#i hope my thoughts aren't extremely all over the place

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

[star-anise]

Currently getting my socks clean blown off by Rethinking Narcissism, by Dr. Craig Malkin. Which I found, in a roundabout way, from this video on Midsommar, grief, and narcissism.

Tonight I woke up from a nap and accidentally took my morning meds, so I'm going to be up for a few hours because of the meth. In place of sleep, I'll try to roughly sum up some basic ideas proposed by the research the book is based on:

That traits of "narcissism" like entitlement, grandiosity, and feeling special are not inherently toxic. There are times and places they are appropriate and beneficial. If you show up at a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, you should not sit and wait to be seen after people with earaches and coughs. (Actually, medical systems are designed to prioritize people with more urgent needs, and you qualify under that system. You are special and are deserving of different treatment than those others, which is why making your needs known, even insisting on it if you're not listened to appropriately the first time, is an extremely good idea. It keeps you from bleeding to death on the floor, and keeps the hospital from getting its pants sued off by your heirs.)

It is more useful to view "narcissism" not as an inherent immutable personality trait, but as a cluster of coping mechanisms. As previously stated, there are times they are exactly the right coping mechanism for the job. However, people we call "narcissists" tend to cling to these ones even when they become detrimental to themselves and others, often because they lack other ways of regulating their emotions and getting their needs met. And that is something they can change, if a person is willing to put in sincere and difficult work. It is not usually fast change; it's a matter of years, not weeks. But a skillbuilding approach turned Borderline Personality Disorder from an immutable curse to a fully treatable (though not quickly treatable) condition, and there's a lot of hope that it can do the same for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Meanwhile, there's an opposite end to the narcissism spectrum, and it is also pathological and destructive to hang out there all the time. It's an aversion, or even a resistance, to expecting yourself or other people to treat your own feelings, thoughts, ideas, needs, or preferences as important. For Greek mythology reasons, its proposed name is Echoism.

Unfortunately, because most of the damage echoism does is, by its very nature, localized to its sufferer and their own personal relationships, its downsides aren't often talked about. In fact, it's often seen as an ideal moral state, a kind of altruism or saintliness everyone should strive for. As a pathological coping mechanism a person is trapped in, though, it's often more a fear-based reflex than a conscious and deliberate attempt to achieve some real and specific good. It's not actually as beneficial as being able to recognize your needs, desires, positive aspects, and areas of competence or excellence, and bring them forward in your relationships with other people and yourself.

To me this has all been a cross between a gut-punch and a cool, sweet drink of water. There have been other ways to describe echoism over the years, but this feels like the most concise and useful one I've seen in ages.

It specifically puts its pin down in the middle of the moral debate a lot of people struggle with—"What right do I have to put myself forward? What hope do I have of being seen and accepted? Isn't it better not to burden anybody else?"—and says that the problem is not feeling in touch with either side of the equation, but specifically, the inability to move from one part of the spectrum to another when it's merited by circumstances.

When I was a child, I thought Echoism was the answer. It was my ideal. I thought it was what would get me the love and acceptance I wanted, and would keep me safe from the pain of rejection or not being understood. I had no idea it would actually, in fact, be the primary cause of alienation and loneliness for the rest of my life.

Now I'm so deeply thankful I couldn't fully achieve it, in practical terms. As hard as I tried to erase myself, there were always things I loved too much to suppress. I still found ways to express and discover myself in the books I read, the stories I wrote, the intellectual work of school and the experience of pursuing hobbies I loved, my ambitions to be helpful even when they demanded I stop being selfless, and the relationships where I felt safe enough to experience love and acceptance even if I didn't think I deserved them.

There's this question I found a while back that echoed in my bones: Who am I allowed to be around you? Because that's what I felt like, as a child. If I wanted to engage with other people and minimize my risk of harm, it was my job to bend into a pretzel and fit the shape they wanted. And thank god, thank god, thank god, I couldn't fully do it. Despite everything, there were parts of me too strong and bright to lop off completely to get my arms and legs inside the carriage. I was able to take care of myself and let them grow in secret until I found social places I could let them out again. Despite myself, I found ways to grow and thrive, well beyond the trauma that said I shouldn't have.

[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.

[weird-is-life]

Rockstar!tasm! Peter meeting Shy!reader on one of his shows? Invites her backstage to meet the band and he's just real flirty w her? Please

Hii, lovely!🫶 thank u so much for this request. This was fun to write. If you have anymore rockstar!Peter requests send them my way!!!! Hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, use of y/n and pet names, mentions of alcohol, concert, flirting, mentions of big crowd, (2k)

Your best friends drag you to a concert of some upcoming band they love. Honestly, you don't know a thing about them only that they are allegedly pretty good, and that your friends are paying for your drinks tonight.

The whole place is packed with people, because it's not just one band playing, there are multiple bands playing throughout the whole night. The pretty big venue, but it still does nothing to make it more spacey. There's barely any place to move.

You thought you didn't mind so many people at one place, but as you try to get to the bar through the sea of sweaty bodies, you don't feel very happy that you're there.

You've lost your friends on the way to the bar as well, so you're on your own to get through the crowd. You hope that you'll meet your friends there.

You're almost at the bar when suddenly there's something cold and very very wet going down the front of your t-shirt. And by the smell of it, you can tell it's alcohol.

"Shit. I'm so sorry," the person panics in front of you," I didn't see you, like at all."

You slowly look up from your cold, wet t-shirt to the person speaking. It's a extremely handsome guy. Like 'your breath gets knocked out' handsome type. And no, you aren't even being dramatic.

He's dressed in all black, sleeveless t-shirt, black baggy jeans and black eyeliner. You don't think you've ever seen such abpretty and cute guy. He seems a bit familiar too, but you can't pinpoint where you've seen him before.

But you're t-shirt is still very much wet as you respond," it's-it's okay. There's just too many people, i know you didn't mean to."

You don't know what to do next. You don't have anything else to wear but this t-shirt. And your friends are still nowhere to be seen.

"Still, I'm very sorry," he apologetically looks at you, soft smile on his face. "Do you have anything else to wear?"

"I don't," you reply with a sigh.

"Shit," he curses looking around frantically. He looks like he has places to be, so you honestly don't want to keep him more than you've already had.

"It's whatever, I'll survive the few more hours, I guess. I'm sorry about your drinks tho," you give him a small, sheepish smile, and start going towards the bar again to find your friends.

You don't get far because he gently catches your hand, "as much as I think some guys would enjoy the wet t-shirt contest look, I would be an asshole to let you stay like this. Please let me get you a new t-shirt?"

Your cheeks go red at his words.

"It's really not that big deal-" you start.

"It is to me." He tells you. "Please, let me get you a t-shirt that doesn't reek of beer and vodka," he offers again with a chuckle.

You think it over for a few seconds as he looks hopefully at you, there's something else in the way he looks at you, but you can't quite name what it is.

"Okay, yeah," you say, and he smiles big at you," but where can you find a shirt here. There's nothing here."

He gives you the cheekiest smirk as he says, " don't worry about that. I'll get one for you. Just come with me."

He points to the doors you know lead to the backstage. You shake your head in disagreement, "we can't go there."

"We can, I know the people, so let's go," he starts to head thar way, but you don't budge. Overthinking it too much.

"Am I getting kidnapped?" you worry lightly. Even if you have a strong feeling, that you can trust this guy,

He laughs at your question,"no, definitely not. But if you want to wait here, it's okay, too. I'll bring it to you."

You think it over, and decide that you'd rather not stay in the middle of this pit of sweaty people. And also because you've never been backstage before, so you're curious.

"No, no, it's alright. I'll come with you."

He nods happily, "great. I'm Peter by the way."

"I'm y/n."

He starts to walk again, and this time you follow him. You have a hard time keeping up with him. With his long legs it's not easy to get through the crowd as he does.

Peter notices it, he stops, and suddenly there's his big, warm hand around yours.

Calloused fingers like guitarist's holding onto yours tightly, so he doesn't loose you. It makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy.

He tugs you after him with an ease, and in no time you're in the backstage area.

Peter doesn't drop your hand, though, and he leads you even farther to some dressing room. He walks inside it so casually, and to your horror he pulls you inside with him.

There are 3 more guys in that room, all of them similarly dressed to Peter, looking very much like some rockstars. Peter finally drops your head, "give me a second, I'll find some clean t-shirt in my bag for you."

He leaves you standing in the middle of the room with your cheeks very rosy at the attention of the three other boys.

"I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll...I'll go wait outside," you point at the door.

"You're not intruding," Peter says softly, " these are my boys..." he names all of them, and each of them gives you a warm smile and a nod.

Fuck. You suddenly realise. They must be some kind of band playing tonight.

"It's nice to meet you. Do...Are you playing on the stage tonight?" You question curiously.

"Yeah," Peter finally finds you a t-shirt, and walks back towards you. "We are the last band playing tonight," Peter hands you the clothing, and you thank him. Still very shy at the thought that you are currently standing in the middle of some band's dressing room.

"There's a bathroom right here, you can go change, yeah?" Peter suggests carefully, he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything.

He thinks you are really, really pretty, and that it must be fate that you bumped into each other tonight. Peter only knows your name, and he knows he's fucked already. Like full on crush.

You only take a few seconds to clean yourself up, and change into Peter's t-shirt. When you come out of the bathroom, the guys are all standing, readying for the stage already.

"Hey, look at you, my t-shirt looks great on you, even if it's a little big," he compliments you with an easy smile, and you, once again, blush at his flirty tone.

"Thank you," you tell him," and thank you for the t-shirt, I really appreciate. I'm gonna go now though, i don't want to bother you anymore. I'll see you around. And thanks again."

You give him a wave with the intend to dissappear quickly out of there. Your friends are definitely wondering where you are by now. And also because your legs would probably give out if you had to endure one more flirty smile from Peter.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait up," Peter runs after you," I-I was wondering, if you would want to come listen from the side of the stage?

He looks unsurely at you. He has some kind of paper in his fidgeting hands.

"I can't, I'm sorry. I'm here with two of my best friends, so I can't even if I'd love to." You look regretfully at him.

"Then they should come, too! Please, it's the least I can do for spilling my drinks all over you." Peter blurts it all out way too quickly then he means to. Not keeping his cool composure near you like at all.

"Are you sure? We wouldn't want to bother," you ask quietly. Even if you'd really, really love seeing the band from the backstage. Because you don't want to go back into the messy crowd of people.

"You definitely won't bother anybody. It would be my pleasure actually to have you there. I can at least have some pretty girl like you there to dedicate our songs to," he winks at you. Flirting without much thought about it with you.

You can't say you don't like it. You do. Way too much than you probably should. So you say, "okay, yes. I'll text them right now."

"Great," he says with a big beam," and here, take this before I leave. Dave will escort you to the side of the stage." Peter pushes the paper from his hands to yours, and points at the bodyguard.

"Wait, Peter, what's this?"

"It's an address. If you could mail me the t-shirt back, it's my favourite," Peter tells you carefully, not wanting to sound like a dick.

"Oh, of course. That won't be any problem," you immediately assure him.

He nods at you, and leans in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. Don't worry, he gives you the time to push him away, but you don't. You would never. He just couldn't say goodbye to you without ever kissing your pink cheek in his lifetime.

"I'm so glad i bumped into you," he tells you breathlessly, "I'll see you on the stage," and with that he's off. Leaving you a blushing mess as you scramble to text your friends to come to the backstage.

When they finally arrive, you follow Dave to the side of the stage as your friends stare around them in huge awe.

It's even worse when you finally get to the stage. "How the fuck did you manage to get us in here?" Your friends question.

