#but i feel super out of practice sooo

[amiharana]

haven't written stuff in a while, is this anything

for @senchee ♡

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[sstargirln]

❞ ᝰ .ᐟ variety

art donaldson x fem!reader

TW: smut MDNI - p in v, oral m receiving - infidelity, art is a little bit of a perv, derogatory language

word count: 2047

¡! ❞ a/n: bold = art's thoughts!

art knew it was wrong. he knew it was wrong when his eyes tracked your body with every stretch, every jump, when his dick began to rise as he watched you play, when he caught himself thinking of you while fucking his wife.

he knew it was all so, so, so wrong.

but yet, when you came up to him, after winning his match at the tournament the two of you were playing at, asking if he coached (he didn't), he found himself blurting out a desperate and high-pitched "yes!"

you raised your eyebrows slightly at his tone, but smiled brightly nonetheless. "great!" you responded, looking up at him through your lashes. "i'm gonna try out for the olympics, sooo. i need a really good coach."

i'm not a coach. tashi's a great coach, art thought. my wife, she's a great coach.

"well, i'm a great coach!" art assured you. why did i say that? "at least, that's what, um, they tell me." who's they? shit, just shut up. he clamped his mouth shut.

"good," you nodded. "here's my number. just text me your availability." you fumbled with your purse, producing a wrinkled piece of paper with your phone number scrawled on it.

"will do," art answered, curt, dry, and professional so he wouldn't say anything too stupid like i'm super infatuated with you and i was staring at your tits the whole time you were talking and i want to bend you over and fuck your brains out every single time you make eye contact with me. or something along those lines.

you smiled again, flashing your perfect teeth before turning around on your heels and flouncing out of the court, leaving art standing there, jaw slightly agape as he watched your hips sway. he felt a tent begin to form in his pants and he cursed under his breath.

✮✮✮

"i'm so fucked." art downed another shot of vodka, slamming the glass down on the chipped wood veneer of the bar. "she's got, like, fucking pornstar tits, pat! it's so crazy."

patrick sat on the barstool next to him, cigarette dangling from his lips and fingers tapping a rhythm onto the bar. "and you're not gonna do anything about it?"

art looked at him with a look of disbelief, brows furrowed and lip captured by his front teeth. "obviously not! i have a wife."

"well, that's clearly not stopping you from thinking about her pornstar tits."

art sighed loudly, leg bouncing on the stool. "nothing wrong with having a little crush." he definitely wasn't thinking about how you'd look under him, pinned against the mattress of his fancy hotel room, eyes crossed, mouth agape, yelling his name. definitely not.

" 's long as you don't fuck her at your little private sesh," patrick sang, taking a long drag of the cigarette. art shot him a glare. "i'm not even discouraging it, bud. i think it'd be good for you."

"cheating on my wife would be good for me?"

"variety feels good," patrick said, passing him the cigarette. art took it gratefully, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling deeply. the two boys sat in silence for a few seconds, art surveying the dingy bar and patrick surveying the group of girls in the corner.

"i think i should tell her i don't coach."

"i think you should have sex with her."

✮✮✮

the day of your first private practice, art was wracked with emotion — mostly lust.

the night before, he called your number, almost creaming right then and there when your voice rang out, soft and sweet, exclaiming his name. he was perched on the bathtub of him and tashi's hotel room, afraid that simply talking to you was infidelious, and that any moment, tashi would burst in and just divorce him on the spot. but the conversation went smoothly, and the next morning, art was stumbling out to a private court, racket and a bucket of tennis balls in hand.

you were already there when he arrived at the court, dressed in a white tennis skirt and black tank, stretching your legs. you smiled when you saw art and bounced up to your feet. "you're late," you quipped.

"a little," art responded, already flustered. "sorry." he gave you a crooked smile.

you smiled back and beckoned him over to where you had been stretching. a notebook sat flipped open on the ground, and you bent over to pick it up, skirt hitching up high enough that art could see the beginnings of blue lace panties.

fuck.

"i watched over the recording of my match yesterday," you explained, handing him the notebook, which was filled with pretty handwriting and tennis diagrams. "my boyfriend and i just kind of wrote down everything we thought i needed to work on."

art didn't hear anything else you said after boyfriend. 'course she has a boyfriend. why wouldn't she? he nodded anyway, distracted by the light brush of your arm against his hand as you pointed out different things on the page. he can smell your shampoo. the scent of your perfume invades his senses, making him feel a little dizzy.

you looked up at him as you finished explaining, grin widening at the expression on his face. he was staring straight at you, eyes slightly glossy and breathing slow. you had him right where you wanted him.

"art?"

"yeah, sounds great!" art's voice was strained, and he blinked quickly to focus back in on your voice, which was now detailing how much time the two of you had to work.

two hours. that's all. c'mon, you can get through that without a boner.

✮✮✮

no he could not. the way you moved on the court, combined with your little squeals every time you hit the ball, combined with your tiny little skirt, combined with the grin you were flashing him, combined with you just being you, made his dick strain against his pants as he watched you from the bleachers, hitting balls into the wall.

"try to, um, keep your knees bent a little more." he was trying to coach, imitating the way tashi would talk to him when they were on the court. he barked commands that didn't really mean much and drew diagrams on the book that looked less like people and more like limp noodles.

you didn't really need the coaching — you were a beautiful player, fast and relentless with perfect technique. but you wanted art there, wanted to feel his gaze burning into your ass, or your tits, or the curve of your spine while you hit the tennis balls with amazing accuracy. he hadn't seemed to notice that you didn't need his help, because he continued to order you around in a tone that made your thighs clench and your panties soak.

after an hour, art joined you on the court, expression neutral but eyes still trained on your chest as you played a couple of sets. you kept making low eye contact with him, and it was driving him crazy.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

your skirt flipped up as you jumped to the side for the ball, flashing him a gorgeous view of your underwear. it flew up again, and you seemingly didn't notice as you bent over to grab another ball. art noticed. he also noticed the prominent wet patch that was forming around your entrance, making his breath hitch in his throat yet again.

she's wet. for me?

you continued to play, but art was distracted, faulting again and again. "are you okay, art?" you called from across the court, noticing his troubled expression.

art nodded and replied with a pained smile, holding up a thumb.

"your serve."

✮✮✮

after your practice, you made your way back to the locker rooms. you were chattering about technique, taking great pleasure in the way art was looking at you, pupils blown and eyes low.

you split at the entrance, art making his way to the men's showers and you to the women's. "shit," you muttered, looking up at the big CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE sign.

art was just standing under the water, letting the cold hit his skin as if to rid him of the thoughts he was having and the absolute raging desire that coursed through him. he jumped when he heard the creak of another shower knob turn behind him.

you were already undressed, and the sight of the perfect tits art had been dreaming about bare made him dizzy. you gave him a crooked little frown. "women's showers are closed. hope you don't mind."

art shook his head slowly, eyes locked on your figure. "not at all."

fuck this.

he couldn't contain himself any longer. he sprung at you, grabbing you by the hips and latching his lips onto yours as water continued to cascade over the two of you. you reciprocated the kiss sloppily, hands roaming over his toned skin as your tongues tangled.

you didn't really care, but you felt like you had to say something to protest, make up some type of excuse that made you seem like a little less of a bad person. "we really shouldn't," you panted, pulling away. "you have a wife."

"you have a boyfriend," art spat, hands still freely exploring your chest. "an' that didn't stop you from being a little slut back at the court." art's words were stinging, because this was all your fault. how was he supposed to focus on his wife when you were here, so beautiful and willing?

that was all you needed to kiss him again, nodding and swirling your tongue against his. art continued to grope at your tits, pinching and pulling at your nipples. you glanced down at his dick, which was brick-hard and glistening under the water. dropping to your knees, you tease his tip with soft, sloppy kisses, making him buck his hips against your mouth.

slowly, you took his dick down your mouth, sucking at the tip hard enough to elicit a low groan from the man. up and down up and down up and down on his dick went your mouth, your pace quickening as his hands reached down to grip onto your hair. "shit, love," he grunted, snapping his hips so he was fucking your throat, causing tears to spring into your eyes. you had never looked more beautiful in art's eyes, sopping wet, mascara smudged and hair sticking to your face in little ringlets. he continued to shove his cock down your throat despite the little gagging sounds you were making. with each thrust, his moans grew louder, his fingers tangling in your hair. finally, he pulled out of your mouth with a pop!, spurting cum all over your face and some into your open mouth.

"turn around."

you turned your body so you were flush against the wall, ass sticking up and chest pressed up against the cold tile. art surveying your folds, unable to tell if the sopping entrance was covered in just water or arousal too. either way, it served as the perfect lubricant, allowing his cock to slip right into you, making you arch your back against him. the moans slipping past your lips were practically pornographic as he rammed into you hard enough that you could feel the bulge in your belly. art grunted with each snapping movement of his hips. "fuck," he hissed lowly, the feeling of your beautiful, tight little pussy around his cock so good he heard himself whimper.

your whole body moved as he pounded into you feverishly, hands slipping against the wall as you tried to stabilize yourself. your pussy clenched around him, legs shuddering as your release rushed through your body like an avalanche of pleasure. you glanced back at him, taking in the way his eyes fluttered and his mouth shook. "does tashi feel as good as i do?"

and that was it. 8 words that threw him right over the edge, spurting into you with fervor. infidelity shouldn't turn him on this much, shouldn't feel so fucking good. but it did.

and when he stumbled back to the hotel room, pecking tashi lightly on the lips, cock still throbbing, he thought to himself — patrick was right, variety felt amazing.

¡! ❞ © niya-writesshit 2024

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ace Trappola - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

When Summoned: Yaaaawn, sooo sleepy... But it's a waste to keep sleeping! I think I'll roll around in bed some more.

Summon Line: Since it's my birthday, that means I can pretty much get away with askin' for whatever I want, right? Wonder what I should get my roommates to do for me...

Groooovy!!: No way, I overslept!? No way I can hit up the school with bedhead on my birthday of all days!

Home: Whew, now I'm feelin' fresh～

Swap Looks: Guess I'ma go wash m'face...

Home Idle 1: I couldn't find the shirt I was gonna wear tomorrow, but it ended up being mixed in with my roommate's stuff. Annoyin' how that happens sometimes.

Home Idle 2: Ruggie-senpai forced some vegetable seeds into my hands. He said I better share some with him when I harvest 'em... Would this even grow that much?

Home Idle 3: You wanna know about this hoodie? I bought it at a clothing shop in Foothill Town. It's pretty comfy, and also perfect to wear as loungewear, don'tcha think?

Home Idle - Login: Don't birthday mornings just feel special? I'm so jazzed I even get really into doin' up my hair!

Home Idle - Groovy: Kalim-senpai threw me a huge party as a celebration even though I'm not in Scarabia... Maaan, he's always so insanely nice!

Home Tap 1: Sometimes I'll play darts or card games with my roommates. 'Though, there's one loud-mouthed, thick-headed idiot that's always gettin' in the way!

