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sceletaflores · 4 months

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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.

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maybankswhore · 2 years

Text

mastermind , xavier thorpe.

pairings: xavier thorpe x reader

“what if i told you none of it was accidental and the first time you saw me , nothing was gonna stop me?”

“what if i told you i’m a mastermind? and now you’re all mine , it was all by design.”

summary: xavier knew he wanted you from the moment he saw you— and he always made sure to get the things he wanted.

Xavier remembered the first time he saw you.

You were wearing your favorite outfit , one he had seen you wear plenty of times now , and you were clutching a stuffed animal in one arm and holding cotton candy in the other. With a bubbly smile on your face , you followed around your friends , soaking in the scenery of the carnival and grinning ear to ear. ( You really loved carnivals. )

He hadn’t seen you before. You didn’t go to Nevermore , and he wasn’t too fond of Normies. But there was something about you that seemed so different. It sounded cliche , but something clicked inside of him when he first saw you. You were beautiful , and you looked so sweet and innocent. He wanted to know you , who you were , what you liked. He wanted you to think he was just as attractive as he saw you. God , did he want you.

With his hands stuffed in his pockets , he huffed when you strolled on out of sight. The carnival was packed and he knew he’d look weird just watching around for you the entire time. He also knew , he didn’t want to approach you in front of your friends. He wasn’t particularly fond of them— just you.

He tried getting the image of you out of his head. It was just one girl , he kept telling themself. There’s more out there , don’t bother.

He played a couple games with Ajax , chatted with Wednesday , and still nothing turned his head the way you did. Nothing interested him enough to want to stop thinking about you.

“Bro you’re hot.” Ajax scoffed. Xavier bashfully admitted to him what his problem was after looking so irritated that past thirty minutes. “You make art come to life. Literally.”

“Okay and what if she’s like a super cunt who only dates guys like Tyler Galpin?” He borderline whined , hating that he cared so much.

“Then she’s a cunt so why would you wanna be with her still?” Ajax pointed out.

Xavier nodded , knowing Ajax was right. Maybe he was scared of finding that out— having the already made image of you tainted by a scornful tongue or an upturned nose.

“She seems to like Enid.” Ajax cut in , nodding over towards the blonde talking excitedly to you. You talked to her grinning , showing her the piece of jewelry Enid complimented you on.

Xavier watched the two of you closely , his eyes lightening up as Enid handed you her phone. He silently prayed you were exchanging socials instead of numbers , so he’d be able to find you later.

When you turned your phone around , showing Enid you had followed her , Xavier grinned excitedly.

“Gotcha.”

“what if i told you none of it was accidental and the first night that you saw me , i knew i wanted your body? i laid down the groundwork and just like clockwork the dominos cascaded down the line.”

That night Xavier laid in his bed and searched up Enid’s Instagram. Social media wasn’t really his ‘thing’ but he had an account just to be nosey every now and again— and luckily , it came in handy.

He wasted no time in searching through Enid’s followers until he found you. It took him about twenty different people , but then , finally , your profile picture was a photo of you in the woods. A huge smile on your face as you stood there with your arms wide open , eyes screwed shut.

Shamelessly , Xavier stalked you as far as your Instagram would go. He was in awe at your photos , how artistic some of them were compared to the pretty selfie’s you’d take. There wasn’t any sign of another significant other in your life , which made a proud smirk appear on his face.

He followed you , and turned his phone , ignoring the excitement bubbling in his stomach.

Then the next morning , as soon as he woke up , he saw you had followed him back. And he smiled.

The next time he saw Enid , he grabbed her arm and pulled her off to the side , stuffing his hands in his pocket nervously. “So. . .”

“You wanna know about Y/N.” Enid cut to the chase. “Ajax ratted you out to me last night! He said you couldn’t stop talking about her. Xavier that is so cute! You guys would be the perfect couple.”

Xavier made a mental note to tell Ajax about his blabber mouth as he flushed , rolling his eyes. “Calm down. I just wanna know if , you know , she’d—”

“She’s not like the rest of them , I promise.” Enid cut him off excitedly again. “In fact! She’s sneaking in me and Wednesday’s dorm tonight.” She smiled proudly , “you and Ajax should come by.”

Xavier smirked. “You know , I’m surprised at how little work I’ve had to do to score this.” He admitted , thinking he’d have to go on the wild hunt to find you somewhere’s in town.

“Maybe you’re not the one trying to score.”

“you knew i was a mastermind and you’re mine , and all you did was smile. ’cause i’m a mastermind.”

Enid was finishing up your hair as you checked it subconsciously in the mirror. “And he asked me about you?” You already heard the story a million times , you just wanted to hear it again.

You were practically leaping with joy when Xavier had asked to follow you. You caught his attention. Finally. You wore your favorite outfit , ran around the entire carnival looking silly , just hoping he’d come up to you.

You were a bit disappointed when he didn’t , but when Enid texted you saying Xavier was asking her about you— you were ecstatic.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at the same question she’d been hearing for the past hour. “Do you suffer from short term memory loss?”

“I just don’t want to assume he’s into me but really I’m just being delusional.”

“Didn’t you say he followed you.” Enid tried easing your overthinking.

“Yeah but—”

“Which means he was looking for it because he didn’t know your name before!” Enid clapped excitedly. “I love love.”

“Love makes me want to operate on myself while I’m wide awake.”

Wednesday’s comment was left uncommented on because a knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

Your stomach was in knots and Enid gave you an encouraging smile as she went to open the door. You immediately felt shy , unsure of what to do or say.

“Y/N’s already here!” She almost squealed , moving away to let them walk in.

Xavier’s eyes immediately fell onto you. You sat on Enid’s bed , with your hands in your lap for comfort. The way you looked at him made him grin , nodding up at you. “Gonna introduce me , Enid?”

Enid giggled and you stood up , smoothing down your clothes and walking up to him.

“Don’t you know her already?” Wednesday’s monotonous voice spoke up. “You followed her Instagram.” She said simply , not looking up from her place on her own bed , reading.

Xavier’s cheeks went red with embarrassment as Enid giggled and Ajax laughed. You even chuckled a bit , finding his red cheeks and the way he scratched the back of his neck endearing.

“Well yeah but—”

“I’m Y/N.” You introduced.

“So it seems.” Xavier laughed. “In the flesh.”

You were two caught up in his big green eyes to answer. His face was definitely something to look at. Every feature just fit him perfectly , his voice and demeanor. You were smitten.

“I think me and Y/N are gonna go off on our own.” Xavier told the others without looking away from you , his heart beating so fast.

“Already?” Enid whined. “You just got here.”

Xavier looked at you questionably , cocking his head to the side with a smirk.

“Yeah–” you broke the stare to glance towards Enid briefly with a sympathetic smile. “We can all meet up later?”

“God , I hate teenagers.”

#xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe x reader #enid x reader #xavier thorpe imagines #taylor swift #mastermind #wednesday #xavier #thorpe

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heya-dollface · 4 months

Text

Where can I find patterns for making Fashion Doll Clothes?

A friend and I were chatting tonight about doll clothes, and it occurred to me that if you've never dabbled in making doll clothes before, you may not know where to find patterns for them. So I'm sharing a list with you guys of every resource I know of.

Paid-For Patterns:

Requiem Arts: https://raddollclothes.com/

This is one of the big go-to's of the community. Requiem Arts has patterns for so many different fashion dolls, from Monster High (G1 and G3) to Rainbow High, to a number of BJDs, to Barbies, and even several for the boy dolls. I've gone to them for many a Descendants pattern since not a lot of places offer them. Her blog also features a number of great posts on size differences between dolls, fixing articulation, and more.

Dollightful: https://www.etsy.com/shop/DollightfulPatterns

If you need Monster High and Ever After High patterns with easy to follow instructions, this is the place to go! Dollightful only has a handful of patterns up, but her instructions are super easy to follow. They're just as enjoyable as her YouTube videos.

Moonlight Jewel: https://moonlightjeweldolls.myshopify.com/collections/ebooks

This artist has an interesting mix of patterns for fashion dolls, once again it's a lot of Monster High, but also a little bit of Rainbow High. I have her two pattern books, and they've got some wonderful picture instructions that put into perspective how to follow along. I hadn't realized until making this post that she's released a couple of individual patterns from her YouTube videos, that's really cool!

Enchanterium: https://www.enchanterium.com/shop

The Enchanterium sisters are a delight, and their patterns for MH, EAH, and Smart Dolls encompass a wide variety of genres. They even have some 3D printing files for shoes and accessories.

Cosmomoore: https://ko-fi.com/cosmomoore/shop/sewingpatterns

Cosmomoore is great if you need patterns for Rainbow High, Barbie, or G3 Monster High. All of the G3 patterns are under the Creepy Class tag. I've tried their skirt pattern for G3 Draculaura, it was a breeze to put together when you know a few basic stitches.

Free Patterns:

Enchanterium: https://www.enchanterium.com/shop/freebies

Enchanterium offers a number of freebies at this link! Most of them are patterns from their older YouTube videos, so there's those as a resource to follow along with.

Cosmomoore: https://ko-fi.com/cosmomoore/shop/sewingpatterns

Once again, this artist has a number of freebies, but they don't have a specific tag.

Poulpe en Ciel's Google Drive: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/folders/1lkI6inme4K6wxw0IqTSGGju2bIQMln_A

This artist is known for having some truly extravagant patterns for Monster High and Cave Club dolls. And she offers them in both English and French! Highly recommend checking out Poulpe on Instagram, her dolls are absolutely to die for, and she puts so much heart into making her stuff accessible for the wider community.

Chellywood: https://chellywood.com/

Chellywood's website is a diamond in the rough. If you're looking for a doll pattern for a doll most people don't make patterns for, Chelly probably has it. Her website is organized by size and goes into individualized pages for each doll line. It's fantastic. And on top of that, she has YouTube videos!

MyFroggyStuff: https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOJWM4ft-CgHQI3fhqNJzWLG30C45Xl3xs-tgatId430gKVW-J8w5cB9ViW2jRPFw?pli=1&key=Y2Y2UDJ6S01Gb2EwUHRZUVJDdm9FanpMdDZzY1RR

Barbie lovers rejoice, this is your kingdom! While there's no tagging system here, Toya has patterns for everything, from mermaid tails to cute easy dresses, this is a great place to go. Her YouTube channel is also an endless resource of creativity.

If you have any resources for patterns, or for places to buy doll clothing, feel free to reblog! I'd love to include more people from our lovely doll community so people know about them!

#dollblr #doll customizing #doll clothes #doll clothing patterns #doll sewing #sewing patterns for dolls #monster high #ever after high #rainbow high #barbie #smart dolls #descendants dolls

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sterredem · 2 months

Text

Folkmore

F1 grid x singer!driver!reader

Face claim Taylor Swift

Warning not proofread, spelling mistakes

Summary after the success of RED y/n still isn’t done with music.

