovi - but I still reckon his biggest skill is his tyre management and that was the most important differentiating factor that made him so competitive in 2017-19. his ability to scrap w2w comes second (and is absolutely a constant throughout his career), but really that's the bit that allows him to take advantage of the tyre whispering skills... it lets him finish the job, if you will. whereas with valentino, his brains and cunning broadly speaking and his w2w more specifically - and especially the 1 vs 1 stuff - is like, his x factor. I mean... obviously he's also good at the other things - I called him a mid qualifier but of course it's worth remembering he has 55 career pole positions in the premier class, more than jorge or casey or dani. this is primarily a function of his longevity and all of them are definitely better qualifiers than him, but like. of course he's not slow. it's just that relatively speaking, when compared to the other aliens, he's the one who is winning the least via his actual raw pace. here's one metric for that: in valentino's seven premier class title campaigns, he only has the highest average grid position in only three (and during his super dominant 2002 season, it's joint with biaggi). in three of those title-winning seasons, he's the second best qualifier on average, and in one of them he's only third best. the only other seasons this century where the best qualifier on average doesn't win the title are 2015 (marc just beats jorge, valentino is quite a distant third), 2020 (joan mir icon winning a title with an average grid position of NINE POINT FIVE SEVEN lmaoooooo, only seventh best on the grid), 2022 (fabio is a little ahead of martin and then pecco) and... that's it

which kinda means that... can you say valentino's objectively better at 1 vs 1 battles than the other aliens? well, no. I mean, sure, I do feel fairly happy to say he's better than jorge and especially dani, more *wiggles hand* about casey and marc - because with those two there's enough confounding factors in comparing them to valentino and they've also challenged valentino often enough directly that you can make the alternative case. in the end you do kinda go... well, it's very much a 'all these guys were at their best in very different versions of motogp' thing. what you can say is that for valentino, 1 vs 1 prowess is a bigger part of his game than it is for his fellow aliens. his route to victory both on an individual race level and on a title fight level is built around engaging in a lot of these fights and winning them - and, given how successful he's been, of course you do have to conclude that bit of his game is clearly operating on a high level. so when you compare that to both casey and marc, those two really do have other bits of their games that are more important to their success. fewer of their race victories percentage-wise have been won through 1 vs 1 duels. casey is dominating enough races from the front he's not even doing all that much w2w tussling. marc might be losing plenty of these close duels, but he's relentlessly at the front enough that this consistency is what's giving him titles as much as anything else. whereas valentino's entire approach is tailored towards finding himself in those kinds of direct scraps, winning said scraps, and then using those scraps as a way to demoralise the opposition... unsurprisingly, he's got the biggest sample size of that style of battle and has a very high success rate. who knows if he's the best, but he is the most dependent on that specific skill. and he sure has had a lot of practise at those duels, which I imagine will have gotten him just a little closer to being perfect

[wanghedi]

almost all the news articles that come up when u look up pan zhanle is about how they think he cheated and how its too good to be true and how team china's wins "deserves all of your doubts" like western journalists KILL yourselves for real. how fucking racist is it to believe all white athletes are inherently good and morally pure and would not dope but athletes that they believe are naturally weaker (asian people) must be cheating to win and athletes that they believe are naturally stronger (black people) have an unfair disadvantage and should be disqualified. And the logic loop closes and only white people winning counts as winning based on merit

[dozydawn]

Shae-Lynn Bourne and Victor Kraatz 1997 Free Dance

Overture from High Society (1956) and Willow Weep for Me by Muzzy Marcellino.

“... one of the elements of ice dancing that they began is this hydroblading. Very unusual and very difficult move.”

[end-orfino]

droners might have some flaws but i really think that if someone wants to write a proper rivals to lovers dynamic then they should study whatever hannah and corto have as a reference

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

2 tired of being disabled

[deetherusalka]

Like actually regular exercise sounds cool to me but not in the clean girl 💅✨ yoga mat in the sun way, neither in the gainzzz get some muscle swoldiers 🍌 and post for gymbros way neither like running ��� changed my way I swear I love marathon and winning way like................... I wanna be strong like my working class family from Slovakia is, the I built my house with my own hands, I carry around trees for wood in the winter and chop it up and I attended whole as garden and field for food and crops, I want to be that bitch that can fight a bear in the forest and crush a skull with her thighs and canclimb a cliff just cuz the view will be sick, walk around mountains all day and just cross swim lake (that's only thing I can actually do) but how do you fucking train for something like this in modern city

[canadachronicles]

GAME DAY!!!

