#anyway Justice for my boy pls

[howblunt]

The only reason they made Paul and Jess not work out was because they hate me

[scampizoid]

my fate the winx saga woulda been so good and full of bisexuals who were not evil. the vaping can stay. #justicefortecna

[dreamspring]

just finally got around to watching the last episode of boys planet… i have so many complicated emotions right now lol

[sceletaflores]

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No question marks. Motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

[thepersonnamedsam]

lando norizz - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader, fem!reader x '23!grid (platonic)

summary: lando showed up with his girlfriend but no one believed he could’ve actually pulled her

face claim: luisinha oliveira

warnings: the grid in disbelief

note: cute little smau for our home racer lando

masterlist / taglist

landonorris

Liked by yninsta, danielricciardo and 261‘728 others

landonorris the cats outta the bag i guess

View all 34‘189 comments

yninsta i love you

landonorris love you more

username u mean to tell me lando NOrizz bagged her? hER?!

username we lost another solider to f1

username i can’t believe she would fall for a muppet

carlossainz55 yes, she fell for a muppet indeed

danielricciardo mate, how?!?

landonorris with my charm and my good looks

maxverstappen1 you wish

username guys, i can’t believe she would go for lando - justice for any other driver on the grid

username yes, look at our boy sharl

username c’mon lando deserves someone good looking in his life, he can’t serve so it’s only fair

charles_leclerc y/n, why

yninsta why not, sharl?

charles_leclerc i have enough reasons…

username damn charles is mister steal your girl

oscarpiastri well done mate

oscarpiastri but i still don’t get how you pulled y/n

yninsta he’s a very good talker

landonorris couldn’t you just tell him that i’m devishly handsome?

username i- he’s read the twitter threads

username as he should, we’re all simping over his girlfriend

username ew, landos girlfriend, sounds better as MY girlfriend

username how can HE pull HER and i’m still single, someone pls give me love

username hey ;)

username not you

username guRL

pierregasly dude, is she single?

yninsta i’m telling kika

pierregasly pls don’t

francisca.cgomes i am single

landonorris duDE

pierregasly no pls take me back baby, i was only joking

francisca.cgomes aight, ig i could

sebestianvettel good one mate

landonorris thank you, finally someone on my side

alex_albon i think that wasn’t how he meant it…

yninsta shh, alex, let him be fooled

lilymhe let him be delulu, babe

georgerussel63 lando NORIZZ strikes again, how much did he pay you @yninsta ??

yninsta hmm, not telling you - more than you earn anyway

landonorris baby c’mon

landonorris why aren’t you on my side

username not even his own girlfriend believes he could pull

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria

[juyeonszn]

(NO) STRINGS ATTACHED

PAIRING lee hyunjae x f!reader

WORD COUNT 5.58k

GENRES smut ﹒angst ﹒fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, strangers to fwb to lovers, a few timeskips here and there, hyunjae is a manwhore but what else is new, he’s also a criminal justice major so, mentions of alcohol, mentions of roblox? idk, reader is lowkey horny as hell 😭, handjob, oral (m!receiving), mentions of sex in various places, hyunjae is an emotionally constipated idiot, juyeon appearance crowd cheered, also cha eunwoo appearance but crowd did not cheer, hyunjae goes through the five stages of grief, no foreplay but what can u do about it, marking, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap u know the drill), cowgirl position yeehaw, creampie yeehaw, little bit of cockwarming st the end ngl

SUMMARY becoming friends with lee hyunjae after his valiant attempt to save your life (stopping you from drunk driving) was certainly not on your year’s bingo card. also not on your bingo card? waking up in his bed every other night following, but it’s not like you’re really complaining.

MORE bruh. first of all. i’m so sorry this is so late. 😭 second of all, NOT ONLY IS IT A DAY LATE, BUT ITS ALSO LIKE AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE 😭 my time management was not all there this past weekend, and also due to some unfortunate decisions on my part, this fic was delayed a bunch but WE ARE SO BACK pls. i hope u all enjoy this bc i kinda hate it and im sad bc i was so excited for it and its nothing like how i wanted it to be… pls rb if u liked it 😿 also this is lowkey for izzy bc we’re both going through insane hyunjae brainrot rn..

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr

TAGLIST @millksea @from-izzy

In Hyunjae’s defense, he didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

When the two of you first met, he really was just trying to be a gentleman. He’d always been raised as someone who should do the right thing without expecting anything in return. He prided himself on sticking by his mother’s lifelong wisdom.

Okay sure, he might’ve had a few slip ups here and there in the form of random girls he’s hooked up with, but could you blame him? He was a university criminal justice major after all. There’s no harm in a little one-night-stand fun. Learning the ins and outs of the world of law and order was soul-draining enough without the freedom to stress-relieve whenever he felt fit.

Right. Back to you.

Your first encounter took place at the Tau Beta Zeta end of semester party. The fraternity had been working towards securing their victory against the KAT sorority just so they could host the damn thing. Hyunjae had yet to find a girl to entice him for the night, instead bothering some of his frat brothers. For example, Jacob Bae, who had just won the IST University boys’ volleyball team a championship title.

He could’ve gone after Lee Haeun, Jacob’s ex, but he had higher standards than that. There was also the incident earlier that day, while setting up for the party. He tried making a move on the KAT president to piss off Sangyeon, but that ended up failing. Honestly, he didn’t even care much about sleeping with anyone at these things anyways. Usually pretty girls came up to him first, but then ghosted him once they realized he wasn’t looking for anything serious. That was the only reason why his rap sheet was so long. He’d never intended on being the resident fuckboy.

Hyunjae remembers spotting you across the room during one of the numerous rounds of beer pong that night. Rather than Juyeon refereeing with Younghoon like they normally did, he stepped in to let the younger male enjoy the party with his girlfriend. The current match-up was Sunwoo versus Changmin with their respective partners. He had glanced up after witnessing the soccer prodigy miss a cup, making eye contact with you accidentally.

You tucked some hair behind your ear, bringing your drink to your lips and taking a sip before looking away. Your friends had sucked you back into the conversation you were having, effectively blocking Hyunjae’s chance to shoot any shots. He quickly got over it upon witnessing Changmin and Sunwoo arguing over the game, egging them on like the instigator he was.

Most people would’ve thought that was the end of it. Just a fleeting glance at each other, dozens of people standing between you. In hindsight, Hyunjae partially wishes that was where your story ended. You would’ve just been another girl to him, a stranger he saw once and never ran into again.

It’s funny how the universe works in strange ways.

By two in the morning, when over half of the partygoers had left the TBZ house, Hyunjae felt his social battery reach empty. He woke up earlier that morning to study for his Victimology final and felt drained by the time he walked out of the lecture hall. (He knew he aced it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t mentally taxing.) He was just about ready to call it a night when he saw you sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, blubbering into your phone about something.

“What do you mean you left?” You wail, cheeks stained with mascara streaks. “I don’t care about your boyfriend! I’m too drunk to drive home and you were supposed to be my D.D.”

Your words are slightly slurred, a hiccup following your last sentence. Damn, you were cute even when you were crying like a baby. Hyunjae observed as you argued with who he assumed to be your friend over the phone, exasperated by the end of it. Despite not knowing a single thing about you, not even your name, he decided to step in and offer aid.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you saying you’re too drunk to drive yourself, and as a TBZ member I just can’t let that happen,” he extended a hand to you. “I’d be more than willing to let you stay here until the morning, if you’d like. You can have my room and I’ll just crash in one of the others.”

Your lower lip quivered, as if you were on the verge of even more tears. You sniffle when you respond, eyes doe-like and glassy. “R-Really? You would do that f-for me?”

“It’s a better alternative than taking a rideshare home alone while drunk,” he nods. “And I’m definitely not letting you drive anywhere yourself.”

Hyunjae doesn’t know why he felt so protective over you. The thought of some potentially creepy man taking advantage of you because you were under the influence didn’t sit right with him. He poked his cheek with his tongue, hand still outstretched to you. You took it gently, allowing him to guide you to his bedroom. He grabbed some of his clothes so you could be comfier and gave you a washcloth so you wouldn’t go to be with your makeup on. He felt better knowing you were in the safety of his fraternity house rather than anywhere else. It kind of pissed him off that your friends would leave you to fend for yourself like that.

The next morning, you came down the stairs drowning in Hyunjae’s clothes, rubbing at your eyes sleepily. You held the heel of your palm to your temple, wincing from the headache no doubtedly caused by your hangover. It was around 11 AM when you woke up and most, if not all, of his frat brothers had already left to head home for the holidays.

You found your knight in shining armor sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a mug with the default male Roblox face in his grasp. He was scrolling through his phone mindlessly, taking sips of his coffee every now and then until he heard you. He spins around in his chair, offering you a warm smile.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Did you rest okay?” He asks, getting up to grab you your own mug.

Your cheeks burn up at the nickname. The whole situation is still a bit odd to you. You knew of Lee Hyunjae through the grapevine (every other girl at your school), yes, but you’ve never held an actual conversation with him before. And now here you are, taking shelter in his home and sleeping in his bed. It was sweet of him to be so hospitable, though. He could’ve kicked you out and pretended you didn’t exist.

“That’s probably the best I’ve ever slept in my life,” you laugh to cut through the tension. “Thank you for keeping me alive last night. I feel indebted to you forever.”

“It was no problem, at all. My pleasure, actually,” he grins, passing you a mug filled with fresh coffee. “By the way, I never got your name.”

“It’s Y/N,” you tell him, mouth pulling into a smile at the cup he just gave you, which happened to be the female adjacent to his. “Hyunjae, right?”

He doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed by the fact that you already knew his name or not, but given his previous reputation, he thinks it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. He clears his throat and nods as he drinks more of his coffee. He tries to distract himself from the weird feeling bubbling in his chest with how cute you looked in his clothes.

“Do you not have any plans for the break?” You switch the subject, noticing that the house was empty for the most part.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “I’m from here, so it isn’t really much of a drive to visit home. I’ll go over on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Years but that’s about it. Other than that, I like to enjoy having the whole house to myself.”