Home Tap 2:I can't even imagine what kind of present Malleus-senpai could pick for me～ I guess I got nothing to lose by asking him... Nah, never mind.

Home Tap 3: I got softer hair, so I get bedhead super easily. Man, I've been late so many times 'cause of it!

Home Tap 4: I was messin' with Sebek, pushing his buttons and sayin' he probably sucks at gift-giving, when he shouted, "I'll show you what I can really do!" Ahaha, oh, I totally can't wait to see what he comes up with～

Home Tap 5: Eh, my hair's sticking out in the back!? Ugh, seriously? I thought I fixed it up. Guess I'll hafta fix it up in a flash during break.

Home Tap - Groovy: You like my taste in loungewear? I knew you'd get me. And see, I even picked these sandals in the same color to give it an overall coordinated look!

Duo: [ACE]: Can't wait to see how you'll celebrate with me, Kalim-senpai! [KALIM]: Let's dance, sing, and party hard, Ace!

Birthday Login Message: Oh hey, did you come to celebrate my birthday? Nice timing, we just finished morning basketball practice! My clubmates all wished me a happy birthday, too. Jamil-senpai said it as soon as he saw me, and by some miracle, Floyd-senpai gave me a very normal birthday greeting. I'm sure glad he was in a good mood～ Oh, hey. We should hit the Mystery Shop between classes. ...Hm? Why're you tensin' up? Huuuh? C'mon, I didn't say nothing about treating me, now diiid I? Hehe, see you later～

Requested by @thelonepearl.

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of my fav s3 scene.

choir practice scene • episode 2

this scene caught me so off guard, in the best way possible.

it only took simon's "you should do an activity you actually like" for wilhelm to drop everything and choose getting to spend more time with him!

simon's reaction at wille joining the choir was also mine: he can't believe his eyes and keeps looking back at him with the brightest smile on his face. and simon shifting wille's attention to where the song lyric is bc it's all new to him is adorable.

wilhelm's little proud smirk between the kisses while simon is so into it: he knew and imagined simon's surprised and happy reaction to all this, but i bet he was thriving to see it up until this very moment. so he might just be thinking that he made the best choice of his life.

having to practice and wait for everyone to leave was probably torture for simon, when all he really wanted to do since wille came in was this (simon's main love language is clearly acts of service btw *cough*). he felt important, cared for, loved - and couldn't wait to reciprocate it.

also, he's holding the key chain and happens to do the middle finger with the same hand. if you look at it as a way of saying 'mind your own business' to us is quite funny.

simon setting the rhythm and wilhelm fully going along with it. they don't even separate their lips before leaning in for another kiss - melting into it. they literally said 'no need to catch air bc we're already breathing each other in'.

simon not breaking physical contact even once. his hands are the third main character in this scene: they act like a glue for their bodies and carry so much passion. it is peak chemistry.

going on his tiptoes to push himself as close as possible and clinging to wille for dear life is the most simon thing he's ever done. love really brings out the cuddliest version of him.

smiling into the kisses and out of the kisses? insane of them if you ask me (i support it) (keep doing it lovers).

wille smiling and biting his lip bc he's the one overwhelmed by simon's presence now. physical touch is his love language and he's flooded with simon's - he must feel the luckiest boyfriend on earth.

one of their greatest proofs of love has always been to provide each other's comfort by being exactly what they lack receiving from other people or what they need most of the times - it's a constant learning of how to give and take.

they can't get enough of it: it's not even only about the kissing but more about their need to just keep pulling the other closer, leaning into each other, slowing their movements to not leg go yet but take time to touch and deeply feel instead - wille's face speaks for itself. this hug is so intimate ugh.

it's finally shown a glimpse of wille's hand on simon's back! it was always there obv but it's nice to see it more properly.

wilhelm obsessing over simon's neck and simon who tilts his head back to make it more accessible. wille could've done it all and trace the path with kisses - simon wished - but the boy knew what he was doing!

the way simon looks up at him and wille rubs their noses back and forth, keeping his eyes on him, gives me butterflies.

they're super affectionate and it's the easiest thing for them to do. the intimacy that comes with their whispering, their own personal space becoming one for both of them to share bc it's safer, warmer, a lot more comfortable. everything is such a manifesto of how much they genuinely adore each other - it's what makes this the it scene for me.

their bottom lips touching are sooo *internally screaming*.

wilhelm stands still to let simon's lips brush past his own and simon's cheek resting against wille's lips to enjoy the feeling a little longer. they look so peaceful.

it happens after wille's "i like listening to you sing": they went from "he likes it when i sing" / "i do too, don't i?" (locker room's fight in s2) to wilhelm actually telling him that listening to his voice is one of the main reasons he joined the choir. it has to be extremely special for simon to finally hear it.

idk if it's just my mind making this up but let's pretend simon is kissing wille's neck here!

wilhelm picking simon up by the waist to carry him elsewhere and keep the thing going more privately. that's my wille.

can you believe this is the face of someone who's saying that he needs to go? to not miss the bus? he just looks crazy in love to me.

wille's laugh is cute! and simon throwing his stuff on the floor bc the priority was to push his boyfriend against the lockers to make out will never not be funny.

also, @allthefakepeople once said the only thing that could've made this scene even more perfect is if simon paused when walking away and ran back to wille to steal a quick goodbye kiss - ahhh i'd have been so here for it!

[sweetheartsaku]

(BLLK) LOVE BELT.

𝜗𝜚 BLUE LOCK VARIOUS: MYOSOTIS (FORGET ME NOT).

a/n: [fem!reader] AHHHHH FIRST BLLK POST!!!!! LASTEST FIXTATION!!!! hopefully not too ooc huhu, hope pt1-ers find pt2~

— characters: isagi, kunigami, nagi, reo

part two ! ♡ chigiri, rin, bachira

isagi yoichi ; love belt - jonghyun, yunha

ties your shoes for you!!!!! doesn't care if it holds back the group or how long it makes them stop for. double knot, never too tight (the occasional times my guy friends tie my laces i swear i lose circulation in my feet 😔).

embodiment of a beabadoobee song! hes such a sweetheart (apart from on the field) n' kisses you lightly on the corner of your lips or on your eyelid, holds you a little higher than your hip and hugs you with his arms supporting your back from beneath.

your mama loves him more than you do, i fear (ᵕ—ᴗ—) bro fr pulled up to your house with a rose for your mama and a mug for your dad, because who is he to pull up to his girlfriend's house without gifts for your parents? (with intentions of getting to know what they're like so the wedding goes smooth) how can you expect your mama not to fall for him after he offers to help wash the dishes?

learns all the little things you like, has a note on his phone with your fruit tea and coffee order. knows what type of materials you like, especially to the girls who have sensory issues 🫡. he always has you in mind, buying hoodies and shirts that not only he likes, but you like

in conclusion, spectacular gimme 14 more of em'

kunigami rensuke ; no. 1 party anthem - arctic monkeys

ALWAYS THE FIRST TO INITIATE. always plans dates first. has anniversary ideas months prior. he has your order memorized and makes sure the date won't ruin your latest set of nails.

holds your leg when you bounce it ! very worried when you do. always looks around for a little. is it cold? are there weird guys?

he's so boyfriend i just wanna kiss him, tells you to wear whatever you want because he can fight (#needthat)! kunigami one of the most boyfriend in the show pre wildcard! ദ്ദി(•̀ ᴗ - ) ☆

do you guys know that trend when there's a girl then her boyfriend comes in and swoops her away (or is it just me HELP hopefully i don't sound crazy)?? but he does it so effortlessly omg. didn’t spend that long in the gym for nothing

mornings are the hardest because his diligence and discipline for the gym are out of the roof. but he’s not completely heartless! kunigami feels really bad as you sleep uncomfortably without him, tossing and turning just missing the grasp that once held you. worst bit is when you wake up the same time as him, but you’re a lot sleepier, resulting in you weakly catching his wrist. breaks his heart whenever he has to go and presses a chaste kiss to your temple >3<

holds your waist on public transport. smells like axe body spray /hj

nagi seishirou ; no one noticed - the marías

BLANKET HOG!!!!!! unfortunately, you're always cold because sometimes you can find yourself freezing your toes off in the middle of the night because this little sloth feeds off warmth. if not wrapping the entire blanket around himself, is practically on top of you with his nose nestled in the crook of your neck and his lips basically on your collarbone as you run your hands through white locks (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

fiddles with the hem of your shirt or loose drawstrings on your pants. his hand in the pocket nearest to your butt, fidgets with your rings and knows which ones go on which finger by heart.

very very very immersed when you paint your nails or get them done. but nagi takes a good 5 minutes to stare at them (especially if there's charms on them) and a girl would be confused. but in reality, he just really likes them (but, he'd prefer if they'd run through his hair instead).

doesn't get the stuff on tall shelves on purpose SUPER SENIOR ALERT WEE WOO WEEWOO!!!!!!! either because its "too much of a hassle" or because he wants to get a reaction out of you (cruel)

falls asleep in movies sooo quickly its adorable. 30 minutes into the movie his head is on your shoulder. scared, due to his tall nature that he'd get neck pain when he wakes up, you have to gently pat him awake (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ and he'll ask you to carry him (???)

reo mikage ; love maze - BTS

zip up your jackets, wraps your scarves. holds your hands when your cold and rubs them with his!!!!

reo's favourite place to kiss you is your hand. craves the intimacy of it all. as his princess what the hell are you doing without a kiss to your hand before every door you open? (you don't remember the last time you opened a door before you started dating reo)

apart from the soccer club, most likely plays in a band as well. occasional school-related gigs here and there and a few enjoyable get-togethers with his friends to just play whatever. watch his performances! (SOOO cheesy!!!! says "this is for you, [name]" before he starts his pasilyo cover.)

cooks' breakfast on hard weeks. when everything seems to be falling apart, your boyfriend will always be there to help you pick up the pieces, even if it's just the little things. when you're sick GYATT DAHH will you be feeling better in days!!!!! he'll keep distance but won't hesitate to move a strand of hair from your mouth as he spoon feeds you or place the back of his hand on your forehead. but also, doesn't mind being sick if it meant you were ok.

promise rings promise rings promise rings. did i mention promise rings? its either the crazy big, expensive diamond or a simple one in silver that has his initial on the inside <33

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 7

[chap six] | [all chapters here] | [chapter eight]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Sooo, I did not mean to take a three week hiatus from this fic :) I had so much of this chapter written within a couple of days and then abruptly stopped writing entirely, literally couldn't work on any of my stories. But now the writers block has passed and we FINALLY have an update, and boy these chapters just keep getting longer as the story goes on. I hope this one makes up from my recent absence~

wc: 6.6k

Chapter Seven

Wednesday morning was supposed to start like it always did - small talk with your mom over a bowl of cereal and then running out the door before the conversation whittled down to awkwardness. You wish you could appreciate your mother’s efforts to try to connect with you, but she never asked about anything beyond school and skating - once those two subjects were exhausted, it was as if you two had nothing more to talk about.