[meistoshi]

when ur blorbo avoids interviews like the plague but he'd be Such an interesting interview subject

[gonzodangerfeels]

Horses make me nervous.

I never saw a need to rely on riding an animal that bad.

[rxmye]

" 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐂𝐊 — a confident athlete who turns into pathetic putty at the thought of you . . .

nsfw / sixteen + content / smut / gender neutral reader / yandere content / sub!yandere / masturbation / pervert yandere (he literally breaks into the locker room for your shit) / olfactophilia/osmolagnia (scent/smell kink) / dacryphilia (kink for crying) / breath play / yandere oc x reader

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: haven't wrote smut in awhile, so im a bit rusty . . .

Lucas dangled the keys in his hands, a grin playing on his face as he walked towards the locker room—using the key to unlock the door—it was pretty easy grabbing the keys from the janitor's room, not that this school was particularly secure with their locks. It would be pretty easy breaking in, if he tried hard enough . . 

Lucas scanned the area, looking through each locker trying to find which one was yours . . he had your lock combination memorized, though he did get a little help from a friend in order to figure it out.

His hands reached for the clothes that you had left in your locker, lifting it up to his face, eyes going half lidded as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, he felt his face growing warm and his body growing weak. Lucas leaned down onto the lockers for support, almost losing balance as he slid down onto the floor.

Lucas pressed the flimsy piece of clothing further onto his face, engulfing himself in your smell—so much so that he could almost taste you—all the while his other hand travelled downwards, clumsily unbuckling his pants in a hurry . . hasty movements contradicted his rational mind, not bothering to care if he'd get caught.

He slid his pants down, just enough to reveal his semi-hard cock—a soft whine escaped him at the feeling of the cold air—his free hand now teasing his tip, as he relaxed his body, closing his eyes shut . .—imagining how disgusted you'd be seeing him in this pitiful state— . . that really turned him on, he cussed under his breath at how pitiful and pathetic his thoughts were . .

Lucas wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, slowly moving his hand up and down—his vision growing hazy—as he let out breathy sighs of pleasure—whines growing louder when he moved his hand faster.

Lucas stuffed the clothing he took, and pushed it into his mouth—drool escaped the corners of his mouth—blocking his ability make a sound, as he moved his hand faster around his cock—little tear droplets stinging his eyes, as he felt his legs shake slightly at the sheer pleasure—he used his now free hand to pinch his nose, closing his only source of air . . .

All he could taste was you, the clothing taking away all the moisture in his mouth, as tears begin to escape his eyes, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his clothing—his legs began to convulse—his back arching slightly, as he finally came, all over the floor . . .

Lucas spat out the fabric, "fuck", the bell rang . . How is he gonna clean up this mess fast enough? . .

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[writingpseudonym]

I cant say I'm surprised, but it is disheartening to realize that any google search about how to accomplish daily tasks while reducing time standing/walking... is met with a bunch of articles about how chronically Ill people should be standing/walking more.

Anyway, I'm mostly young and healthy. I have a job that requires lots of physical activity, I commute via bike, etc etc. But, two days ago i started feeling a burning sensation in my feet. Like, it feels like im standing on hot coals levels of "Ow, wtf?" And ive been managing/hoping it will pass/trying to figure out if its worth going to the doctor.

I have never had a good experience with just showing up to a hospital when Im in pain. Hell, I watched my mother struggle with a chronic illness that doctors still dont seem to give enough of a shit about to even find a diagnosis. So um... any tips from the community would be great.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Fitness Trainer

A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)

Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.

TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content

And up... and down, just like that."

The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out. 

"One more, you can do one more for me."

"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache. 

"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."

He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own. 

“Do it with me now,” He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. “Push through it, baby.”

The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.

You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out. 

You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you. 

You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. You’d crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse. 

Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do. 

“I hate to say it, but you’re done for today.” 

You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath. 

Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back. 

His body, which should’ve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight ‘TRAINER’ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble. 

He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how he’s always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didn’t get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gym’s ‘premium membership’, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi “specialty.”