Part 1

A/N I wrote this in the middle of the night in a few hours so it isn’t the best. Also I made a few of the things myself so it isn’t the best. And y’all are getting spoiled with 2 fics on the same day:)

Instagram

Liked by LewisHamilton and 5.836.836 others

Yourusername Another great race in Hungary! P2 for the team! A quick break before Spa. I’ll take that time to work on some fun things got y’all😉 Also congrats to Oscar for the win!

View all 976.836 comments

Scuderiaferrari Great job Y/n👏

Charles_Leclerc another great race indeed💪

OliviaRodrigo multi talented queen

SabrinaCarpenter One of the first f1 races I have ever seen. I was STRESSING watching it. Great job love!

User1 You can’t just announce that either those covers and then go on like nothing is happening😭😭

User2 P2 LETS GOOO

User3 it’s so funny ti see that after she released the album she suddenly has millions more followers and millions more likes on her post. Proud of you queen

User4 Fun things????

User5 gorgeous

User6 The car is looking great

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Instagram

Liked by BonIver and 9.735.836 others

Yourusername Another suprise! While I was writing RED about my own experiences I also needed an escape from the real world, so I wrote this album. This is an album full of tales about characters that I made up in my head. Thank you to all the people that helped me write this and helped me make my dream come true. This is also an album that unlike the other one Is filled with poetry (I have always loved that). So I would recommend that if you want the full experience that you hold a dictionary close to you. I hope you will all love this as much as I do. Folklore is out now🩶

View all 696.836 comments

BonIver I had a great time making this with you🩶

Charles_Leclerc another great piece of art

LewisHamilton Your creativity never fails to amaze me

Landonorris just in time, I was beginning ti search for new music

OscarPiastri It’s insane that you know words that I have never heard of and that you aren’t even a native English speaker

User1 WHAT?!? HAHSNUSGENAIHAHH

User2 This is just… I have no words

User3 these song are just…… I am so amazed at how amazing this is

User4 tho sis just the most amazing mix of hard destroying songs and a teenager in love

User5 going from red to this is insane but also so understandable (mostly with some of the songs on red)

User6 just imagine these songs live……

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Instagram

Liked by Scuderiaferrari and 5.826.836 others

Yourusername Not the results we hoped for but in the points nonetheless. See you next Singapore.

View all 646.726 comments

User7 you’ll get back up soon

User8 this caption is so sad and then you have the happy Y/n pictures from the folklore photo shoot

User9 perfect human

User10 Ferrari is really disappointing these last few races

User11 I am loving the aesthetic

User12 Why haven’t we heard of a contract extension yet??? What is this Ferrari?? She is on Eid the best drivers on the grid!

User13 Y/N WOTLD DOMINATION!!

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 8.736.256 others

Yourusername Folklore the long pond studio sessions out now on Disney plus. This is a documentary that shows the story behind every wingman’s a live version of all the songs. The songs will also be on Spotify soon! I hope everyone will enjoy it and will enjoy knowing the story’s behind every song🩶

View all 265.725 comments

OliviaRodrigo A masterpiece might I say

SabrinaCarpenter One of the best movie I have ever seen

LewisHamilton Every time I see something you have created it amazes me more and more

Charles_Leclerc You always hit with the things you make Y/n

Landonorris My new favourite movie

User1 A MOVIE?!?!

User2 I have never been happier that I have Disney plus!!

User3 On Spotify too?! And the vocals are just INSANE

User4 the love triangle is my favourite thing ever

User5 Y/n drinking red whine just makes so much sense. I can’t explain it

User6 besides the point but I just love that the drivers are supporting her

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Instagram

Liked by Haim and 9.836.826 others

Yourusername Triple surprise! After writing folklore (and red) I just couldn’t stop. So I didn’t. And this is what came from that. The sister album of Folklore; Evermore! This is again an album of tales that I have made up in my head, but there are also a few songs that are very close to my hard. One for example being Marjorie, this song is about my grandmother that has sadly passed away, and the song explains the rest. This album is very close ego my hard. I thank the poeple that have helped me make this and I hope you all like it as much as I do🤎

View all 827.836 comments

LewisHamilton I am once again proven wrong with your amazing writin and story telling

SelenaGomez What a lovely album🤎

Haim it was an honour working with you

Honeymoon I am proud to say that I was a fan before red🤎 amazing job Y/n

Landonorris you killed it (literally)

OscarPiastri Crying in the floor atm

Charles_Leclerc another emotional rollercoaster

MaxVerstappen1 What a piece of art Y/n

User7 I’m claiming right where you left me

User8 ANOTHER ALBUM?!?! I’ve just come by from red and folklore (not that I’m complaining)

User9 my fav sisters; folklore and evermore 🩶🤎

User10 no body, no crime is so unhinged and I love it

User11 all Gina dj stuff but where is the contract extension announcement?!?!

User12 SO PROUD!!

User13 my little indie artist🤎🩶

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 6.826.836 others

Yourusername I am very bittersweet to announce that this will be my last season in Formula 1. While I am very happy that I have gotten this opportunity, and while I still really enjoy it. I think it is time for me to step off. I know I am still considering young(with being 24) but with my other hobby’s and career I have devoted that it would smartest if I focus on my music career. I will finish this season(hopefully with a championship) and then I will retire. I which the best of luck to the team and to Charles and for my replacement for the next year. Thank you all for the support and I love you all❤️

View all 826.826 comments

Lewishamilton it was an amazing time racing against you❤️

Charles_Leclerc it was an honour to be your teammate. I which you the best with your career

Landonorris I had a lot of fun racing alongside you. I which you the best in the future

User1 NOOOOO

User2 OMG?!?! IS THIS EHY FERRARI HADNT ANNOUNCED ANYTHING??

User3 I am sad that she will leave f1 but I am also happy because MORE MUSIC!

User4 wait could this maybe mean… a tour??

User5 I cried while watching this video

User6 We such you the best!

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Instagram

Liked by Scuderiaferrari and 7.464.375 others

Yourusername Thank you all so much for all the support these last few years. This was my last race in Formula 1, and it was a win. I am so grateful for all the people that made this dream possible! This will not be the last time you see me, just the last time you see me on the track. Again, thank you all so much for supporting me in this dream. And good luck Ollie, I know your going to do it great in Ferrari❤️

View all 863.736 comments

LewisHamilton Have a great retirement y/n/n

Charles_Leclerc it was an honour racing alongside you

Landonorris we will miss you

OscarPiastri I may not have driver with you for long but I which you all the best with music

Maxverstappen1 Have an amazing time and I which you the best of lunch with the music

User7 We Will miss you Y/n!

User8 I was crying when I watched her the last few laps of the race😢

User9 all the driver congratulating her at the end had me tearing up

User10 Forza Ferrari!!

User11 this is so bittersweet

User12 MY FAVOURITE EX-DRIVER

User13 this what’s such an emotional race

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Instagram

Liked by Phoebebridgers and 9.836.836 others

Yourusername I am delighted to announce my brand new (and first) tour! Y/n Y/l/n | The Eras Tour, a journey through my last 3 eras. International dates will be announced as soon as I can and thank you to all the amazing singers that will go with me on this tour🫶

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 11.376.635 others

Yourusername What an amazing first show! I am shocked at how good you all know the songs! This is the first show of many to come!

Comments are disabled

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No part3. This is the end.

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writting-stuff-sometimes · 5 months

Text

Just for a second - Lando x fem reader

Summary: Y/N "dated" Lando for a while but life happens and sometimes it isn't a fairy tale.

Warnings: Fluff and a sad ending.

Word Count: 17K

Notes: Please, no second part requests. This is me trying to deal with personal stuff I don't know how to work out, and writing helps me get it out. I wrote it in a rush so excuse the mistakes.

___________________________________________________________

An Instagram DM request caught your attention, when clicking on the notification his name froze you. You doubted about opening it.

After panicking for a couple of minutes you finally did.

LvNg4Lf Hey, I will be in Italy next week. Can I take you out for some dinner?

Your heart rushed a million miles an hour.

You had kept yourself busy for the last year to keep him out of your mind, but the moment his stupid face and name appeared on your phone it all came back.

"Y/n? Are you ok?" Ana, your best friend and roommate asked softly as if not to scare you.

"Sorry, yes" you answered matching her tone

"Are you sure? You're biting your nails again"

You removed your hand from your mouth.

"He messaged me"

"Who?" You just stared at her. "Oh hell no, what does he want?"

"He will be here next week, he wants to buy me dinner"

"Why?"

"Don't know"

"What did you say?"

"I haven't answered"

"Are you going?"

"I don't know"

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know, I thought a year would be enough to get over it, but I guess not" you said signaling your bitten nails.

"I don't know what to tell you"

"It's ok, I don't know what I need to hear"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Hell, no, it's your anniversary dinner. You go, I will be fine"

"Are you sure, I can tell-"

"Go" You pushed her off the couch "Say hi to Leo from me. Have fun"

"Ok, but message me if you need anything"

"I won't and you know it, go!" You pushed her out the door and sat back on the couch, your phone on the coffee table. How could something so insignificant as a message have you losing your mind?

You and Lando had met in the UK at a Quadrant shooting, your boss was in charge of the art department for the shooting but that weekend he had caught a bad cold, and after the pandemic, anything close to the mild flu meant someone else had to take the job and that's how you found yourself in a meeting room with Lando, Max and the rest of the creative team.

It was an instant click, he was funny, and smart, and much to your surprise he had a good eye for colors, textures, and lighting, he was clearly an amateur but better than a few of your "professional" coworkers.

The shooting was long but so entertaining and with such an amazing vibe between you and Lando, when he offered to drive you to your hotel you didn't hesitate and said yes.

It was all super friendly, both of you talking about everything and nothing at the same time, you sat in his car talking well past 5 am.

The next morning you got an Instagram follow request from a weird account and a DM request.

LvNg4Lf Hi, it's Lando, last night was so much fun, it was amazing working with you. I would love to invite you to lunch and talk about future projects. This is my personal account, please don't share it.

The next day the group chat was exploding with messages asking you for details about your hot night with the F1 driver, but there was nothing to tell, it had been all innocent.

The dates started as innocent work meetings but slowly the topics drifted from work to more personal stuff, then the Instagram DMs became more and more frequent, and before you realized you started seeing each other for movie nights and dinner dates. The first kiss happened one night after dinner, he was dropping you off at your flat. He had been weird all night as if something was bothering him, you were worried something was wrong.

"Thanks so much for dinner" You said as he helped you out of his car. "Please let me know when-" He pulled you hard against him placing his hand on your cheek.

"Don't hate me, please" He whispered, and joined your lips shyly.

You kissed him back, it was as natural as all those dates. His soft lips against yours felt amazing.

"I'm sorry" he said out of breath as his forehead rested against yours.

"Don't" You gave a quick peck to his lips.

Just a kiss was shared that night, even when your body was asking for more, and judging by the bulge pressing against your hip, he was craving more too, but neither of you wanted to rush it.