But today was different. Today, your dad was actually sitting at the breakfast table instead of rushing to his office before you even came downstairs. Today, your head was a little fuzzy from drinking the night before. Today, you wished you had just run out the door and skipped breakfast, because you could see right away that your parents wanted to have a conversation.

You paused briefly in the kitchen entry, looking between the two before trying to act casual, walking towards the pantry and preparing a quick breakfast. You could feel their eyes following you, and damn did you wish someone would just say something. Your father always acted like this before a serious conversation - he stayed silent to intimidate you, to put you on edge in hopes that it would make you more pliable to what he had to say. You’d always assumed he did this to clients and business associates as well, as if to suggest some kind of dominance over them. Well, you weren’t going to let it get to you that easily, you never did before.

You sat at the opposite end of the table from your father, your mom hovering at the kitchen sink although there were no dishes to be cleaned. You started to eat as if you were totally unphased by their watchful eyes, as if you were entirely oblivious to their stares, although you knew neither of them bought the act for a second. One of you was going to cave eventually, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.

Sure enough, your mom spoke first as she approached the table, just like you expected her to, “You have practice after school today?”

You gave her a critical look before nodding - you knew that she knew you always skated on Wednesday, making that a pretty pathetic attempt at breaking the tension in the room.

“Are you actually going?” Your father asked in an accusatory tone, although he maintained a neutral expression so as not to give away what he was thinking.

You couldn’t help the mean look in your eyes as you met his intense gaze. Your tone was stubborn and cold, “Yes.”

“And will that boy be there?” The disdain in your father’s words was clear as day. Your brow knotted at the question, both because you didn’t like his tone and because you wondered how he found out about Eddie already.

“Boy?” Your tone was mocking - you weren’t feigning ignorance, but rather presenting your father with a challenge, daring him to elaborate on what had gotten his mood so twisted. And it was clear in his face that he didn’t appreciate your attitude one bit.

“Mrs. Redford saw you two together on Friday.” Your mother chimed in, hoping to serve as the calm mediary considering that you and your father were both intense, mean people.

Of course it was Mrs. Redford who told your mom about Eddie - she was such a damn gossip, and with her daughter participating in your skating lessons, you should have known she would have noticed you leaving with Eddie that night. She was drawn to drama and gossip as if it was the air she breathed, so it was certainly no surprise that she ran off to tell your parents about this new boy that she spotted you with.

“Why does it matter?” You dropped your spoon in the forgotten breakfast that sat in front of you, slouching into your seat in growing frustration.

“Because he’s clearly a troublemaker.” Your dad’s tone matched yours, causing you to roll your eyes, “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”

Your jaw clenched at the threat in his voice, “How could you possibly know someone is trouble without even meeting them?”

Your father pressed his palm to the table firmly, “Because I know his type - a lazy punk only interested in skating by and disrespecting the establishment. I’m a good judge of character.”

“How?” You insisted with exasperation, causing your father to look down on you as if you were some stupid kid.

“You were out way past curfew last night - were you with him?” Your dad glowered, and evidently your expression gave him the answer he wanted, “You ran out the door without telling your mother where you were going or who you were with. She saw you climb into some van, for Christ sake. And the way Mrs. Redford described this hoodlum? The leather, the hair, the tattoos? What’s gotten into you?”

You held your ground firmly, glaring as you crossed your arms, “I don’t see what the issue is.”

“The issue is you’re acting out, you’re avoiding us, and this boy you’re seeing seems to be encouraging this behavior!” Your father raised his voice, “I don’t care that you’re eighteen now, you still live under my roof.”

“You don’t care about anything!” You can’t help but shout back, “You only care now because you’re worried I’ll make you look bad. You’re worried about stupid gossip!”

“That’s not what this is about!”

“We’re just worried about you,” Your mother tried to intervene in an even tone, drawing the attention of the both of you, “We don’t want you to lose sight of what’s important just because of a boy.”

You throw up your hands in defiance, your voice harsh, “What important things am I ‘losing sight of!?’”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother!” Your dad jumped back in, “The last thing you need your senior year is some punk distracting you from school, from skating. You need to consider your future. Don’t you want to get into a good school? Don’t you want to skate?”

“I don’t know what I want!” You admitted angrily, “Maybe I don’t want to go to college or skate or do the shit you tell me to! Maybe I just want to enjoy life a little.”

“Enjoying life doesn’t get you anywhere.” Your father glared, “We tell you these things to help you. So, stop hanging around this boy and start focusing on your future.”

“You didn’t care what I was doing before, why do you care now?” You challenged coldly, “You didn’t care when I was out late with Duncan, you didn’t care when I’d miss practice because I’d be out with Amelia or Janet. You only care now because it’s Eddie.”

You instantly realized you shouldn’t have mentioned his name. Not yet, at least, not in the middle of this argument. Yes, you wanted your parents to know you were “dating” some new, troublesome guy, but you didn’t want them to actually know who he was yet - you had hoped to build up a little more suspense first, a little more tension between you all. You hoped your face didn’t give away what you were thinking.

“Eddie?” Your father laughed as he said the name, “You call things off with this Eddie now, do you hear me?”

You looked between your parents’ faces - your father looked as stern and condescending as ever, and your mom looked like she was away somewhere in thought. Perhaps she was trying to pinpoint any Eddies she’d heard of before and figure out who the hell he is.

A frustrated sound leapt from your throat as you rose to your feet aggressively, the legs of your chair making a grating sound on the floor.

“Whatever,” You spun around to leave, seeing the time on the wall clock before shooting your parents a mocking look, “I’m going to be late. Great job getting me back on track.”

You knew just how rude your tone was, so you practically ran out of the kitchen to avoid your father’s wrath.

“Excuse me!?” His offended voice shouted after you. You scooped up your school bag and your car keys, running out the door without looking back.

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Just like you suspected, you were late for your first period class, receiving a reprimanding from your teacher, which only served to piss you off even more. Today just wasn’t your fucking day. So, by the time you walked into your math class a couple hours later, it was actually something of a relief to see Eddie already there; why you were actually pleased to see him was a thought you weren’t quite ready to entertain.

He grinned once he spotted you, but the way you flopped into your seat caused his face to immediately twist with curiosity. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his legs situated in the aisle between you two.

“Feeling hungover, princess?” He asked with only a small jest in his tone, as if he could tell that you weren’t in the mood right now. His eyebrows furrowed together as you glared, although you knew he wasn’t the one that deserved the cold look.

“No.” You groaned, your jaw clenched tight enough to hurt your teeth. You sighed through your nose, trying to collect yourself - it was stupid to let this frustration eat at you, although you were always prone to holding onto grudges.

Eddie nudged your knee softly, so you met his eyes again. He stared at you patiently and inquisitively, “So, what’s wrong?”

You considered for a moment whether or not you wanted to tell him. With a sigh, you sat up in your seat, turning so that you mirrored Eddie, legs in the aisle and knees brushing his. You let your knees rest there, allowing the small amount of contact as if you needed it to ground you, as if you even enjoyed it.

“It’s my parents.” You start, looking down at where your knees met his. Your skirt was short and his jeans were ripped, so you were skin-to-skin. It didn’t matter, of course, you were simply trying to find something else to focus on, “They aren’t thrilled about you.”

“Oh, so you told them?” Eddie gave you a small grin, hoping to lighten your mood a little. And you wouldn’t admit it, but it was already beginning to work.

“One of my neighbors saw us together.” The bell rang in the middle of your sentence, but neither of you faced forward, eyes staying locked on one another.

“You seem pretty worked up about it.” His quiet tone had a hint of question to it, clearly wondering what exactly happened with your parents. Your teacher began going down the attendance sheet and the focus of today’s lesson.

“My dad’s a dick.” You responded in a whisper, “Just grilling me about shit - about you - as if I were a damn criminal or something.”

The sound of your name on your teacher’s lips drew your attention, and you harshly met her stare, “Would you two like to join the class now?”

You rolled your eyes as Eddie smiled lazily, the both of you turning to face forward. He reached out to give your knee one more playful nudge, as if to assure you that all would be well.

As the teacher began her lesson, you and Eddie kept stealing glances at one another conspiratorially, which helped to slowly ease the tension in your shoulders, to slowly relax your mood. After another couple of minutes, Eddie held a folded piece of paper between the two of you, obviously intending for you to read it. You slyly took it from him, fingers brushing against his as you wondered what he possibly had to say right now.

I think I can win him over.

The silly little doodle accompanying the note emphasized the joke, and you couldn’t help but grin at it just a little. You side-eyed Eddie, catching the way he smiled mischievously at you. With a roll of your eyes, you scribbled down a reply and handed it to him.

All the charm in the world wouldn’t win him over.

You watched Eddie’s face out of the corner of your eye, awaiting his reply with a hint of eagerness. The note was back in your hand once again.

So you admit I’m charming?

A small huff of a laugh escaped you as you rolled your eyes, beginning to write a response. But a presence walking down the aisle drew your attention, noticing your teacher was walking right to you. Your stomach dropped a little, realizing you were caught, but you simply looked up at her as if you did nothing wrong.

“Is there something you two would like to share with everyone?” She asked accusatory, crossing her arms in reprimand. You held her eyes with a challenging stare - god, this day just kept giving you hit after hit.

“Nothing in particular.” You retorted, hearing someone in the room make a nonplussed sound. Your teacher glowered at your attitude.

“Then I suggest you follow along or take this little conversation to detention.”

You gave her a mean, mocking smile, baring your teeth almost as if it was a threat, “I’ll take the detention, please.”

Again, more surprised sounds from the teacher and from students. You dared to look over at Eddie, who looked both taken aback and impressed at how difficult you were being today.

“Excuse me?” Your teacher challenged you.

Your eyes were dark as you stood your ground, “Detention. Please.”

The teacher looked between both you and Eddie with a huff, but a moment later a decisive look crossed her features, which put you on edge.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it to be. You can go to detention. Mr. Munson will stay here.” You gaped, your eyes glaring at the back of her head as she turned to walk back towards her desk, “No point in sending the both of you, right?”

You hated the fact that even your teacher was now mocking you, resented the fact that this day just kept piling more shit on your shoulders. You shared a look with Eddie, who looked sorry for landing you in trouble; you thought that you should’ve been upset at him for it, but you weren’t. It seemed like Eddie was the only person not getting on your last nerve today.

You rose to your feet as your teacher walked back towards you, a slip of paper in her hand outstretched to you. Haphazardly, you threw all your belongings in your bag before aggressively snatching the note from your teacher.

“You give that to the detention attendant, I don’t want to hear that you ran out on it.” She instructed with that hint of satisfaction in her tone. You glowered back at her.

“Bite me.” You spun on your heels as various students made, yet again, sounds of excitement at the harsh tone and words you threw at the teacher. As she started spewing some kind of reprimand that you weren’t listening to, you marched out of the room.