You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meathead’s face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.

“Feelin’ sore?” Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. “You went harder than usual today.” 

“Yeah,” You let out after a gulp of water. “Definitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe I’ll actually take you up on one of those massages.” 

You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoine’s eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin. 

“Of course-- definitely, I’d be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldn’t believe.”

Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight. 

“Wha- you mean right now? I’m all, sticky.” 

“Now’s the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort they’ve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.” 

He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadn’t expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders they’re too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades. 

“But considering you’ve pushed so hard, I don’t want to see you back here for a couple of days.” Antoine insisted.

“Awe, you want me outa here that badly?” You joked, laying your head forward as Antoine’s fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. “I see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.” 

It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing. 

Antoine shook your shoulders. 

“Don’t say that, now!” He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. “It’s not funny; I hope you don’t see me that way.”

“It’s just a joke,” You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.

“I never understand your jokes.” He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh. 

“Woah, hey,” You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers. 

“I have to get to your hips, you can’t do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day… well, you see what I mean.”

The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back. 

“O-okay.. I guess..” 

He’s not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, he’s the trainer, shouldn’t they know best? 

He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh. 

“Does that feel a little better, Mon cœur? Less pain?” He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks. 

You’re awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides. 

“Yeah… feels a lot better..” 

“You can rest your head on my shoulder, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.

The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more… audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual. 

“Just like that...” He mumbled, giving a deep hum.

With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldn’t get enough of. 

But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished. 

“Uh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really… got all the kinks out.” 

You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his “magic fingers” again. 

“Of course. And that’s just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.” He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.

Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; he’d never try something with you, his client. 

“Yeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.” You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoine’s work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. It’s gonna be hard to bend down for a while. 

Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesn’t use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing he’d just drag you back down to the floor if he did. 

“Thanks again-- I mean, I know it’s your job but--” 

“Don’t thank me; it’s always a treat to have you here, my cherie. I’d train you for free, you know!” 

You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, you’d ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasn’t cheap!

Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard part’s over. Too bad you can’t look at Antoine’s pretty face anymore, though. 

Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door. 

His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. How’d you never notice they didn’t just give these things out? 

He’d brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that you’d use it every and anywhere. 

Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got. 

His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didn’t know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you… it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear. 

 No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally? 

Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower. 

Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you. 

[yuujispinkhair]

Attending a formal family event with Sukuna

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff with some sexual implications. 1.3k words. Minors don't interact. Divider @/plutism

You didn't want to go to your great-aunt's 80th birthday party, where you only know about a third of the people, but they all seem to know you, and you are expected to do awkward small talk. But you couldn't back out, and now you are here in this fancy hotel, wearing a party dress and uncomfortable shoes with heels that make you feel wobbly on your feet.

But luckily, Sukuna is next to you, letting you hold onto his strong arm so you won't make a fool of yourself by falling in front of everyone. When you think about it, it was very easy to convince your boyfriend to accompany you. You even got the impression that he was happy that you wanted to bring him along to such a big family event, letting even the most distant family member know that Sukuna is the man in your life.

And surely, everyone knows by now. Sukuna has all eyes on him. He stands out with his imposing figure, the pink hair, and the face tattoos and various piercings. You can see the curious glances he gets, but Sukuna is someone who doesn't give a fuck, and instead even basks in the attention he gets, always grinning smugly at everyone who looks his way. And he never lets go of you, making sure everyone knows who he is here with.

It makes you feel strangely proud, too. You won't say it so as not to feed your boyfriend's arrogance even more, but you are beginning to enjoy the looks Sukuna receives. It feels good to show him off as your boyfriend. He looks sinfully good in his black pants and the black dress shirt that sits so snugly on his athletic figure, accentuating his broad shoulders and all the firm muscles.

But it's not just that Sukuna is sexy eye candy on your arm. You are grateful he is by your side because you feel much more at ease with him keeping you company. As boring and awkward as events like these can be, Sukuna is making it better, just like he always makes everything better.

He stands behind you close enough so you feel his tall, firm body brush against you, giving you comfort and security. And providing constant entertainment.

Sukuna leans down to rest his chin on top of your head, hugging you loosely and watching the crowd with his cat-like eyes, analyzing everyone in this room and sharing his deductions with you in his sexy, low voice the whole time.