"It's a long story, I'll tell it to you later." They just shake their heads at you, not able to believe where they are.

They eyes, and yours, go impossibly wider once the band shows up, and they start playing.

Peter immediately looks your way, grins at you and sends you a wink. You just smile bashfully at him.

Your friends eyes are instantly on you, "um excuse me, why is Peter Parker unabashedly flirting across the stage with you?" They squeal as they ask that.

Your face goes white. You didn't realise that Peter was Peter freaking Parker. Lead singer of that upcoming band your friends dragged you here to see. You almost pass out at the realisation.

You can't believe that the future rockstar is openly flirting with you across the stage, and your friends can't either.

Your friends demand to know what exactly happened, so you tell them. They go even more crazy after that.

When the concert is eventually over, you and your friends get escorted away from there by Dave, so you don't even get the chance to say goodbye to Peter or even be bold enough to ask for his number.

It's later after you spend a few days moping about your wasted chance with Peter that you finally get the strength to send him his t-shirt back.

You find the crumpled paper that Peter gave you, and only then you realise what's really written on it. Your mouth goes wide open.

Dear y/n,

I lied it's not my favourite t-shirt. You can keep it. I wanted to ask for your number, but I didn't want to pressure you into thinking that you had to give it to me just because I got you backstage (or just because I'm a handsome rockstar). So here's my number +xxxx xxx xxx, I liked you, like a lot, so please feel free to text me or you can ignore me, both is totally fine. Even if I may end up heartbroken, and write sad songs about you if you do decide to ignore me. Just kidding......maybe

With love,

Peter P.

You squeal so loudly that probably the whole neighbourhood hears you. You make a few laps around your apartment as you try to calm yourself down. You can't really believe it. You even read it a few more times just to make it real.

Once you do calm your racing heart, you call your best friends over to help you figure out what to text Peter. They very gladly agree to come.

And let's just say Peter is just as enthusiasticly waiting for the text from you as you are to write it to him.

[suiana]

Hey!! I hope that you are having an amazing day 💞💞💞 If requests are open, may you please write some hsr yandere!Sunday headcannons?

✎ yandere! sunday headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― possessiveness, manipulation, obsessiveness etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! character)

✎ yandere! sunday who can't help but adore you. he'd never have thought someone who'd capture his heart would be so near to him! right here in the heart of penacony! of course he's going to talk to you! what, did you think he'd just ignore someone who's got his attention?

✎ yandere! sunday who is extremely touchstarved and probably fell for you because you hugged him once and told him he was cool. yeah bird man liked how warm your hug felt, what about it?

✎ yandere! sunday who gets to know you better as the perfect family head. surely you'd fall for him, right? i mean, he's perfect in every single way. you'd be a fool to reject him. and of course u rejected him😜🙏

✎ yandere! sunday who's absolutely flabbergasted when you reject his proposal to be his. what? are you serious? out of his league? duh he knows that- you're supposed to be thankful that he proposed the idea and accept!

✎ yandere! sunday who hates it when things don't go his way. he's a perfectionist and everything has to go according to plan... oh wow would you look at that? you went against his plans and rejected him! even said you wanted to be friends... hah! he couldn't believe you said that! you don't know how hard he bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from cursing at you.

✎ yandere! sunday who subtly changes the way he acts towards you. no, he's not acting passive aggressive. you're just delusional. what do you mean he's glaring at you? it's just the angle silly!

✎ yandere! sunday who obviously looks over you with his weird robot bird drone things. they resemble a real bird fairly closely (save for the Family crest he has embedded in them) and he'd be an idiot to not have an eye on you 24/7.

✎ yandere! sunday who's an obsessive freak and you'd think you'd know how obsessive he is by now but... it's far more worse than what you'd expect. bro has a whole ass shrine dedicated to you, and you just know that he has a small dreamscape designed for you. bro will throw you in there if you misbehave 💀

✎ yandere! sunday who gets other people to do the dirty work for him. he's a man of status, why would he need to dirty his hands? plus, he hates it when things get dirty. how uncouth.

✎ yandere! sunday who always has a smile on his face. you bet your ass he's going to be smiling when he tells you that your family mysteriously died in the dreamscape. of course, he's going to feign sympathy and comfort you but... there certainly won't be a frown on that gorgeous face of his.

✎ yandere! sunday who gracefully accepts you into his arms when you come crying to him that you can't leave. oh you poor thing. you did the wrong right thing coming to him for help. he'll definitely help you through this tough time. by making it worse 💗

✎ yandere! sunday who molds you into his perfect lover. oh dear me, you're permanently stuck in the dreamscape with him! it's an error no one has experienced before and you need to stay here with him to ensure your safety! no it's not a lie, why would he do that? after all, he only wants the best for you. don't worry, you can pass time by being his cute darling for now!

✎ yandere! sunday who will never let you go. and... why would you want to escape in the first place? he loves you and you love him now, don't you? besides, he's sweet, handsome, charming... you will never find someone better than him. so don't misbehave and just stay with him, won't you? besides, the Family doesn't tolerate traitors in the slightest. and you're a part of the family now, aren't you? his beloved little darling ♡

✎ "oh dear, now where do you think you're going my love?"

[rubra-wav]

Hello! I saw asks were open and I wanted to drop a request! What if Husk, Angeldust, and Alastor (separate) had a s/o who revealed that they could break deals on their (the collared's) end given some time?

Husk, Angel Dust and Alastor with a Dealbreaker S/O

[Part 2]

A/N: Alastor's is written as purely platonic tho per my personal boundaries

My Hazbin OC actually is a powerful Dealbreaker, so I'm going off of the lore I've thought up on this topic for him haha

I will maybe write a part 2 where reader actually manages to break the contracts rather than just saying they could.

CW: Sfw, angsty asf in places, reference to addiction, mention/reference to violence, Angel's touches a bit more on abuse response/trauma response type stuff, body/ horror imagery in Alastor's (Alastor being the creature he is basically)

Husk

- Husk would not believe you at all at first.

- He would be tending the bar and then stop mid-drying a glass as a heartbreaking hint of hope (the first hope he'd felt in centuries) passes over his face for a second before crumpling and turning to extreme bitterness.

- "That's not funny." He'd growl through grit teeth at you, thinking it was some kind of cruel joke.

- When reassured that you are absolutely serious, he gives you more of a look of almost pity, sighing as if deeply tired.

- He tells you that multiple people have told him the same thing over the years, and that they have all failed just the same.

- All skilled people who were known to be able to break even soul ownership deals wide open.

- The leash Alastor had on him was air-tight.

- He basically tells you it would be a giant waste of time and that you should give up and focus your time on something better then a poor old sinner like himself.

- When you don't back down from the discouragement, he sighs again, but feels warmth burning in his chest at the fact you wanted to help him so badly.

- He's not hopeful, but he wants to have faith in you even if he's trying to discourage you and scare you straight as much as possible.

- He wants so badly to be free so he can be with you without any limits of his commitment to you and only you. To not have to think about whether he's going to be summoned to some bullshit getup again whenever Alastor gets bored of the Hazbin Hotel.

- Deep down he's absolutely desperate for you to succeed in your mission.

- He wants the catalyst for his alcohol problem to go away so he can live and finally actually be happy without the heaviness of his deal weighing on him at all times, making him desperately need the escape.

- He absolutely will tell you very very seriously to not to let this slip that you're doing this to anybody though - or talk about this in a place you aren't absolutely confident doesn't have any certain member of the hotel listening in.

- Husk doesn't think that Alastor would harm you physically over this, that asshole would probably just find it amusing. However.

- Husk's worst fear would be you trying to get him his soul back by signing away yours, something very possible Alastor would offer as a trick.

- He'd be skeptical, fearful of you succumbing to a deal with Alastor, and not very hopeful at all as he's tried time and time again to break the contract on his soul. You are so... optimistic that you'll find a way, but again, his collar is air-tight. You'll have your work cut out for you breaking the deal of someone who's notoriously a dealmaker.

Angel Dust

- When you tell him that, he tenses up with a sharp inhale of breath, a complete 180 from how he just was seconds before, winding down from his night in his hotel room with you.

- Angel's deal would be logically way more easier to break. However, what Valentino's deal doesn't directly hold of Angel, the moth's manipulation keeps him stuck imprisoned under him.

- Angel absolutely would have thought of contacting a dealbreaker, however never actually would due to how terrified he is. If it turned out one of those people were a mole for Val trying to catch him out, Angel would be in so much pain from the punishment that that would entail. You cannot trust someone claiming to be a dealbreaker in hell isn't lying to you through their teeth.

- When he realises you are absolutely serious though, and obviously confident in your abilities, a myriad of harsh emotions pass across Angel's face. Fear (for both his and your safety), and hope made themselves the most apparent.

- Fear of what Val would do to him if he ever found out about this conversation. What he'd do to you.

- Valentino was certainly not above hurting people to get his way. Angel knew that better then anybody. But if Val ever caught wind that Angel's secret lover behind the scenes was trying to steal away Val's biggest money maker and favourite toy, he'd kill you. Straight up.

- That fear was there and was deeply terrifying to him. But so was the hope. A flurry of hope that fills him with relief and brings tears pricking at his eyes at the idea that he could actually be free of his captor and go do whatever you two decide and be fully happy without fear of Val.

- Live with you not as Angel Dust, but as Anthony. Completely his real, authentic self.

- "How." He whispers breathlessly.

- You tell him that you need to see the contract itself, analyse all the ins and outs and come up with a counter-contract.

- There would be a few ways you could actually break the deal from there, and although they would be time consuming and possibly (very much probably) dangerous, you were confident you could break him out.

- Angel would be extremely fearful, but also hopeful. You seem confident in your ability as his contract is messy and poorly crafted. He's reassured as you say that what's mostly chaining him down is the psychological control Val has over him.

Alastor

- When you tell Alastor this, I feel he could respond two ways depending on how you've learnt that information.

If he hasn't told you himself:

- If he hasn't told you this or doesn't know how you've found out, he's going to be absolutely pissed. At you and probably Husk (assuming Husk told you)

- He'd turn towards you with jerky, unnatural movements, bones and joints cracking loudly in a cringe worthy way. Overhead, the lights would be flickering as static begins to fill your head.

- Towering over you, he'd be still bent in that weird position as he grips sharpened claws into your shoulders. Your friendship is the only thing keeping him from making you nothing more then a stain on the wall.

- "Who told you about that."

- When you tell how you've found out, he likely let's out a chuckle dripping with anger that makes you want to cover your ears as the sound scrapes into them. "And what makes you think you could do what even I cannot?"

- He has analysed every single last clause, letter, meaning of the words used, every possible loophole in his contract to the point it's driven him to have multiple psychological breakdowns. To him there is no doubt in his mind at all that he's completely fucked by the contract he was tricked into and there's no chance in hell that you would ever be able to even assist.

- When you push and say that you want to do this for him, he's not even a little flattered at all, in fact, it bruises his ego massively that you'd have the audacity to confidently imply you could do what he's worked so hard to for 7 years.

- In instance one, he's incredibly pissed off at you for claiming you could ever undo his contract after learning about it from someone other then him, so angry he almost kills you. Leaves you alone shaking and afraid in the hall telling you not to say anything to anybody else about his deal, and to never so flagrantly exaggerate your own worth so massively again. Your prior confidence stamped down to embers.

If you are close enough of a person to him that he's confided in you about his collar however:

- He'd just chuckle, calling it cute that you thought you could do that while walking away.

- You miss the way his eye twitches.

- He'd still be incredibly angry about it, but due to not being surprised you knew of his biggest secret, he'd hide it much better.

- Continues to laugh when you insist you can do it, and would passive aggressively respond about how you should not overestimate your abilities and mind your own business essentially.