“Woah, me too! My friends are all from out of town though, so I’m usually really lonely. It’s always so odd thinking about how this is just a stepping stone for people’s lives and I’ve been here all of mine.” You stir some cream and sugar into your coffee, pursing your lips. “So, I take it you’re not doing anything today?”

“Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada,” Hyunjae leans back in his chair. “I’ll probably just watch some movies and call it a day. What about you? Any plans for the break since all of your friends are gone?”

“I have just as many as you.” You sip on your beverage.

“Well, the couch space next to me will be unoccupied if you’d like to join me.”

“I think I might take you up on that offer.”

You feel like maybe this was some sort of elaborate scheme to trap you. Your eyes kept flickering from the TV to his profile, entranced by the blue light illuminating his features. You wanted nothing more than to claim your seat on his lap and ride him into the sunset like a gallant steed, which was ironic considering the way the two of you met.

It’s in the middle of the third movie that you finally feel yourself grow restless. No way could you sit beside Lee Hyunjae, spend the whole day with him, and not jump his bones. It was, like, the most obvious thing to do. It was Lee Hyunjae. Did he expect you not to?

He feels you squirming next to him, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. In all honesty, he’s surprised he’s abstained from touching you this long. From the moment he saw you in his clothes this morning, he wanted you underneath him. He doesn’t know how to initiate anything without seeming too forward though.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to make much effort on his part.

You place one of your hands on his thigh, dragging your nail along the seam of his sweatpants. He turns to you with a raised eyebrow. All you can do is bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

“You know, Hyunjae, I never got to properly thank you for your act of nobility last night,” you start, fingers creeping up higher. “And I just thought of something that I think we’ll both like.”

He doesn’t have the strength in him to restrain himself after that, pulling you into a heated kiss. He nips at your lower lip and tangles his tongue with your own, getting easily lost in the spellbinding of your touch. Your lips trail along his jaw and down his neck, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants. You suck deep marks into the skin of his pulse point while simultaneously palming him through his underwear.

You’re moving fast, but you’re on a mission. You’ve been waiting for this all day, you can’t imagine slowing down now. It doesn’t appear that he plans on stopping you either.

Hyunjae throws his head back, hissing when you discard his boxers. The cool air of the house hits his cock at the same time you bite down on the divot where his neck meets his shoulder. Your hand gently wraps around his length, thumb running over the slit to collect the precum that’s formed there. He watches in a trance as you go on your knees between his legs.

You press a sweet kiss to his tip before taking him into your mouth. He groans, twisting your hair around his wrist so he can control your movements. Hyunjae doesn’t think he’s ever wanted head this badly in his life. He’s always been a giving person, always providing the pleasure for the girl he was with. There were only a handful of times that he’s ever been on the receiving end and none of them were memorable. But this time is different.

For some reason, you’re the only one who’s ever been able to get him this riled up this quickly. You’re still relatively a stranger to him, and even though he’s had plenty of one night stands, it’s unlike any of the others.

Your throat relaxes so you can swallow more of him, tongue swirling around the tip. He’s the biggest guy you’ve ever been with, making things a little harder for you, but you were never one to back down from a challenge. And getting Lee Hyunjae to cum from the work of your mouth alone was the ultimate reward.

Hyunjae moans when your attention focuses on his sensitive slit. The sound is music to your ears, goading you into continuing your task. You gag around his dick and tears prick at your eyes when he pushes your face down further, your nose brushing the lower part of his abdomen. One of your hands wanders, tracing and scratching his abs as the other jerks him off.

He swipes away some stray tears with his thumb, bucking into your mouth and hand. “Fucking look at you, taking me like a good girl. You’re so filthy.”

You whine, squeezing your thighs together for your own friction. You can wait, though, entirely too focused on getting him to finish. You’re thankful it isn’t that much longer until he does, painting your lips and cheeks with his release when you pull off of him to press a cute kiss on the same spot. He knows he finished too fast for someone of his caliber, but he doesn’t have it in him to care.

“You’re so hot,” he brings you up to connect your lips once again.

It was very easy to fall into a habit after that.

Throughout the entirety of the break, Hyunjae would call you over or vice versa and you’d rock each other’s world’s. It was practically an entire month of fucking nonstop. You’d done it in the TBZ house living room, in his bed, in the kitchen, in the shower and every other surface you could think of. Your own apartment had been christened plenty with your sexcapades also. Both of your cars had seen you naked too. But the most memorable place had to be his childhood bedroom the night of Christmas. He went to his parents’ for a couple days and hit you with that 3 AM “You up?” text when his libido couldn’t quell. That was probably the quietest you’d ever have to be.

Hyunjae had to explain to his mom that no, he hadn’t gotten mauled by a wild animal in his sleep. It was harder coming up with another plausible lie to cover the source of the hickeys on his neck, but he’d rather tell his mother something stupid than the fact that he was an insatiable freak.

When it came time for everyone to return to school for the spring semester, you’d deluded yourself into thinking there could be something real between you and Hyunjae. I mean, what else were you supposed to do? This gorgeous man had spent almost every single day of winter break with you, even if it was mostly for the sex. That wasn’t all you did though. You shared meals together and talked about your life goals. You truly got to know him better than just the hot frat guy who’s made his rounds with girls on campus.

However, Hyunjae did not think he was ready for that level of commitment.

After spending a month with you and learning all of your little quirks, he thought he was going insane. He’d been in situationships in the past and none of them ever ended well, especially because they always caught feelings. He didn’t want the two of you to fall down the same path. But he noticed the linger of your touches and kisses and the way your eyes sparkled when he spoke. He didn’t want to be the one to break your heart.

He just couldn’t see himself getting into a serious relationship. He was preparing to apply for law schools and get his shit together. He didn’t think he couldn’t handle throwing a girlfriend into the mix. Even if it was you. Bold, pretty little you, who had Lee Hyunjae wrapped around her finger without trying.

Things come to a speeding halt for both of you halfway into the second week back.

Hyunjae was walking out of his Crime Mapping II lecture when he saw you chatting up Cha Eunwoo outside of the building, giggling and being all touchy with him. He doesn’t know why he feels so… stuffy… when he sees that. He doesn’t know why it makes him mad. He doesn’t know why it feels like his heart has just been stomped on a handful of times.

He walks over to you and clears his throat, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. He tries to ignore how cute you look in your puffer coat, nose rosy from the cold. You pause in your conversation to say hi to him before resuming whatever you were saying before. It was like he was invisible.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you in class tomorrow?” You tuck some hair behind your ear, smiling at the male.

“For sure. Talk to you later, Y/N.” He says, waving as he takes off.

Hyunjae starts in the opposite direction wordlessly, leaving you to stumble behind him like a newborn deer. He looks upset about something, but you’re not sure if you should ask. When you finally match his pace, you frown, tapping his shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Since when were you friends with Cha Eunwoo?” Hyunjae blurts, tone catching you off guard. You blink at his outburst.

“For a while, I guess? We’re in the same department and we’ve had a few classes together. Why? Is that a problem?” You stop your steps, forcing him to do the same.

“No, why would it be? I’m not your boyfriend. You can talk to whoever you want.” He backtracks, realizing the connotation behind his question. Shit, why does he not think before he speaks?

“You could be,” you shrug, gaze casted downward to avoid his stare. “You could be my boyfriend.”

Again, because he’s a stupid boy, he chooses not to use his brain in such a critical situation. “I don’t want to be. You can date him for all I care.”

Hyunjae didn’t want to be the one to break your heart, but he knows he did when he sees the flame in your eyes die out. He thinks he broke his own too, chest constricting when tears well up in the corners. You wipe your runny nose with your gloved hand, sniffling with a scoff.

“Fuck you, Hyunjae,” your voice is surprisingly calm, and that scares him more. “Fuck you and your stupid fucking commitment issues and your lack of empathy. Stay away from me.”

He can’t even think of something quick enough to stop you. Of course, his mind runs at a million miles a minute when it’s the worst time. But when he needs it to work most, it fails on him. That’s exactly his luck.

He just stares as your figure gets smaller and smaller, getting further and further away from his reach. His stomach feels ugly, twisted in a way it shouldn’t be. Maybe it’s because he’d considered you a close friend at this point, and now there’s no way you didn’t hate him. He told you things that he hadn’t even told his brothers, things that he hoped would never see the light of day. He’d spoken his insecurities out into the world and you were the one he let see that vulnerable side of him. He had something good going for him finally, and he went and ruined it.

Who could he be mad at but himself?

When Hyunjae sees you again, it’s been at least a week since your argument in the middle of campus.

He’d been beating himself up over the fight the entire time. Numerous what-if scenarios ran through his mind when he should’ve been sleeping. He wonders what he could’ve said to make everything turn out differently. Had he just told you what was bothering him, told you about that icky sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, perhaps you wouldn’t have walked away.

He’s pretty sure you’re doing it on purpose. You avoided him until you knew you’d definitely see him, and then you’d flaunt yourself to purposefully piss him off. Despite only knowing each other for a little over a month, you had Hyunjae read like the back of your hand. You knew he was stubborn and had to be pushed into admitting he was wrong. He’d never outright confess to his mistakes unless you backed him into a corner and forced him to.

So you can imagine his reaction when he saw you walk into that week’s TBZ party with Cha Eunwoo around your shoulders.

If Lee Hyunjae had any faults, it was that he was too prideful. He realizes this when you stroll right past him, ignoring his presence. You giggle at something Eunwoo said as you grab some drinks. There’s no way you aren’t doing this to get on his nerves. Especially not in that outfit.

His grip on his cup is not normal, he knows that. But it’s not subtle if anyone notices and when Juyeon of all people points it out, he knows it even more.

“Yo, dude. Are you good? You look like you might kill somebody if we’d let you.” The younger male pats his back.

“Honestly, no, not really. But there isn’t really anything I can do about it.” Hyunjae huffs, welcoming his defeat with open arms.

“You can talk to me about things. It’s kinda weird but I always feel like getting out your thoughts is better than internalizing and blowing up randomly.” He says after a moment.