What a fucking day. You stomped down the hall, steam practically coming from your ears with how pissed off you were. In annoyance, you balled up the detention slip and tossed it at the nearest trash can, although you missed, which irritated you even more.

You’d never gotten detention before. Under different circumstances, you probably would have been thrilled to be sent to detention, to finally be enough trouble for a teacher to send you off. But after the morning you’ve been having, all you could feel was frustration.

Less than a minute after you stomped out of math class, you heard a door swing open and hit a wall somewhere behind you, prompting you to turn towards the noise. And once you saw who it was, you couldn’t help but smile with a surprising sense of glee.

Eddie Munson, your knight in shining armor.

He dashed down the hall to catch up with you, smiling just as widely as you were as he practically skidded to a halt in front of you. A small laugh escaped you as he hunched over in an attempt to catch his breath. He looked up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here.” He instructed simply, grabbing your wrist and dragging you down the hall with him. You allowed yourself to be led through the school, your smile settling into a simple, pleased smirk, relieved to have Eddie’s company.

“And where are we off to?” You asked, receiving a shrug from Eddie. Once you two had turned into a new hallway, he slowed so you could walk side-by-side, experimentally sliding his hand into yours. Once again, you still felt hesitant at more intimate contact such as this, but you allowed it without cringing too hard.

“Anywhere but here, you troublemaker.” He teased with a content smile, guiding you towards the school exit.

“So, we’re skipping?” You inquired, and you had to admit the idea really appealed to you right now - you’d had enough of today, and if you didn’t escape you thought you might explode with utter frustration.

“If that’s alright with you, princess.” Eddie gave you a silly expression while bumping your shoulder.

“Please get me the hell out of here.”

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The most time you’d ever spent in a video arcade was for one pathetic round of Galaga while on a date with a boy your freshman year. Following that, you decided arcades weren’t for you - they were always crowded with a bunch of kids running around and shouting, and you’d branded all the adults that spent time at arcades as total losers. What could possibly be so appealing about games designed for children?

So, when Eddie pulled up in front of the Palace Arcade, you gave him a critical look, which he chose to ignore entirely as he stepped out of the van. He rounded to your side and opened the door, offering you a hand like a royal stepping out of a coach. You looked between his hand and his face for a moment, still judging the choice to come to an arcade. Reading the look on your face all too well, Eddie pulled his own affronted expression.

“What, too good for arcade games?” He put on an over-the-top, almost Shakespearean tone while placing a melodramatic hand to his chest, “But I’ve brought you to the Palace, the finest establishment in town for the ice princess.”

You rolled your eyes and tried not to laugh at him, unwilling to admit that even Eddie’s dumbest jokes were starting to win you over. Nonetheless, you took his outstretched hand with a large sigh, stepping out of the van despite your lack of interest in this place. Eddie, of course, smiled triumphantly, closing the door behind you and leading you into the arcade.

Given that it was only about noon, the place was virtually dead, which was quite the relief - no need to worry about loud, annoying kids getting in the way. Aside from the two of you and the Palace employee, there was a group of three college-aged boys clustered around Frogger and a lone man focused on something called Paperboy. None of the patrons looked up when you and Eddie entered, and the only reason the employee took any note of you is because it was simply his job. Of course, once he spotted you, he did a double-take.

The employee’s jaw hung slack as if in disbelief, and he nervously greeted you two, trying to keep his attention on Eddie. It appeared that the two were familiar with one another, and you wondered if Eddie really spent that much time here or if maybe this was a guy that used to go to school with the two of you. Either way, their interaction wrapped up quickly, and Eddie dragged you to the change machine.

As Eddie inserted a few bills, you looked around at the other arcade patrons, who finally seemed to take notice of you. In the group near Frogger, one of the boys nudged his friends, insisting they both look up; none so subtly, they all looked at you as the music from their arcade cabinet seemed to signal game over. You looked back with a raised brow and cold eyes, causing them all to quickly look away, although you were certain you’d probably catch them spying again. As you gazed back at Eddie, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your lips - there was something about being the only chick in the arcade that amused you, something about being totally out of place and totally out of Eddie’s league.

Eddie stashed the change in his pocket, holding out a few quarters that you tentatively took from his hand.

“What first, princess?” You looked at him with a judgmental expression, causing him to narrow his eyes critically, “Come on, this’ll be fun.”

“Sure…” You looked around and assessed the arcade, pointing at the nearest cabinet without any consideration, “That one.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh at your choice while shaking his head, knowing you didn’t care one bit what game you started with, “Dig Dug, huh?”

You made another face at him, so he simply rolled his eyes and led you towards the game. He leaned against the cabinet while crossing his arms, giving you an expectant look; in turn, your brow scrunched.

Eddie shrugged, “Well, go for it - this one was your idea.”

“I don’t want to.” You responded as if affronted by the suggestion, “You play.”

Eddie once again rolled his eyes with an exacerbated grin, “I don’t play Dig Dug.”

“Then play something else.” You instructed stubbornly.

“You aren’t getting out of this one.” Eddie countered, motioning towards the cabinet he still rested against, “So, be a big girl and play the game.”

You gaped at his response, feeling a slight stir at his word choice. There was a challenging glint in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t going to back down easily, that he could volley with you all damn day. As you closed your mouth with a small purse to your lips, you looked around the arcade with a raised brow.

“I don’t want to play that one.” You crossed your arms, to which Eddie once more smirked at your stubborn determination.

“Then choose a different one.” He responded while mimicking your body language.

You narrowed your eyes at him before your gaze studied the rows of arcade cabinets, recognizing none of the names. This was something you were grossly uneducated on, arcades making just about as much sense to you as a foreign language. It wasn’t until you finally recognized the name of one that you allowed yourself to meet Eddie’s stare again.

“Okay. That one.” You once again pointed past his shoulder, so Eddie twisted around to see which cabinet finally caught your interest. A faint laugh escaped him as he looked back to you with an amused expression across his face.

“Oh, you wouldn’t like Donkey Kong.” His tone seemed to be daring you to argue, to prove him wrong. You pulled another face at him.

“I don’t like any of these. But I’ve seen that stupid monkey before.” Eddie shrugged in acceptance of your response as he continued to grin, pushing off the Dig Dug cabinet.

“If you insist.” He taunted while turning to walk towards Donkey Kong, you following behind him with a huff. But as you were nearly there, the gang of college kids beat you to it, causing both you and Eddie to halt; he began to turn to you, prepared to ask what the new plan was now that the one cabinet you showed interest in was taken.

Of course, you weren’t about to have that. Sure, you didn’t care an ounce about these video games and you had zero interest in actually playing, but you’d already had enough today, and you’d be damned if you let these guys play Donkey Kong instead of you. So, you brushed past Eddie with a determined look, marching up to them with all the authority in the world.

“Excuse you,” You started rudely, drawing all their eyes in your direction. None of the three really looked like the nerdy type, so none of them backed down from you the way that you were used to, “I’m playing that one.”

They shared a laugh, clearly amused by your attempt to intimidate them. One of the boys countered, “You’re outta luck, we were here first.”

You insisted more firmly, “Just move.”

One of them looked between you and Eddie, provoked by your attitude, “There’s a whole arcade, go find something else to play.”

They returned to the arcade cabinet as if you weren’t even there, which pissed you off even more. You groaned loudly, looking at Eddie and pointing harshly at the boys as if there was something he could possibly do about them. He simply shook his head and grabbed your elbow, lightly tugging you along.

“They beat us to it.” He said as if there was some unspoken arcade rule that you weren’t familiar with. You glared at the boys as Eddie led you down the row, grinning as if to calm you down, “Come on, I got something I think you’ll like.”

“Doubtful.” You countered like a child, catching the way Eddie smiled to himself, both amused and enervated by your attitude. The two of you came to a halt in front of something called Tapper, and you glanced up at Eddie, awaiting an explanation.

“This one’s easy,” he started while presenting the cabinet to you, “Just serve drinks.”

“Okay…” You took in the pixelated graphics on the screen, hesitantly holding up a coin as you considered the game.

“Come on, just give it a try.” Eddie urged. You looked at the simple instructions next to the joystick while finally loading the coin into the machine. As the game began, Eddie turned his attention to the next cabinet over.

Eddie was right about this game being easy, at least for the first few rounds, although once you reached the first “game over” screen you groaned with frustration. That didn’t stop you from inserting another coin and trying again, much to Eddie’s amusement. You were getting the hang of this and, although you weren’t ready to admit it, you were coming to even enjoy Tapper.

Eventually, you ran out of coins, so you returned your attention to Eddie, who had been caught up in his own game. You watched him for a few moments before realizing the college boys were no longer at the Donkey Kong cabinet. Although you shouldn’t have cared so much, you nonetheless felt a sudden eagerness to run over and hog the game you previously missed out on. Hell, you didn’t even know what that game was about, but considering your previous snub, you now simply had to play this damn game.

So, you turned your gaze back to Eddie, who was incredibly focused on the shooting game he was in the middle of, “Donkey Kong is open.”

“So, go play.” He responded with a far off tone, clearly caught up in what he was doing.

“I don’t have any coins.”

In an almost silly motion, Eddie nudged his hip in your direction, “I have some in my pocket.”

You looked down towards his hips, wondering why he didn’t simply pull his hand from the game for a moment to give you a few coins.

Impatiently, his eyes flicked over to you for only a moment; he could tell what you were thinking, “Just reach in and grab a few.”

“Uh, no.” Your voice oozed with attitude.

“Then no Donkey Kong.” He replied with a simple shrug. With a slight glare, you looked between his face and the screen, watching his hectic game for a few long moments. Your gaze drifted back towards Donkey Kong with a mild longing, but you quickly righted yourself - you did not care that much about a stupid arcade game. You could wait until Eddie was done, you didn’t need to play it that bad.

The sound of the front door opening drew your attention as a new man entered the arcade, and your first thought was “shit, is he going to play Donkey Kong?” Why the hell did you care so much? But you couldn’t risk missing out on the game again, so you returned your attention back to Eddie, taking him by total surprise as you reached into his pocket and extracted a handful of coins quickly before you could think about how intimate that action was.

“Jesus, warn a guy before you go digging around in his pants.” Eddie chided with a playful grin, not allowing his gaze to stray from the shooter in front of him.

“Shut up.” You countered while marching towards Donkey Kong, determination etched across your face as you relished in the stupid victory of finally being about to play this damn game.

Of course, you very quickly learned why Eddie had told you before that you wouldn’t like Donkey Kong. Your dumb little man in overalls lost all his lives within the first minute of you playing, and you let out an exasperated sigh as you slapped your hand down on the control panel. With a glare, you loaded another coin in, but due to your frustration you died even quicker than you had the first time, letting out another upset sound before you marched away from Donkey Kong as if the game had personally offended you.