- Again, he's pissed off and his ego is bruised about it. But this time, he's hiding it behind his smile and is passive aggressive as fuck about it rather then outwardly aggressive. He won't let you know how much you've actually gotten to him even though he would have let his walls down to some extent to ever tell you that.

A/N I was actually already planning a fully written x reader fic that's not just the dot points with Angel at some point where reader saves him from his contract, so like... Maybe I'll do full fics for dealbreaking Husk and Alastor's contracts as well because I'm kind of interested in exploring a fic w them after writing this now

(I'm probably gonna say this then eat shit via the universe straight after lmfao 💀)

[tbaluver]

Sex And The City CH. 1- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings: sylus x stripper! fem reader, ( one of the love and deepspace men mentioned later in chapter ! the rest shall come in the future chapters <3 ) word count: 3.7k warnings: +18 MDNI, stripper au!, lap dance, explicit/ suggestive content, pussy ate, car sex, might be ooc a/n: it's been a while since i written a long fic like this i think i might go puke i hope you all enjoy this chapter might be a while if i make the second one heh (': also would like to mention the things i wrote about strippers aren't always going to be true irl! these are things i've heard of and was informed on! running away from my pc the moment i post this any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

In the city’s vibrant nightlife, you were the most desired stripper, a magnetic presence on stage and in private rooms alike. Your performances were nothing short of mesmerizing, leaving your clients spellbound and eagerly anticipating your next appearance. What was supposed to be a short-term gig—just a means to settle some debts—quickly turned into a flood of income, far surpassing your initial expectations. Despite the less-than-ideal clientele that often came with the job, the allure of the cash kept you entrenched in the game.

Yet, amidst the sea of faceless patrons, there were four men who stood out from the rest. They were different—each one a distinct enigma that defied the usual boundaries of your profession. In a world where setting boundaries is crucial, these men challenge everything you thought you knew about your own limits and ethics. Their presence makes you question whether the love stories you once dismissed as fairy tales could, perhaps, be within reach after all.

The city’s clubs are more than just venues—they are arenas of escapism, where desires are laid bare and fantasies come alive. Stepping into this vibrant realm means navigating a landscape where the line between performer and persona blurs, where confidence and social skills is as crucial as skill, and where the stakes can be as high as the heels you wear. For those who step into this world, it’s not just about the art of dance but the art of survival and success in ones life.

The club was a place where anything went as long as you stayed within certain boundaries. You’d done your share of things with clients before, but nothing too extreme. These four, however, were different. Each one lingered in your thoughts long after they’d left.

You slide down the silver pole until your ass hits the floor, allowing you to slowly spread open your legs. The atmosphere tonight is as it always is, every man in the building eagle-eyed on the way you dance for them, the way they pay for.

Honestly, becoming a stripper wasn't part of your future plans. It was always a joke you’d tell your friends about what you'd do if everything fell apart. And now, here you are. But life happens, you paid off almost all your debt, and it makes money so who are you to complain.

The club has a prestigious reputation, attracting everyone from high-profile celebrities to wealthy CEOs. Despite the fierce competition among the other dancers for tips and regulars, things have been going really well for you here. You’re making the most money and attracting the largest crowds. The other dancers opinions don’t faze you; they had a reason to argue, after all.

You’re smirking seductively, dragging your eyes over the crowd of men on the front row, your regular crowd. The men who empty their wallets enjoying every movement you make across the stage. You’d make so much money if you offered private dances but you only take requests for your boundaries. As soon as the lights fade to black, you collect your money from the stage, ignoring the wolf-whistles and lewd comments fired in every direction. The job isn’t perfect, it comes with downsides like every other job.

“Y/N” You heard someone call your name from the front, peeking out of the changing room to meet your eyes with the manager. “You got a request in the private suite.”

“Coming!” You called out, slipping a robe over your body, your hands held protectively over your stomach so that the garment didn’t slip off.

You crossed the bar to the private suite you’d branded as your own. You slipped through the parted curtains, letting it fully close behind you to give you and your guest privacy. The room was cozy, with soft velvet booth seating and gentle low lighting. As you enter in, your gaze settled and you made immediate eye contact with the guest, a man whose presence was unfamiliar.

He was settled into the center of the velvet booth, one arm lazily draped over the top of the seating while the other held a tumblr of whisky. The amber liquid swirled gently as he took a slow sip, his gaze steady and unflinching, expecting you. The man before you was striking—his white hair, framing a face dominated by piercing crimson eyes that held an unsettling intensity. His muscular build was evident even beneath his shirt, the fabric straining slightly against his powerful frame. There was no doubt this man was quite handsome. The room seemed to grow heavier with his presence, the air charged with an almost palpable tension.

As you stepped further into the dimly lit room, you fixed your gaze on the man who clearly wasn’t one of your usual clients. With a confident smile that masked any hint of nervousness, you sauntered over to him, your hips swaying with practiced ease.

“Evening, stranger,” You say, voice smooth and sultry. “I haven’t seen you around before. What brings you to my corner of the world tonight?”

He meets your gaze with a small smirk, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. “Sylus.” He says, assuming that’s his name. With a slow, deliberate sip of his whisky, he sets the glass on the table with a soft clink. He leans forward slightly, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “I’m intrigued to find out if you live up to the reputation. Show me what you’re capable of.”

You raised an eyebrow, a confident smirk playing on your lips. “Is that so?” You replied, your tone playful yet assertive. “I’ve always been one to deliver on promises. Why don’t you sit back and watch? I’m quite good at exceeding expectations.”

The music in the background thumped with a steady, rhythmic beat. You moved closer, your body swaying that matched the music's pace. The dim lighting of the room captures the highlight every curve and movement. With a teasing smile, you straddle his lap, your hips gently rocking in time with the music.

Your hands roam lightly over his broad shoulders, fingertips brushing against his neck as you leaned in, your breath was warm against him. Your movements remained slow and deliberate, each sway of your hips were designed to tease. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of your outfit.

As you continued, your hands traced a path down his toned chest, your touch lingering enough hoping to spark a thrill. As you do all this, you remain eye contact with him, while your bodies are pressed together and as your hips circle around his lap. Your hands guided his large calloused hands around the curves on your body. You were closely pressed against him that you could feel the warmth of his breath gently caressing your skin.

Your eyes drift to the shot glass resting on the table. With a playful smile, you slip it between your cleavage, giving him a suggestive look. His eyebrows quirk in surprise, but his sly smirk stays firmly in place. "May I?" He asks, his voice with amusement.

You nod watching him plant his face into your chest, grabbing the shot glass with his mouth before tilting his head back to down it all. His grip on your waist remains and his hair falls back to it's usual position.

With some adjusting you stood on your knees in a staddle over his lap, hips leaning forward. One finger beckoned him closer, the other hand danced along the waistband of your bottoms. "Put it here hon." You say in a sultry tone.

He slips a bill into your waistband with a slight chuckle, his hand lingering to give your a hip a gentle squeeze. You glance down casually, trying to catch a glimpse of how much he's tipping, doing your best to mask your surprise. You resist the urge to look again, even as you catch the sight of a generous numbered bill peeking from your waistband.

By the next song started, your robe had already been slipped away, along with most of your outfit, leaving you in nothing but the most delicate lingerie. You twerk, grind, and tease him of all the angles of your body that he wished he could see.

At the end of the song, you flashed him a practiced smile, speaking in the sweetest voice you could muster. "How about moving up to VIP?"

He intertwined his fingers with yours, catching you off guard. "Not tonight, sweetie," he murmured with a mysterious smile. "You really put on quite a show. I must say, I'm impressed." He says as he softly chuckles.

"I'll see you another time. Consider me satisfied." With a lingering smirk, he placed a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles, his gaze remaining on yours.

He gently lifted you from his lap, his touch felt gentle and tender. Setting a generous stack of cash on the table, he glanced at you with a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Until next time,” he murmured softly before turning and leaving the private suite, the curtains falling quietly behind him.

──────

That’s how you first encountered him. He started coming around regularly, but always at unexpected times, making his visits hard to predict. Occasionally, you’d catch sight of him in the distant shadows of the crowd during your performances. Each time, he’d make a point to request your presence before slipping away again.

Sometimes, there was no dancing involved at all—just drinks and conversation. At first, this surprised you, but you soon found it to be a refreshing change from your usual routine.

One day, he casually mentioned that he was the leader of the Onychinus, as if it were a mundane fact that he tells anybody. Your eyes widened in shock at the revelation, and his amused chuckle hinted at his awareness of your reaction. "Scared?" he asked, studying your response intently. You paused for a moment, reflecting on the fearsome reputation he held in the N109 Zone. Despite this, here he was, speaking to you with an ease that made the situation feel oddly casual.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little intimidated,” you admitted, meeting his gaze with a mix of curiosity and resolve. “But honestly, you don’t seem like the kind of person who would do anything to hurt me.” There was a nervous edge to your smile, but your eyes remained steady, reflecting both your apprehension and the surprising trust you felt in his presence.

His presence, though initially intimidating, turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. The ease of your interactions made his company enjoyable, providing a welcome respite from the more demanding regulars.

Then one day he slips you a card, and at first, you thought little of it. You assumed it might be some sort of gimmick or a ploy to recruit you for something unsavory. But his explanation caught you off guard. He clarified that he simply wanted to take you out for a change of scenery, offering a chance to escape the usual routine and experience something different together. The gesture felt unexpected and intriguing, hinting at a possible deeper connection forming between you.

"You don’t have to meet or do anything with me outside of this place," he reassured, understanding the challenges and unwanted advances that often come with your line of work. "I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust and make you feel comfortable."

──────

It had been a long time since you’d met up with a client outside of work, and this one was unlike any you’d dealt with before. The leader of the Onychinus had sparked your imagination with both dread and curiosity. You’d imagined the worst scenarios, yet you couldn’t shake the curiosity about possibilities that weren’t as grim. After much thought, you found yourself here, enjoying a night that defied your expectations and turned out to be unexpectedly exhilarating.

His hand was cradling your neck so gently. His kiss was passionate, an intense hunger for more of your soft lips against his. It's slowly becoming addicting as you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the exchange. You open your mouth to let his tongue slide in, the kisses getting sloppier and wetter. You were both pressed again so closely yet this time it felt a little more different from the past. The heat between your lips blooms in your stomach and it has you silently begging for more making you weak.

──────

"Y/N," You heard someone call your name from the front, peeking out of the changing room to meet your managers eyes, "You got a request from the private suite. It's a regular."

The excitement fluttered in your chest as you know it was Sylus making the request. After the surprisingly enjoyable time you'd spent with him outside the club, you felt a genuine thrill at the thought of seeing him again. You'd chosen a special outfit for this night, one bought by the money he's showered you in.

"On my way!" You called out, slipping a robe over the pretty red straps lining your body. You carefully tie the material together, ensuring the garment stays in place. With practiced steps, you crossed the bar to the private suite.

"There you are, sweetie," He says, his sly smirk now a familiar sight. "I've been waiting too long." With a playful glint in your eye, you approach him, slipping off your robe with a teasing grace. As you drop the robe, it reveals your red lingerie outfit underneath. Each cup framing your breast and letting your nipples peak through. You settled onto his lap and made yourself comfortable on your throne.

Sylus puts one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck, meeting you in a heated kiss. The kiss was hot and passionate and you two moved like you had done this a thousand times, perfectly in sync. Tongues battled for dominance but you let him win. Once he was sure you weren’t going to pull away, the hand on your neck traveled down your back to your waist.

Both of his hands gripped you and dragged you further up his body, moving your hips from his thigh to his grain. The action caused a small amount of friction between your heat and his cock but it was enough to make you whimper.