“I guess I’m just confused why I’m so jealous of something that isn’t mine.” The heart to heart with his frat brother follows the entire five stages of grief, starting with step one; Denial. He’ll keep denying the real reason he feels the way he does.

“Are you talking about that girl you were messing around with during break?” Juyeon asks, bringing his cup to his mouth. “And the fact that she’s here with Cha Eunwoo?”

Step two; Anger. His cup snaps and the sharp edge of the plastic scratches the inside of his palm. “Why would I be jealous of her being here with him? I could give less of a fuck about that. She’s not my girlfriend, she can do whatever she wants.”

He raises an eyebrow at how defensive his senior gets, lips quirking up. “Sure, Hyunjae. You’re not jealous. But you’re acting like it and you know you are.”

“Well,” step three; bargaining. “I’m not not jealous, I just— I don’t know. I’ve never been on this side of the situation before. Am I even allowed to be mad about it?”

“I mean, it’s a little unconventional, but yeah, I think you are. You spent the better part of a month getting to know this girl. You’ve seen her in ways other people haven’t. Even if you weren’t going into it with the intention to start something, I think it’s hard not to want anything after. Unless you’re completely heartless. But you’re not exactly The Grinch, so.” Juyeon sounds too wise for standing in the middle of a frat party.

“Nothing’s gonna happen now, though. She hates me and wants nothing to do with me because I screwed up.” Step four; Depression.

“You don’t know that unless you make an attempt to fix it,” his junior sighs. “Look, she’s gonna keep projecting how upset you made her if you aren’t gonna do something about it. But there’s a high chance that she’ll forgive you if you’re just real with her.”

And last, but not least, step five. Acceptance. Lee Hyunjae has finally accepted that he’s not an emotionless robot incapable of producing feelings for someone. He takes Juyeon’s advice right then and there, deciding that this is something he has to do immediately. (He also knows how much you can drink at these things and he preferred that you were sober when he spoke to you.)

He thanks his friend and sets off to search for you in the sea of already drunk university students. He’s anxious. He’s never been the type to have serious discussions about anything, really. He assumes that it stems from never seeing that in his own parents. They loved each other, yeah, but they never really talked about difficult topics with each other. Or, in front of him they didn’t.

Hyunjae thinks he might throw up when he finds you in the other room. Cha Eunwoo is still glued to your side, but he’s hardly paying attention to you, talking to his friends. You look bored, like you were waiting for something— or someone— to save you. This was his opportunity.

Your eyes widen when you see him heading straight for you, swallowing thickly. There wasn’t any route of escape so you were stuck having to deal with him. In all honesty, the hurt was still very fresh for you, and you weren’t sure you could handle talking to him yet.

“Can we please talk? I need to tell you something,” he yells over the loud music.

“Why should I listen to what you have to say?” Your tone is shaky, wavering slightly, but you’re grateful that he can’t hear it with how voluminous this party is.

“Y/N,” he pleads almost, eyes communicating what you needed to hear. “This is important.”

You concede, sneaking from Eunwoo and following Hyunjae blindly. You could be getting whisked away to your demise, but the former hardly even notices, too engrossed in whatever he was saying to his friends. You’re a bit apprehensive when Hyunjae takes you into his bedroom, biting your cheek when the memories of what you’ve done in here come flooding back to you.

“Okay, I don’t know how to put this into a coherent thought,” he turns his back to you.

“Can we just get this over with? You don’t want me, remember? I don’t even know why I’m giving you the time of day—“

“Of course I want you,” he exclaims, spinning around and pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, are you blind? It’s so obvious that I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N. I’m just stupid and I fucked everything up, because I was scared that things would change and I’m afraid of change. That’s the reason why I have commitment problems. I don’t want to commit myself to something just for everything to change in the blink of an eye.”

You shut up after that, your heart skipping in your chest. This was what you wanted. You wanted a messy confession. Something that told you it wasn’t all in your head. That you weren’t making things up. That he felt the same way you did.

Your lips collide in a rough, desperate manner. Hyunjae’s never had a way with words, so kissing you with every ounce of longing in his being and holding you like you’d disappear any second was his outlet. This was how he could show you his true feelings. Your heart rate transitions from your pulse point to your ears, amplifying with each suck of your bottom lip between his teeth

You’ve done this so many times before, but it will never be the same as this one. No one could ever make you feel the way Lee Hyunjae does. It might be crazy, but it only took a month for you to realize that there will never be another for you. The conversations that trickled into early hours of the morning following going at it like jackrabbits were perfect to you. They weren’t ideal, but they were enough.

The two of you walk backwards until he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, your knees on either side of his lap. You cup his jaw in your hands, grinding down on him every time your lips move together. Hyunjae’s fingers dig into your sides and push up the material of your dress. He’s moving fast, rushed like you might decide you don’t want this and walk out of his room.

You can’t really blame him, your pace disorganized with only one goal in mind. Neither of you could be bothered with the foreplay, too needy and craving the touch of one another as quickly as possible. You part from him to pull off your dress, eyes fluttering shut when he starts leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach. He doesn’t want to waste time commenting on the fact that you were braless underneath so he busies himself with pecking the tops of your tits. Your fingers card through his hair with an extended sigh, noticing how long it’s gotten since you first met.

Hyunjae pushes his pants down his legs as you yank his shirt over his head, reconnecting your lips. He uses his ring and middle fingers to shove aside your underwear, discarding his own shortly after. Your mouth nips and bites your favorite places on his neck, ensuring you mark the surface so everyone knows who he belongs to. You were the one who acquired the key to Lee Hyunjae’s heart.

Your teeth sink into his skin the moment he slips inside of you, both of you moaning when he slides right into your cunt like he was meant to be there. You whine when he bottoms out, your sensitive clit bumping into his pelvic bone. You’re so warm and inviting, Hyunjae feels like he’s falling under a spell. Just being inside of you feels like a form of hypnosis. If it was up to him, he’d stay here forever, content to sit with his cock stuffed in you without interruption. But you both yearn for more than that.

He tightens his grip on your hips, bucking upwards into you and watching with heavy eyes as a whine spills from your lips. You look so fucked out despite him doing absolutely nothing to you yet. He thrusts up again experimentally, grinning when your upper half knocks into his.

“Feel good, baby?” He coos into your ear, nipping at the lobe and the area surrounding.

You nod with a whimper when his cock brushes that sweet spot deep inside your pussy. “Mhm, feels so— fuck, Jae, want it harder.”

“Anything for my pretty girl,” he smiles into your skin.

He increases the speed that he fucks into you, pinning down your hips so you can’t move and all you can do is take it. It’s like you can feel him in your abdomen, his cock plunging in you so far. You’d think after a month of fucking practically every day, you’d be used to his size by now. However, that was just not attainable. You don’t think you could ever get used to how big he was, how thick he was.

The force that he drives into you with is unmatched, miles apart from what he’s given you before. It’s like he wants to burn the shape of himself inside you, so you never forget that he’s the one making you feel like this. Nobody but Hyunjae can fuck you this well.

He moves you further up the bed, flattening his feet on the mattress and laying down so he can press deeper, a new angle that has your vision going blank. You don’t think twice about the volume of your cries, letting him know how good he’s giving it to you. You’re encouraging him, wanting him to get cockier so he can keep fucking you into oblivion. Your fingers grasp at the sheets beside his head for support.

Hyunjae’s nails impress crescent shapes into your waist, his mouth returning to your tits so he can leave his own marks all over your chest. It’s when your clit rubs against his lower stomach again that you let go, your orgasm crashing into like a train. It winds you, ripping your breath from your throat and stealing your oxygen. He’s close behind, the feeling of your walls clenching around him in rapid intervals triggering his own.

He fills you up nicely, both of you releasing guttural groans at the sight of his cum dripping out of you. You’re too exhausted to get up, collapsing on top of him. He doesn’t mind, more than happy to stay buried inside of you even if you didn’t do anything.

“So…” You start after a bit of silence, drawing unrecognizable shapes on his chest. “You’ve wanted me for so long, huh?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, eyes closed while he recuperates from using all of his energy on you. “This is still new for me.”

“I know, Mr. Emotionally Constipated And I Don’t Date ‘Cause I’m Going To Be A Big Fancy Hotshot Lawyer,” you tease, pecking his lips and then his nose. “I must be extremely special to be the one who changed your mind.”

“You’ll be the death of me, you know that right?” He shakes his head, brushing some of your hair from your face. You smile down at him with an unfamiliar fondness in your eyes.

“Why else do you think we’ve gotten this far?”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[slaybestieslay946]

uhhh you asked for requests SO luke x fem reader where she joins him with kronos pls😓🙏

thank you for ur request, sorry it took kind of a long time to get to it! i took it in kind of a dark/tragic direction, but hope you enjoy anyway!

Revenge, or Justice?

MASTERLIST

word count: 2100

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis!reader

warnings: kind of manipulative behaviour? they're not good people yall!!

a/n: decided to step out of my delusion for five minutes and confront the fact that Luke Castellan is not my perfect little princess :((

I

You understood Luke Castellan, in ways no one else did. 

Around camp, he had always been the golden boy, charming, talented, kind. But you could see through him, and his act. 

As a daughter of Nemesis, you could practically smell the need for revenge. Every time you saw him, it was like a flashing beacon. The twitch of his face each time someone mentioned his quest, or he caught a glimpse of that scar in the mirror. 

The way he tossed and turned in his sleep, waking up from nightmares to stare at the ceiling angrily. 

It was so obvious to you, and you always wondered how no one else saw it. 

For years, you hardly interacted. Your worlds would never collide, even if you understood him better than most people. He probably didn’t even realise you knew his secrets. That was until he approached you up front, a few days after your 18th birthday. 

“Hey, Y/N.” He said as he strode up to your table, greeting you like you were old friends. Which you probably should be, considering you’d shared a cabin together for the past 5 years. 

“Oh, hi.” 

“Mind if I sit here?” He asked, gesturing to the seat opposite you. 

You shrugged noncommittally. 

“So, what’s up?” You asked, pushing your food around your plate. 