Eddie was still focused on Robotron as you returned to his side with a huff, the sound causing the corner of his mouth to pull up. You glared at his face, “That game is stupid.”

“I told you.” He answered simply, amused by how easily you gave up on it.

“Why doesn’t it work?”

“Have you considered that you’re just bad at it?” Eddie’s eyes briefly look at you, that annoying grin of his not faltering for a moment. Your glare darkened as you turned to walk off, but Eddie’s voice stopped you from going anywhere, “Oh, come on, just wait. I’ll show you how to play the stupid monkey game.”

So, you waited impatiently for Eddie’s game to end, your eyes repeatedly drifting over to Donkey Kong as if in fear that someone else would take the machine from you. Once he was finally done with Robotron, Eddie gave you a teasing look, knowing that you were eager to return to the game that you supposedly didn’t like. With an adamant look, you spun around and marched back towards the machine, knowing that he was following right behind you.

“Just watch, I’ll play the first level for you.” Eddie instructed while loading in the money. He craned his neck back and forth, shaking out his arm as if he were warming up for some epic fight; you nearly smiled, but kept it to yourself. You leaned over Eddie’s shoulder a little as he began, “You have to be fast - this machine has a bit of a lag, so you need to think ahead.”

So, you watched Eddie play, annoyed at just how easy he made it look; evidently, he had a fair amount of practice. And with the first level completed in what appeared to be record time, Eddie stepped back, yanking you quickly in front of the screen to take over the controls. Just as quickly as the level started, though, you lost a life, jumping right into the line of a pixelated enemy. A frustrated noise left you, causing Eddie to laugh from behind you.

“You’ve got two more lives,” He stepped up closer to you, reaching around to put his hand over the jump button, “Lemme help.”

Working together, you managed to make a little bit of progress, but you all too quickly lost again, shoving the joystick in the wrong direction. As you huffed in annoyance once more, Eddie placed his free hand on the small of your back as if to remind you to calm down, the touch nearly causing you to jump from its gentleness.

“Okay, new plan.” Eddie stepped behind you, close enough that your back bumped against his chest. Your shoulders stiffened as he settled his hands on top of yours, your heart skipping as you realized you were pinned between him and the stupid Donkey Kong machine. Thank god he was behind you, because otherwise he would’ve seen the way your cheeks went red, the way your eyes widened with surprise.

You could feel Eddie’s breath against your ear, practically causing you to shudder, “Alright, let’s do this.”

As the level started again, you were grateful that Eddie was taking the reins, controlling your hands with his own, because your brain was way too jumbled to think clearly. Why the hell were you so nervous? How was Eddie Munson doing this to you? You were certain it had more to do with your disdain for people touching you, but you were far too confused to even begin to entertain why you felt so anxious with Eddie practically flush against your back.

You were so zoned out that you hadn’t even realized that the level was complete until Eddie stepped back, a victorious little laugh escaping him. Before you had time to even get your head on straight, the third level began, but you all too quickly fumbled, your game coming to a pathetic end. Composing yourself, you meet Eddie’s eyes with total coolness, hoping that the redness of your cheeks had gone away. His expression didn’t seem to indicate that he noticed anything off about you, so you took a deep breath.

“Help me again.” You instructed as you fished a coin from your pocket. Eddie looked mildly surprised by the instruction, as if he too was just realizing how intimate his assistance was the first time. You simply raised a brow at him while loading the machine with money, straightening your shoulders as he came up behind you once again.

You tried to focus on the game this time as Eddie placed his hands on top of yours again, doing your best to ignore how warm he was behind you, the way his cheek brushed against the crown of your head, how his grip on your hands seemed to be a little bit more firm. You took a couple of deep breaths and focused, approaching this the same way you did skating - with attentiveness to the goal. And your goal was to ignore Eddie and actually beat a level of this god damn monkey game.

So, you watched your little man run and jump across the screen studying the timing as Eddie moved your hands with his own, noting the subtle delay between the control command and the character movement on the screen. Even as you began to understand, you still recognized that it wasn’t going to be easy for you to beat as a total novice to gaming. As the first level came to an end, Eddie began to step back, his hands hovering just over yours, but you turned your head quickly, practically bumping foreheads as he stopped pulling away.

“Wait, one more round.” You instructed, his face so close to yours that you practically went cross-eyed trying to meet his gaze. You saw Eddie’s jaw clench slightly before you faced forward again, his hands settling on top of yours once way.

By the time you two completed the second level, you were grinning triumphantly, satisfied that you were winning, even if only because Eddie was helping you. As the screen went black for a brief moment, you glanced at the content expression of Eddie behind you, feeling his chin move against your head as he, too, smiled largely.

Instead of pulling away, Eddie asked simply, “One more?”

You hummed in agreement as the third level started, once more studying Eddie’s timing as he breezed through the game as if he’d played it a hundred times. For all you knew, he probably had. Just like with his guitar, Eddie’s hands moved with expertise, guiding yours with ease as you two once again completed the course on screen. This time, you let Eddie step back, feeling a little nervous as you realized you had to face Donkey Kong alone again. You also felt a very mild wave of disappointment, but you quickly shoved that aside so you could focus on your game.

But, of course, you struggled without Eddie’s assistance, fumbling the jump time and losing a life. You took a deep breath through your nose as you tried to focus, feeling Eddie’s gaze burning into you as the level started over. You tried to ignore the intensity of his stare as you started again, running through the level as fast as you could. You managed to get much farther than before, but you nonetheless made another mistake.

You looked towards Eddie, prepared to ask him for help, but he shut you down before you got a word out, “Oh no, you wanted to play this, remember? I can’t keep playing for you.”

You pouted only for a moment, returning your attention to the screen, trying and failing once more to beat the game. You threw your head back with an annoyed groan, stepping away from Donkey Kong while crossing your arms.

“I don’t see why people play this stupid game, it’s impossible.” You whined, causing Eddie to laugh while rolling his eyes.

“That’s the point - it’s challenging. You can’t be a winner all the time.” He teased while dipping his head down closer to yours, seeing right through your frustrations. To Eddie, it was obvious that you weren’t used to losing, and he loved how worked up you were getting over an arcade game of all things.

“If I’m not going to win, then I don’t want to play.” You countered childishly, your eyebrow raised as if daring him to comment on that. You spun on your heel and began to walk away from the offensive game cabinet, hearing Eddie following behind you.

“That’s part of the fun, ya know.” He started. You half expected him to sling his arm over your shoulders as he normally did, but this time he refrained, as if all that contact during Donkey Kong was just a little too much for one day. You threw him a look.

“Well, it’s not fun for me.” You weren’t sure where the hell you were walking off to considering that there wasn’t anywhere in the Palace to hide, but you were too caught up in simply being stubborn. Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes with a hint of fondness as he lightly snagged your arm and stopped you. You met eyes, Eddie grinning at your attitude that he was quickly becoming accustomed to.

“You say that now, but I guarantee you’ll be asking me to bring you back.” He teased, receiving a small glare from you in response. He shook his head a little, “Let’s go, your pouting is making this no fun.”

You could tell Eddie was just taunting you, so you gave his shoulder a small shove while pulling away from his hold. You wouldn’t dare admit that you actually had some fun, so instead you began for the exit, your tone nonchalant as you responded, “Thank god, if I stay here any longer the nerds might try to convert me.”

Behind you, Eddie shook his head fondly as he followed you out.

.

.

additional a/n: shoutout to Tapper for being my favorite arcade game

taglist: @a-queen-blr @avalon-wolf @costellation-hunter @daisy-munson

@daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @eddiernunson

@em0220 @frogtape @fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @kthomps914

@lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @miaajaade

@munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92

@steeldaisies @stormgrl19

[hoshifighting]

LYLA HIII CAN I REQUEST DOM!CHAN? omg ive been thinking about this forever like chan looks like he fucks so well omg😭😭

(if you’re comfortable ofc, love ur work btw❤️)

warnings: smut, dom!chan, aftercare, overwhelming.

oh dom!chan would fuck you sooo good!! like, no question, the man knows what he’s doing. he’s the type to have you laid out, soft as hell, touching you like you’re made of glass at first, all sweet and careful, right? like, he’d be so focused on you, watching every little reaction, making sure he’s hitting just right. and let’s be real—he loves making you feel good. like, you’re moaning, and he’s just grinning down at you like he’s the king of the world. he’s not one to go too hard, at least not at first. chan’s all about that slow, steady build, taking his time, making sure you’re fully relaxed. the kind of guy who kisses your forehead after every thrust like it’s a promise. he’s got his hands all over you, fingers brushing your cheek, holding your hips, soft praises spilling from his lips— “u’re doing so good for me, baby. just like that, yeah?” and god, his voice. it’s like he’s practically cooing at you.

but you know what’s wild? even though he’s so damn sweet, the second you start acting up, bratting just a little? like rolling your eyes, or, god forbid, telling him he’s not doing enough—boom, he’s flipping a switch. that soft, indulgent vibe? gone. you test his patience, and suddenly, he’s all “oh? you wanna act like that?” his eyes darken, and there’s that little smirk, like he’s about to ruin your life in the best way. and you love it, right? ‘cause as much as chan loves being sweet, the second you brat, he needs to put you in your place. not in a mean way, not at all—he’s still gentle with his words, but his actions? totally different game. he pins your wrists above your head, leaning in close, his lips brushing yours but never fully kissing you, just teasing, whispering, “you wanna try that again?” and now he’s not so soft, not so gentle. his grip on your hips? tighter. his thrusts? deeper.

but even when he’s being rough, it’s like he’s careful. he doesn’t go too far, doesn’t really want to hurt you. he just wants to remind you who’s in charge. and it’s hot because he’s got you squirming under him, but the second he sees your expression change—like, even a hint of discomfort—he’s back to being soft. like that. “you okay? you want me to slow down?” he asks, and it’s genuine. he cares, even when he’s fucking you dumb.

and overstimulation? god, he tries. like, maybe the first time, he gets you close again, maybe starts using his fingers after you’ve already come twice, but then you make this soft, broken little whine, and that’s it. he feels bad, immediately. “oh, shit, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to push you too far,” he says, pulling back a little, almost apologizing for making you come so much. he’s stroking your cheek, kissing your forehead again, mumbling about how he’ll take care of you, make it better, like he didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life two seconds ago.

but harder stuff that doesn’t cause harm? oh, he’s into it, definitely. he’s the type to tie your wrists up in silk, super soft, and keep you there, all pretty for him. like, he’s definitely the kind of guy who’d love seeing you bound, all vulnerable, but only if it’s comfortable, y’know? never too rough, never crossing a line. chan’s the king of keeping it intense but safe. like, imagine him with a hand on your throat—not squeezing, just resting it there, enough to remind you that he’s in charge. and his voice, so low and controlled, whispering, “you look so good like this, baby. all mine.” he’s watching you, checking for any sign that you’re not feeling it, but you’re so into it, and that’s when he’ll lean down and finally, finally kiss you, hard and possessive, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

and aftercare? legendary. like, you wouldn’t even have to ask for it. you’re all sweaty and spent, and he’s already got a warm towel, wiping you down, pulling you into his chest, whispering about how good you were, how proud he is of you. he’d probably even go get you water and snacks, making sure you’re fully taken care of, never leaving you hanging. and yeah, maybe he’ll push you a little bit more the next time you brat, but in the end, he’s still your soft dom, the one who makes you feel safe and absolutely fucked out at the same time.