You laugh and sometimes exclaim in mock outrage, but you find Sukuna's comments very fitting and funny. Your boyfriend is always a first-class shit-talker, and at least the hours pass faster when he is here to make you laugh with his surprisingly accurate character studies of each and every family member.

You catch yourself leaning against Sukuna, resting more of your weight on him, knowing he can easily take it. And he hums approvingly.

One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, Sukuna's large hand sprawling casually and yet possessively over your stomach, high enough so he can feel your heart beating under his fingers. A heart that is currently picking up speed because you can feel Sukuna's firm muscles press against your back, and his breath is ghosting over your neck before he places a soft kiss right under your earlobe.

The band starts to play, and all the older couples gather on the dance floor and wave at you to join them. You shake your head apologetically, but Sukuna takes your hand firmly in his and tugs you along, making you complain all the way to the dancefloor, telling Sukuna that you can't dance, but he just laughs and grins that boyish grin at you,

"Doesn't matter what you can or can't do, princess. I'll take the lead, so don't worry."

Sukuna spins you around the dance floor amidst the elderly couples as if he is doing this for a living. You stare at him with big eyes, while Sukuna smirks smugly and informs you that his grandpa taught him and Yuuji how to dance because he said a man needs to know how to take his girl dancing.

You realize you have already relaxed in Sukuna's arms, letting him take control and trusting him blindly to keep you upright. You see several nods of approval from the couples around you as you dance past them - or rather, your boyfriend steers you past them.

"I think you are winning their hearts, baby."

"Of course I am."

After a few more songs, Sukuna leads you back to your table, and you lean into his side and whisper a thank you to him, not even knowing what you tank him for right now. For dancing with you, or for making an effort to get your family to like him, or just for being here with you.

Sukuna answers it with one of his rare dazzling smiles and a whispered, "I love you," which you return with an equally whispered, "I love you, too," and a soft smile.

Your great-aunt pulls you to the side later and tells you that your boyfriend is such a handsome young man. She doesn't really like the face tattoos, but oh, it doesn't matter, right? If that is what young people do nowadays, and he looks good with them and is so handsome and so tall! Such a charming young man!

"Does he make you happy?"

You nod and beam at your great-aunt, unable to stop smiling from ear to ear,

"Yes, he does. He makes me very happy."

And she gets that cheeky expression on her face and nods knowingly,

"Oh, I bet that goes for every aspect of your relationship, huh?"

She winks at you, leaving no doubt about what she is implying. And you feel your face heat up, stuttering nervously and trying to laugh it off while your great-aunt pats your arm and tells you,

"Make sure to keep him, honey. A handsome, tall man who makes you happy and looks like he can protect you is always a good choice!"

You walk back to Sukuna, who is leaning casually against the wall with his hands shoved into the pocket of his suit pants. There's a shit-eating grin on his beautiful face, and you roll your eyes as you stop in front of him and tilt your head to look up at your boyfriend's face.

"What did your aunt say about me, princess?"

"Basically that you are very handsome and that she thinks you are good in bed."

The smug smirk on Sukuna's face grows even bigger, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, making you sway a bit on your heels, so you stumble against him and end up bracing yourself with both hands on Sukuna's chest. He sounds far too conceited when he says,

"Well, she is right. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sukuna cocks his head, waiting for your confirmation, and you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, getting on your tiptoes with a matching teasing grin on your face. You slowly lean closer to Sukuna's tattooed face, pressing a little kiss on his cheek before you look deeply into his amused maroon eyes,

"I don't know, baby. Maybe I need a little reminder."

And Sukuna laughs softly,

"Oh, don't worry. I'll refresh your memory all night. And I promise to be very thorough."

His tongue flicks out to lick over your lips teasingly before it pushes into your mouth, and Sukuna kisses you deeply while his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to his tall, muscular body.

Maybe that 80th birthday party wasn't so bad after all.

I AM SIGHING SO LOUD 😭😭💗💗 I have no idea why I thought of this scenario, but it wouldn't leave my mind anymore, so I HAD to write it. The thought of bad boy Sukuna being able to charm your family into liking him makes me very soft for him :((

I hope you enjoyed it!! Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

[too-deviant]

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!