“Nothing really.” He was obviously lying. 

“Why are you here then?”

“Do you not want me here?”

“I never said that. I was just wondering why you’re suddenly showing an interest when we’ve never spoken to each other before.” You explained calmly, you didn’t sound bitter about it, because you weren’t. 

“Hm, that’s true.” He muttered, resting his chin on his palm, “I suppose I just wanted to ask you what you think of it all.”

“All of what?”

“Camp. Life. Whatever.” 

“This place? It’s alright. I’ve been in worse places.”

“Hm, that’s true.” He mumbled, seeming slightly lost in thought, as if trying to decode your answer. 

“Luke, can you please just cut to the chase? What do you want to ask me?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it, sorry for bothering you.” He said, and quickly stood up, walking away in such a hurry that he left his tray behind. 

That first interaction confirmed all of your suspicions, Luke Castellan was hiding something, and you were going to find out what that was. 

II

Eventually, you managed to get it out of him. You cornered him in the woods one day after the campfire, and demanded to know what he was plotting. Of course, you couldn’t have known that he would declare his hatred for the gods and how he wished they could be overthrown, but it wasn’t exactly surprising. You’d always known something was off about the boy, even when you couldn’t properly pinpoint it. 

“I just, I thought you’d understand, y’know-”

“‘Cause I’m the daughter of revenge?”

“Well, yes, but also-”

“No, you're right. I do understand. The gods have treated me like shit my whole life. They dump us minor children in your cabin, along with all the ones they’re too ashamed to claim. And all you major children, you're treated like you don’t exist, probably because there are too many of you to count.” You explained, looking directly at him. 

He returned your gaze, and in his eyes you saw the realisation that you knew him better than he ever thought. And that he knew you in return. 

“I always saw you looking at me, did you know?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. 

“That you were the same as me? I had a feeling. Ever since you came back from the quest you seemed different. Angrier.”

“Huh. I didn’t think I was so obvious.” 

“You weren’t. I just know a want for revenge when I see it. It’s in my blood.”

“You didn’t see anything then, because I don’t want revenge. I want justice.”

“Same difference, Castellan.”

III

It didn’t take long for you and Luke to begin making plans. He had later confessed to you that they all came from Kronos who had visited him in his dreams, insisting that the only way to overthrow the gods was to resurrect him.

You hadn’t been too happy about that. You didn’t like the gods, but that didn’t mean the titans would be any better. But Luke assured you he was only using Kronos, stringing him along to help achieve your joint goal. 

Did you believe him? You believed that was his intention, but whether he could actually execute that was a different matter entirely. 

Despite your slight reservations, you still chose to help Luke with his main plan, which was to steal the master bolt. 

Strategising wasn’t exactly your biggest strength, but luckily Luke had learnt a thing or two from Annabeth, and he was able to formulate the plot to steal Zeus’ bolt during the winter solstice. It was something which suited him, being the son of thieves. 

Meanwhile, it seemed your main role was to be his emotional support. You weren’t overly thrilled about it, but if it helped to achieve your end goal, you could deal with it. 

Soon you realised just how necessary you were to Luke’s plan. He would’ve certainly cracked by now if you weren’t there to reassure him that what he was doing was right. As much as he seemed solid in his convictions, you could tell that without Kronos nudging him, he would never have acted on any of them. 

Although, if it weren’t for Luke, you wouldn’t have either. 

“Do you trust me, Y/N?” He would ask as you went over the plan once again, desperate for some kind of validation. 

“Yes. I trust you a lot. You can do this.” 

“And we’re right to do this?” 

“Yes. You want justice, remember?”

“Yeah. That’s what I want.”

He preferred it when you called it justice and not revenge. He was still so righteous in some ways. Old habits die hard. 

IV

Luke only truly proved his dedication to the plan when he was revealed as the thief. He abandoned his sister and betrayed all of camp for the cause, and as you both fell through the portal backbiter had created, your trust in him was cemented. 

You were in it for the long haul now, there was no going back. And as sad as you were to see Annabeth’s poor little face, you were more disappointed that she hadn’t understood. You’d thought she was a smart girl, so how could she not see that what you and Luke were doing was right?

The next few months were rough, and it took you back to the old days when you were alone and on the run. Except this time you had someone beside you each step of the way. During that time was when you stopped seeing Luke as merely an ally that you tolerated, and more of a friend you trusted. 

He was strong and intelligent, and more firm about his convictions than ever before. And each day, your certainty that you made the right choice grew and grew. You hoped your mother was proud. 

Luke was right. You were fighting for justice. Justice for the minor gods and their children who were constantly overlooked. 

But equally you understood a large part of your decision to go against the gods had been about selfish revenge. And you were ok with that. Revenge was your thing, it always had been. 

V

Over time, your feelings for Luke continued to grow, and you could tell he felt the same way. You’d always been able to read him like a book, and you didn’t know if that was because you were good with people, or because he laid his soul bare to you. 

You hoped it was the latter, and as he hugged you to his side during rough nights on the Princess Andromeda, you knew all your hopes had come true. 

But you also knew that any ‘love’ was just a footnote in your stories. You were both much more focused on your goals. 

This time, it was ‘your’ plan that was put into practice. Kronos wanted to revive Thalia, to put another demigod into play that could fulfil the prophecy. But it was your idea to poison the tree and allow the campers to retrieve the golden fleece for you. 

After all, you knew every demigod wanted glory, to appease their parents. What better way to goad them into doing your dirty work than with the promise of a great quest?

You were pleased to finally have a proper role in the planning, and you realised that this was your greatest strength, understanding people. 

After all, it was what had led you to Luke, and now what allowed you to aid Kronos, and it worked. You were one step closer to realising your dream. 

XI

Luke had been distant ever since he found out Thalia was alive again. He suddenly seemed conflicted, torn between past and present. 

You had always thought it would be Annabeth that came between him and his goal, but it seemed Thalia was the real problem. 

He was determined to recruit her too, insisting that she’d fit in perfectly, and that she was certain to see things his way. You weren’t so sure. In your eyes, Thalia would only serve as a distraction for Luke, something to pull him away from his work. And something to pull him away from you. 

You’d always thought that it would be just you and him. That you needed each other, in a way that went deeper than a silly teen romance. You understood him, you always had. When you looked into his eyes, you saw yourself, your ideals, your future, reflected back at you. And you thought it was the same for him. 

But apparently not, apparently you didn’t know him best. She did. 

“Are you sure you want to recruit her, Luke? What if something happens?”

“Like what?” He asked, his voice derisive and mocking.

“Oh, I don’t know, her saying no and then running you through?” 

“She won’t say no.” He said firmly, brushing you off once more. 

So when you heard Luke was injured, your immediate thought was that Thalia had run him through. And, of course, you were right.

Ethan, your half-brother, had brought him to you, back to the Princess Andromeda, and as twisted as it was, the first thing you wanted to say was I told you so. 

That was of course, until you saw his broken body in the infirmary, and all thoughts of anger were forgotten. 

“Oh, god, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay.” You cried, rushing over to him, and crouching beside his bed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll survive. Just please don’t say ‘I told you so’ yet.”

“Okay soldier,” You responded, your voice so choked with emotion that you couldn’t help but let the term of endearment slip out.

“Do you-” He paused to take in a deep breath, his body shaking as he did so, “Do you still trust me?” 

You nodded furiously. 

“You’ll be with me till the end, won’t you?”

“Of course I will Luke. Till the very end.”

VII

You wonder if you knew then just how it would end. Possibly you did. You were both doomed from the moment he sat down at your table. 

But you kept your promise to him. You stayed with him until the end, you survived through all those months of watching him change from the boy you trusted into the man you feared. 

You stood by and watched as he grew cruel to everyone around him. Normally you were the exception, but you weren’t entirely immune to his scathing words and glances. 

You sat by his body as he bled out, the golden blood of a titan shifting into the red blood of a mortal. And you didn’t resist as you too were taken. 

Sometimes you wondered what your relationship would be like in a world without gods. Or at least one where they cared about their children. 

Would you have even met? Would you care for each other without that common thread of anger running between you? You hoped so. You hoped that your twisted relationship was just a product of circumstance, and that the feelings were real. You hoped that they could have formed without the codependency and the paranoia. 

But the truth was you were from different worlds, tied together by your goals, so desperate to achieve justice. Or revenge. 

And the real tragedy was not your failed love story, but the fact that even after so much sacrifice, you still couldn’t achieve what you wanted. 

A world where you didn’t need to be an archangel of revenge at the age of 18. A world where you could simply live. 

[astrxq]

okay luna, more spider-man ethan!!! just top of my head, maybe you could write your version of the upside down kiss? cause i know you would write it so sweet and lovesickly!!!!

also luna…when i post my ethan fics can i tag you??? since i feel like we’re a handful of people trying to still keep ethan landry alive (in this world) ANYWAY LOVE YOY💗💗💗💗

superhero etiquette

spiderman!ethan landry x fem!reader

words: 2.9k

notes: yesss!!!! pls tag me, i'm in need of ethan fics. warnings: (mentions of spiders, kissing. i think that's it??) not proofread

"Bug boy?" he repeated the nickname you'd just given him, the white eyes on his mask mimicking his surprised expression. "I'm more of an arachnid."

You hummed, smirking at him before looking forward to the streetlights, your legs kicking back and forth from the edge of the building. "Arachnid, huh?" you responded playfully, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Mr. Arachnid," you corrected.

You tapped your fingers on the rooftop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I used to have a friend who owned a pet spider."

His masked face turned to you, intrigue evident even without seeing his real expression. "Oh, really?" he replied, genuinely interested.

You chuckled. "Yeah. She named it Leggy. It was this big, hairy tarantula that she would let crawl all over her arms and everything. She used to say that Leggy had more personality than most people she knew."

The masked hero tilted his head slightly, a small smile forming beneath his mask. "She insisted that I held it once, and I almost cried," you continued, and he snorted a laugh, making the voice modifier glitch for a second. "Hey, don't laugh," you retorted, lightly punching his arm. "It was huge and hairy, okay? Not exactly my cup of tea. But my friend loved that spider like it was her own child."