[slytherinshua]

BOY DAD INTAK

genre. fluff. headcanons. non-idol au but music-related/piwon related stuff is still mentioned!! warnings. pregnancy/parent/baby stuff. sooo messy i'm very sorry abt that. not proofread. pairing. husband!intak x fem!reader. wc. 1.1k. request. for @blue-jisungs <33 a/n. i wanted to finish this quickly esp with everything going on just so maybe u have smth to distract urself axe ☹️☹️☹️ i love u so much <33 net. @kstrucknet

When he finds out you’re pregnant he’s honestly so shocked

But a good shocked of course

Safe to say it wasn’t entirely planned sjdksjs 

You’re both still very young but even though it was unexpected Intak is ready to be a dad and super excited for it :( 

He’s the best at taking care of you during your pregnancy 

He always was when you were dating but he takes extra steps to make sure all your needs are met

He will always make sure you have whatever food you’re craving 

Plus he’s down to try the weird combinations as well

More often than not they taste terrible to him while you’re chowing down 

But he finds it endearing 

He’ll watch you eat from across the table with his head rested on his fist and a smile on his face

He keeps track of what meds you should be taking and reminds you when you forget

Although his work can keep him busy sometimes, he’d drop everything for you if you needed it 

He will always always make it to your appointments 

Just because he’s not the one growing the baby doesn’t mean he can skip out on any of the steps— it’s his child as well after all

And he makes sure to always answer his phone and check his texts even if you’re updating him about your day he’ll take the time to text you back 

He doesn’t announce that you’re pregnant to the other members until you’re well along in your second trimester 

But it’s met with excitement from everyone 

Probably a look from Keeho and a throwaway “aren’t y’all still young?”

But he’s over the moon excited to be an uncle trust he’s going to be present in the baby’s life

Theo would gift you all the practical things you could need like diapers, monitors, and bottles 

Once the baby arrives Jiung will probably meal prep some food for both of you (which you are forever grateful for) 

Soul finds the most interesting baby toys on the market but despite Intak’s slight judgemental look when he receives them, you think they’re all great

Jongseob is fully composing lullaby and nursery rhymes, except you’re a little unsure of how easy they are to follow once he throws in complicated rap rhythms 

Keeho’s proud of Intak and excited for you— he knows you’ll be the best parents

But as the leader, he’s also more than eager to help out wherever you need it, especially with cleaning or just little things to help you destress when you need it, mainly during postpartum :’)

Intak is extra clingy while you’re pregnant, especially when your bump starts to show

Even if it’s only been a few days since it was visible, he is all over you

You probably receive a million kisses a day, and trust his arms are always wrapped around your waist, feeling your bump with that proud dad smile on his face

Always says his son is gonna have the coolest dad ever, and you can’t even argue with him because you do think Intak is gonna be the coolest dad ever

And when your son arrives, Intak couldn’t be prouder

Definitely cries holding him for the first time, and is probably very emotional the first couple of days

But he is also your biggest support

He’s doing absolutely everything he can to make sure you can rest after delivery; seriously won’t let you lift even a finger

He shows you off even more than before, he just thinks you’re so incredible and amazing for everything you’re capable of, and how good of a mom you are

He’s more in love with you than ever

Each milestone your son reaches is so important to Intak, from his first smile, to his first word (which he’s proud to say was “dada”), to his first steps and first day of school

Intak is one of those dads who is constantly giving all his friends and family updates about your little ones and sharing cute moments of his son with him

He’s so close with his son, and you’re always happy to see them spending time together

Of course, he’s gonna raise his son right!!

From an early age, he’s always talking to his son about doing things for mom; whether it be cleaning the house cause you had a long day, planning a surprise date cause it’s been a while, or buying you flowers because it’s mother’s day

Doesn’t matter if your son can’t even talk yet, Intak will still be talking about every occasion that is important to you

And they plan all the special things together <3

Dressed up in matching suits for your first mother’s day, and your heart melted :(

Intak includes your son in everything, and they just make the best duo, you couldn’t be happier to have them in your life

Date nights with Intak used to be a super regular thing in your early marriage, but it becomes pretty tricky with a kid to manage

You rely on Intak’s friends to babysit a lot, especially Keeho and Theo who are more than happy to compete for best uncle award

You can usually sneak in at least 3 dates per month amidst your busy schedule <3

Intak is the best person ever to comfort his son and also to give the best advice

He’ll always wipe his tears and assure him whenever he stumbles, especially as a toddler/little kid around 2-6

He’s always telling his son how proud he is of him and how he can do anything he ever wants to and be backed by his dad

As your son grows older, Intak gets a bit more emotional about it

Because he’s not as small and dependent as he used to be :(

Especially at around age 5-6, he’s really getting out of his shell, and Intak feels bittersweet about it

Of course, he’s beyond proud of his son for making new friends and trying out new things by himself with the introduction of school

But he also misses those more quiet days when it was just you two and your baby doing everything together :(

Your son starts to develop some of Intak’s habits, and you find it so cute how he’s becoming a little carbon copy of his dad

They share the same interests and can always be found playing together

Definitely starts enjoying music with his son really early on and is always dancing and singing/rapping with his kiddo <3

And also loves to get into sports with his son and compete (although he’ll almost always let his son win)

You find it incredible how they can stay entertained together for hours

Of course, Intak doesn’t have endless energy like his son does, but he still somehow keeps up just running off of love and pride for his kid

Best boy dad you could ever ask for !!!

↳ p1harmony taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @amara-mars,, @nyukyusnz,, @blossominghunnie,,

@wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,,

@cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,, @stannwjnss,,

@gong-fourz,, @forever-atiny

[moneymartin]

nika hcs? anything tbh…… maybe things she’d do in a relationship! :)

gf!nika hcs ✧.*

warnings: suggestive content and smut at the end under the divider :p

afab!r

a/n: anonie this is so kyoot thank u 🥸 kind of long?? i got carried away 😣

my beautiful croatian baby where do i even start with you…

this girl is the definition of ALL THE FIVE LOVE LANGUAGES

defff loves having conversations. could talk to you for hours on end and never ever get tired of hearing you talk

long talks = a good relationship w her

you two 100% play basketball together

promises to go easy but goes absolutely batshit crazy on you when shes playing defense

will literally break your legs if she has to just so she can score when shes on offense

when you guys go to the gym you spot her sometimes and her shirt always rides up andddddd and

ok what i’m saying is you love her abs

they’re great.

LOVES being touchy

esp in public… has no shame whatsoever and isn’t ashamed of it

keeps her hands on yours, grabs your arms, or always holds your thigh when she has the chance

also really super possessive and protective over you. if she sees someone staring at you for more than a second she’ll start to make out w you in front of them so they scram

hugs you in front of them too with her head over your shoulder so she can stare them down while you’re incredibly oblivious to what or why shes doing it 😭

she marks you up in easy to see places so ppl know that you’re taken…

also gave you a bracelet or necklace with her initial on it and a heart charm or something like that😇

when you guys cuddle shes 100% big spoon no debate abt it

loves seeing you all tired she thinks its adorbs 😢

plays with your hair while you try to fall asleep or does it while you’re on the phone trying to sleep

but if she’s in a really bad mood she’ll switch and be lil spoon

makes you scratch her back so she can relax before she sleeps

and you gladly do it!!

love love lovess doing the little things for you

if you’re sick she will cook you up something good asfk for breakfast in bed

babies you the whole time too cause she can’t help herself ☹️

when she’s at an away game and you can’t make it she has this little notepad and writes love letters on them for every day she’s gone (iykwim)

i feel like she’d spoil you too !

mention one small thing and she’s already ordering it off of amazon

if you mention an artist she’s buying you tickets to their concert already 🙇‍♂️

new clothes like every week i swear

acts of service is her thang too

will do the dishes or the laundry whenever you need her to

she doesn’t even say no either like she’ll stop whatever she’s doing and will do what you ask

drives you all over the place even if its in a wholeee different state 🥲

when you can’t make dinner she’ll do it for you

i feel like she’s also very open to trying new things

maybe new foods with you or new date ideas when you get bored of the reused ones

i think she’d LOVE roller coasters

thats probably the one place you two would never get bored of

cooks you croatian food 🥹

in summer she takes you there too and you get to go to all the places she went to when she was a kid there 🙁

loves talking abt her home country. she’s so proud of it

soft dom. NO DOUBT ABOUT IT.

your pleasure is incredibly important to her

she doesn’t care about what she feels, she cares about what you feel

def uses a strap i can tell… she’d use it most of the time

LOVES overstimming you though its something she can do for hours but will stop when it seems like too much and you’re practically sobbing 😭😭😭

rough unless asked to be soft and gentle

service top is what i mean

10000% cusses in croatian 😩

like she’ll be face deep in between your legs and she’s mumbling curses under her breath and its SOOO HOT

when she tops too her face will be right next to your ear and every time she moves she’s grunting something in croatian

honestly i feel like she’d be a scratcher if you ever switched it up

marks and dots of blood ALLLLLL OVER YOUR BACK

you try to show them off afterwards so she knows how pathetic she ended up becoming 😇

MY GOD

I NEEDDDD HER

[kenmaswoman]

confessing to atsumu - fluff , 1.1k words

almost everybody assumed you were friends with osamu because of your massive crush on atsumu. To be fair, you were never really good at hiding your feelings, whether it be the way you blushed when he simply greeted you in the corridors or the way you begged osamu to let you join one of their practices one day. Everybody knew you had a crush on atsumu. You didn’t really care though, you were friends with his brother, not him so what’s the worst that could happen? him rejecting you? you’ll simply move on.

It worried you at times because you did not want osamu to think that the only reason why you befriended him in the first place was to get closer to atsumu. But as time passed you realized he knew your bond went beyond your silly (disgusting) crush on his twin.

“how come you’ve never told tsumu you liked him?” osamu asked you sitting on his bed “it never really mattered, he knows i like him, everybody does. and he’s never mentioned it to me” you reply “for what it’s worth i genuinely do not think he knows” osamu says “knows what?” atsumu asks barging in “none ‘yer business get out” osamu yells at his brother “what? I can’t be third wheel for today” he says as osamu laughed. if only he knew… “no yer can’t. plus i’ve gotta go for a short while. wait for me here?” osamu asks turning to you “fuck no. why would i wait hours in your room bored as fuck when i can go home?” you replied back “i’ll make dinner when i come back” says your friend “‘kay i’m sold” you say sprawling on his bed “entertain her for me please” samu says to his brother before leaving

you’ve seldom hung out with atsumu alone, which is part of the reason why your palms are a little sweatier than you’d like to admit. you reminded yourself you should not worry tho, he was just a silly boy after all.