It was just a situationship but it was intense. You kept it down on the low, only your roommate and best friend, and his best friend knew about it. You could see how everyone treated the other "WAGS" and your mental stability wasn't ready for that kind of pressure, especially when you didn't even know what was happening.

He was flying straight back to London after every race, staying over at your house or you going to his, spending as much time together as you could. Movie nights and romantic dinners in either of your places were the usual, but you didn't care about not being outside. His arms around your body, him kissing your forehead, neck, and lips, was better than any date outside, you couldn't keep your hands off each other and didn't want to risk being caught in public.

You were falling, and falling hard. Once you even flew to surprise him at a doubleheader, spending one amazing week with him, living the full F1 experience.

His personal brand had reached a high peak and his management advised him to move to Monaco, it was a good economic decision. He was so excited when he told you about it as he showed you the apartment he had just leased, but all you could think about was what about the "relationship"?

It was the post-sex rush that made him ask you to move with him to Monaco, but it wasn't that easy. You loved your job, and you had worked so hard to get to the position you had now, leaving the country for a situationship wasn't the smartest idea, especially when he wasn't sure about going public or even formalizing. Another suggestion from his team. His Playboy era had proved to be a great marketing strategy, his merch sales had increased the moment he broke up with his last girlfriend, so getting into a relationship was strongly discouraged.

You spoke about it once, but in the end, moving with him or him staying in London was out of the question.

You avoided the topic for the last couple of weeks you were together. He spent his last night in the UK at your place, since his place had been emptied. It was as lovely as every night you had been together, but you couldn't shake away the bitter taste of him leaving and not knowing what would come next,

"We will find a way to make this work, ok?" He whispered against your lips as you said your goodbyes.

"Promise?"

"Yes" he kissed you deeply, biting your lip one last time.

He got in his car and drove off.

You kept in touch, facetime was your best friend for a few weeks, but slowly the communication started to lessen. He had a lot of work with Quadrant and the races, and you received an offer to lead the company's office in Italy which kept you crazy busy.

You moved to Italy a couple months after he had left for Monaco. Thank God, your best friend found a way to move with you thanks to her remote work, keeping you company whenever you needed to vent about your situationship. Around that time you were messaging just a couple times every couple of weeks.

Slowly whatever you had faded away, and even when you still had feelings for him, you did your best to keep yourself busy trying to bury whatever you felt under tons of work and meaningless dates.

But now, his message pulled all those feelings back up, and they were as strong as they were a year ago.

Y/USERNAME Y/workadress, on Friday I'm off at 5

LvNg4Lf Great, see you on Friday

Thank God, Ana spent the rest of the week at her boyfriend's, when she texted you asking about Lando you just replied "I'm not sure yet", she had such a strong mom vibe she would've rushed home just to talk to you about it, ruining Leo's anniversary plans.

"Y/n, somebody's waiting for you in the lobby" one of your workmates said as she entered the meeting room, a cheeky grin on her face.

"Thanks, Lis" You gattered your things nervously.

"Who's the cutie?"

"An old friend" you said escaping her interrogation, you were anxious enough to also worry about the office gossiping about your relationships.

The moment the elevator doors opened you recognized him, his back was facing your way, but the curls were unforgettable, and his arms those damn arms.

"Hey" you softly said standing behind him.

"Hi" A big smile on his face as he took you in his arms.

You hugged him back, it was as if no time had passed. He was bigger, stronger, and his back was broader, but still, your body fitted inside his embrace like a glove, and his scent, you had missed it so much.

He took your bag and jacket as he walked you to his car. Inside he handed you his phone.

"What?" You asked confused, he was usually the designated DJ.

"Your address"

"Why?"

"You need to pack for the weekend"

"What? I thought we were just having dinner"

"Do you trust me?" he stared at you making your heart rush.

"Calm down, Aladdin"

His particular laugh melted your heart, you hadn't realized how much you missed that sound.

You typed your address and started the route.

You shared small talk, he asked you about your day at work and you asked about his trip there.

"Go, I will wait here, I need to make a couple calls" He opened the door and offered his hand to help you out.

"What should I pack for?"

"Whatever you might need for a weekend, if anything is missing we can buy it, now go" He kissed your forehead and took out his phone as you rushed up to your apartment.

You took a quick shower, shaved, and trimmed where it was needed, not that you were expecting anything to happen, as far as you knew this was all friendly, but you didn't want to get caught offward.

"Holly shit, you're not going to believe who I saw-" Ana barged into your room as you were searching for a dress in your closet.

"-what are you doing?" She asked approaching the suitcase on your bed. You just turned and gave a nervous smile. "He invited you to have dinner, and you weren't even sure you were going, now you're packing?"

"Well..."

"Why are you packing? Are you escaping, want to jump in my car's trunk?"

"I'm not escaping, I'm not sure, he just told me to pack for the weekend"

"What if he's kidnapping you to take you to Monaco, should I call the police?"

"I'm not going to Monaco!"

"Not yet" A hint of sadness in her voice.

"I'm not, I swear, we're just doing something that I'm not sure what it is, but I'm not moving anywhere."

"Well, I guess the only thing we're sure about is that sex is part of the plan" She said pulling out the Victoria's Secret set you had packed.

"You never know" you answered with a cheeky smile.

You finished packing and rushed to the door.

"Please take care, be careful, and call me if you need anything, I will send the Italian troops your way immediately"

"Thanks, I will keep you posted" You hugged her and rushed downstairs, Lando placed your bag on the back of his truck and started driving without a map.

"Are you telling me where are we going?" You interrupted the conversation.

"Nope" A proud grin on his face.

"Are we going to Monaco?" You asked shyly.

"Do you want to go to Monaco?" He turned to look at you, some seriousness on his face.

"I'm just asking" You turned your blushing cheeks towards the passenger window.

You kept a casual conversation, the nerves were fading away but then he placed his hand on your thigh, and your breath hitched, it was a normal gesture when you were together, but now it felt like your leg was on fire.

A little over two hours later you were driving on a dirt road toward a lit-up old-style chalet.

He took both your bags, placed the code on the pad at the door and a beautiful living room appeared. It was one of those fairytale-like chalets.

"Follow me" He walked up some stairs to the only room in the house.

"One room?"

"I didn't think you would mind us sharing a bed. If you don't feel like it, I can sleep on the sofa" A hint of shame in his voice.

"No!" you said a little too loud. "I mean, I just... this is all just a surprise, that's it" You walked towards the bed and sat on it. He placed the bags next to the closet and walked towards you, he sneaked between your legs and you hugged him by the waist as his hands wrapped around your shoulders.

"Want to explore before it gets darker?" He kissed your hair.

"Sure" You followed him through the back door.

It was such a beautiful place, a jacuzzi was just outside the living room door, facing the Italian countryside. Not a single sign of other people for miles and miles.

He took your hand, intertwining your fingers as you walked through the dimly lit path. The conversation was about it all, your new job, the F1 season so far, just like old times.

Night fell and you walked back to the chalet, the full moon giving you enough light not to need the phone flashlight.

You prepared dinner and sat in the living room to watch a movie. After you finished eating you found yourself leaning against his chest, Aladdin playing on the flat screen as his fingers softly played with your hair, and yours traced the veins on his arm around your waist. A knot in your throat, you missed this so much.

As Aladdin was kissing Princess Jazmine after defeating Jafar his finger found your chin, turning it softly towards him. You stared deep into his eyes, your breath hitched when his tongue traced his lips. You moved your hand to cup his cheek and pulled him to join your lips. The kiss was soft, but filled with emotion.

His tongue entered your mouth as you turned your body to face him completely. His hands found your thighs guiding you to straddle him.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked breaking the kiss, as much as he was dying to be with you he wanted to make sure you were ok.

"Yes" you answered leaving a soft kiss on his nose.

That was all he needed to hear and in no time you were naked, his lips traveling to the places he missed the most. The moment he entered you it was as if you were two pieces from the same puzzle.

Magical, wasn't enough to describe the weekend. You had sex in every single surface of that chalet as if you were trying to make up for lost time. Even the sex in the jacuzzi was amazing, you had heard a ton of stories discouraging you from doing it in the water but it had been one of the best experiences in your life.

It was the early hours of Sunday, and you had to leave the chalet that afternoon. Your head on Lando's chest as his fingers traced figures on your back. A sudden feeling of sadness took over your body. A couple tears escaped your eyes.

"Y/n?" Lando took your face when he felt a warm tear on his chest and you sobbed silently.

"I'm ok" You said trying to sound normal.

"Come here" He sat up, his back against the headboard and he pulled you to straddle him, this time it wasn't sexual, he just needed you close. His face showed he was as unsure as you were, bringing more tears to your eyes.

"I know" he softly said as you laid your head on his chest and finally let the tears fall freely.

When the tears had eased you lifted your head back. Seeing your red eyes and nose broke his heart.

"You're thinking the same, right?" You lowly asked as you saw his eyes starting to water.

"Complicated?" his voice hoarsed from the tears he was holding back.

"Yes"

"You seem happy in Italy"

"You seem happy in Monaco"

He nodded and you leaned your head back on his chest as fresh tears fell from your eyes.

"Having you by my side would make me happier" he softly said as his fingers played with your hair.

"Same"

You knew that for now, this was impossible. As much as you loved being with him, you loved your work, your life in Italy was amazing and you couldn't ask him to do something you weren't willing to do yourself. Maybe you didn't love him as much as you thought, but why was this hurting so much? You could feel your heart breaking into a million pieces as his chest moved in a way that let you know he was crying too.

"I'm sorry" He whispered

"Don't, it was amazing, it's just...life"

"This fucking life"

"Ok" you took a deep breath and whipped your cheeks. "We still have a few hours, let's make the most of them"

He smiled, his eyes still shining from the tears, which made you sigh. "But first" He kissed your neck. "One more?" he pulled you down grinding your body against his growing bulge.

"Let's see if we can fit two" You smiled against his lips and hugged his neck.

After leaving the chalet you stopped by a small trattoria, eating slowly, enjoying every bite. Back on the road he was driving the speed limit, trying to spend the most time together.

He parked next to your car.

"I'll help you with it" He said as he stopped you from taking your bag.

"It's ok" You tried to reach for it.

"I insist" he took a step back.

"Lan, I can do it, please" You looked up at him, your eyes watery again.

"But..."

"Thanks for this, it was magical, but I think it's time" You tried to hold back the tears, he was doing the same. He didn't say a word but handed you your suitcase.

You hugged him hard. He breathed in your scent, trying to lock it in his memory and you did the same with his.

The garage door opening interrupted the moment.

He whipped your tears and you did the same with his.

He kissed your lips softly, you knew the three words he was holding back because you were holding them back too.

"Good luck next weekend"

"Thanks, good luck at work"

You said goodbye as if you were seeing each other soon just to make it less painful, but the truth was completely different.

He watched you walk towards the elevator. you saw a faint smile on his face as the door closed.