His hands slip further down your waist, grasping your hips harshly as he began to rock you back and forth against him. Although he wore his trousers, you can feel him grow harder by the second.

Your lips press kisses down his jawline and neck, leaving him panting. His breathing becomes more erratic with every kiss and the soft groan he would make when you would grind against his crotch. His hands run all over your body, feeling every inch and curve of you. His right hand runs up your side until his thumb rubs playfully just under your breast. With a swift motion, the lingerie top was gone in seconds. You move your lips away from his neck to sit straighter as a moan escapes your lips when his left hand squeezes your breast.

His right hand runs back down your body, caressing and squeezing your ass. He gently lifted you from his lap, guiding you to take his place in the seat. As you settle into the spot, his tall frame hovers over you. He lowers himself to your gaze, before diving in for a rough kiss, his lips bruising yours. He pulls out of the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, “I’m going to take care of you sweetie.”

He goes lower and lower, removing the thin string for your bottoms and throwing it somewhere around the room. His fingers trace your slick folds, gasping as he began to slowly pump. “Already so wet for me?”

You let out a whine when he removes his hand from your heat but your breath hitches when he places both your legs on his shoulders. His tongue dives into your entrance, licking up to your clit while his lips wrapped around you, sucking gently. "Such a pretty cunt baby." He gazes up for a bit to look at your reaction before going back down.

Your hands intertwine to his soft white locks, tugging harshly. He adds a finger to pump in and out of you at a rough pace as his tongue swirls and teases against your clit, bringing you over the edge.

“I’m so close Sy” You moaned out but he didn't stop. He adds another finger and he pumps into you faster, sucking harshly on your clit to find your release. His name spew out of your lips as you came all over his fingers and his mouth. Your nails dug into his scalp as he lapped up your juices with his tongue, not letting a single drop go to waste.

"When do you get off work?" He asks below you. "I can leave and enter anytime Sy."

"Meet me in my car in a few minutes."

──────

“You're so beautiful,” he groans, throwing his head back as he put his hands on your waist, helping you lower yourself onto his awaiting length. "'m gonna keep you all to myself" He says breathlessly, lifting you up again and lowering you on his cock. You could see his muscles flex and strain through his long sleeve shirt. He knew if he moved too soon, he would make you cum. Not yet. The feeling of his cock in your cunt felt too good for a release.

You bit your lips as you continued to glide slowly up and down his long length. He filled you too full and too much that you were lost in a trance. You didn't know you can make such sounds every time you sank all the way down until your ass hits his thighs. The head of his cock struck so deep and the sound coming from your lips were so raw and lewd.

"Fuck-hah you feel so good angel," he groan, one hand stroking your thigh as his back arched. His buttoned long sleeve shirt opened revealing his chest was pushed up against yours. His other hand holding on to your ass, guiding your movement when it got too clumsy. He would help lift you up when your thighs gave out.

"I got you my sweet girl" He coos noticing your thighs sloppy movement. Your body slumps forward onto his as his fingers stroked your spine, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

He lifts you up as he pushed his hips upward, thrusting into you. His name slips from your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The pleasure licked your inside every time he hits that one spot again and again making your breath hitch in your throat.

The squelching sounds filled the car along with your pants and moans. He held your hips in place as he could you feel you close to coming undone in his arms. He began to thrust inside you with determination. He was relentless, withdrawing himself all the way out before plunging balls deep back inside of you.

You sobbed telling him how good his feels as you hold on to his shoulders. "C'mon sweetie come on my cock." He spoke, jaw clenched as he brutally thrusted into you with his arm wrapped around your waist. You came with a loud shot and your body spasms feeling the white-hot release. The rippling wave of your orgasms washed over you.

He connects his forehead against yours while catching his breath. "I'm going to get you out of here." He whispers.

──────

His eyes are on you.

As you sway your hips in rhythm with the music, gracefully releasing your grip from the pole, you glide across the stage in the bustier you chose just for him. You know precisely how he reacts to this look, and you wield it like a finely honed weapon, using its effect to your advantage.

Maybe one of these nights, he will stop drinking from the whisky glass he's always holding and drink from your lips instead. Maybe one of these nights you'll be brave enough to approach him yourself. To straddle his lap and innocently grind your hips against him. But every time your performance ended, he would be gone from his seat.

But for now, you continue to dance.

The lights flicker around you and the music does not help with your spiraling thoughts. The more you stand on the stage, moving your hips, purposefully bending low enough to give him a show, the more you want him. You weren't the only one who wants him though. Every night he appears, you would hear whispers and exchanges about him among the other girls. However he only wanted you.

He is quite known.

Although the N109 zone is terrified of the Onychinus leader. He's the most influential, dominant figure in the N109 Zone. However, he hasn't been seen for a while until now appearing in your presence.

The girls keep trying their luck with him every night and it makes your skin crawl. The girls don't know the reputation he holds in the N109 Zone and you kept it a secret between you and him so he wouldn't risk anything. You know you shouldn't be jealous. You've thought about him often. You thought about why he hasn't requested for you but only to watch your shows on the main stage. You don't have his number and he only texts you from burner phones so you don't know what's happening between you.

Specifically this one memory of what happened last time with him. You still remembered how he called you his sweet girl when he fucked in you in his car. His gun placed on the passenger seat as you rode him.

You don't question it. You don't dare too. You were to much lost in the trance as you try to reach your high. While he rammed himself inside you, he had promised to protect you. To get you out of there. But it was all just empty promises.

He is nothing but the devil himself.

And you knew better than to dance with the devil.

──────

“The more enticing the bait, the more dangerous things can get. Most are clueless to it.” In a secluded corner of the strip club, tucked away in the farthest booth, two men engaged in a quiet, confidential conversation. Their voices, low and discreet, barely reached beyond their private alcove as they watched the show from a distance

“Now’s not the time to celebrate. The big fish we want hasn’t fallen for it yet. Did you bring the stuff I requested?” he asked, his voice smooth and calculated, adding to the air of mystery that surrounded him. His interest in you was palpable, each moment of your performance drawing him further into a captivation. His pale skin contrasted sharply with his dusky purple hair, which fell in a sleek middle part. His eyes, a striking mix of blue and pink, seemed to flicker with an otherworldly intensity as he watched you, captivated by your every move. As he held a tumbler of whisky in one hand, his gaze remained fixed on you, as if you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“What do you think of her?” the man with dusky purple hair asked, his voice cutting through the conversation casually. He tilted his head slightly, his striking blue and pink eyes still fixed on you, as if you were the focal point of his attention.

The man across from him glanced in your direction before returning his gaze, clearly impatient. “Rafayel, I think we have more pressing matters to discuss right now,” he replied, his tone edged with frustration.

"I think we can conclude this meeting. I would like to go meet her."

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 16!!

July 16th <3

Stage - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1292

First part Previous part

Every Sunday, a movie night was held by the seating area. There was a small stage, on the wall hung a plain white sheet where a projector was positioned to play whatever movie had gotten picked.

Also every Sunday morning, a camp counsellor was picked at random to choose what movie was going to get put on. Regulus did not know this.

So when James had walked up to him and asked him a question, he answered honestly within seconds.

"Reggie." He spoke quickly as he glanced down at Regulus, who was sat on the floor with his back against his bed, a book in hand that he'd placed to the side. James shrugged and slid down to the floor to sit rather close to Regulus for his heart to manage.

"James." He greeted.

Honestly, he was quite used to calling the older boy by his last name, but he loves the look James gets on his face when he uses his first. A light sparks in his eyes, he bites his lip, clearly trying to tone down his smile, but Regulus doesn't mind. He would devour that smile, he would cherish it and remember it in years to come, because to be blessed by that smile just about makes his broken heart heal.

"James?" He repeated with a smirk playing on his lips as the brunette just started at him with an awe struck face for a moment.

"Hm?"

He nodded his head slowly with a raise of his eyebrow, gesturing to James to finally say what he came to say.

Seemingly a light switched back on in his head while he realised he'd just sort of... stared for a moment. "Oh!" He coughed loudly. "Right.. What's your favourite movie?"

"My favourite movie?"

"Uh-huh."

"Pride and prejudice." He answered in thought, looking back at James who was readying himself to get up, probably to leave. Regulus didn't quite want him to leave yet, it was a bit odd, and very abrupt. Two very words that have come to describe James in the time he's known him, odd, abrupt, but oh so very sweet. Not to forget, fit. "Wait-" He grabbed the older boys arm, his bare, tan, extremely toned arms, Regulus swore he could feel the many muscles shifting under his soft touch. "Why?"

A small shrug, followed by a flick of his eye to where their skin touched, Regulus was quick to pull away and shuffle his hand to play with his bracelets. "'M just curious." He stood with a smile and squeeze to Regulus' shoulder. "I've got to go..." He trailed off as he sped up his pace, making a beeline to the door, all he gave Regulus was a wink as his messy dark hair disappeared out of t he door.

What the fuck?

-

Later that night, he received a text through from Pandora, letting him know about the movie night, and that her and the others would meet him there. He sent off a quick 'ok' message in return, yes he's a dry texter, he acts like that in real life too, deal with it. 

Making his way over to where the film was playing, he spotted a few blankets and cushions thrown across the grass near the back of the group. He headed towards that, there's more space and a certain lack of noise far back so that was definitely preferable.

According to Pandora, the movie was to start in about ten minutes, so he just hoped that his lot got here soon so he wasn't sat looking lonely for the next few minutes.

He actually wasn't sat alone for that long, thanks to the warmth of James Potter sitting down next to him. The boy placed down a bag of popcorn and a few cans of drink, he stuck his tongue out in concentration as he tried to balance the cans on the bumpy ground, smiling to himself when he managed to get them to stay put.

"Hi?" Regulus questioned.

"Hi." James looked up at his face, a satisfied tone settling in his eyes.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" He guided his eyesight over to where Sirius and some of the others sat.

"I wanted to sit with you." Kicking his legs out, James leant back on his hands, Regulus had to know if he was doing it on purpose because his shirt rolled up ever so slightly, revealing a strip of skin right above his v-line.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Pandora walk towards them, the rest of his friends in tow, before she stopped abruptly, winked at him, and shuffled everyone away to somewhere else to sit. Well that was anything but discreet.

Huffing out a sigh, Regulus dragged his head back to face James, who had now picked up the bag of popcorn and was failing miserably to toss them into his mouth. Regulus decided to just watch and internally make fun of him as he threw the food anywhere but his mouth, missing ever single time. He let out a chuckle, rolling his eyes and tucking his lips away into a mocking smile as James looked over at him.

"Stop judging me!" He pointed, putting the bag down.

"I'm not judging you!" Regulus released an offended gasp, folding his arms and unfolding them quickly to hide his smile behind the sleeve of his shirt.

"You are, you're doing that cute thing when you hide your face."

Removing his hand, Regulus opened his mouth. "I-"

Cute.

Cute?

"Cute?" The raven haired boy found himself saying aloud.

Regulus saw the exact moment James' face froze, his sudden smoothness whisked away and replaced with the darkening of his cheeks and the widening of his dark pupils. Regulus finally broke him.

He spoke something inaudible under his breath before pointing towards the projector with a loud throaty cough. "Movies starting."

-

Pride and Prejudice.

Apparently James had gone and made sure his favourite movie was played, according to a text from Barty he'd asked what Regulus' preferred flavour of popcorn was, and his very favourite drinks.

That's not normal, is it?

James was still sat innocently behind him, tossing popcorn over his shoulder, into his eye, and now at Regulus to try and catch his attention, it worked eventually, by about the fifth try. He turned around, blinking up at James through his thick eyelashes. He didn't quite know what to do with how he looked in the moonlight, perfection.