“so what were you talking about earlier?” atsumu asks. man he really was not going to leave you alone “the massive crush i have on someone” you reply nonchalantly. he knew of this crush already so why should you be ashamed “you have a crush on someone????” he asks, it makes you get up in an instant. no way he was being serious “atsumu be for real right now” you say in disbelief. was this man THIS much oblivious? “you like samu right? i thought you guys were dating so calling it a crush is super weird to me” he replies looking at you dead in the eye. he was indeed this much oblivious.

“you’re laughing a little too hard at me right now, it’s hurting my feelings” atsumu says, you could hear the pout in his voice. “i’m sorry it’s just unbelievable to me. me dating osamu???? never in a million years oh my god” you say wiping a tear from your eye. “then who’s this mysterious crush? i want to be in on it too” he asks. you could tell him, you thought he knew already so telling him now wouldn’t make much of a difference. plus if he were to reject you right now, you’d have osamu’s cooking to look forward to. “you. i like you. it’s so obvious too, everybody knows about it” you say not looking at him. bravery was not an adequate adjective to describe you “samu knew?” he asked “yea, told him the first time i talked to him, wanted to get it out of the way so he knew i wasn’t using him to get to you” you reply laying back down on osamu’s bed, grabbing one of his pillows to place on your stomach “this fucking bitch” was all astumu muttered, making you look up to him confused. he was taking a real long time to answer your confession

“before you even befriended to osamu i kept talking to him about how i had this massive crush on you. when he started befriending you i was sooo mad and jealous and at one point i assumed you guys started dating because you got closer and you’d constantly be here and hang in his room with the door closed, also you guys would eat together and shit… he’d even cook for you! he never cooks for me when i ask him to only when he’s in the mood… so eventually i stopped mentioning my crush on you because you know it’d be disrespectful to like my brother’s girlfriend. but now that i know that he knew you liked me this whole time and never said anything to me???? i’m gonna kill him.” he rambles

“you like me too?” you asked surprised, fully seated up once again. “yea but that’s not my concern right now. just wait until the bitch gets hom-“ he says before getting cut off to the front door opening. you were half amazed at the timing and half baffled at how you guys liking each other was ‘not his concern right now’.

“you. come here” atsumu says yelling at osamu “why’s he mad?” your friend asks you. you didn’t answer though, still busy trying to come up with the best way to shake some sense into atsumu. “you knew this whole time. THIS WHOLE TIME. that she liked me and never said anything even though you knew i liked her back??? i even stopped mentioning her because i thought you were dating why would you not correct me on that??” atsumu says his hands gripping his hair out of frustration. “you thought her and i were dating?… i guess a lot more things make sense now” osamu replies a hand on his chin. and before atsumu could even reply he received a kick right in his rib

“ouch. why would you do that” atsumu says rubbing his side pouting at you “ i’m sorry ‘not your concern right now’??!!! i’m gonna make this your concern boy” you say threateningly “why do you cook for her if you’re not dating?” atsumu asks “she bribes me. a real gaslighter this one” he says moving to the kitchen to prep dinner. and as he sees you pounding on his brother to get him to pay attention to the milestone you guys seemed to have reached, he sighs knowing that his days will inevitably get worse as time progresses. maybe he should’ve let atsumu think you guys were dating for a little longer. perhaps until he no longer shared the same house as his twin

[cottonlemonade]

First off CONGRATULATIONSSS omg youre stories are so good and you deserve it(btw you're request system is sooo creative I love it.)

And Can I order a cup of milk with a matcha roll off of menu A or B please? And can I sit next to bokuto!

Tutoring Him

word count: 589 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: Bokuto x implied chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy, tutoring crush Bokuto

Bokuto slumped over onto the open book and groaned. He was tired of studying before it even started. Why did he have to hit the books when he could be practicing his spikes right now?

“I see you’re trying out the osmosis technique of studying?”

He shot up, a loose page from his notebook stuck to his forehead.

“Y/n-chan!”, he said in surprise.

“Akaashi-kun asked me to step in for him today. He had an errand to run.”

Bokuto made a mental note to buy his friend an armload of new manga. His chest felt all bubbly when you sat down across from him in the empty classroom.

“So.”, you began and with a cool flick of your wrist opened your textbook to a diagram of cell anatomy, “Let’s start with the basics of the cell structure. What do you know about the nucleus?”

“It’s… in the middle?”

You looked at the picture. “I mean… you’re not wrong.”, you said fairly, then moved your finger a little pointing to something else, “What about cytoplasm?”

“It’s the stuff that keeps everything in place?”

“Hm… again, not… entirely wrong, I guess, but I’m sensing a pattern.”, you laughed and the sound made Bokuto’s heart flutter.

“Alright, one more try. What about the mitochondria?”

Oh, this one he knew!

“It’s the powerhouse of the cell!”, he exclaimed excitedly but his face got a little more color when he saw your frown, “That one has to be right, though. Kuroo taught me!”

“So uhm, I don’t know who this Kuroo is but I think you should spend some time apart. At least until after the exams.” You patted his shoulder.

Next, you had him open his notes for an exercise and were impressed and terrified how he managed to even read them between all the doodles. Most revolved around volleyball, of course, others were just random swirls or shapes. When he got to the pages about genetics however, he confidently turned his folder towards you so you could check if his notes were correct before starting to work, but a moment later he practically threw himself over the pages to cover them.

Although, too late. You had already seen the elaborately decorated heart next to the table of Mendel’s law with yours and his name. It was even colored.

“Uhm, Bokuto-san?”

“No?”, he mumbled feebly as his hair seemed to deflate.

“Do you… are you- I mean… do you like me?”

“I wouldn’t call it like…”

“Oh?”

“More like… super crazy in love?”

“Oh!”

When he looked up and saw you blush, his confidence returned immediately.

“Do you like me, too? - Argh, I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to win the next tournament and confess to you with the medal and- but if you like me, too, please let me be your boyfriend, y/n-chan!”

You were so perplexed that the only thing you could say was, “Are you sure?”

He nodded vehemently, practically hovering out of his seat in anticipation of your reply.

“Yes, Bokuto-san, I’d love that.”

He jumped up and cheered, feeling as if he’d just won a championship. Next thing you knew he lifted you out of the chair and pulled you into a bone crushing hug, your feet dangling off the ground.

“Oh my gosh, Bokuto, put me down before you hurt yourself!”, you squeaked but he only squished you further, melting into the softness of your body. “Not yet.”, he mumbled into the crook of your neck, “I’ll be the best boyfriend, you’ll see!”

a/n: and he was, in fact, the best boyfriend turned husband. I love him so much! Thank you for the cute request and your kind words 🫶🏻 I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[semperamans]

hi!! ur lil blurbs abt benny are sooo cute its sickening!! so i wanted jump on the train and send in a benny request!! ok although benny isnt loudest of the club and kinda keeps to himself, i think it makes him super observant and aware of wants going on around him

so imagine his girl is kinda clumsy and doesn’t pay as much attention to her surroundings compared to benny, or in a deep convo with friends she made in the club (bc we know she’s a YAPPER) but benny is always running around so she won’t accidentally hurt herself on a table corner or place her hand down on some broken glass OR protect her when he sees something fishy and needs to act fast

basically “baby proofying” things so he can keep her safe😣😣 and maybe his girl catches up on it at some point and tries to “get hurt” but he’s alr a step ahead bc he loves her BAD:((

love ur page and so exited to read more!! also love the gracie pfp its so cute:))

hi bby! :’) thank you so much for your cutie words <3 you’re a doll, i mean it!

this!!! is!!! so!!! cute!!!

you ARE benny’s baby so of course he’s going to go above and beyond to protect u :( he notices you’re always hitting your damn hip on the sharp corner of the bar, so one day he comes in with sandpaper and a bucket of paint that hasn’t been cracked open since before either of you were born. “benny, the fuck are you doin’?” “nothin’” bc it really is nothing to him. it’s just second nature. it hurts you, so he’s going to take care of it. so he sands the point down to a dull curve, slaps a coat of paint on it, and viola, the only hip bruises you’ll have are the ones he puts there.

“y'ever notice how benny doesn’t let you out of his sight?” you’re so drunk you can’t remember the name of the girl to your left. is it wanda? wilhelmina? whatever it is it’s pretty and you feel awful that it’s slipped your mind, but she’s a new hang-around (totally besotted by cal). “i mean it,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette and pointing to you. “that man looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.” sure enough you make eye contact with benny the moment you lift that pretty little chin. he blinks slowly, almost cat-like, before an easy smile spreads over his pink lips. pretty. he's so pretty and you've just gotta tell him. unsteady on a good day, you're an accident waiting to happen when you're tipsy and benny knows. suddenly the smell of his aftershave flurries around you and he's there. you could have sworn he was just at the pool table but now he's at your side, taking your elbow gently in his large hand, brushing the hair from your sweaty cheeks with the other. "benny," you hum, nuzzling into his palm and jesus christ, it only fuels that protective fire even more. "wanted to tell you a secret." "oh, yeah?" he's still holding onto you but bends where you can press your lips against his ear with ease "tell me." and so you do, over and over in one cherry-wine scented murmur. "think you're so pretty, benny so so so pretty. jus' wanted you to know that i like when y'take care of me when I'm a little drunk and just always. y'just mean so much to me so so so much. thank you." you're pawing at his shirt, practically preening in his ear and yeah, he's going to take care of you in some other ways tonight but for now he just takes your chin between his thumb and index fingers, plants a fat kiss on your forehead, and smiles down at your flushed face. "you don't gotta thank me, baby. c'mon. how 'bout some water?"