"Leggy, huh? Maybe I should change my name to that," he shook his head. "Spider-Man sounds kind of lame now." You laughed, and he turned to stare at you for a beat.

"Nah, Spider-Man has a nice ring to it. Plus, it's become pretty iconic. Leggy might give people the wrong idea," you said, teasingly nudging him with your elbow.

He chuckled, the sound muffled by his mask. "Yeah, you're probably right. Can you imagine the headlines? 'Leggy spins a web of justice!' It doesn't have the same impact."

Spider-Man nodded thoughtfully, his eyes pretending to focus on something in the distance the second you turned to look at him, catching him staring. A gentle breeze swept across the rooftop, rustling your hair as you both sat in companionable silence.

"How'd you learn how to swing with those?" you asked, pointing at his wrists. Ethan raised his eyebrows from under the mask in surprise at your interest. "By falling, a lot."

"I can picture that," you said, grinning. The hero moved a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. "Ouch."

You smirked, leaning closer to him. "Don't worry, Mr. Arachnid. I'm sure you've mastered the art of falling gracefully by now," you replied with a playful wink.

Ethan faked a laugh. "You're hilarious."

"Oh, I try my best," you said, playfully batting your eyelashes. "But seriously, swinging through the city like you do must be exhilarating. I can only imagine the adrenaline rush you get."

"It's definitely something else," Ethan replied, smirking once he felt the idea pop into his head. "So… wanna try it?" You widened your eyes at that, wanting to take back your words immediately. "Uh, no. My mom must be waiting for me inside."

"It's 4 a.m."

"Still. She could come into my room and not find me there; she'd freak." Ethan tilted his head, and the mask's bug eyes narrowed as he held back a laugh. He nodded, knowing fully well you were lying through your teeth, and he stood up, offering his hand to help.

Once you were on your feet, ready to say your goodbyes, you felt the gloved hands reach for your waist, pulling you towards the masked boy. You thought he was going to kiss you, just for a second, and then Ethan stretched one of his arms out and leaned down to quickly whisper a "Hold on tight" before a web shot out of the gadget on his wrist, making you yelp.

"No, no, no," you exclaimed as you felt the wind hit your face. You were swinging with Spider-Man, and you were hating it. "Open your eyes, come on!" he said, noticing that you had forced them shut the second your feet were lifted off the ground. "I hate you, I hate you."

"Come on, Y/N! You can't even see where we're swinging!"

"God, this is horrible." The hand that was holding onto his neck tightened, and you uncovered your eyes to wrap another arm around him, trying to steady yourself.

He chuckled, the thrill of the moment evident in his voice. "You'll thank me later, I promise! Besides, you're doing great! Look, you're a natural swinger already!"

"I don't care!" you yelled back, trying to ignore the adrenaline coursing through you. "Just get me back to that rooftop! I'm not cut out for this superhero stuff."

"Don't worry, I got you," Ethan assured, adjusting his web-swinging trajectory to head back to the rooftop you both came from. The city lights below looked like a blur as you swung through the night sky.

As you finally landed back on the rooftop, you staggered a bit, your legs feeling like jelly. Spider-Man steadied you, his grip reassuring. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he said, a teasing tone still present in his voice.

"You're insane, you know that?" you replied, trying to catch your breath. "I hated that."

"You would've loved it if you'd kept your eyes open!"

"Yeah, well, I'd be perfectly content experiencing the city from ground level, thank you very much," you replied, still trying to steady your racing heart with a hand on your chest. Ethan panted as well, hands on his hips as he smiled widely under his mask.

Girls didn't really look at Ethan. He knew he wasn't an ugly boy, and Chad kept reminding him that he was a treat to the eye, but he was incredibly awful at flirting or talking, or something so small such as being near girls. Seeing so many people crushing on Spider-Man gave him the confidence boost he needed; he liked the attention. Whenever he saw himself on the news, he'd sneakily turn up the volume to hear what people said about him, and whenever Chad had a fanboy moment about the masked spider-hero, he'd have to hide his smile.

Ethan's thoughts swirled as he watched you catch your breath, completely unaware of his internal dilemma. The excitement of swinging through the city with you, even if you were initially terrified, had been an unexpected rush for him. But now, as he saw you standing there, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in your eyes, he couldn't help but wish he had met you under different circumstances.

He wondered if you'd like Ethan Landry as much as Spider-Man, if you'd also spend your nights chatting on your rooftop with him if you had met him with his mask off.

"Earth to Leggy," you snapped your fingers in front of the mask's eyes. You saw how his face scrunched up, mentally cursing himself for being caught staring, and you felt your body heat up to your ears at

a shyer version of the hero. "Leggy?" he asked.

"You're right; Bug boy sounds way better."

Ethan tilted his head a little bit, trying to get a good look at you as the city lights hit your face just enough for him to see every detail. "Oh, you're gone again," you said, noticing him zoning off.

"Sorry, I'm keeping you up. You should go rest," you immediately added, taking a step back. "N-no, it's okay," Ethan stammered, feeling flustered by the way you caught him daydreaming.

"I mean, I'm used to being up late, you know, patrolling the city and all. Sleep isn't a big deal for me," he tried to play it cool, but his nerves were getting the best of him. The hands that had been resting on his hips were now awkwardly crossed over his chest.

You didn't really believe him; to you, he was just tired. Him daydreaming about being with you was the last of your thoughts; he was Spider-Man, after all.

"Okay," you whispered once he took two steps closer to where you stood. You felt your breath get caught in your throat, his scent taking over you. "Uhm…" you tried to think of ways to keep the conversation going, your mind going suddenly blank because of him.

"I… I held Leggy once."

"You've said," his voice sounded huskier as he stared down at you through his mask. You felt kind of silly, staring at a red mask full of web patterns and wide, white eyes. You wished he'd take it off, just to see who was the boy you'd been pining over for months, to see him just once. "Yeah… veeery hairy spider," you continued.

He nodded, and reached one of his hands up to your waist, just testing the waters. Your pajama shirt rode up slightly because of the texture of his glove, and you shivered at his hand touching your skin, even if it was covered by that annoying suit. Ethan stared down at his hand, pondering if he should rip out the cloth just to actually feel your skin.

When you didn't make a move to separate from him, he took a deep breath and, with his free hand, he pulled his mask up. Not all the way, you could only see his nose and his mouth, and a few curly hairs that stuck out from the back of his head and from under his ears. Ethan bit his bottom lip, contemplating showing you his whole face, but he wasn't ready. Not yet.

So he dropped the hand down to yours, linking your fingers together as you stared at every feature of his face available to you. He had a button nose, a few freckles near it, and you were certain that the mask still hid many more. His lips were chapped, like he'd been biting on them for a while, the bits of hair you could see seemed very healthy, and you felt like a freak for wondering what shampoo he used, if it smelled like him.

Your breath got heavier, just by looking at him. And Ethan finally let go of his own lip, parting them slightly. You moved your hand to his wrist, holding yourself up while you got on your tiptoes. You were close, so close, and you tightened your hold on his arm.

Ethan yelped when the web-shooter shot a tissue up to the yellow construction crane that towered over your building, making him shoot up along with it. You stared up at him, cheeks hot in embarrassment.

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry," your voice cracked just a bit in shame as Ethan struggled to untie the webs that had swept him up. "It's fine!" he called out, finally dropping down to you. Upside down, one hand holding onto the string, along with his legs, and his free one doing a thumbs up. Well, a thumbs down from your point of view.

When Ethan realized, he flipped it around, and you smiled. He finally cracked into a grin, and you felt like your air was knocked away, taken back by his beautiful smile. He was gorgeous, the small part of his face you could actually see was gorgeous.

"C'mere," he said, reaching his free hand out to your arm, pulling you in so your face was met with his, finally at the same height, even if he was upside down. "The blood will rush to your head if you stay like this for long," you said nervously, feeling kind of shaky.

He shrugged. "Eh, Bug boy can handle it."

"Oh, is that your superhero excuse for everything now?" you teased, trying to lighten the tension between you two. Ethan chuckled softly, and you noticed his cheeks tinting slightly, even under the mask.

"Maybe," he replied playfully. Before you could think of a response, he reached for your face, awkwardly cradling it with only one hand and pulling you closer. You stumbled two small steps forward until your nose brushed against his. And he licked his lips before giving you another toothy grin which you were sure would knock you off your feet if you weren't so focused on imagining how he was going to kiss you, instead.

You opened your mouth, ready to say whatever nonsense was going through your head, but he stopped you by pressing a gentle kiss on your lips, pulling away and tilting his head to get a better angle. He let out a warm breath into your mouth as he relaxed into the kiss.

Afraid of him falling, you held his arm with your hand, your other one going to the side of his face to push his lips even closer to yours. He chuckled against your mouth, making you smile as well. Ethan's arm was growing tired, and his kisses started to get more sloppy and wet as he pushed himself closer to you, almost snapping the web in half by the pressure.

You pulled back, a small string of saliva separating you and Ethan as he grinned. His mask's eyes narrowing, showing you just how his smile covered his whole face. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special," you said, playfully wiping the saliva from your lips with the back of your hand.

"Sorry about that," Ethan said, still grinning. "I guess I got carried away."

You couldn't help but giggle at his adorable and slightly awkward response. "No worries, Bug boy," you teased, poking his chest playfully. "I think you've still got some superhero etiquette to learn."

"Oh, I'll make sure to work on my superhero kissing skills," he replied, feigning seriousness as he put a hand to his heart before gracefully dropping on his feet.

"Good to know," you chuckled. He licked the inside of his cheek, cheekily smiling at you as you teased him. He took one step closer and wrapped his arm around your waist, giving you one more wet kiss on the lips and then moving to your cheek before pulling his mask down fully. "Sorry," he mumbled.

But the way you stared up at him with a smile made him put the cloth up again, pecking your lips four times before stepping back. "Okay. I'm done," he promised, and you chuckled as he tightened his hands into fists, clearly struggling not to touch you again.