The moment your appartment door closed Ana rushed to you, hugging you hard when she saw the heavy tears falling from your eyes.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch,

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

#f1 fiction #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #max fewtrell imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #lando x y/n #f1 x y/n #lando norris fluff

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johnnyutah · 4 months

Text

average adam faulkner stanheight fan: if adam isn’t in saw xi we riot! @lionsgate @kevingruetert @jameswan #adamlives #justiceforadam #corpseinconsistencies

average john kramer fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

average jill tuck fan: Appreciation post for the Women of Saw 🩷 [the same ten photos that get posted once a week]

average lawrence gordon fan: last night i watched a 2004 tv movie about serial killers called ‘the riverman’, followed by the cheesy family rom-com ‘a castle for christmas’. today my friends and i are going to binge the entire third season of netflix’s ‘stranger things’. none of us have seen a single episode of the rest of the show and we don’t plan on it. then we might rewatch ‘another country’ together

average amanda young fan: sorry i haven’t been online in 4 weeks i’ve been too busy trying to get the new pig cosmetic in the rift [posted 7 weeks ago]

average mark hoffman fan: [underneath a gifset of costas mandylor in a republican christian propaganda ‘sci-fi’ movie] #hes so fucking hot #i would give anything to put him in a sports bra and make him do jumping jacks in front pf me i would literally do #ANYTHING #i need to make him into a marionett and fist him lol

average daniel rigg fan: Here’s a quick low effort doodle I did of Daniel! I just love him so much ❤️ [a literal masterpiece, the best art you’ve ever seen in your entire life] [3 notes]

average allison kerry fan: i am hardcore attached to ONE ship which is probably either allison/amanda or allison/lindsey and my whole blog is devoted to them. there are dozens of us DOZENS

average lynn denlon fan: okay so i know bahar is a realtor now but in her last instagram post where she’s congratulating her son on some new achievement, both the first and last words in the post have 11 letters, AND there’s an X and an I visible in the background of her post 👀?? is this a reach???

average jeff denlon fan: No seriously let me finish seriously when you compare him to the other shitty men in Saw he’s NOT that b

average david tapp fan: i’m 39k away from publishing my 40k tappsing Everybody Lives AU <3 this is going to be epic [account has been deactivated for an indeterminate amount of time]

average brit stevenson and mallick scott fan: Hey I stayed up making this instead of writing my thesis paper for grad school. Here’s a 30,000 word document about the implications of Brit’s promotion within the Marshford group and how it would lead to her eventual demise and also how she rose to the top in her group. It also delves into her relationship with Mallick, whose existence, I believe, is an obvious literary reference to an ancient Roman play read by only me and three other people currently alive. I translated relevant passages and included them in my work. I got understimulated around page 8 so I did take a break to pierce myself in the same spot that I believe Mallick would have a piercing. If you read my fics on AO3 you will already be familiar with the location.

average peter strahm fan: haha peter does CRACK cocoaine haha i think he sniffeds some drugs! why else would he be so MANIC HYPER CRAZY!!! i love my crazy JUNKIE man LOL get him some andderall STAT!! if hoffman didn’t kill him the SPEED certianly would of! LOL!

average lindsey perez fan: i love lindsey perez i’m such a big fan of the character lindsey perez

average matt gibson fan: i literally would eat garbage out of a dumpster

average ezekiel banks fan: holy shit i just finished spiral what a good movie what the hell!!! what a cool addition to the saw universe! i bet everybody else loves this as much as i do! let me take a big drink of water as i check tumblr dot com to see all the nice things people will have to say about darren lynn bousman’s Spiral

average william schenk fan: my hobbies include: being a fujoshi,

average cecelia pederson fan: [pic of cecelia yanking on the metal loop around her neck and smirking] https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vT3f5IIzt5PG-M7G9_Z-gjY4gZaiUneTdMlYrFAcdBGcJo0-N-RDQcj2JfxOaBTxKa6J_DiDQNgqVpg/pub

average logan jigsaw fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

#logan jumpscare #saw #this took me maybe too long to write #tag yourself !

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misserabella · 1 year

Note

okay hear me out abby x tattoo artist reader!!

okay hear me out 🩷 (so much fluff!!)

tattoo love

abby anderson x fem! reader

abby who is just starting to get her tattoos years after finally getting into medicine. (she’s become a re known surgeon and so her skills finally being recognized, she doesn’t need to keep ‘images’, so after years of suffering and hard work she finally gets her first tattoo appointment’)

abby who, mindlessly scrolling though instagram, finds your account and falls in love with how beautiful you tattoo and decides that if she’s going to get a tattoo her first should be yours.

abby the pretty girl that hits you up with a ‘hey! i just wanted to say that i really love your art and was wondering if i could book an appointment with you! :)’

abby who smiles widely when you hit her back with a ‘sure! what are you looking for? :)’

abby who sends you pictures of little tattoos that her friend ellie had made for her and quotes that she loves with which she would like to do a sleeve. minimalistic, all black and white and small. she even had one for her mother, who had sadly passed away years prior.

abby who blushes when you tell her that the artwork is beautiful and that she’s really brave to go all in due to this being her first time being tattooed.

abby the nervous wreck who keeps spacing out during work due to how excited she is.

abby the tall pretty blonde that sits on your waiting area for you to finish your prior appointment to go inside.

abby the intelligent surgeon who flushes when she sees you, all smiles and pretty with skin littered in tattoos.

abby the clumsy mess that makes an scene when you call out for her and she quickly sits up, hitting the center table on her way to you and making the magazines on top of it fall to the floor.

abby the apologizing wreck who can’t stop saying sorry as she kneels and starts to pick them up, cheeks, neck and ears going all red when you help her and your hands meet. shit. was she a fucking teenager?

abby, the amazing surgeon that forgets how breathing works when you smile at her. where were the lungs again?

abby, who sits silently, with wide puppy eyes as you explain everything that will happen during then session, show her everything you’ll be using and their function. you were like a surgeon, but for tattoos. and she liked that.

abby, who listens to you as you try and distract her from being nervous as you get everything ready by showing her some of your art and who silently thanks you for doing so.

abby, who realized it doesn’t hurt that bad and joins into a soft easy conversation with you.

abby, who you learn about a lot in that hour and a half —you two had accorded on meeting up the next day to finish up her sleeve—. by the end of the session you know that she’s a general surgeon, that her mother passed very early on her life, that her father is the most important person in her life, that she also has a dog name alice and that she really loves snow drops and lilies.

abby anderson, who can’t wait to meet you again and ends up laying awake all night, ending up slightly dozing off on the second appointment. of course you didn’t tell her, you didn’t mind. she looked so adorable with her pretty blue eyes all droopy in sleep…

abby_anderson, who posts you to her instagram stories once her sleeve is complete and who you end up following that same night ‘cause… maybe you found her too cute for your own good.

abby_anderson, account that you spend eyeing for hours. she seemed to really love hitting the gym, finding time to go every morning early before her shifts. and she was…, hot. her muscles were huge. you found so cute how gentle she was compared to her exterior, all scary and strong. she also posted about books she’d read, and films she’d watch with her friends.

abigail, better known as abby, who hits you up a few days later telling you how happy she is with the result of your work and how she’d love to invite you to a cup of coffee to thank you. you of course said yes.

abby the blushing mess that takes you for a walk on the park, buys you coffee and with who you spend the whole day talking and walking around, going for dinner that same night. also the flushed wreck that asks you if it’d be okay to meet up with you again.

abby, the gentle general surgeon that texts you in between shifts and in her free time and that cups your cheeks and softly kisses you under the stars on your third date.

abby anderson, with who you now lived and with who you’re two years in in the most perfect and beautiful relationship you’ve ever had.

and all because of a tattoo.

a/n; so cute :(

#abby x reader #tlou abby #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x fem! reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x fem!reader

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 6 months

Text

Out Of Your Comfort Zone

masterlist

note: the original ask said fantasy but i dont read fantasy at all, so i went with a silly little romance novel i loved, which i think still displays that opposite thing the anon wanted. so i hope this is okay!!

warnings: my writing while i'm high (rambling that can be disguised as descriptive writing)

word count: 1.2 k

♡ summary: During a bookstore date Y/n's taste in books gets Spencer out of his comfort zone.

♡ Spencer Reid x fem!reader

request ✓

Finally, Spencer had a weekend off, where there was no chance of a case coming in at the last minute. And it’s not like Y/n hated Spencer’s job, she knew he did a lot of good. But it was hard sometimes when they would go a few weeks without sleeping next to each other.

It was the perfect morning to their perfect day, they had just come from a local art exhibit pop-up/farmers market. It reminded Y/n of Notting Hill, of course from the movie but also from when she lived in London while studying abroad. But now the couple was off to the local bookstore, they had looked at the farmers market, but they were all travel books, the irony was not lost.

Them both loving books was what got them to the second date, their first being filled with a debate about ‘modern classics’ and what classifies them. A topic they both clearly had a lot of opinions on as it took up the whole date that they hadn’t asked all the first date questions, so they needed the second date.

And though their taste in books were quite opposite, there was a small overlap that was home to Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, The Bell Jar, and many others. But that was Spencer’s main area, classics, Y/n only read the feminist classics.

So when they went to the bookshop, the two would split up until Spencer finished looking in his favourite sections, since he could read so much faster than the girl it took her about three times as long to look through the fiction section.

Spencer was making his way to her now, stopping to read the backs of a couple books that interested him, even picking one up to buy. He walked past the isles of the fiction and romance sections, finally coming to a halt at the ‘J’s where Y/n was now. She didn’t even register his presence, too wrapped up in reading the summary of the blue and yellow book in her hand.

Spencer didn’t want to startle the girl, so he walked past her, her eyes rising from the book in hand to look at who she thought was a random person just browsing the store like her, eyes lighting up when she sees it’s Spencer.

“Honey, what’d you find?” She questions, Spencer assumes it was a rhetorical question since she didn’t give him enough time before she cuts in grabbing the second book from the stack in his arms, “I was gonna suggest this one to you! A subscriber said it was really good!”

Y/n was a booktuber, when she told Spencer that he obviously had no idea what that was, but a simple explanation later and he was caught up. And after a year of dating, she finally mentioned him in a video when she was talking about ‘Normal People’ . It was one of the books they argued could be considered a modern classic on their first date. And she mentioned his taste in books and now her followers left recommendations for him in her

comments, mostly on instagram when she posted him from time to time.

“Yeah. I was really impressed with another book by this author, her description of the caste system in India and the impact it has mentally was so moving.” “I remember you reading that. I’m not good at reading those types of books, but I love when you tell me all about them.” Her soft words brought red to Spencer’s checks while he hid his hands around her waist.

Recovering from the girl’s flirting, even after a year he still reacted the same to her words, his head rose from the spot in her neck to look at the book she had been looking at when he found her.

“What did you find?” “Oh, I saw a girl say it was a good book in her review and I want to do a video on age gap books since so many people ask.” Pacing the books over to him when he signalled his hand forward for it, turning it over to read the front, ‘Part of Your Word’ by Abby Jimenez in large letters was written across the front. It wasn’t a fairly large book, it could take him maybe five minutes.