“Have you managed to do it yet?” Regulus sighed out.

“No, but-”

Before James could finish, Regulus reached over to grab a handful of popcorn, throwing it in the older boys face while he kept his mouth open to speak. He abruptly closed his lips and swallowed the food Regulus had just practically shoved at him, Regulus feeling a small smile form at each corner of his mouth.

“There you go.”

Now, Regulus became aware of how close they were, hands brushing together, faces almost touching, eyes flicking everywhere over each boys face, hair blowing in the wind, the sound of the movie mumbling in the background, the only thing Regulus could hear or focus on was the hitch of James’ breath as his eyes flicked downwards towards his lips.

They stayed like that for a moment, consumed in each other, leaning forward every few seconds until a loud yell in the direction of Sirius echoed through the two boys. The both of them twisted their necks to look away, Regulus falling back into his previous spot and his hand suddenly cold from the lack of heat James managed to pass onto him from the soft touch of his fingers.

They stayed silent for the rest of the night.

Next part

[tinydeskwriter]

Hi! Can you write something with Carlos? After yesterday's events... I need to read something to cope, idk☹️☹️

You're Carlos Fucking Sainz

A/n: this is just a little something, a domestic moment after the bombastic news, Y/n trying to be there for her man. I was so sad for Carlos, I think this is the cuntiest Ferrari move ever, it's sure to make things unconfortable this season. It's not something particulartly big or elaborate, because I wasn't sure what you wanted, but I hope you like.

“Amore,” the Spaniard is surprised to hear the soft voice calling him, blocking his cell phone screen and placing it on the coffee table, turning to his girlfriend standing in the doorway.

Y/n arrived in Madrid three hours after the news was posted and a fifteen-minute call with her boyfriend left her heartbroken. She was lucky to have an extensive network and such a competent PA who managed to get her on a flight back home in record time—even if that meant she had to travel coach from Milan.

“Carinõ, what are you doing here?" The man got up and approached his girlfriend, kissing her lightly before pulling away to look at her, “I thought you weren't coming back from Milan until tomorrow."

“Aren't you happy to see me?" She tilts her head slightly and wrinkles her nose in the way she knows Carlos finds her irresistibly adorable.

“I'm always happy to see you." The words are genuine, but the smile is forced.

“I told the girls that my extremely hot and talented boyfriend needed me more than they did." Y/n wraps her arms around the older man's muscular neck.

“Not so talented apparently…” The woman's smile disappears when she sees his crestfallen expression and deprecatory tone when talking about himself. “They warned me ten minutes before the announcement went up.”

Y/n took her boyfriend's face in her hand, forcing him to look at her. Determination evident in her eyes.

“Carlos, bebé, you are amazing, never think otherwise, you are no less than Charles," she says seriously, “it's their loss, go after what you want my love, any team would be lucky to have you, Ferrari you've only been building tractors for years, you did your best, Hamilton will have the most disappointing end to his career there, and half the experts doubt that Charles will win the title racing for Ferrari."

“I'm going to be without a team in 2025..." the Spaniard says, moving away from his girlfriend, towards the large couch they choose together months before—his house was a true bachelor pad before she moved in, and it took some effort and gentle persuasion for her to convince her very headstrong man to allow her to change around.

Sitting on the huge, velvety blue sofa, with his arms crossed and beaked, his head thrown on the back and his eyes closed, he would look downright pathetic if he weren't so handsome—and if she didn’t love him so much.

At least for today, she wants to make him feel better, tomorrow and beyond, they take it one day at a time. Y/n sighs. She hates when Carlos is hard on himself, especially over a situation he has little to no control.

She takes off her own dress, leaving it pooling down the living room floor, in only a white lace G-string she sits on the man's lap, uncrossing his arms and placing his big hands on her ass. She laughs when Carlos immediately opens his eyes, staring at the pair of breasts in front of him with desire—she knows it's a low blow, but she just wants to see him a little more himself, sex won’t solve anything, but it will definitely take him out of his shell.

“Bebé, you are Carlos fucking Sainz,” she tangles her fingers through his dark strands, “fuck Ferrari, fuck Fred, fuck Charles and fuck Hamilton, show them all who you are, be your cuntiest self, ignore their bullshit strategy and their fucking favouritism, race for you, follow your instincts and get out of that tractor factory with a bang.” She kisses him deeply, biting his lips.

[magniloquent-raven]

I am once again plagued with thoughts that aren't 100% coherent so imma just ramble for a bit, pls gather 'round for some stuff about Billy and body image issues cuz I'm in my feels rn.

Billy spends a lot of time staring at Nancy.

Enough that Tommy's noticed and he starts ribbing him about it. "That's one thing of Steve's you might want to stay away from," bitter and pointed. Enough that Jonathan Byers gives him the stink eye whenever he's within glaring distance. Enough that a handful of the more desperate chicks still high off the fumes of his New Kid smell have started dressing like fucking librarians in hopes of catching his eye.

He doesn't give a shit about any of it, if anything the rumour mill is helping him out for once. Less work involved in keeping up appearances if everyone just assumes he isn't sleeping around because he's too busy sniffing Wheeler's granny panties.

As long as no one guesses the real reason, it's fine. It's fucking peachy. It's one silver lining in this shitstorm of a situation.

He's so tired of his eyes inevitably being drawn to her barely-there tits and tiny waist. Every time he's bored at lunch, his gaze wanders. When he's in the library pretending to study, there she fucking is, even smaller when she's hunched over a pile of cue cards.

The longer he looks at her the more sure he is that Steve will never really want him.

Steve's slept with plenty of girls. A variety of girls. He probably couldn't afford to be too picky in this shitty little town. But he's only fallen in love once. One time. The only time it mattered what he was sticking his dick in was when it was in Nancy Wheeler.

And Billy...will never be her. Not even close.

He'll only ever be a warm mouth and a convenient hand, he'll never matter.

She's flat, and thin. Willowy, narrow-shouldered. Petite. Inches shorter than him and nearly half as broad. Thin fingers and delicate wrists. She fit comfortably under Steve's arm, she could nestle safely into his side.

And it was all so fucking easy for her. She never had to try.

She never had to piss off her dad so she'd be forced to skip meals. She never did laps around her neighbourhood until she was lightheaded and doubled over, dry-heaving in someone's hedge. She was never forced to sign up for baseball as a child, poked and prodded and guilted into it because a couple shirts were starting to get tight across the stomach, and being a momma's boy was bad enough, being a fat, lazy piece of shit too was unacceptable.

He used to think he'd done well, maintaining the physique he has. He's worked hard for it. Scraping together his savings for a weight set and keeping careful track of his calorie intake and never skipping a single fucking day of exercise, hangovers and broken bones be damned. And it's fucking useful, truth be told. More than keeping away the echo of old insults bouncing around in his head, it's made flirting that much easier.

But the more he looks at Nancy Wheeler, the more he hates the things he can't change. It gets into his head. Digs in deep, leaving scars on its way down.

He thinks Steve might've noticed.

He knows Steve has heard the stupid rumours about Wheeler, and probably chalked it up to Billy being an asshole, as usual. But it's harder to explain away his sudden tendency to go extremely still whenever Steve puts his hands anywhere on his torso. A palm pressed to his chest, slipped under his shirt, or fingertips digging into his back, or a casual fucking pat on the shoulder—whatever it is, he can't help freezing up, if only for a second, a sick feeling twisting his stomach, cold and shameful and clawing at his lungs.

And then, eventually, they argue.

It's over nothing. And everything. Billy can't explain what his fucking damage is, and Steve can't stop needling in the wrong places. They scream at each other until their throats are raw and Billy leaves when his knuckles start to itch.

He cries all the way home and doesn't eat for four days. Not on purpose. Not consciously. He's just. Fucking. Busy. He's busy. He's always gotta drive Max somewhere or dodge Neil's thinly veiled threats or lock himself in his room when bile starts to bubble up in the back of his throat and his head pounds and he doesn't think about why he's snapping at everyone constantly, he just pounds back a couple beers and goes to sleep. And then it's four days later, and he's flying off the handle at Neil, too sluggish and lightheaded to see the hit coming, and...

Steve comes to see him at the hospital. He hasn't told anyone anything but they've got him hooked up to a banana bag and the nurses keep making sad eyes at him when they come to check his stitches.

He hates it, sitting around doing nothing, being closely monitored every fucking second, it make his skin crawl, and he hates it even more when Steve's standing in the doorway looking at him.

Not for the first time, he's overwhelmed wondering what exactly Steve sees.

He's a fucking mess right now. Greasy hair tangled at the back, bruises peeking out from under the collar of his gross papery hospital gown, one eye swollen shut and a dark tangle of thread holding his eyebrow together. It feels stupid to get stressed about all the shit that usually bothers him when there's so many other things to worry about, but he still finds himself shifting in place, hunching his shoulders, hiding his hands in the crooks of his elbows.

It's sort of a disaster. Worse than last time they saw each other. Billy's not in the mood for Steve's apologies and Steve's at a loss for what else to say.

They don't see each other again for months. Steve graduates. Billy avoids anywhere he thinks Steve might be, and lies awake at night haunted by stolen touches.

He catches a glimpse of Steve through the red haze of storm clouds and cold lightning, tears blurring his vision, the Mind Flayer wearing him like a suit. Their cars collide, and everything whites out for a second.

He's in the hospital again when they finally talk. Billy rolls his eyes at "We've gotta stop meeting like this," and tries not to think about last time he was here. Steve seems more than willing to ignore it. Move forward. Guess demonic possession puts some things into a different perspective.

When Billy's released from the hospital he's seventeen pounds heavier than he was a few months ago. Every time the nurses did their check-ups and put him on the scale they'd pat his elbow, smiling encouragingly, telling him how good he was doing while he watched his stomach get softer, his biceps get less defined, watched himself disappear beneath a layer of fat.

The first thing he does when he gets home is throw up.

He doesn't make it happen. It just happens. And he blames it on the meds they have him on. It's a plausible enough reason, and it means he doesn't have to interrogate the tiny spark of satisfaction he got from losing his lunch.

His second day back home Neil asks him when he's going to start exercising again. His expression is pinched. Cold. His eyes are ice chips freezing Billy's skin wherever they touch, lingering on the softness under his chin, and where the hem of his sleeve pinches his skin.

He pushes his dinner away and grits out an answer from between clenched teeth.

He doesn't need the reminder that he's gotten weak while he was trapped in a hospital bed, but Neil gives it to him anyways. Tells him all about everything he should do to get things back to normal. Push past the pain. Work harder. He tunes it out after a while, and watches grease congeal on his meatloaf.

Eddie Munson is the first person to bring up the things Billy's never known how to talk about.

They started hanging out after Billy's most recent brush with death. Billy's not sure exactly how the got here, from buying the occasional painkiller and letting the guy wax poetic about his dumb band, to spending weekends getting high together at the trailer park. But as weird things in his life go, it's barely worth questioning.

This particular conversation starts with Chrissy Cunningham.

Specifically, Eddie's massive boner for her.

Billy's been noticing it for a while. He hasn't been letting it bother him.

He hasn't.

Maybe he likes the way Eddie smiles at him when they pass a joint back and forth, lazily stretched out and wearing three less layers than usual, and maybe he thinks about closing the distance between them when Eddie offers to shotgun, but it doesn't fucking matter. Just like it doesn't matter that Steve hasn't touched him since before the Mind Flayer and things are fucking weird now that they're on speaking terms again. None of it matters, he's just a fucking idiot.

Because Steve and his new best friend Robin are attached at the hip lately and everyone can see where that's going, and Eddie won't stop talking about tiny, pretty, perfect fucking Chrissy and her stupid ponytail.