You couldn't help but laugh at Ethan's adorable struggle to control himself.

[huckleberrykai]

hueningkai - all mine

pairing: hueningkai x fem!reader summary: kai was never the jealous type until you came along. genre: toxic fic?? idk lil angsty i guess kinda?? warnings: toxic obsessive kai, possessiveness, he is um. not normal about you LOL notes: I HAVEN'T WRITTEN TOXIC KAI BEFORE EEE but i do love reading it and i've been meaning to write something like this for a while. thanku kirby for requesting this !! i hope i did it justice :3 word count: 1.8k click here for my masterlist!

kai had never considered himself to be the jealous type. not until he met you anyway.

he'd had girlfriends in the past, and while none of the relationships ended badly, he just never really figured out what was supposed to make them all that great. then suddenly you came along, taehyun's childhood best friend ~ so sweet and pure. then suddenly, he understood what love was all about.

love wasn't even the word to describe how kai felt about you. obsession was probably a better-fitting description of how you plagued his every waking thought from the second you were introduced.

you got added to their group chat not long after, and soon you were best friends with all of the members. having finally got your number, kai started texting you silly little things that made your heart flutter - he stalked all of your social media to learn every interest you had, and upon learning you loved so many of the same things as him, he fell even harder.

when he finally worked up the courage to tell you he had a crush on you, he almost cried when you reciprocated his feelings. he felt so strongly about you he didn't even know what to do with himself, and from your very first kiss he was already mentally planning ways to propose and keep you with him forever.

kai figured the intensity and 'puppy love' phase of his obsession would wear off after a couple of weeks - but every kiss, every touch, everything about you still drove him crazy, even two years down the line. you brought out a side in him no one had ever seen.

unfortunately for him, dating kai came as a package deal with 3 other golden retriever boys who loved you just as much as your childhood friend taehyun did - so it always seemed like a competition for your attention. in the beginning kai just brushed it off. in the end it was his shirt you were wearing, his bed you'd sleep in whenever you spent the night, and his lips you'd kiss before you left the next morning. but for kai, as time went on, this just wasn't enough anymore.

he knew it wasn't right to feel this way, after all none of you had done anything wrong! but sometimes he felt yeonjun's eyes on your midriff when your crop top rode up a little, or soobin laughing a little too loudly at your jokes. beomgyu was the worst, always joking about how funny you are and that you'd be better off dating him since he's such a prankster. he never meant it. kai knew that. all of his friends loved his relationship with you and knew you made each other happy, so why did he get a fire in his belly every time you so much as interacted with one of them? his least favourite was when he'd see them in your notifications. especially outside of the group chat.

he shouldn't be mad at you talking to your friends. he trusted you, but as his obsession only grew he found himself trusting his members less and less. in fact he wasn't very trusting of anyone around you.

any time you'd go out he'd always tag along, convincing you it was just to spend time with you since he loves you ~ and you, unsuspecting of your sweet boyfriend, never saw the stern look he'd give every barista, every cashier or even just person who so much as looked at you. when he looked at you you saw nothing but love, but anyone else he'd look at would get the death stare of negative kai - your own personal bodyguard with a grip like iron around your waist.

any time you'd get a call or text he'd look at your phone or ask who you were talking to. you took at as just curiosity, but kai was definitely planning on how to get you to stop talking to them as quickly as possible. he felt a little bad when he pulled you off the phone to your parents, but who cares? they were taking away your precious attention that should have been all his.

over your relationship he'd held back so much - not on loving you, but on obsessing over you. he knew you were lovely, that was plain for anyone to see - but that also meant competition. he wanted you to only ever think of him. to be half as obsessed with him as he was with you - but from your end it was all healthy. just two happy lovers <3

from the outside you just seemed like a couple in love, your parents adored him, your friends were rooting for you, everything was perfect!

after one incident in particular though, kai snapped a little.

it shouldn't really have been out of the ordinary. kai usually held back when he saw texts from other people on your phone, choosing to ignore his distaste for them - but when a message from soobin popped up starting with 'make sure you don't tell kai...' he felt his chest tighten. another one popped through seconds later, 'he'd kill me if he knew we...'

he couldn't stop himself. typing in your password, already breathing heavy and starting to cry. if it's what he thought it was he didn't know what he'd do to soobin, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty.

sooby 🐰 8:54pm

make sure you don't tell kai me and beomgyu broke the ps5

he'd kill me if he knew we threw the controllers at it to try make it work, the whole side fell off lol

oh.

"baby?" his head snapped up at the image of you towel drying your hair, only wearing his shirt and your underwear. he was still panic crying with your phone in his hand, and even though everything was fine he somehow felt angry.

"you'd never cheat on me right?" slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

you didn't even bat an eye. "no way. i don't like people to begin with, you barely made the cut yourself," you teased him and laughed. when you turned around though you saw he definitely was not joking with you - teary eyes and cheeks, red in the face, he looked like he'd just had his heart ripped out. the last comment stung him too - barely made the cut? what did you mean by that? did you not like him?

"hyuka baby what's wrong. i was just kidding, did something happen?"

he sat on the edge of his bed and you squeezed your way between his legs, standing in front of him and taking him into a big hug. you smelled like his shampoo and body wash, you were wearing his clothes. you're all his.

"no. just saw a weird text is all."

"oh? who was it? i'll block them."

"no don't. just soobin."

"oh? what'd he say?" you plucked the phone from his hands and checked through his texts, sitting on his lap. "oh kai i'm sorry, i'll help you get a new playstation." he shook his head. "no, no it's not that. just the way it was worded... the notification cut the end off and i.. i thought something was going on.."

"you're kidding right? hyuka i love you!" you punctuated your sentence with a kiss to his cheek, salty tears stinging your lips.

"'m sorry. i just don't like when they talk to you.." he admitted without much thought, playing with the hem of the fabric hanging off your body. "it's like i don't want anyone else near you. talking to you. i want all of your attention. and i dunno seeing soobin text you-"

"kai."

he looked up at you, big brown eyes wet with tears and fear. "you know that wouldn't be healthy. you have to trust me okay?"

"thats the thing. i do trust you, i just don't trust them."

"who?"

"anyone who looks at you."

"kai..."

"Y/N i've been in love with you since the second i saw you. other people have to have been the same, i just don't want other people to talk to you and you leave me. i wouldn't know what to do... Y/N please." his tears started flowing again but his face stayed still as he looked up into your eyes. you wiped his tears and pressed a kiss to his perfect nose.

"i'm not going anywhere. you're mine and i'm yours okay? no one else."

he nodded, eyes still boring into yours. he was mostly satisfied by this, and let you pull him down into bed. cuddling into his chest you opened your phone again to at least not leave soobin on read.

Y/N 🐧💗 9:12pm

he already knows lol

good luck getting your asses whooped <3

"why are you texting him again?" a permanent pout was etched onto his lips as he glared at your screen. "i'm not just gonna leave him on read, that's rude."

kai hummed distastefully. "you put a heart on there too... those are just for me."

"kai, it's sarcastic heart."

"are your hearts for me sarcastic?"

"okay that's it. what has gotten into you?" you try to sit up off his chest, but he pulls you right back down.

"answer me."

"no! of course not! i don't know what's making you act so weird right now but knock it off okay?"

he goes silent for a little bit and you settle back in against him, assuming the argument is over.

"i'm sorry. i'm just scared, you don't have to stop talking to them.. but not all the time okay? i want your time."

"and you have it. you have me hyuka... i love you. not anyone else."

you feel him press a few kisses into your hair and mumble an i love you back against your scalp. he hums to you softly and turns out the light - some sleep would calm you down.

his deep voice and soothing rubs to your back get you to settle down and cuddle with him properly, worried thoughts of kai's possessiveness melting away as you fall into dreamland.

almost as soon as you dropped off, kai's eyes were torn away from your sleeping face to your phone lighting up again.

soobin. again.

he was done with this. with the hand that wasn't wrapped around you he typed in your password, making quick work of deleting all of your contacts he didn't know, and deleting soobin, beomgyu and yeonjun. he trusted taehyun, you were childhood friends after all~ but everyone else... delete... delete...

"hmph...? baby what are you doing?" you mumbled sleepily, stirring from the phone light lighting up kai's face in the dark.

"nothing princess. it's all fine, just checking the time."

"okay. love you."

you knew this whole ordeal was a red flag, but you loved him. you thought you could change him, and so it was no biggie. this was just one bump in the road right?

and that's exactly how kai wanted you to think.

"you're all mine right?"

"mhm~ i'm all yours." you slurred back.

"all mine."

sfw taglist: @beoms-sugar @mazeinthemoon @n0-thisispatrick @strawberry-kirby @majestyjun @bibibinnie @beom-pyu @minholing @ohmahgods @txtistheloml

[rkvriki]

— being interrupted by the other members ! (hyung line)

hello everyone !

my first post !! i hope you enjoy it, i'm still not good at writing but im trying my best to improve, also english isn't my first language so there might be grammar errors :) i will also be making a maknae line one !!

make sure to leave feedback my asks are open and so is my inbox so let's talk !!

WARNINGS ! contains suggestive themes but not smut (heeseung and jake), swearing, it's proofread but might have grammar errors.

note; this was inspired by @delcakoo !!

word count: 2k !

LEE HEESEUNG !

heeseung would straight up get annoyed at whoever doesn't even care to knock or whatever.

you two would be hanging out in his dorm after he came from tour. he was missing you a lot and today was the perfect day, since the others were all out, either at the movies or visiting family or friends.

the two of you were in his room, each playing on a laptop. you were finally having the kartrider match that heeseung said he would win after being a sore loser for losing to you at mario kart (in front of the other boys 😟)

you were going at it for almost 2 hours and always found yourselves in a tie. 

“ heeseung can you just accept that i am literally better than you at this and move on, please?”

“it’s bold of you to assume I would ever, in my life, admit that.” he said, focusing on the game again. you rolled your eyes at his statement, asking yourself again why you were dating him.

sighing, you kept playing, and even though you were tired of playing, you would never let him win obviously, you’re not gonna let your ego get hurt, like who would ever do that.

another round was over and you won again. 