Y/n was now turned to read more titles, stopping at any that caught her eye. All the while, Spencer was stood of to the side reading. It had actually only taken the man four minutes when he checked his watch. Proud of himself, he looks up to see that his girlfriend was apparently watching him, for how long, he didn’t know.

With a smile on his face, he asks, “What?” “Spencer. Did you just read my book? Before I even bought it?” She replied with a hand going to her hip and a jokey tone. “Well, first of all, you aren’t buying it bec-” “Why was it bad?”

Y/n often spoke before thinking, causing her to cut off people, Spencer was used to it he thought it was cute and she always made it her mission to not interrupt when he was really passionate about a topic.

“Because, I’m buying.” “Hon, no you bought last time.” “I don’t mind.” “I do.”

Spencer moved on from this conversation, they both know how it will end. Spencer will in fact pay, Y/n will say he didn’t have to, Spencer would say he doesn’t mind, she’ll say she does mind, and they repeat it when they pay for lunch after the bookshop.

“But I did read it.” “Don’t spoil, but what did you think?” She had watched a couple booktok reviews on it so she knew it was a little spicy, something she knew Spencer didn’t read a lot of, if ever.

“I think it was good. I liked how they talked about family relationships and verbal abuse in relationships, I think it was done well and it brought a lot more sense of realism. And I liked the leads, I relate to Daniel more than I thought, his dedication to making things work.. I won’t spoil it for you but- um yeah. And I liked the setting.”

His words sent a loving smile to rest on the girl’s face, she loved nothing more than to hear Spencer talk. His voice was deep yet not at the same time, and his mannerisms were adorable to her. And hearing him actually read and enjoy a book from the romance section that was written in the last few decades, was a big step for him. He didn’t even know about Twilight when they met.

“I’m glad you like it.” She said, truthfully, “I’ll be sure to mention that in my video.” “You don’t have to.” “You just don’t want Penny to see the video and by extension Derek.”

Their conversation continued while they waited in line, holding each other's hand while Y/n looks up to speak. They were interrupted when it was then their turn, Spencer paying like he said he would, and again at lunch, much to the girl’s disapproval.

“You don’t have to pay.” “I don’t mind.” “I do.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic

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konjkitkatty · 1 month

Note

kit kat i have to ask. how you feel about your girlfriend

fuck anon i love my girlfriend so much, in fact im going to promote her right now

if you DIDN’T know, my girlfriend is the amazing and talented @artistic-misf1t and you should totes go follow her and ask about her commissions and like and reblog and comment on all her art, she’s into many different things so you’re SURE to find a flavor of her art that you’re ALSO into!!! she is the prettiest most talented most wonderful woman i have ever known and she is also conveniently the strongest willed person on the planet for sticking with my HORRENDOUSLY dense ass as long as she has (after the ramen noodle lasagna incident im surprised she didn’t leave me right then and there, such a strong willed woman💗)

me when i think about my girlfriend!!!! you can ALSO find her on instagram under the same username, she has a bit more stuff posted there i think, lots of variety, i love that in a lady, GODBLESS!!!!! GOD BLESS MY BEEF BROTH!!!!!💕💕💕💕💕

#ramblings of a kitkat

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thexmistress · 3 months

Note

Hi🥸i saw that your requests were open so could you maybe write a part 2 of "the dilemma" where sukuna either gets it together or reader moves on with gojo (or nanami) and sukuna starts regretting how he was in the relationship🙏 cause him just replying with ❤️ after not texting reader for 2 days was crazyyy

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓂𝓂𝒶 𝓅𝓉. 𝟤

ˢʰᵉ/ʰᵉʳ | ˢᵘᵏᵘⁿᵃ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ˣ ˢᵃᵗᵒʳᵘ

<ᵖᵗ.¹

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

Y/N stared at the '❤️' message from Sukuna, the brief moment of relief quickly fading into a familiar emptiness. She wanted more than just crumbs. She deserved more. As she wiped her tears and put away her painting supplies, she knows she has to make a decision

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

Y/N held onto the brief moment of relief that Sukuna's heart emoji brought, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t enough. It was just a temporary balm on a wound that refused to heal. The following days were no different. Sukuna remained distant, wrapped up in his own world, while Y/N felt increasingly isolated.

One evening, after a long day, Y/N decided to confront Sukuna. She needed clarity, an answer, or at least some semblance of resolution. She arrived at his apartment, her heart heavy with dread.

"Sukuna, we need to talk," she said, her voice steady but filled with resolve. She felt like she was about to commit a terrible crime. This felt wrong.

Sukuna glanced up from his game, irritation flickering in his eyes. "What now, Y/N?" She can hear Kenjaku and Choso voices peeping out of his headset.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I can't keep doing this. The constant neglect, the emotional distance. I need more than this."

He sighed, pausing his game. He muted his headset and took it off, he turned to her rubbing his face in the process, "What do you want from me? I'm here, aren't I?"

"But you're not really here," she replied, her voice trembling. She started second guessing if she was doing the right thing.

This feels wrong.

"You're physically present, but emotionally, you're somewhere else and I need a partner who's fully invested, who cares about my feelings…….. it just feels like you don’t care about me….. It feels like you don’t even like me." She didn’t even realize she started picking at her fingers, a habit he hates.

Sukuna's expression darkened, rolling his eyes and he stood up. "You always want too much. You're never satisfied."

"Maybe I am asking for too much," she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes.

This is wrong.

"But is wanting to feel loved and valued really too much?"

His silence spoke volumes, and that was the final straw for Y/N. She realized then that she couldn't keep sacrificing her happiness for someone who couldn't meet her halfway. She lost herself trying to get him to love her to the point where she didn’t even realize she lost the love for herself.

‘I was never enough’

"I'm done, Sukuna," she said, her voice breaking. "I can't keep doing this to myself. I deserve better."

As she walked out, a wave of despair crashed over her while a wave of relief crashed over his. Sukuna was a little baffled about her breaking up with him but like always he pushed it to the back of his mind and realized he got what he wanted.

Freedom.

The weeks that followed were some of the darkest she had ever known. She fell into a deep depression after witnessing Sukuna’s club and fling escapades on his instagram and Snapchat. She started struggling to find purpose and joy. Falling victim to bed rotting for half a year her art suffered, her friendships strained, and she felt like a shadow of her former self.

2 years later, while sitting in a café, she ran into an acquaintance of hers Satoru Gojo. His bright blue eyes sparkled with genuine concern as he spotted her while he was waiting for his order. If he were to be honest….. she looks terrible and by terrible he means her demeanor, something was off and he couldn’t tell exactly what. She lost that spark and youthful look he remembered seeing her wear when he would see her hanging with Shoko.

His legs carried him towards her and he towered over her as she was glued to her phone, "Y/N, you look like you could use a friend," he said, his voice gentle as he flashed her his signature grin.

She smiled weakly. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Gojo became a constant presence in her life, offering support and a listening ear. He never pushed, never demanded, just offered his companionship and understanding. Slowly, Y/N began to heal. She started painting again, finding solace in her art, and with Gojo's encouragement, she rediscovered her passion for life.

Months passed, and Y/N felt herself growing stronger. She smiled more, laughed more, and started to feel like herself again. Gojo's unwavering support had been a lifeline, pulling her out of the depths of her despair.

One evening, while they were sitting on a park bench eating the food they prepared earlier that day together, Gojo turned to her, his expression serious. "Y/N, I care about you a lot. I don't want to rush you, but I need you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what."

She looked into his eyes, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Thank you, Gojo. You've been my rock. I don't know what I would have done without you."

He leaned in slowly taking in her features, his sudden gaze making her feel self conscious. She could feel her heart beating through her chest as he leaned closer, his eyes locked on her lips and she could feel his breath on her lips, “Just call me Satoru from now on. Okay?” Was the last thing she heard before he closed the gap and captured her lips with his.

For the first time in a while Y/N truly felt at peace.

Their relationship blossomed naturally, built on a foundation of trust and mutual respect. With Satoru, Y/N felt valued, cherished, and truly loved. She found herself looking forward to the future, no longer haunted by the shadows of her past.

Meanwhile, Sukuna watched from afar, his regret growing with each passing day as he clicks on Satoru’s instagram story watching their love story grow. He saw the light return to Y/N's eyes, the way she laughed with Satoru, and he realized just how much he had taken for granted. The weight of his mistakes pressed down on him, and he knew he had lost something irreplaceable.

One day, unable to stay silent any longer, Sukuna approached Y/N as she was leaving an art exhibit.

"Y/N," he called, his voice rough with emotion.

She turned, surprised to see him. "Sukuna, what are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you," he said, struggling to find the right words. "I see now how much I messed up. I took you for granted, and I'm sorry."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes kind but resolute. "Sukuna, I loved you. But you were right—you can't change, and I do deserve better."

Sukuna's heart ached at her words, knowing they were true. "I know. And I'm glad you're finding happiness, even if it's not with me."

With that, Y/N nodded, a sense of closure settling over her. She watched as Sukuna walked away, feeling a mix of sorrow and peace.

Y/N's relationship with Satoru continued to flourish. He was attentive, loving, and always made her feel valued. With him, she found the emotional connection she had craved.

In the end, Y/N realized that sometimes, letting go was the only way to find true happiness. And while Sukuna would always be a part of her past, she looked forward to a brighter future with Gojo by her side.