And Billy...Billy gets winded walking up the porch steps at his house now. And he pulled a muscle in his back trying to lift half the weight he used to press. And last week he burned three pairs of jeans in the backyard because he kept grabbing them out of his laundry pile, not realizing they don't fit anymore until he was struggling to pull them up past his knees.

He's lost the one thing people used to actually like about him. Never the people he wanted, he was never enough for that, but it was something. Now he's just...

Now he's just listening to a guy he likes talk about some goddamn cheerleader like she personally hung the moon just for him.

And he's drunk. They're both drunk. Eddie in a soppy, embarrassing way, with a sparkle in his eye and a flush on his cheeks, an arm across the back of the couch, outstretched far enough that the tips of his fingers almost brush Billy's shoulder.

He wants to move closer. Thinks about shuffling into Eddie's space, curling into the warmth at his side. But it twists in his guts, sours, sickens—he couldn't, he can't. And he hates himself for wanting to.

"What do you see in her?" spills out of his mouth, bitter on his tongue and sharpened by anger he has no right to feel.

She's pretty. He expects it. She's pretty, she's perfect. She's a fucking angel even though her and Eddie only know each other because she buys drugs off of him. But she can do no wrong because she looks like a little china doll with sad eyes and everyone would be devastated if a single hair on her tiny delicate head was harmed.

Eddie only looks thrown off for a second. A moment. But he shrugs it off, leans his head back against the couch cushions and grins at the ceiling. "She likes my music."

Since fucking when.

"So, what, it's just an ego stroking thing then."

"Nah, man. I mean. Like. She's got this whole good-girl thing going on, but you should see her when I pull out my guitar, it's fuckin'...magic. When she lets herself just. Live." He wiggles his fingers in the air, arms spread, then drops them back down.

Billy's heart clenches, squeezes. It hurts and he doesn't know why. "Bullshit."

"Nah, nah. Seriously. The guy she's dating is a fucking asshole. And her mom..." he trails off, and rubs his eye. "She's just got all this pressure to be perfect, act a certain way, look a certain way, be a certain way, and I hate seeing what it does to her, man. I hate it. No one should have to deal with all that. So. I dunno. I like helping her cut loose. Sorta, find herself, I guess." He cracks a crooked smile, casting a glance in Billy's direction.

And his smile drops.

"Billy?" He sits up, cautious, eyebrows up and his eyes wide.

Billy turns away, shocked into motion, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "I'm fine. Fuck off."

He didn't notice he was crying until Eddie looked at him like he'd seen a ghost.

"Yeah, obviously."

"Fuck you."

Eddie doesn't get much more out of him that night. But he starts watching Billy like a hawk after that. Checking in on him at random. Calling if they haven't seen each other in a few days. It should be irritating as fuck, and he acts like it is, but he still basks in the attention.

Doesn't hurt that it seems to annoy Steve to no end.

Especially doesn't hurt when, in a fit of apparent jealousy, Steve shoves Billy into a wall and kisses him like his life depends on it.

The hurt comes when Steve starts to unbutton Billy's shirt and Billy reflexively shoves him away, when he wants to keep going but wants it to stop and can't tell Steve either of those things because he doesn't have the words.

So he gets angry. At Steve, for pushing it, crossing lines he can't even see. But mostly at himself, because it might be easier than standing there heartbroken but he knows it's the worst thing he could do.

And at Steve, again, when the he doesn't respond the way he should. Doesn't punish Billy for doing the wrong thing, reacting wrong, being wrong. He doesn't withdraw and save himself, he tries to understand, tries to talk it out, like this is something Billy can just say out loud and it'll all be fixed.

He doesn't explain. Not that day. But he lets Steve hold him while he cries, ugly gasping sobs into the front of Steve's shirt, curled up in his lap, collapsed on the floor and tangled together. Because despite everything he's told himself, he does fit comfortably in Steve's arms.

💜tag list ppl💜 @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for ZepysGirl; the wet nurse omegaverse.

“We don’t even know if this will be enough,” Clark says softly, so unfortunately he’s apparently on a similar line of thought right now. Unsurprisingly, but unfortunately. “Chris is a toddler. He doesn’t know anything but that he smelled milk on someone who would–who could nurse him. But human milk might not be enough.” 

“It was enough for you,” Bruce reminds him. 

“I was at least a year older, and still wound up malnourished,” Clark reminds him in turn. Which, admittedly, is not actually something he’d forgotten. “And Ma was my mother. My pack. Both my primary and my family pack, on top of that. I can’t give Chris that. I can’t give him anything she gave me.” 

“You’re giving him everything she gave you, Clark,” Bruce says evenly. 

“I’m really, really not,” Clark says, and puts a hand over his chest . . . purposelessly, as far as Bruce can tell. Just . . . there. “I couldn’t even–I couldn’t even try. Couldn’t even let him latch to try and get my milk to come in. Couldn’t even take my shirt off. It might–if I try, it might come in. We could–test it, maybe. I could pump, or . . . I could at least try.” 

“You did try,” Bruce says, since “giving yourself a panic attack trying to force it would not have been a helpful form of 'trying’” would come off a little more insensitive and Clark’s already not in the best place at the moment. And Clark did in fact do everything short of taking lactation stimulants, which they already know Lor wouldn’t have tolerated even if they had managed to synthesize Kryptonian-effective ones. The Fortress’s AI didn’t have any more tolerable stimulant formulas that they could reproduce, and even if it had, those stimulants certainly weren’t designed to function on a Kryptonian living on a yellow-sun planet. 

Clark tried, and nothing happened. 

The issue is undeniably psychological, but unless Clark can retroactively go to six years of extremely intensive therapy that would’ve both compromised his identity and might not even have helped at all, much less actually worked, and that he never knew he’d need to have worked for anything like this–

Clark did everything that he could’ve reasonably been expected to, and more than he should’ve had to. 

Sometimes that just isn’t enough, Bruce knows. Jason is proof enough of that, if nothing else is. 

And they have chances, still. There’s hope, still. 

There is. 

Bruce is just very, very tired, and at this point even Clark is tired, and they're both worrying about things that aren't currently helpful. Directionless worry isn't a solution or a plan; it's just wasted energy. 

Honestly, at this point Bruce just wants to go take a damn nap. 

Unfortunately, one of the most singularly powerful people on the planet still needs emotional support, and Bruce is still terrible at emotional support.

[lillysilvermoon]

Qualities of your SP

Hi everyone! Hope yall are doing great, as I promised the Tarot Reading who won was Qualities of your SP, but don't worry, tomorrow I'll post What June will bring to you? (College starts Monday so I'll do my very best to make 2 readings tomorrow and post What are your psychics abilities? In the middle of the week). NOW let's get into the reading!

Pile 1

The reading is about qualities but I feel someone need to kind know something about what its going on with them??? (This is totally NOT planned but it's what I'm feeling). See, this is for a VERY specific person, below y'all gonna see the characteristics but this message has to be given to someone about their SP so, if you don't feel it's for you just continue the reading to see their characteristics!!

Hum, okay. Right now they going through a very thought situation, there is something ending in their lives but they aren't accepting and this is just making everything awful - with ends comes new begins and opportunities, but since they aren't accepting they are stuck. The cards literally complete each other, 10 of swords talks about endings and the importance of them for new things, but they are so strongly holding on that they are turning down opportunities, and the sad is: they are regretting doing this.

They are a very gentle soul, with and because of the others cards, I fell like they are imbalanced with their feminine and masculine side.

(END OF THE MESSAGE)

They are kind, like arts in all forms, very creative too, they like to use all their senses. They like to enjoy the pleasures life has to offer.

4ofC is astrologically aassociated with the moon in cancer, this card carries a passive receptive energy (and since you got the Empress too they definitely have more of feminine energy).

They have very "Je ne sais quoi" that many envy, they mastered the art of looking effortless. They don't follow trends and honestly don't care about them, very laid back and chill and youthful energy. They eat what they want when they want and workout when they feel like it, they believe life is to short. Hmm okay wait, they have too a big masculine energy, but because of things they have gone through they can look careless is selfish, but they are actually very kind and gentle, you will feel safe with them.

This is a general reading so: for some of you this person can be extremely toxic, with victim mentality, prone to overreactions and drama. What I'm picking up is: they are is a bad place right now, but this isn't who they are. They are NOT bad, narcissistic is anything, but they have gone through a lot and aren't their best right now (I feel you SP has been very judged by others because I feel so protective over them it's crazy like, has this urgency to say how they aren't evil or bad they are just so... omg they don't even know they just feel miserable but they have a good, kind, gentle side and it's their true self).

(Sorry pile 1 but I feel this is what you were needing to see right now😞)

Signs: scorpio, pisces, libra, house number 2, Jupiter and venus placements.

Pile 2

Hi pile 2, let's get into your reading!

They have "the whole package". They are smart, funny, and physically attractive (whatever it is for you), very masculine energy (saturn) and this is a VERY major part of their identity because it's from a major Arcana (The World) - wow pile 2 you guys are so lucky 😍 -

They are definitely into self care and they take very good care not just of their body but of their souls too, they may be into meditation or yoga, tai chi chuan.

They can be in a career who have to travel a lot, very into teamwork and social friendly, practical and effective in communication, they like to share and talk about the things they do/products they use and recommend to theirs friends, they like team sports.

Definitely someone very kind and compassionate, great with children, can be a people pleaser sometimes (but since this is minor arcana I feel this isn't too much a part of their personality, but can happen!)

They doesn't have a big ego, it's the kind of person who make you feel like you are in this together, when romantically involved would make everything to make the relationship works.

This isn't for everyone but, for some here they can also be someone that makes you feel like they are hiding something or keeping a secret from you - for some this means that they are someone who likes to make surprises to you;

They can be someone obsessed over some part of they physical appearance and go to extremes to preserve it, like work out a lot, have a extreme diet or be obsessed with eat only healthy foods, very regimented skincare routine etc, may have trust issues, struggle with repressive emotions, be closed off, would benefit from therapy but probably aren't open to the idea

(At this point feel like this group is divided into a healthy person and someone who needs to do shadow work, talk to a professional and probably receive a HUGE hug)

Signs: moon, mercury, Mars (saints! definitely masculine energy), aries, aquarius and Taurus.

Pile 3

I got to say: you are my favorite pile, Gods your SP is just SO CUTE and wonderful. Honestly the healthiest one here (what's going on with people now day huh???). But let's get into your reading, shall we?

Omg I am SO EXCITED I'm sorry I just can, this SP is romantic and sensible and has a LOT of pieces energy; takes great care of the appearance and makes their health a priority, dress casually but you can tell they made some effort to look sharp, empathetic and compassionate, you probably won't see them judging others, emotionally balanced, unafraid of their masculine sides, they are daring and take risks - 100% would call you on a date without fear of a "no" - also they support their feminine side by embracing their emotions, will make you believe chivalry is still here, they make you feel charmed but not manipulated.

They are a very happy, zen and calmest person you will ever meet, they are very grateful and never takes anything for granted, their spirituality have a HUGE impact on their life, "big picture" thinkers, probably likes philosophy or have profound conversations and they may not reveal this in the beginning of the relationship, they may come off as very sophisticated or they can appear modest when in fact they are super wealthy, they tend to consume a very well-moderated diet, the like to enjoy the finer things in life but they don't tend to abuse substances or overuse. They are emotionally intelligent and know how to deal with their emotions in a very rational way, rarely loses their temper but definitely have healthy boundaries, have gratitude practices, they put a great deal of value in the amount of energy someone invests in their relationships and they are always nurturing quality relationships with others. May works in something family related, anything related to family including pet services. They are someone who makes you feel serenely content, you might make the happiest, most peaceful memories in your life with this person. Excellent parent and 100% spouse material.