“see, heeseung give up, honey, i'm no weak bitch and you will never beat me.” you said smirking and stretching yourself in your place. 

heeseung looked at you with an annoyed expression, quickly changing it to a smirk. you raised your brow at that, before he spoke.

“then let’s do this. you sit on my lap while you play and let’s see who wins, ok?” you rolled your eyes at his suggestion but accepted it anyways (like who would even refuse 🤒 i would fold so quickly for this man)

you were in the second lap of the game when you felt hee’s hand sliding up your thigh, while the other played skilfully. 

you tried focusing but you were quickly letting your mind drift to other things aka your boyfriend’s touch.

his hand started going upwards on your thigh, grabbing the skin there, making you squirm.

“look that’s not fair, hee!” you said pouting while still trying to play.

heeseung stopped playing completely, grabbing you and laying you on his bed.

he looked into your eyes, making you look away and covering your cheeks in a soft red tint.

he grabbed your face while hovering over you, admiring your features before kissing your lips softly. you put your hands on his cheeks, deepening the kiss, while he separated your lips with his tongue, making you feel your cheeks getting warmer. 

his hands started roaming under your shirt caressing your soft tummy.

that was until the door banged open against the wall, revealing a loud jungwon.

“hyung we brought- oh”

heeseung took his lips from yours looking at jungwon who was like 🧍‍♂️ by the door.

“jungwon get the hell out before i make you lick the toilet.” heeseung told jungwon who quickly mumbled a sorry and closed the door then going back to whatever he was up to.

justice for my man pls 😞

PARK JONGSEONG !

jay is just so used to being annoyed that he would just tell whoever to fuck off

like you two would be just hanging out in the han river sat in a towel you two brought, while eating the homemade meal jay made with so much love just for you (i'm getting delulu)

you were just enjoying the soft breeze going through your hair that was also refreshing, not too cold, not too warm, the perfect date for you guys.

the sun was hitting jay’s face just perfectly and you couldn’t help but grab your phone, snapping a quick pic of him looking so handsome.

that’s your man!!

you smiled to yourself going back to eating peacefully.

after you both ate, you cleaned everything up before laying down and cuddling with each other.

“was the food good?”

“it was perfect, thank jongseong-ie.” you told him pecking his lips a few times and smiling softly at him, making his lips stretch his lips into one and his eyes grow in two crescent moons, making him look adorable.

you laid your head on his chest as you two talked for a while. 

you two fell in a comfortable silence, now sitting down next to each other, appreciating the view before your eyes, just admiring the simple things that made others so unique.

you felt jay’s eyes on the side of your face, you looked at him, making him smile ever so softly ( i can’t take it anymore pls 😫).

as you were leaning into each other, you started listening to familiar voices into the distance.

“OMG aren't that jay and y/n??”

“what?? where? OH- YES it’s them, let's say hi!!”

you separated from each other making jay roll his eyes as he saw niki and jake run in your direction.

“hey y/n!!! we haven’t seen each other in such a long time!!! what a coincidence!” niki said running to hug you and sitting down next to you.

“yeah, should keep it that way.” jay mumbled quietly.

“hyung stop being such a party pooper you should be happy to see your beloved friends.” niki said, rolling his eyes making you laugh at the interaction between the two boys.

“it’s ok, jay. i won’t mind hanging out with them just for a while, we have plenty of time.”

jay looked at you with a dumbfounded expression not believing his own partner was betraying just like that.

one like, one piece for jay 🙏

SIM JAEYUN !

jake would honestly just be chill like that  🤙

you two would be in his bed at the dorms watching whatever show was playing in the background because, honestly, neither of you were paying attention, rather focused on other things.

you both were making out in his bed, with you straddling his lap with his hands holding your hips in place (pick me, choose me.)

the room was filled with the sounds of your lips touching.

you were kissing each other without a single care in the world. just focusing on the feeling of your tongues brushing against each other so hungrilly, making both of you let out quiet sounds.

“jake…” you said backing up from his lips, but he went straight to attacking your neck with kisses and soft bites (ksdfafjv)

“jake, the movie…and the others might come in…” you tried telling him to stop but honestly you didn’t want him to stop.

“don’t worry about that, right now. just focus on me yeah?”

interrupting your thoughts, jake’s lips found their way back into your, making you forget about whatever you were worried about.

your mind was blank just filled with jake and his sweet tongue.

jake jake jake jake jake jake (same honey, same)

jake’s hand started making their way underneath your shirt just softly caressing your stomach and keeping his hands there but the door suddenly opened, and heeseung made his way into the room, stopping in his tracks, when he finally took a look at what you were both doing.

you tried backing away from jake, but he put his hand behind your head, not letting you stop kissing him.

“uuhh…” heeseung said, still in his spot, rubbing the back of his neck while looking at his feet, because suddenly they were the most interesting thing in the world.

jake finally pulled away looking at heeseung like nothing was going on.

“hi hyung, you need something?” he said, smiling softly at him while you were still on top of him and his hands were still inside your shirt.

“umnh…yeah?? i was looking for my green shirt, maybe you have it??” heeseung asked, avoiding looking jake in the eyes.

“oh yeah, i think i left it inside my closet check it there.” he told the older boy while pointing to the said closet.

right after that, his lips found his way back to yours again, like heeseung wasn't in the room.

said man made his way over to the closet, almost tripping in his way, since he was trying to look everywhere but you two.

making a go fund me to buy heeseung new eyes 😕

PARK SUNGHOON !

sunghoon would get shy when somebody would catch him being a simp for you.

you two were in the dorm in the shared dressing room where skin care and makeup stuff were. 

you saw other people on tik tok making their partners makeup and you wanted to try on your princess aka sunghoon (he is such a babygirl, prove me wrong)

“sunhoonie…” you slowly started already hinting you wanted something from him.

“yeah princess? need anything?”

“so you know… there’s this thing going on tik tok an-”

“no.”

“sunghoon plea-”

“no.”

“oh come on, won’t you do it for me, pretty please??” you tried, giving the best puppy eyes you could.

“y/n, i already made my decision and i won’t go back.”

“ok, then i think it will be fine if i told the other guy about when we were in the pool and you pee-”

“OK! STOP THERE PLEASE!” he said almost screaming looking around as if someone might be listening.

you smiled innocently at him, getting up and grabbing his hand already leading him to where you were, in the dressing room, for more than 20 minutes now.

“OW- y/n it’s the third time you poke me with that stupid brush, can you just get over with it??” you rolled your eyes at him, somebody help you with your whiny boyfriend.

“sunghoon, stop whining and let me do my job goddammit!!” (annoying mf fr)

he just sighed, closing his eyes again, feeling the brush run over his eyelids again.

hoon was just hoping no one would enter the room and caught him lacking 🙏

“hoon, choose a color please!!” you showed him three lip tints in your hand, holding them with a huge smile. 

sunghoon resisted the urge to roll his eyes and picked a red-ish color. you smiled at his pick, making him smile at you because you were so cute.

you slowly swiped the lip brush against his lips tinting them in a red that fits him just perfectly.

you took a step back, admiring how pretty he looked with his almost finished look.

“now this! this will make you the prettiest princess!” you said taking something he couldn’t tell from your makeup bag.

“close your eyes, omg you're so not good at this sunghoon!!!”

he closed his eyes, making them flutter slightly, and you took a second to appreciate his pretty feature smiling at how pretty he actually is.

going back to work. you open the container of liquid eye glitter applying it under his eyes and brushing some in his eyelids making his eyes shimmer .

“ok!! i'm done now!!!”

sunghoon opened his eyes taking off his headband that was holding his bangs, letting them fall on his forehead slightly covering his eyes.

“you look so pretty omg hoonie!!” you said clapping your hands admiring your hard work

just as he was about to comment his looks

“OMG EVERYONE COME SEE THIS” 

he looked at the door and saw sunoo with his phone already up capturing pics of this precious moment.

“GO AWAY SUNNO I SWEAR-”

“OMG HYUNG YOU LOOK SO BABYGIR-” niki said but sunghoon interrupted him by throwing your make up brush at him.

“sunghoon my brush!!”

pray for my #1 babygirl 😞 🙏

check the maknae line version here !

a/n: do you want a maknae line one?? hopw you enjoyed this one, leave suggestions, my inbox is open !!

[aechii]

Heyy, first of all I just wanna say I love your writing and I really really appreciate you writing for black readers 💖 I wanted to request a kylian story about reader meeting his family for the first time, maybe bonding with his mom and Ethan if thats possible 😊 (also are we getting a second part for good luck charm??)

₍⁠₍ ONE OF US ₎⁠₎

PAiRiNG ?! boyfriend!kylian x black!femreader

GENRE ?! romance, fluff (😞)

C/W ?! written in 3rd person since i can't write in 2nd person for shit, she/her pronouns used, kylian whines alot, ethan is too mature for his own good lool, KYLIAN ISN'T DRIVING !!!

A/N ?! i luvvvv this request :) im glad you appreciate my works, it means a lot to me since i really want to make my black readers feel included <3

tried to make it not too fluffy (😞) but im sorry if i failed. part 2 of 'good luck charm' will be the next fic released after this so stay tuned for that (hopefully before the end of this week). anyways, hope i did ur request justice, anon 🖤

~°~

one and a half hours on road, and the ending of the everlasting queue of cars and headlights seemed out of sight. a traffic light suspended from the sky, like a descending black orb, and [y/n] tilted her head as she leaned forward to observe it. sighed, resting back as the lowness of her car's hood rendered her efforts futile, and instead, relied on the agonising snail-speed of the moving cars ahead.

"traffic's heavy today."

kylian responded with a quiet hum, tapping her thigh to the beat of the playing song, "yeah, bad day to go out but my mum's expecting you."

fear hovered just beneath her skin and kylian noticed the tremble of her hands. they gripped the steering wheel, as if to strangle it dead, sure that the grooves of the grips had indented into her palms. he gave a reassuring squeeze to her leg, then stretched forward to peck her cheek.