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

Thank you for your request (*^‿^*) maybe I’ll have a new way to gain motivation to finish some of these short stories now lol. Hope you enjoyed the story ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #angst #fanfic #gojo x you #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #sukuna #fanfiction #requests

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boydepartment · 11 months

Text

@ iluvmygf - profiles: non twitter users losers

description: nishimura riki is a headache to his managers. as much as he loves being an idol and as much as he loves that he gets the freedom to travel. he hates that he can’t show you off. publicly… as himself… so he makes a twitter account called @ iluvmygf at first not a lot of people follow it. it goes unnoticed, for a few weeks. until it doesn’t. his account about you goes viral… and people are nosy as to who loves their gf so much to constantly post about her.

genre: romcom, crack, humor, something fun and lighthearted like a hallmark movie. it’s also set from november-february bc i said so and i want a christmas ark 😋🫶 this is an smau

warnings: cursing, most likely crude humor, probably kms jokes

THE GROUP OF 87- six people + riki who bonded over video games. y/n is someone they treasure. she gives them their little taste of normal… and they have to help y/n with her hw but that’s besides the point she ends up with a 70% anyways

y/n l/n’s instagram!

y/n is not an idol at all. she is only friends with idols now because she lost riki at a party one time. a party she wasn’t even supposed to be at but riki made her go. she is the most dorky and goofy person riki has ever met in his life. but she lets him actually be himself. y/n outside of her idol friends is very reserved, she is horrible at any kind of academic, but could tell you about the lore of every fnaf, chilla’s art, or creepypasta anything.

that’s kai and bahiyyih in the ghost costumes btw😋

soul’s(05) instagram account

soul was y/n’s first friend. he spilled his punch on her at the party where she got lost and he made the fnaf 2 jumpscare noise. y/n and soul instantly hit it off after getting into the lore of the whole five nights at freddy’s franchise… at the party…. in public…. talking about five nights at freddy’s

lily’s (02) instagram account

lily overheard y/n and soul talking about this game at the party and was instantly intrigued. she ended up introducing herself to them and then asking about it. let’s just say lily ended up binging all of matpat’s videos on the fnaf lore.

bahiyyih’s (04) instagram account

y/n and bahiyyih met after the party. soul and lily had to go to their respective groups. however, bahiyyih was all alone. and so was y/n. as any girl would do, y/n approached her. ever since they have been inseparable. both feeling like loners sometimes, they understand eachother. y/n and bahiyyih are best friends- platonic soulmates

kai’s (02) instagram account

y/n met huening kai after she met his sister the best person in the world. they hit it off pretty quickly after y/n was invited to the huening family dinner. kai started talking about how he didn’t understand why on earth anyone would pick link in mariokart and y/n started a WILD debate at the dinner table. it ended up with all the huening siblings + y/n laughing. making y/n an unofficial huening.

beomgyu’s (01) instagram account

y/n met beomgyu through kai. and it was on a day where she wasn’t expecting to meet anyone new, so her outfit consisted of a hoodie that said “i ❤️ monty” and mickey mouse christmas pants. beomgyu eyed her hoodie and went on a tangent about how monty is a sick sadistic freak who deserved to be put in a trash compactor like in monsters inc.

nishimura riki’s (05) instagram account

he BARELY uses his instagram ever. riki is a certified twitter user. however…….. y/n does not have twitter…… so he can’t hype up his gf unless he has instagram….

___

MASTERLIST

taglist- open :)

@yourmomscuntis2tighy @yannew @wzy3ka @stellarpsh @czlluvriki @im-yn-suckers @owotalks @filmofhybe @skepvids @ocyeanicc @amymyli @imsodazed @rikislady @j-wyoung @bangchansbangers @sassyfanlawyergarden @miko1ly @itsactuallylina @haewonluvr @entenen @cb97mylove @jxp1-t3r @ineedaherosavemeenow @str4wb3rizz

comment, dm, send an ask, or reblog to be added :) i try to keep up with tag lists however i get a ton of notifications everyday so please lmk if i forget you

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Note

Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but i wanted to ask if you could write one with Pedro where they're dating but reader is not famous, she is actually a young artist that runs a small business on Instagram. And everyone is shocked that he's with her, but he is so proud of being her boyfriend and is VERY supportive of her both in private and in public. That's, thank you 😊💕

the actor and the artist - pedro pascal x artist! female reader

Summary: you’re hosting your first ever art show and the paparazzi make you wonder if you’re good enough.

Word Count: 1.4K

Content Warning: age gap relationship, insecure reader.

Note: I fking love this request @rosaliedepp *kisses your forehead* I hope you love it. 🫶🏼💜

You remember where you first started, selling your artwork on Etsy, your prices were so cheap they undermined the hours of hard work, pain, sweat and tears that went into them, still you only managed to sell 3 works in about 12 months, you were stumped. Feeling like you should just give up, like it was a lost cause and your art wasn’t really as good as you originally thought it was. Until it happened.

You thought it was a scam at first, these scammers were getting crafty these days and the Pedro Pascal, messaging you on Etsy wanting a custom piece? Come on, didn’t seem likely and you weren’t stupid. You remember asking him to DM you on Instagram, his offical page, giving the email your username on Insta and within minutes receiving a direct message from the Pedro Pascal’s offical Instagram page that at the time, had 2.4 million followers, the white tick surrounded by the blue circle was confirmation it was really him and not some bot, or scammer.

He had been generous in his compliments on your works, even suggested making a business Instagram account to gain more traction, within the hour of messaging he had placed an order and left a very generous tip, he had even followed you and kept in contact regularly upon the arrival of his artwork, you figured it was because he didn’t trust you after he had sent that much money.

It was the opposite of what you thought that kept him talking with you, he thought you were sweet, talented and had real potential and knew he could help you where you needed it; not lacking in talent but recognition. If people actually saw your artwork, people would buy them. And they did, once they saw that Pedro had uploaded an image of your artwork in his house, that he followed you, your page blew up overnight, and you had Pedro to thank for it.

Which leads you to the present, two years later and 12 months of you two officially being a couple, even though things were fairly ‘new’ for the two of you, people had suspected things had been going on for longer. People of course had said their two cents online and you opted to ignore it.

Here you were in the cold evening of New York City, in a gallery room that was cleared just for your artwork, which would be showcased then auctioned, you had heard some big names were invited, ones in which you were terrified to see, let alone meet.

“You doing okay sweetheart?” Pedro’s voice scared you, pulling you back to reality as the room was half filled with people, something you’d failed to notice in your dissociative state. You offer him a smile as he hands you a glass filled with champagne.

“A bit nervous, hoping this will help.” You take a sip, your red lipstick that matches your ruby red silk, spaghetti strap dress, smears on the rim of the glass, you clutch your purse as a last resort for stress relief, feeling the tension build as more people arrive.

“I’m shitting myself, what if they don’t sell, what if they don’t like it? What if they don’t like me?” Your rambling makes Pedro chuckle, he steps towards you, his matching burgundy suit presses against your dress clad skin. His free hand caresses your hand and your hair tickles his fingers as you lean into him.

“They’ll be stupid not to love you, or your artwork. You’ve got this sweetheart.” You look at the genuine look on his face and can’t help but fall in love all over again, this man was truly a blessing in your life.

“You’re right, I’m powerful and wonderful and a fucking great artist. To us baby.” You clink your glasses together before throwing your head back, swallowing the liquid for courage before walking to the stage that had a microphone and your most iconic artwork on the wall behind you.

You’re standing in front of dozens of well known celebrities, but the champagne gives you the courage to smile at them as they watch you with wondering eyes. “Thank you all so much for joint us this evening. It’s truly an honour to host this event and to have you all here. Just a reminder that 35% of all purchases goes to the highest sellers choice of charity.”

The group cheer as you welcome them, pleased by your selflessness to give away money to donate to charity, Pedro is standing by himself off to the left of the stage and you give him a sweet smile.

“I wouldn’t be here without my biggest supporter, he’s changed my life for the better. This is the biggest moment of my life and thank you all for joining me along on this journey. The auction begins in 15 minutes so please don’t go anywhere. Stay and enjoy as long as you like, have a wonderful evening everyone.”

The applause goes straight to your head, people clapping and cheering for you as you walk off the stage, meeting Pedro at his side and giving him a kiss on the cheek, he doesn’t mind that you leave a lip shaped lipstick stain on his skin.

The auction is intense, your latest piece was the biggest success, it was sold for $360,000. That to you, was insane, you had earned that much money on one artwork. The years of hardworking was finally coming to pay off, not to mention one charity of a buyers choice was going to have received a very hefty donation.

“I can’t fucking believe it, that was insane. Thank you so much for coming with me, I couldn’t have done it without you.” You muse as you’re locking up the store, Pedro blushes at your compliment. “You did this all yourself sweetheart, money can’t buy talent.”

You shiver as the cold air hits your bare shoulders, the skin forming goosebumps immediately, your teeth are chatting at the freezing temperatures, curing yourself for not bringing a jacket. Pedro takes off his suit jacket, leaving him in his long sleeve-white button up dress shirt as he wraps the jacket around you, the smell and warmth of him bring you back to reality. The warmth holds you in its grasp.

“You didn’t have to do that, thank you.” You look up at him, thankful for the kind gesture. “Of course I did sweetheart, let’s get you home.” The perfect moment between you was spoiled as you see and hear paparazzi come swarming and shouting in your direction, probably after seeing the event posted online.

“Hey Pedro Pascal! What’s it like dating someone not talented on your level? Is it because you want a normal life?” The man snaps pictures of you and Pedro together, holding hands and Pedro shielding you from the cameras as the flash is blinding you.

“She is more talented than me. She’s an incredible artist, not that I have to justify it. Please leave us alone we’re very tired.” Pedro takes your hand and you try to walk away to get to his car which was parked right outside of the gallery, was it a good idea, no. Was it convenient, yes.

“What’s it like dating someone significantly younger, do you think she’s dating you for the money?” Pedro opens your door and puts your seatbelt on for you, before shutting the door and turning to the men following him.

“She’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met, not that it’s any of your business. Goodnight.”

He turns and makes his way to the car, starting it and driving off away from the flashes that blinded his eyes only moments ago. He notices you’re quiet, too quiet.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to be asking that a lot lately.

“I don’t know. They’re just mean, I love you Pedro, I do. I just don’t know how you deal with that- it’s so invasive and just horrible the things they’re saying about me, about us.”

His hand rubs your bare knee as he drives, his eyes not leaving the road until he comes to a red light mere streets from your shared apartment, “don’t listen to a word they say. They’re just looking for a reaction. If you’re happy then we’re good. I know I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you.”

“You always know the right things to say Pedro.”

“I gotta keep my girl happy, don’t I?” You can’t help but smile at the comment, he truly was a blessing.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x artist reader #pedro pascal age gap fic #daddy Pedro pascal

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 18 days

Text

09/08-09/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Leslie Jones Bday; Rose City Comic Con (Rhys, Kristian, Vico, Matt); Nathan Foad; Alex Sherman; Vico Ortiz; Dominic Burgess; Rachel House; Samba Schutte; Baby Baby Baby Reminder from AdoptOurCrew; Tell Tale TV Voting Results; Fan Spotlight: IllustoryArt Affirmation Cards; Big Gay Energy Podcast;

Hey Lovelies, the way things are going, I'm gonna aim for 2 day recaps for now, I know that kinda messes with the name, but hey! Hope you're all staying healthy and safe <3

== Leslie Jones Birthday ==

Happy Belated Birthday to Leslie Fucking Jones! Her birthday was Sept 7!

Source: Leslie's Instagram

== Rose City Comic Con (Rhys, Kristian, Vico, Matt) ==

The weekend wrapped up with more and more fun with the crew! Kristian even got to meet a llama during RCCC! .. apparently Nathan in disguise!

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

Our fabulous crewmate MentalDevass over on twitter was such a sweetie and allowed me share this super cute interaction with Rhys on the recap tonight! <3 Thanks hon!

Source: MentalDevass's Twitter

Lots of shots of the panel from Seattle Refined!

Source: Seattle Refined

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan telling Germany he'll see them soon! Looks like he'll be joining the StuttGart ComicCon happening at the end of November!

Source: Nathan Foad's Instagram

== Alex Sherman ==

Alex is out seeing Beetlejuice!

Source: Alex Sherman's Instagram Stories

== Samba Schutte ==

"Take Me To Your Baker"

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

instagram

Source: Samba Schutte's Instagram

== Vico Ortiz ==

Vico is Narrating a new book-- "American Teenager: How Trans Kids Are Surviving Hate and Finding Joy in a Turbulent Era"! Wanna preorder it? Here's some options!