Signs: cancer, scorpio, sagittarius, aries, moon, Neptune (pisces energy, Leo.

I am honestly very happy with this reading, took me more time but I loved - I study more about the tarot related to personality, was really fun and I loved put the theory in practice.

Hope y'all liked, see you in the next reading.

- Lia

Share so more people can see♡

[anonymouspuzzler]

blacked out and finally made my first decent environment design in like. probably literally years. please enjoy Buck and Davey's shitass room

misc design notes slash thoughts if they're of any interest:

All the furniture's a combination of stuff Buck already had when Davey moved in, and stuff Davey brought over from his place when they decided to partner up. All of that in turn is either gotten cheap from thrift shops, rescued from the dump, or for a few of the smaller/nicer items Stolen Outright. As is probably obvious, they also repair and re-repair this stuff as much as possible rather than fuss over replacements.

The vast majority of the cosmetics are Davey's. Buck just kinda combs his hair and hopes for the best.

The rug is crooked because it's been there since before Davey moved in - Buck sleeps on the right side of the bed, so it made sense to have more rug (and more space in the room in general) on that side. Davey didn't care enough to insist on rearranging much when he moved in.

Prior to Buck and Davey taking it over as their hideout, the building used to be an illegal chop shop hidden under a manufacturing plant; their "apartment" is in turn a former break/storage area downstairs from the chop shop. The "bedroom" used to be a storage room, hence the exposed pipes, shitty concrete walls & floor, and marks from where big industrial shelves used to be fastened to the walls.

Because it's an old storage room, it tends to get the worst of extreme temperature changes (hot in the summer, cold in the winter). Also, undecided if they have an actual door or if they've just put a curtain up in the doorway. (Either way, it's also not particularly private or soundproofed - not a huge deal when it was just the two of them, but a bit of an annoyance once Minnie starts living with them.)

The drying rack used to be more out of the way in the living room, but they moved it when Minnie started sleeping there so they wouldn't have to bug as much when they do laundry.

Davey "no no I quit years ago seriously (actually sneaks a smoke or two whenever he gets super stressed)" Lastname definitely has a pack or two of cigarettes hidden in his stuff and thinks he's slick about it. (Buck 100% knows and figures so long as he doesn't smoke in the house and he's mostly trying to quit, it's not worth raising a big fuss about.)

Technically the tools and stuff aren't supposed to be in there, but Buck's always forgetting stuff places when he does repairs or tinkers with shit.

[starleska]

HI ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED W YOUR RECENT WALLY HCS😢😭😭😭 need more If you're still taking writing requests, could you do some jealous Wally headcanons?🤭🤭🤭 he just seems like the type to be a yandere that’s obsessed w you

eeee thank you very much lovely anon!!! 🙈💖💖💖 writing these Wally headcanons is so fun!!! and ohohoho, i most certainly can. buckle up 😉 content warnings for jealous, manipulative, borderline abusive behaviour including stalking, as well as Eldritch powers and hypnosis. this is for the yandere!Wally fans! :3c

Jealous!Wally Darling x Reader headcanons

🍎 Wally's jealousy isn't overt, but he can't fool you. at first you thought it must all be in your head; that warm smile of Wally's becoming static, frozen, when aimed at your new friend who is taking up a little more of your time today than usual. yet the more time you spend with this friend, the more you find Wally's pleasant façade slipping. there's an unnerving edge to his voice when he asks, "Did you have a good time?", and his usual stimming - taps and touches with a charming, unrhythmic musicality - now sound like harsh, stinging slaps. you try to reassure Wally that you aren't replacing him, but Wally laughs a little too loud, and pretends like nothing is wrong. "I don't mind!" says Wally. "After all: I know that you're my best friend."

🍎 when Wally's jealousy increases, he takes more extreme measures - by defacing your image. you come home one day after a lovely outing with your new pal, happy but exhausted. you make your way to your bedroom, but are horrified to find the place in shambles. your drawers have been yanked out and overturned, and sheaves of paper scatter the floor like a tornado just cleaved through your window. shaking, you pick up a piece of paper...only to find it's a photograph of you and your friend, taken from a distance and without your knowledge. the photograph is scribbled over with a violent scrawl of red crayon. panicked, you pick through the other photographs, and find that every single one is ruined: angry art-marks slashing through your smiling faces. you're frightened and angry, and you go straight to Wally's Home to confront him, clutching fistfuls of photographs and trembling with the adrenaline. yet Wally looks lazily over the photos, his eyes betraying nothing. "I don't know why someone would do this," says Wally. "But whoever did sure seems to care about you."

🍎 although you try to distance yourself from Wally after that, he doesn't take well to being abandoned. one morning you're just stepping over the threshold of your home, ready to meet your friend - when you lock eyes with Wally. he's standing a short distance away, with his arms tucked politely behind his back. "Going somewhere?" Wally asks. as he does, his pupils balloon, and his eyelids peel back to reveal the full extent of his scleras. a sick wave of vertigo crashes into you, and you have to grab the doorframe to keep your balance. "No...I don't think so," you say, your voice coming out weak. "That's good," says Wally. he moves towards you, and as he gets closer, a crackling, ringing static builds on the inside of your skull, getting louder with every soft step of Wally's shoes on the grass. your brain swims through a new, impossibly dense fog, and your knees nearly give out. Wally - when did he appear at your side? - slips a hand around your waist, and guides you gently away from the sunlight and back into your living room. "I think we should spend more time together," says Wally, in a way which is not a suggestion. you find yourself nodding. of course you should. Wally's your best friend...isn't he? always fun to write a darker side to Wally - i hope you like this one 🥰

[creedslove]

BETRAYED - FINAL CHAPTER

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: smut (masturbation f!, implied unprotected p in v, light spanking, a little bit of biting kink if you squint, dirty talk in english and spanish) and fluff, like A LOT OF FLUFF

A/N: It's the end 😭 the end of my beloved and beautiful series. A series that wasn't supposed to be a series, it started as a one shot and it became a series thanks to you all who asked for more, gave me feedbacks suggestions, sent me asks and showed me support! I know I couldn't please everyone as some of you wanted a sad ending and also some people weren't not pleased with some plots (chapter seven, anyone? hehehe) still, I loved every part of it and I am sad it's over but I am also pretty excited to see it is the very first time I actually end a story I began. I hope you enjoy this last chapter and the series as much as I did ❣️

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PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART NINE

The ride home was extremely difficult as you and Pedro had a hard time keeping your hands off each other. After dancing together at the wedding and teasing each other shamelessly in public, you two couldn't contain yourselves. If he could, he would have you right there and then, but at the same time, he wanted to have a special first time with you. You were the woman he loved, and not some lay for the night, but god knew how much willpower it took him.

You couldn't stop kissing him, as you two exited the ballroom, you pushed him against the wall, getting his suit jacket off in the middle of the hallway "fuck you Pedro" you whispered "you don't have the right of being this hot" you chuckled against his ear.

All you got was a smirk and a smack on the ass, drawing a loud moan from your mouth. He pulled you even closer "come on muñequita, let's get you out of here"

•••

You pressed your thighs together as you watched Pedro drive. He was focused on the road, his knuckles turning white at how tight he gripped the steering wheel, so impatient to get home, but it seemed it was taking too long.

You watched his side profile, your heart beating faster at how handsome he was. You took in every feature of his, he was gorgeous and he was about to be yours, just as you were about to be his. You felt the anticipation in your entire body, your lust for him, growing at every passing moment. You observed his profile and remembered when was the last time he gave you a ride. How scared you were, when you thought you were pregnant and he was by your side. Even if you both weren't on your best senses and things were shaken between the two of you. You remembered how sweet he was that night, how soft his touches were on your skin and how he did everything in his power to give you comfort.

Your heart tightened and you leaned towards him, kissing his neck gently and startled him.

"Shit princesa, careful, I gotta drive" he said in his husky voice, though your neck kisses sent shivers down his spine. He chuckled and held your head in place with one hand "you're a naughty little girl, aren't you, mariposa? You're dying to be my sweet little puta" his hand slid down your hair caressing it before making its way down your back. He saw how you lifted your hips softly and squeezed your cheeks, not getting enough of your delicious sexy ass.

"Please Pedro, we gotta stop somewhere, I need you now" you purred at him, biting your lips and earned a scoff "I told you to be patient, cariño, you are not gonna be fucked in the car like any slut, you deserve my home, my bed" my heart, he thought to himself and smiled, briefly turning his attention to you, pecking your cheek gently "besides, you aren't any slut, you are my puta" he winked and looked at the road again.

You could barely hold yourself as you really wanted the man, it had been far too long and you just wanted his touch and nothing else. He couldn't concentrate with you squirming in the passenger seat so Pedro took one hand to your thigh, caressing it softly, feeling how soft you were under his fingertips, going further and finding your lace panties under it. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them and boy, they were wet.

He glanced at you "shit Y/N, you're a fucking tease, know that?" He said and instructed you to open your legs wider and giving him more space to feel you up.

He pulled your panties to the side and touched your slit. Your warmth was welcoming to his touch, he could feel your wetness pooled and spread it up and down. Pedro wanted to explore your body, but he couldn't at that moment, so he reserved that moment to touch your clit, making you whimper. He rubbed it in circular moments, seeing how you bucked your hips towards his hand, rubbing yourself on it as much as you could.

It took a lot of control so he wouldn't stop the car right there to fuck you senseless but now you were almost home.

He took his hand away and saw how coated his fingers were in your honey.

He took them to his mouth and sucked on it "mmm eres tan dulce mi muñequita" he praised and not resisting it took his finger to your pussy one more time, repeating his motion and getting them coated once more. He smirked at you, rubbing his finger on his bottom lip and smearing your juices over it "come on princesa, taste yourself" he told you in a husky voice.

As you kissed his lips, you felt your own taste. It was so obscene and dirty and you loved every single minute of it.

You knew there were only some blocks left until you got to his house, but it didn't stop you from rubbing his hard cock over his clothes to get your man some relief.

•••

The ride home left the two of you hot and bothered but as soon as you two stepped foot into his home, Pedro pulled you for a sloppy kiss. He wanted all of you, every single piece of you. The first thing he did was to get rid of his suit jacket, he just couldn't stand that amount of clothes on his body and certainly couldn't stand to see you so covered up like that. It was going to be your first time together, as a couple, as two people who loved each other and weren't afraid to show that. No tricks, no games, just the two of you.

He broke the kiss and rubbed your sides up and down, taking his lips to your neck as his smart hands found the zipper of your dress, opening it with no difficulty and seeing it fall onto your feet.

You stood in nothing but your lingerie and your heels in front of him, his gaze burning your skin at how he stared at you, at first you could see the admiration as to him, nothing was more beautiful, but you could swear his eyes darkened in desire and suddenly you felt like a prey waiting for the predator's next move.

Pedro took a step closer and lifted you up, making you squeal in surprise. He looked down at you and placed a sweet kiss to your forehead, in contrast to all the desire he had within.

"You deserve the best, cariño" he winked and took you to his bed, bridal style.

As soon as your back hit the mattress, he stood up at his full height, admiring your body "undress for me, papi" you pouted at him

"Never took you for someone who would call me daddy, Y/N" he said as he slowly undid his tie and stared down at your body groaning under his breath as you boldly reached for his crotch and caressed his painful boner.

"Fine, princesa, I'll undress you if you are a good girl for me, think you can do that?" You nodded "so first things first, these shoes stay" he pointed at your feet "and now be my sweet little puta, got it?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, kissing you deeply, his tongue against yours, your hot breath mixing in your desperate moans before he placed his tie on your mouth, wrapping it around your head and tying it, gagging you.