[mountainficss]

HIHIHIII 🦈 HERE !!! having a wonwoo thoughts again .. (im crazy in love with that man.) but anyways thinking abt him making u wear his glasses while he fucks u cuz it just turns him on ..

or vice versa where he wears his glasses just cuz he likes to see every expression and reaction u have while he fucks u😭😭😭

anyways love u take ur time cuz poopoo bum school is a pain in the ass giving u all these assignments u got important things to do. like writing these fics (super important business!!!) LOVE U 💗

-🦈🦈🦈

!! mentions of: unprotected sex

HIHIHI ANON I MISSED YOU AND I LOVE YOU SM! 🩶🩶🩶 no and honestly i feel you wonwoo is so pretty…i have the fattest crush on him it’s unhealthy. and omg i know school is so lame 🙄 it’s never even hard work it’s just sooo time consuming. i’m telling you my professors want me to be bored out of my mind. but anyway!

ohhh the idea of wonwoo being turned on by you wearing his glasses is so…UGH i love that. you’d probably just snatch them off his face for fun, running away with them and sliding them on to see his reaction. you’d smile at him widely and you’d be met with an astounded look from wonwoo. he would know you took them just to mess around and had an innocent intent, but oh seeing you in his glasses would turn him ON. his brain would flash him an image of you underneath him wearing nothing but his glasses, and he would feel his cock immediately stiffen in his pants. he’d hastily make his way over to you and pick you up, practically throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to your shared bedroom. in seconds wonwoo would be tearing off your clothes, giving you needy kisses while you let out dreamy sighs. his glasses would still sit cutely on the end of your nose, and your eyes would meet his through the lenses with a dazed look. he felt like he was going insane seeing you looking so cute in his glasses. and your bare body would just make his cock throb harder. “keep them on,” he’d command breathlessly, tugging his shirt over his head and untying his sweats. “’m gonna fuck you while you wear those.” you’d smile devilishly at him as he fishes his cock out of his boxers, twisting his hand around it and throwing his head back in pleasure. “do i look cute in them?” you’d tease, reaching a hand up to adjust them playfully. wonwoo would groan as he peered down at you, fisting his cock faster at your actions. “you look so good,” he’d sigh, feeling you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer. “need to feel you.” he’d line his length up to your hole, pushing in slowly as both of you gasp at the stretch. he’d bottom out in one thrust, your tight heat making him feel dizzy. he’d study your face as he gives you time to adjust, admiring the soft blush on your cheeks and your cute expressions as he starts to rut into you. his cock always made you feel so full, and this time would be no different as he glides easily into you. he’d cup your cheek with one hand and you’d wrap both of your hands around his forearm, turning your head to teasingly kiss his palm. he mutters a small fuck and runs his thumb along the temple of his glasses, feeling you tighten around him. “can i take these back, baby?” he’d ask, his voice strained from trying to hold back his quickly-approaching orgasm. “need to see you. wanna see the faces you make.” you’d chuckle at him asking for permission as if they weren’t his glasses, releasing his arm to take them off. you’d slide them back on his face slowly, watching the moment he seems to really see you. his pupils would dilate at the sight of your lewd expressions, and he’d struggle to not roll his eyes back in ecstasy at the way you look at him. his hips would pound into you with quick thrusts, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot and bringing you closer to climax. “you’re so pretty,” he’d mumble mindlessly, leaning in to press a kiss onto your forehead. “really like when you wear my glasses.” you’d thread your fingers through his hair, gripping the strands as your orgasm washes over you in a powerful wave, threatening to send wonwoo over the edge too. he fucks you through your climax, feeling his cock pulsing inside of your heat and filling you full of his cum with a drawn-out moan. he’d hover over your weak form as you both try to catch your breath. “well,” you’d pant, releasing your grip on his hair and running your fingers through it to soothe the sting. “i like when you wear them too.” <3

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag

[yooniesim]

Small Simblr Saturday Appreciation Post 💜

Hey y'all! Since @tau1tvec came up with the idea for this event, I thought I'd shout out some of my personal favorite always free creators :)

To start it off though, you know I gotta recommend @alwaysfreecc, the finds blog currently managed by myself, @superflare, @nicatnite88, and @toastie-sim! We only reblog cc creators that are always free (no exclusive or early access) and use the tag #alwaysfreecc to find your posts! If you're an always free cc creator, please use the tag and/or mention the finds blog so we can get your catalog reblogged there 😌 now, onto the list~!

@xiuminuwu - a creator I've really been loving lately! they have a variety of cute cc, including poses and unique, fashionable clothing~

@hexcodesims - a very underrated creator with tons of clothing edits for masc frame sims, I also love their big bud press palette~

@herecirmsims - makes amaaaazing unique poses for a variety of situations

@adelarsims - has awesome ideas that you wouldn't think of, amazing variety of cc like hello

@janjumjam - adorable cc for kids, gives me happy feels and nostalgia

@ceeproductions - some of my fav cc on this site, great variety for both masc and fem frame

@powluna - super cute items for kiddos... a staple in the mods folder

@ssspringroll - occult cc for daysss, cool sliders and presets, they got it all

@nicatnite88 - yes I'm biased, but the variety and hustle cannot be denied, just look at the amount of cc!

@bobnewbie - hairs, facial hairs, accessories, gorgeous sims... what else could you want?

@darlyssims - UNIQUE. really cool ideas for hairs, accessories, and more

@cliffirem - clothes and hairs with an alt twist i really enjoy

@sammi-xox - beautiful skinblends and super useful skin details

@warwickroyals - gorgeous formalwear, especially good for all you royal simblrs!

@marsosims - cute cute cute all over... hairs, clothes, even build/buy cc!! we stan

@whyhellosims - lots of stuff for kids, build buy cc, and a slant of humor!

@creamlattedream - masc cc staple in this house, lots of cute recolors and casual wear

@pluto-sims - the cutest patterns EVER, adorable kids clothing, posters and walls~

@deathpoke1qa - unique is my word for the day bc my lord... it's popping off! alt staples you can't miss

@icchixxxxxx1 - hairs hairs hairs... and more cute hairs! if you like the cutesy anime look but still mm, go here

@mellosakicc - so. many. t-shirts. but also other clothing, tats, and hairs! another alt cc maker with work ethic for days

@whirliko - cute bright recolors... we have no choice but to stan the pop of color

@shandir - conversions, historical, occult, variety... hello??? get going

@mangosimoothie - the ideas are popping... once again things that would never pop into my brain but are brilliant... just go look and see what I mean

@igorstory - facial hair... a totally unrepresented niche of sims cc.. I have all their stuff... download it

@madameriasims4 - CLASSICS. STAPLES. I use their clothes all the time and they also got build/buy stuff.

@aniraklova - alt & punk vibes to the tippy top, fallout, chains, mohawks, whats not to love??

@pixelunivairse - ONE OF MY FAVS. use their cc constantly for my fem frame sims. uses tons of cute patterns that I love

@demondare-sims - cas cc i love, I use it pretty much every time I play, mm and practical

@fiftymilehighclub - talking about work ethic, it's here... so many recolors in bomb palettes that you'll never download them all... or can you??? try

@sforzcc - retired from cc making, but I gotta recommend, bc I use their wardrobe sooo much... brilliant

@casteru/@woosteru - also retired, but same as #16, I use their cc every day!

@xldkx-cc - am I just listing staples of my mods folder now? yes!! I am not biased!! go and get all that cas cc and poses and deco sims NOW!!

@a-luckyday - if you don't know ms a luckyday poses u have not lived in life!! they have a huge amount of them, solo, couple, group, accessories, and more

@gothoffspring - really cute and vibey recolors, I use them a lot, also some build buy items too!!

@jellymoo - we love the clothing... mm aesthetic to the core and cute af

@gladlypants - lotsa adorable items I adore, variety of patterns too

@birksche - tons, I mean TONS of hairs bro, years worth, always free... a treasure trove

@teekalu - supreme maxis match, vanilla vibes that are so lovely... ideal for low cc players

@honeyssims4 - poses, honey!!! the variety will shock you. and they ALL look good

@sewerwolfx - really cool stuff with alt style, some recolors and some from SCRATCH, we love to see it

@historysims4 - historical cc from many different eras!! iconic

@hamsterbellbelle - some of the most unique scifi cc i ever seen... idk how they even make some of that stuff! must see

@surely-sims - beautiful legendary amazing gorgeous never been done before... their fallout inspired cc made me weep and almost solely furnished one of my households, work

...annnndddd I hit my limit!!! I guess thats it for now but maybe a part two... 😉

[ticklygiggles]

Lovelynim's tickletober Day 9: Dance

Xavier x Reader

A/N: I'm sooo sorry I'm super late for day 9 as well fkdnfkff but big thanks to wonderful and very talented and hardworking @lovelynim that requested little bunny getting wrecked. I hope you enjoy this, looooove mwaaah ❤️❤️ again, I'm sorry I'm late fifnfkfndkkc

"Didn't we practice dancing like two times already before?"

"Really?" He asked, pulling you closer to his body. "I really can't remember, but if we already did..." Twirl. "This is just to make sure we haven't forgotten."

You rolled your eyes fondly. You were already a little tired of these missions that required dancing and wearing clothes not so comfortable to shoot a gun, but you had to admit that dancing so close to Xavier wasn't tiring at all. He moved lightly and gracefully, just like a prince who has danced in ballrooms over and over and over again.

He guided you carefully, his arm secure around your waist and his hand taking yours gently. His scent was intoxicating; nothing extravagant, though. He smelled just like clothes fresh out of the dryer, like the sun, like naps and lazy days. He smelled of old book pages, soap, and a light floral scent.

Your nose nestled in the crook of his neck and you took a long breath, your lungs filling with his scent before you let the air out through your mouth. Your breath brushed against his skin, raising goosebumps, and you were almost not surprised when he pulled his neck away slightly with a soft chuckle.

"Did that tickle?"

He cleared his throat. "A little bit."

"Hmm..." You smiled, the tip of your nose caressing the side of his neck, feeling the pulse just below his jaw. You were almost sure you felt him shiver a little and your smile only grew bigger when his ears started to turn red. "You know, Xavier..."

Xavier hummed, still gently rocking side to side to the music on his player.

"I've always wondered... do you think Lumiere is just as ticklish as you?"

"What?" He almost tripped and you did your best not to burst out laughing.

"Could Luminer be as ticklish as you are?" You asked again, the arm around his shoulders moving down a little, tracing his spine and shoulder blades.

Xavier positively shivered, letting out a small gasp as his spine arched away from your touch, pushing you back a little. You giggled.

"Do you think he also has a ticklish back? Riiight here, on the shoulder blades." You poked him in that spot and he couldn't help but giggle as he jolted.

"I- I m-mehean. He c-could b-be, I gue- ahaha!"

"Ah yes, do you think he's also very ticklish here on the side of his chest?" Your arm had already come down and had gotten between his arm and his side to reach that little hollow right next to her chest.

Xavier laughed, pressing his arm against his side, his feet stopping as he tried to push you away from him.

"W-Why ahahare you interested in k-knowing whehether Lumiere- wahahahait!"

He tried to capture your hand, but his movements became slow and uncoordinated as your fingers pressed against his ribs playfully.

"I think he has a very ticklish ribcage too. Don't you think?" Xavier shook his head, laughing as he moved his torso away.

"W-Weheheren't we d-dahahancing- ahahaha! N-Not thehehere!"

"Oh right, he really must be super ticklish under his arms too!" You giggled mischievously, squealing a little when he suddenly collapsed back against the couch, your body following his.

He laughed and squirmed, his hands grabbing your shoulders; noticing an opening, you shoved your other hand under his other armpit and he threw his head back with melodical laughter.

"W-Wahahait uhuhup!"

"Do you think you can ask him next time you see him, Xavier?" You smiled warmly at him, fighting the urge to kiss his smiling lips. "Ah, don't worry, I won't try tickling him, after all... he's probably not ticklish at all, right~?"