Booktoopia

Libro.Fm

Audible

Barnes & Noble

Source: Queer News Instagram

== Dominic Burgess ==

Happy Star Trek Day to all who celebrate! Dominic sends his regards!

and also-- more Cat Content!

(And although this was prior to the news, very appropriate given the passing of the Late, Great, James Earl Jones. Rest In Peace sir <3)

Source: Dominic's Twitter

Dominic also shared the good news about his current show --Congrats to the Team of Palm Royale for winning an emmy for Outstanding Original Main Title Theme Music!

== Rachel House ==

Rachel was out promoting the fabulous TE MAUNGA at that Toronto International Film Festival!

Source: Collider Instagram

== Baby Baby Baby Reminder ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew are promoting the Baby, Baby, Baby Event! Remember to schedule your tweets!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Tell Tale TV Voting Results ==

Source: Tell Tale TV / Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Illustory Art - Affirmation Cards! =

I cannot tell you how much I absolutely adore how our brilliant community continues to spread love, kindness, and support. Tonight's new Fan Spotlight is on Illustory Art! Illustory does absolutely adorable and beautifully colored illustrations, pins, and fan-themed affirmation cards! I'm sure you've seen some of their charming work around-- they've done so much fun stuff for the Doctor Who, Good Omens, and OFMD community! Do you have one of their affirmation decks by chance?

If not, and you're interested -- there's some great news -- coming this Friday, Sept 13, new preorders are becoming available on Illustory's Ko-Fi!

OFMD Season 2 Booster

Full OFMD Deck

and a new set-- What We Do In the Shadows!

The WWDITS set was made in collaboration with apolin.art, another gorgeous illustrator! If you'd like to see more of their works-- or put in a preorder, you can follow the two of them on their socials below!

Illustory's Socials: Ko-Fi / Linktr.ee / Instagram / Tumblr / Twitter

Apolin Art's Socials: Linktr.ee / Instagram / Twitter

== Big Gay Energy Pod ==

New episode of Big Gay Energy Podcast comes out on Wednesday! They'll be discussing the OFMD Cancellation with their friend Chloe!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Big Gay Energy (@biggayenergypod)

instagram

Source: Big Gay Energy Podcast Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Tonight, since the delightful Illustory Art gave me permission to spotlight some of their works, I'm gonna add a couple from their Good Omens Deck to the Love Notes since I just feel so warm and fuzzy inside when I look at them <3 Remember lovelies that you can do anything. You don't have to do everything, even though sometimes it feels like you need to-- but you have the potential to do so many many wonderful things. Please be kind to yourself and give yourself a break, you're getting to where you want/need to go in your own time. Rest up and keep on keeping on <3

Source: Illustory Art's Instagram

#daily ofmd recap #ofmd daily recap #leslie jones #illustory art #nathan foad #rhys darby #vico ortiz #kristian nairn #matthew maher #samba schutte #ofmd #our flag means death #Rachel house #dominic burgess #palm royale #Alex Sherman #Instagram

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filmflowersbangtan · 10 months

Text

I Must Still Want You pt. 2

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst (so. much. angst) | smut

word count: 4k

warnings: rough sex | infidelity | explicit sex scene | I'm so sorry in advance if I make some of you angry with this one. I promise it'll get better in future chapters.

author's note: hey...I'm back. I have so much in store. I know I've said it before and then I disappeared again, but I finally left a toxic relationship that had me in a writer's rut for a very long time and I also stopped following BTS for a while. But then they all came out with their incredible solos, and V's "Layover" was so beautiful it had stirred up so many ideas. It also somehow aligns with this story so well, so I couldn't help myself. I'm really proud of this one. I put so much heart and soul into this. This is not the end of this series.

part i | part iii

----

At first, Taehyung understood. The excuses as to why you couldn’t come home for the holidays, why you couldn’t come home for his birthday, why he couldn’t come visit. Art school was difficult, adjusting to California was difficult, but making friends was easy. Making friends had always been easy for you. You and your mom were on bad terms, that’s why you couldn’t come home. You had deadlines and couldn’t afford distractions, that’s why Taehyung couldn’t come visit.

Then there were the arguments after Taehyung lost all his patience with you. And then the texts and phone calls became more and more infrequent until there were none at all. Taehyung’s calls went to voicemails, his messages echoed in a chamber of emptiness.

Months passed by like this, with Taehyung only knowing you were alive through news from your mom, whose lawn he mowed and driveway he shoveled. He sat with her sometimes for coffee. He didn’t dare going into your room again after he saw that your mother transformed it, pushing an untouched treadmill in the same corner your bed used to be.

And then, about a year after the two of you unofficially broke up, you posted on Instagram. A man was kneeling before you as you wore a stunning dress Taehyung had never see you wear before. An expensive dress. There were letters hung behind the two of you in the background. Taehyung stopped breathing. The letters read:

Will you marry me?

Still not breathing, he swiped right to see another picture of your left hand—a hand he used to hold so much he could still feel the ghost of its warmth—displaying a gaudy engagement ring encrusted with a sickening number of diamonds. The camera’s flash made them glimmer in a way that made Taehyung nauseous.

Despite everything, Taehyung had been taking the unofficial breakup well. He never said anything about it to your mother although he desperately wanted to understand why you stopped talking to him or know if she knew. He didn’t rot in bed. He didn’t stop photography. While you had been gone, he discovered a newfound love of singing and his roommate Jungkook was a small-time producer and part-time DJ, and through him Taehyung had virtually unlimited access to a studio. Instead of succumbing into a debilitating depression, Taehyung worked on his very first EP. He had finished a few days before the Instagram post. He was going to send it to you. He knew you were going to love it. Maybe it would even make you speak to him.

But the post.

Taehyung dropped his phone on his bed and steadily walked to the bathroom, breathing through his nose. An ugly surge of emotion ravished him. He thought he was going to cry, but when he closed the door behind him, he stumbled to the toilet. And vomited.

Jungkook rushed in, his headphones dangling from around his neck, concern stretched across his face. “Bro, you good? It sounds like you’re dying.”

Taehyung wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. His eyes and throat burned. Thick snot crept down his lips. He wasn’t going to cry, but seeing Jungkook standing there pummeled him. His dear friend who didn’t even know Taehyung had been going through a breakup. How was he going to explain this? He couldn’t. He dropped his head back into the toilet bowl and heaved.

Later, after Taehyung cleaned himself up and Jungkook sat him down on the couch with a cup of water, he told Jungkook everything.

Jungkook had been quiet the entire time, nodding to let Taehyung know that he was listening. But when Taehyung finished, gesturing to his phone because he couldn’t speak the words “she’s engaged,” Jungkook looked at the post himself.

A brief and subtle expression flickered across his face as he swiped. It was there and then it was gone, only noticeable in the slight tremble in the eyebrows and the momentary clench of the jaw. He looked up at Taehyung whose eyes were rimmed in red and whose hands were quivering as he dabbed at his nose with a napkin.

With a venom that Taehyung did not know his roommate possessed, Jungkook said, “That bitch.”

After grieving for a month, Taehyung pulled himself out of bed. He went to a party where Jungkook was DJing and downed shot after shot of anything anyone would hand him. He blacked out and woke up in his own bed wearing the same sweaty clothes from the night before, feeling like hell. He looked at his text messages to make sure that he didn’t say anything fucked up to anyone and noticed your contact at the top.

Of course, he reached out to you. How embarrassing. He cringed, afraid to read what he said, but all he sent was a link to his EP. Somehow, that was worse. He absolutely wanted to die.

And of course, you didn’t respond.

A year stuttered by. Sometimes when Taehyung looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself. He was dirty blond now and handsome and miserable. He had slept with so many people in the last few months—girls, mostly but sometimes guys, too. He had had so many threesomes that he’d lost count. People on campus knew who he was now. He had gone from having one friend in his first year of college to becoming a name that people sighed dreamily as they said it.

Still nothing from you.

And then, one morning while nursing a hangover at the dining table in his shared apartment with Jungkook, a text from your mom. Maybe he was reading into it, but there was a tone of sadness in the wording, possibly regret. It said:

Y/N is back in town. Her grandmother died last week and the funeral is Friday. Please come if you feel comfortable. If you don’t, I understand.

There it was again. That roiling sensation inside of him. That urgent need to vomit.

The first time he had a threesome with Jungkook, he couldn’t perform. He had fumbled to the bathroom, his pants undone, and hurled into the toilet until the girl left. He had thought Jungkook would be pissed, but instead he sat on the bathroom floor with him in silence.

Now, Jungkook paused, a spoonful of cereal and milk halfway to his mouth. “I know that look,” he said. “What happened?”

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Y/N’s grandmother died.”

Jungkook wrinkled his nose. “So? Fuck her and her grandma.”

In other circumstances, Taehyung would've laughed. He couldn’t. He was too numb. “I liked her grandma when we were little. She used to make homemade blackberry jam and watch our stupid choreographies that we made up.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. He lowered the spoon. “I take that back about the grandma, but still fuck that bitch. Y/N, not the grandma.”

Now Taehyung mustered up a halfhearted chuckle that could’ve been a genuine laugh had the thought of you being in town—not in California—not robbed him of any sense of humor.

Jungkook hated seeing Taehyung like this because there was nothing he could do to help. “Don’t go to that funeral,” was all he said. It wasn’t a command. His voice was pleading. “Seeing her will only fuck you up. And what if she’s with—”

Taehyung closed his eyes as if expecting a blow. He hadn’t realized he was crying until warm teardrops slid down his face and into his mouth.

He went to the funeral. Your parents embraced him when they saw him. Individually, of course. Your dad remarried. He had stepchildren. Taehyung thought you probably hated it if you even still talked to him. The idea of someone else being frozen out of your life and not just him slightly comforted him. Slightly.

It was a beautiful day out—early summer, bright blue sky, cool breeze—but Taehyung was cold. And you hadn’t arrived yet.

“She slept in,” your mother said. “She hadn’t been feeling the best ever since she landed yesterday. She should arrive soon.”

An Uber arrived, and the back door opened. Taehyung held his breath.

You stepped out. You were so familiar yet you were a stranger. Your hair was longer, fuller. You were wearing a form-fitting black dress and red-bottomed heels. A designer bag dangled from the crook of your elbow. Large, expensive sunglasses obscured your eyes. Your lips were painted red.

The Uber departed before Taehyung realized you came alone.

You sauntered in his direction. He was breathless as he watched you move. Did you always walk like that? With such an elegant sway? Or was that new? A by-product of your reinvented life.

He realized that he was not your target. He was standing with your parents and your stepmother you probably hated. Except you didn’t hate her because she was the first you hugged. Then your dad. Then your mother. Then—

“Tae.”

He blinked. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears. Feel the bile rising in his throat. He cleared it behind a polite fist before croaking your name in return.