Pedro pulled your bra down, exposing your hard nipples and purred in approval, kissing each one of them taking his time, before wrapping his lips around them, suckling on them and flicking his tongue over them.

"Fuck princess, how many times I've seen you swimming in my pool and your sweet hard nipples so visible in your slutty bikini… you teased me so much, mi amor, you deserve to be spanked" he got rid of your bra, freeing your breasts and caressing your tits.

You rolled on your stomach at his order and Pedro immediately swatted down your ass cheeks.

The reddish tone of his hand immediately spread through your skin with a stinging sensation. You whimpered and earned another swat. Now both of your cheeks had the same shade and Pedro loved the sight. He leaned towards you, massaging your ass, feeling the heat of your sensitive skin against his palm.

"So beautiful, so hermosa mi amor" he murmured and kissed the small of your back, going his way down your cheeks, kissing them gently at the same time he used his big hands to spread them apart. Pedro could see how the string of your panties barely covered your holes, the wet cloth brushing against your sensitive slit.

He sank his teeth down your flesh gently, love bites on your plump cheeks, dragging whimpers and moans from you.

He pulled your panties to the side, groaning in approval at the sight of you completely exposed to him.

He didn't think twice before sinking his face into your core, tasting you and slurping your juices like a starving man.

You'd never felt that way with anyone, the way your skin felt on fire, like you'd burst into flames when he took you over edge at how many times he pleased you.

You welcomed him length inside of you, loving his weight against your body, his touches, whimpers and grunts, having him whole, his load deep into your womb until you finally relaxed in each other's embrace.

•••

After you spent your first night with Pedro, you also spent other nights with him, and mornings, and afternoons and as many days as you possibly could fit into your hectic schedule.

Pedro flew all over, busy with work. He was shooting movies, doing photoshoots, having interviews, attending events and it seemed everyone wanted a piece of your boyfriend.

Yes, boyfriend.

After the first time you slept together, Pedro woke you up with his lips pressed against your neck, his beard tickling your skin and a beautiful breakfast waited for you at the kitchen table. He grinned proudly at how surprised you seemed but eventually admitted he had ordered it from your favorite bakery.

It didn't matter, you loved it anyway.

And just as you ate breakfast, Pedro took your hand and caressed your knuckles so gently "I want you to be my girlfriend" he said in a shy tone "I am done playing games, Y/N, I want us to be together once for all" he said and looked into your eyes "remember when I told you about my dream?" He blushed and looked down for a moment, before staring at you again "I want it, with you and only you and if you want it as well, it doesn't have to be now, but if you say yes, then I'll be the happiest man in the world" he didn't even take a breath between sentences, those big brown puppy eyes waiting for an answer.

And your answer of course, had to be yes.

After a couple of months, Pedro asked you to move in with him, not move in together per se, as he was away so much from work you guys didn't get to live together though you shared the same house. But it was a logical conclusion to accept. That way you would save up money from rent, his house wouldn't be unattended for so many months and overall his home was bigger and more comfortable than yours. Not to mention his swimming pool was more than welcome on hot days.

Still, you didn't feel so happy when he wasn't around, but everything reminded you of him. His clothes, his cologne, his belongings, everything made the distance a little less painful.

You weren't expecting Pedro for another week while you prepared yourself a bath. You had had a stressful day at work and you needed to unwind a little.

You waited for the water to fill up the tub and picked a bath bomb. You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the times you shared the tub with Pedro. You really missed him and you sighed sadly. You took off your robe and sank yourself in the water.

You had no idea how long you'd spent in the tub, but when you were done, you could see your fingers were wrinkled at the contact with water for so long. You finally gathered the courage to break your laziness haze and dried yourself.

Pedro entered the house quietly. Though most lights were out indicating you were upstairs it just felt like home. He wasn't arriving to an empty home, he could feel the warmth inside, the one that irradiates from people, he could also smell your delicious dinner, set on the counter, cooling down before being eaten. He could smell your perfume, see your small little things scattered here and there, and he knew he was home.

It was just like his dream, though there weren't any kids around, you were home to him and he wanted to keep you close forever.

He could hear you upstairs, probably using the tub and smiled to himself, letting the house in dim lights. He sat down onto the couch and relaxed for a while.

When you finally went downstairs, you didn't remember leaving some of the lights on and frowned softly. When you got into the kitchen, you found Pedro with a bottle of water.

You squealed in happiness and ran to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and laughing as he held your hips, sustaining your weight and lifting you up.

"Mi amor, I missed you so much!!!" You said excitedly using the same pet name he had for you.

Pedro didn't say a word, he just kissed you, wanting you more than anything and once you broke the kiss, he looked at you, he took a real good look at you and his heart raced. He had made so many plans for which moment he would pick for that, but it felt perfect for him at that right time and he silently fell on his knees in front of you, getting a box out of his pocket and showing you the ring. Needless to explain, you said yes.

•••

You bit your lips as the song started playing. You'd been through so many emotions that evening but there was something more to what you were living at that moment.

Pedro took your hand and gently pulled you close to his body, he kissed your forehead and placed his hands on your hips, you looked at the small crowd of friends and family watching your first dance as a married couple and felt your heart flutter. You looked up at him and laughed softly, kissing his lips gently, earning a cheer from the guests.

You rested your head against Pedro's chest as you both swayed to the slow song and you remembered the time he broke your heart by dancing with another woman. Your arms tightened around his body unconsciously but immediately brushed off the thought. It didn't matter anymore, you and Pedro had had your dark moments, but you both overcame what happened, and improved yourselves for each other. You met again and finally admitted your feelings and now you were finally married. There were no more hidden, unrequited feelings, no more secrets from the media, you were his and he was yours. You still weren't so sure about kids. Sometimes you wanted them desperately and sometimes you were thankful you didn't have to worry about them at all.

But you had talked about maybe start trying for one next summer, once Pedro was done shooting and of course, when you had enjoyed your honeymoon. It didn't matter one bit, you had him and now he was your husband.

You looked into his eyes

"I love you, husband" you giggled "te amo mi amor" you told him in your bad spanish.

He smiled big and placed another peck on your lips

"Te amo mucho mi cariño, I love you wife"

It seemed after all, you and Pedro finally got the happy ending you both dreamed of.

The end

_____

A/N: IT'S OVER 😭 I'm so happy I finally managed to finish a story because I have never finished a story before, lmao, but I am kinda sad because I enjoyed writing this story so much. I hope you guys have liked it and don't worry, there might be another Pedro angst piece coming soon, it's just an idea that's popped into my head but I already tell you it won't be a long series like Betrayed and there will be no happy ending 😭

[shelbgrey]

Can I place an order for Marvel? If yes: HERE YOU GO. Where the reader is Steve and Natasha's daughter, Tony and Bucky's goddaughter (you can already imagine that) and mainly, she was raised by all the avengers and hidden from the spotlight. Just something pretty fluffy for what her relationship with them would be like 🥺✋

Ohana means family

Paring: Romanogers!Daughter!reader X Avengers(Platonic)

A/n: thank you for the request. This is my first request for the MCU Fandom, hope you enjoy.

Being the daughter of Captain America and Black Widow is blessing a curse... I'll tell you why.

But first if your the daughter of them I could imagine you having Steve's kind heart and Natasha's temper. Your Godfather Tony always got a kick out of a tiny you getting all angry. And his laughter would only get heavier if you came and started punching his leg for laughing.

Tony would definitely be a second father. He's wanted to be different from his father so he will always show you the love and affection his father didn't show him.

You don't like hearing about Peggy. I think it's because she was almost your dad's love. Natasha never had a problem with hearing Steve talk about her but the woman always left you frustrated just by the sound of her name... You'd never tell your dad this though.

Anyway, being around all theses heros obviously inspired your choice of future work, this scares not only your parents but the whole team.

Sure your mother would teach you how to shoot or Tony will teach you how to build a robot but they all fear the day you'll actually have to use those skills.

Your other Godfather Bucky seems to be the only one with peace about this suprisenly. If you told him you want to be a superhero he'll grien and listen to your reasoning.

There's been times where he'll put toy boxing gloves on your hands and teach you how to punch. Natasha put a stop to it quickly though. One day he was setting on his knees so he was your hight and you kept punching his flesh hand. He wouldn't let you hit his metal hand in fear you'll hurt your self.

Sam would always tease that you have Bucky wrapped around your little finger.

Bucky and Tony always compete to see who can be the coolest Godfather. If one gets you a cool Lego set or dollhouse the other one will get the bigger version. You love Elvis Presley at the time Tony will take you right to Graceland. You want to go you a waterpark Bucky will have you there in a flash before Tony can have the chance.

A down side is you learned how to be independent with your Hero Family. It's not a bad thing and they don't do it intentionally but there's many times you spent at the compound with Pepper and Happy.

But your mom and dad always make it up to you. I wouldn't say your spoiled, but if you ask one of your godfathers nicely(with puppy eyes) you usually get it.

But another down side of being a part of this family is them being extremely over protective. There's been many times you couldn't do something or had to stay indoors for long periods of time because someone was plotting your father's death.

If you do go somewhere one of them is with you. If you want to go to a zoo trip for school one of them is with you. You want to check the mailbox Sam is flying around watching you. And don't even think about going to friends house for a slumber party. Steve and Nat aren't trying to be strick or anything they just always have this sicking feeling something will happen.

On a more positive note... You always have the best time with them. To be honest you never worried about having friends because you had them. You of course have friends your age but you consider the Avengers your Best Friends. Speaking of which Cassie Lang is probably your Best Friend.

Which means the first sleepover you ever had was with Cassie. Since you technically would be with an Avenger it was okay. Tony thought it was dumb to leave you alone with "Thumbelina" but Steve trusts Scott and Nat trusts Hope.

Speaking of which play time is always token to the extreme. You want a nerf gun war, the whole team is involved. You want to build a Lego thing, tony will buy the biggest one. Blanket fort? You don't have to ask Clint and Scott twise.

I think you'll always try and lift Thor's hammer. You've tried but couldn't so one time Thor lifted it with you so you could have the experience.

You love it when Bruce reads to you. If you come up to him with a book he'll drop everything and read to you. It's the only thing that will make him leave the lab immediately. It's calming to him and he always uses different funny voices to make you laugh.

I won't tell anyone but once you got older you had a small crush on Peitro, which didn't set well with most of the men in the compound when Cassie acdently let the cat out of the bag. You've never saw the ironman suit appear so quickly..

I think once you got older the over protectiveness got old. You found it annoying a frustrating at times but in the end you're greatful that you have a group of people that care about you so much.

Be patient with them. They love you and trust you, they just don't trust other people.

Since you can't be on the flighting field you went to medical school and with everyones help(especially from Bruce and Tony) you were able to graduate with a trauma certification and now you work with Dr. Cho in the med bay.

You always hate seeing them beat up from missions but you also love helping Them and other people.

I don't think you and Peter would get along. I don't know why, I just do. I think at one point they tried to get you to go on a date with him but it never happened.

For a little bit I think you had a jealously thing going on and didn't like how close Peter was getting to Tony. Your Godfather noticed this and told you that you'll always be his number one.

Speaking of Starks, your literally the best big sister to Morgan. You two are basically two peas in a pod. And don't even think about messing with her because you will through hands to anyone who's rude to her.

Your basically to her what Tony was to you.

When you get older you do become an Avenger and the elders got over it. You proved you can survive and they couldn't be more proud of you.

This is your family and you couldn't be more thank full. There may have been bumbs mountains along the the way but they'll always be family. And that's forever.