Then, very cautiously, you pulled him into a hug. He felt everyone’s eyes on the both of you. You were making him into a spectacle, and he hated it. In that moment, he realized he hated you. But his arms were stiff at his sides and when he became aware of that, he lifted them to pat you on the back.

“I know how much you loved her,” you said when you released him.

He blinked, not understanding. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My grandmother.”

His face felt hot. Jungkook was right. He shouldn’t have come. He had never once wanted to hurt a woman before, especially not you. But he wanted so badly to strangle you. To make you feel what it’s like to have your throat full of heartbreak. But he pushed a smile onto his red face. “Yes. My condolences.”

“Thank you for coming,” you said.

I hate you.

Taehyung nodded, and without meaning to, glimpsed at your left hand. The ring was still there. You were still engaged. But you returned home without a fiancé.

I hate you.

After the funeral, there was a gathering at your dad and stepmom’s house. Taehyung wasn’t going to go, but he couldn’t bring himself not to. He wanted to keep looking at you, breathing the same air as you, and wondering if you had listened to his EP.

But for the most part, he was just wandering around the beautiful countryside home as awkwardly as he had been at the party in middle school where he had first seen you kissing a boy on the porch. Except this time, you were getting married. You were getting fucking married.

At least at a funeral it wasn’t odd to cry. He went outside to do it.

He sat on the front porch steps and loosened his tie. No one came out to bother him. He was good at being invisible. Especially to you.

The front door behind him opened. The sound of heels approached him but stopped a few paces away.

Neither of you said anything. He quietly wiped away angry tears.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” you said.

He wanted to scream. “Not here. Please.”

“I booked a hotel. Let’s talk at the bar there. You look like you could use a drink.”

Taehyung closed his eyes. “Was that a joke?”

“Yes. But I could use a drink, too.”

Taehyung dropped his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have come.” He stood up and walked to his car. You didn’t follow. Didn’t beg. He grabbed the handle of the driver’s side door and looked at you from over the roof of the car. You were still standing on the porch, your hands delicately interlaced in front of you. You weren’t wearing your sunglasses, but he couldn’t see your eyes from where he stood.

Who were you?

He yanked the door open and got in the car. His phone vibrated when he started the ignition. You had sent him a text with an address and a time.

“Fuck you,” he whispered. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

He arrived thirty minutes late. You were sipping a purple-colored cocktail at a secluded table. God, you looked so good. He hated it.

“I would’ve understood if you hadn’t showed,” you said, expressionless.

He hesitated before sitting down, considering leaving. When he did sit, you said, “I really like your hair. It complements your skin tone.”

“Fuck you,” he said.

“I deserve that.”

“Fuck you.”

“What are you drinking nowadays? It’s on me.”

The bile was threatening to choke him. He swallowed thickly. His voice trembled as he said, “What do you want from me? You don’t fucking care about me. All you care about it—I don’t know what you care about. You’re such a—”

A drink appeared before him. “I already ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind whiskey. It’s top shelf so you most likely won’t have a hangover.”

“I don’t want—”

“I listened to it.”

Taehyung stopped.

“It was beautiful. It was so fucking beautiful. When do you sing? And like that? Oh, my God.”

Now Taehyung was crying again. He downed his drink. You gestured something to the waitress and another whiskey appeared before him. Taehyung said, “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to deserve this?”

You touched his hand. He flinched away as if burned. “I dropped out of college a couple of years ago. I was homeless. And then I met a guy who fixed all of that.”

“Such bullshit.” But Taehyung knew you were genuine. You were never a liar.

“Not bullshit,” you said gently. “I was embarrassed. Who flunks art school? But I was intimidated being surrounded by all of those freakishly talented people. I didn’t fit in. But you would’ve sure as hell did. Your photos, Tae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” You took a sip of your drink and looked away before continuing, “You are so talented. And then that fucking album—”

“EP.”

You glared at him. “Now it is my turn to say fuck you.”

“Get to the point.”

“I wasn’t measuring up. I dropped out before I got expelled. Mom wanted me to come home, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I love California. I slept on some friends’ couches for a few months, working odd jobs—bartending, dogwalking, commission stuff. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was embarrassed, Tae. And then you kept pestering me about wanting to see me and—”

“Pestering? You think so lowly of me?” “That’s what it felt like at the time. I had so much going on in my head—”

“But not so much that you still had room to go and fuck someone else before even breaking up with me.”

You finished your drink. “I didn’t fuck anyone.”

Taehyung had no response.

“I met a guy while bartending. He was rich. And kind. And I was very poor and lonely.”

“And he swept you off your feet," he said with betrayal in his voice.

“No. But his tips were nice. They were big enough to feed me for a couple of weeks. And then he would take me out to dinners. Next thing I know he’s buying me an apartment and a car and a dog and a life.”

Taehyung’s eyes were wet with fresh tears. He couldn’t look at you. “I wanted a life with you. I could’ve helped you.”

“With what money, Taehyung? All you would’ve done was spend way too much money on a one-way ticket and be stuck there with me.”

He had nothing to say to that. He downed his drink. “That doesn’t explain not telling me a fucking thing. Not even a goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you love him?”

You sighed.

Taehyung clenched his hands into fists under the table. He repeated, “Do you love him?”

Another purple drink appeared in front of you. The waitress flitted away, sensing the tension.

Finally, you said, “I think I could learn to. Someday.”

He blew out the breath he’d been holding and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked out the window at the pool. So still, so blue. So beautiful. He thought of California. He thought of the song on his EP, “For Us.” He wanted to fucking drown you.

In a soft, broken voice, he said, “I have loved you for my entire life. My entire life. Just wasted.”

You didn’t say anything. You just simply stared out the window with him. And then for the first time that entire day, you began to sob.

He didn’t dare look at you. He didn’t want to empathize with you. What for? But hearing you cry silently, seeing your shoulders shake with each sob in his peripheral vision…

Before he could say anything, you were already cleaning yourself up, dabbing under your eyes with a neatly folded napkin. “Should we go up to my suite for some privacy? I fucking hate crying in public.”

The suite was gorgeous. He didn’t know something so extravagant existed in his hometown.

“I need to get out of this dress. It’s not really my style,” you said, delicately removing your heels.

Taehyung looked away. For some reason, seeing you do that simple action made his heart ache.

You disappeared into the bathroom after telling him to make himself comfortable. He instead opted to stand around, unsure of what to do with his hands. Then you called his name from the other room, needing help with the dress.

“The zipper,” you said. “It was hell putting this thing on by myself. Can you unzip it for me?”

The bathroom was all marble and glass. Taehyung felt like there were a dozen versions of the both of you reflected around him. You were trying to catch his eyes in the mirror, but he purposefully avoided you. He focused on keeping his hands still as he stood behind you and reached up to grasp the tiny zipper at the nape of your neck.

The sound of the dress unzipping made his dick throb as longingly as his heart. You were fucking with him. You had to be.

But he wasn’t the same Taehyung that you left behind at the airport. Not at all. He was going to show you.

The zipper ended right at the top of your tailbone. You let the dress fall to the floor.

“You said you didn’t fuck anyone?” Taehyung said, voice gruff with want. He could feel himself hardening.

You were breathing slightly faster. You wanted him, too. This time, he allowed your gaze to meet each other’s in the mirror. You said, “Just myself. I never let him touch me, Tae. I don’t love him.”

He ran his hand up your leg, up your ass, traced the line of your back with a steady finger. He was no longer nervous. Fucking was what he was good at. And he wanted to fuck you until you regretted ever leaving him. Until you rued the day you said yes to that stupid fucking engagement.

He stopped his hand at the base of your neck. You stood still, breath shallow. Waiting. Wanting. You were probably so wet for him already, but you would have to wait.

He pressed himself against you so that you could feel how hard he was for you. A moan stuttered out of your throat. He clenched your neck from behind and shoved you forward, bending you over the sink. With swift fingers, he undid his belt, lowered his pants, pushed down his briefs. His cock sprang free, swollen with a two year long need for you, beaded with precum.

You shimmied out your underwear. With two fingers, he felt the velvety skin of your pussy lips. He was right, you were so fucking wet for him. You arched your back and shivered at his touch.

Your eyes met in the mirror again. Yours were heavy-lidded with desire, lips red like Marilyn Monroe. He wanted that lipstick smeared all over your face and all over his cock when he was done with you. His own eyes were low lidded as well. He grinned at you before he entered you. He didn’t want to take it slow, and he didn’t.

He fucked you like you were water, and he hadn’t drunk anything in days. You were a mess, clawing at the marble countertop like it would give you stability. Your moans were so fucking hot. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back so that his lips were at your ear.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? This pussy is mine.”

You tried to say “Yes, daddy,” but your eyes were fluttering and rolling and Taehyung was fucking you so good you couldn’t get a word out. He slapped your ass and you gasped.

“Fuck you,” he said but he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it at all.

He felt himself getting carried away and pulled out. You squirmed at the lack of him, begging for more. He didn’t want to admit he almost came. Sex hadn’t felt this good in years. Both of you were breathless, filling the room with your panting. But he wasn’t done with you yet. And you knew. You smiled at him, big and beautiful, and Taehyung almost came right then and there.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Your pupils were dilated, your face was glimmering with sweat, your hair was a mess. You were so beautiful Taehyung wanted to fucking cry.

And then he was. “Fuck you,” he said, but he meant it this time.

You unclasped your bra and dropped it to the floor. Then you were on your knees before him, using that expensive dress as a cushion against the marble. You took all of him in your mouth, slowly, never losing eye contact. Your mouth was warm and wet and your breasts looked amazing, the nipples hard. You noticed him looking and pinched the nipple of your left breast as you sucked him off, using your right hand to jerk him in and out of your mouth. You were an expert with your tongue, paying close attention to the head of his cock. And then when he felt the back of your throat, he squeezed his eyes shut and grasped a handful of your hair again, this time to keep himself steady.

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpered. “Where? Where do you want me to cum?” He made the mistake of looking at you again, your mouth smeared crime-scene red.

You smiled at him like a good girl, like you didn’t have a spit stretching from your lips to his cock like party streamers. “On my face,” you said.

He didn’t hesitate.

When he finished convulsing the final streams of cum onto your pretty face, he stood there, face flushed and veins straining from his neck as reality crept back into his bones like a winter’s chill. He was disgusted with himself. He was angry with you.

“You’re fucking engaged,” he said, cleaning himself up. “Oh fuck. I’m such a fucking idiot.” He hastily threw on his clothes. Ran his hands through his hair to look somewhat presentable and not like he just face fucked someone’s fiancé.

You were extremely calm and still extremely naked. Taehyung realized belatedly that you hadn’t come yet. Good, he thought. You don’t deserve that release.

He finished dressing as you started washing your face. He went to leave but then stopped at the door. He didn’t turn to look at you, but he said, “You’re an awful person, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

Taehyung left the bathroom and was halfway to the suite’s door when he heard you say meekly as if to yourself, “I do.”

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