"you'll be alright, they'll love you."

her eyebrows remained crinkled, "are you sure?"

kylian gave an affirmative nod, "of course— honestly they'll love anybody who isn't me."

she knew his words were a tad bit hyperbolic, but it made her laugh anyways.

"really?"

"yeah. their dear kylian can be a handful sometimes."

[y/n] was quick to nod at that, "you're not wrong there."

in any other instance, kylian would find fault in her words and be haste to correct her, whining. yet, he watched how the knots of her fingers grew loose and how her shoulders untensed and settled with ease, and bit his tongue.

silence dallied in the car, save kylian's hums of every song that cried from the radio. the congestion had lightened and they both rolled forward a couple of feet per minute.

"quick warning though, ethan is most likely to drag you to play fifa with him. don't be scared to say no," kylian rolled his eyes after; she found their bond way too endearing and wholesome for her heart to take.

"says that he needs to add to his fifa kill count, and literally verses anybody he can," he proceeded. [y/n] would think he meant his irritation if she didn't peak the slight grin that ghosted his lips. he could never dislike the boy, of course.

"i see where he gets his competitiveness from," she joked, surging the car forward as the light turned green. the motorway is long left behind, and the distant city blended and smothered into the view before them.

"are you one of his kill counts?"

kylian kissed his teeth, and it triggered a hearty laugh from the girl beside him, "that's not even the point. i've demanded rematches and he still refuses to."

"babe, i think it's a sign that you should suck it up and accept that he's better than you at fifa."

"in your dreams," arms were crossed and he ignored her grin, looking out the window, "i'm forcing him to play today."

the gps ordered her to take a left, and she swiftly took the sharp corner, bustling streets dwindling behind them as they entered a quieter road.

"i will be supporting you— although i can't guarantee that i will for all of the games you play."

"so- what? you'll be rooting for ethan?" his words left his mouth as if they were bitter and salty on his tongue.

"mhm."

she only said that to rile up the man, finding humour in his disdain. in kylian's eyes, [y/n] was his, and only his, hype woman.

"traitor."

"love you too."

they fell into tranquil muteness as the sight of kylian's childhood house is unveiled by the skyscraping evergreen trees that seemed to be a habitual plant around this side of paris. it's not entirely big, but large enough that, from the outside, it was obvious that it situated two floors. gated and neatly groomed grass carpeted the front lawn, bright green and dotted with white. daisies, she predicted.

the car undulated to a halt, and [y/n] released a sigh.

"we're here... finally."

kylian shifted in his seat, facing his girlfriend, "yeah, we are." reached to scoop her hands in his, "and as i said, you have nothing to be scared about. i love you, hm? even if they don't like you, which i highly doubt will happen, it won't change a thing, okay?"

nodded and tilted forward to kiss her boyfriend. kylian's hand rested gently upon her cheek as he deepened it, lips tenderly harsh as he attempted to portray his words into action, too. a ping from his phone caused them to break contact, turning it on as he read the text from the notification bar.

mama ❤️ i see a car outside. stopping hogging the poor girl and come inside, it's too hot.

"who is it?" [y/n] asked.

kylian showed her the text and she softly chuckled as she read it, "you heard her. let's go."

they depart, not before kylian gave her hand a reassuring peck, and they amble to the front door.

kylian looked at her, finger at the ready to poke the doorbell, "ready?"

"i think so, yeah."

+_-

greeted with a warm, encompassing hug, [y/n] was pulled inside, her boyfriend complaining behind her as he was left behind.

"okay, forget your own son then," he gruntled, closing the door as the warm air from outside began to mesh with the cold one inside.

fayza, his mother, kissed her teeth. undeniably kylian's mother.

"as if i don't see you more than i want to."

an arm circled [y/n]'s waist, head tucking itself into her neck as lips muttered complaints into her skin. she patted his hand in faux sympathy.

they're escorted to the back garden, filled to them brim with kids no taller than her waist, and chattering adults. it was welcoming chaos, one that made her feel settled and content because everyone was happy, doing they're own thing as they gathered as one family.

and now, she was to be one of them.

broken out of her reverie, fayza's voice cut through the cacophony, and all heads turned toward their direction.

"everyone, meet [y/n], kylian's girlfriend. make her feel comfortable and at home for me," her face was illuminated with a smile.

a little voice, she presumed was of one of kylian's nieces, sounded from just beside them.

"she's very pretty!"

[y/n]'s heart swelled, and she untangled herself from her boyfriend's hold, crouching down in front of the infant, "thank you, love. what's your name?"

she reponded, full of eagerness, "marie!"

[y/n] chuckled, "you have a very pretty name, don't you?"

the toddler nodded, as she signalled for [y/n] to pick her up. arms wrapped around the small girl securely, she stood up, swirling the girl around as she giggled loudly, then began to ask her questions about her and kylian's relationship. her curiosity was overwhelmingly adorable and [y/n] could feel her face muscles ache at the undying smile.

kylian watched from the doorframe, eyes drenched in obvious adoration as his girlfriend began to go around, socialising with the rest of his family. his sister is quick to welcome her with a hug and a kiss to the cheek, ruffling the curls of her daughter in [y/n]'s arms. if he hadn't decided to grow old with the girl, he certainly did now, for the sight of his most beloveds intertwining with so little difficulty made him feel full with joy.

+_-

the little girl in her arms began to grow restless, and with the sweltering heat beating upon her skin, [y/n] unleashed the hyperactive kid, submerging back into the air conditioned space inside. she went to look for kylian, stopping at the door of the living room (overly spacious, but embossed with pictures and trophies, made it feel smaller and more homely than expected) as she noticed two boys frantically clicking button on a controller, tv glowing with running, animated people in a sea of green. decided to not disturb and leave kylian to (hopefully) reign victorious this time round.

[y/n] found herself exploring the corridors of the house, gazing into framed photos hung upon the walls. a family so deeply knitted that not one was left out, and she couldn't help the thought of her face one day being displayed with pride, maybe with kylian beside her, or maybe just her, as she alone was enough to be one of them.

she ventured into the kitchen absentmindedly, meeting fayza stirring into a steam pot, napkin draped over her shoulder.

pushed all her nerves aside as she saw an opportunity to bond with her mother-in-law, "is there anything i can help with, ma'am?"

she was quick to spin around, a smile blooming as she recognised her voice, "you want to help?" [y/n]'s gesture was thoroughly appreciated, but the question left fayza's throat apprehensively.

"yes," then a laugh, accompanied by a permanent smile, "kylian is playing fifa with ethan so i really have nothing to do."

the older woman grunted knowingly, shuffling through the kitchen as [y/n] shadowed her.

"that's all the do when he comes here," a freckled hand is waved, aloof, "don't mind them."

she slid a bowl of freshly washed vegetables, dappled with droplets of water, "dice these for me, dear."

[y/n] acquiesced promptly, and the kitchen swiftly subsided into a warm silence. she chopped them with such experienced velocity, and fayza showed her an approving smile, althought she was too focused to notice.

"you know what you're doing."

the girl turned to the woman next to her, grinning, "have to be, or kylian would be a lost cause."

the guffaw that followed was thick with expectance and genuine hilarity, "you're very funny, looking after that boy isn't an easy task."

"you can definitely tell me about it," she fell silent as she focused on cutting off the butt of the onion, "but i love him, and forever will."

fayza felt her skin buzz with exhilaration and couldn't fight the urge to hug the lady helping her.

"you're such a lovely girl, perfect for my kylian," broke the hug and scanned the face of the girl that had her son immeasurably in love, "stand by him, okay? people out there are harsh, and, yes, i know that he's a strong boy, but with you beside him, he'll be stronger."

[y/n] exhaled, leaning against the counter as fayza started to fry the vegetables that she had chopped, "i won't lie to you and say it's easy because it's not," a hand rubbed down her face, "i don't get why people are so... brutal. it's like the only focus on his negatives when they lose, but praise him when they win, and i see that it gets to him a lot."

fayza knew what they, as a family, holding the name mbappé, just like the one that etched the back of france's golden boy, were getting themselves into. a life no longer hidden, everything was out and vulnerable for everyone to see, and if each blink and breath wasn't scrutinized by 'fans' (as they liked to call themselves, but tend to act otherwise) then something wasn't right.

"that's just how the world is, dear. they're backstabbers, running wild with no inch of humanity left in them. but you have to remain sturdy, be it alone or with the support of other people. and for kylian's case, he has us."

us. [y/n]'s skin crawled with thrill.

"you're part of the family, now, [y/n]," fayza smiled, eyes lined with aged wrinkles, deepened with the peaks and troughs of the past, and still to, with what was yet to come, "one of us."

she smiled, heart clashing with her ribs, "thank you, fayza. it really means a lot."

she returned it, arms agape, "it's nothing, dear. now, come here!"

[y/n] entered her arm, laughing loudly as her mother-in-law kissed her forehead, "and remember, if kylian ever does anything wrong, tell me, and i'll deal with him."

"i definitely will, ma'am."

she was given a disapproving look in return, "ma'am? please, call me fayza, or mum, which i prefer." winked and laughed.

however, their moment was cut short as shouts outside the door began to crescendo.

"—not only are you running away but your running to your girlfriend who i didn't even know was here!"

the kitchen is penetrated by the fury of two boys, of which their ages were miles apart but would think were near by how they acted, kylian's face contorted into a frown, "it would be a curse to introduce her to you, ethan."

the teenage boy gasped, kicking his brother, "take that back!"

"over my dead body!"

ethan scowled back, looking at her, before any trace of his negative expression seemed to disappear into thin air, "[y/n]! oh my days, you're prettier in real life!"

she grinned sheepishly, "thank you, ethan."

kylian, however, found no amusement in his words, hiding his girlfriend behind him, "oh please stop that crap. get yourself your own girlfriend!"

"and you just love hating! i bet your girlfriend is better than you at fifa."

"take. that. back."

"let's see it," he walked towards her, putting on the best puppy eyes he could muster, grabbing and tugging her arm, "please, [y/n]? play fifa with me?"

kylian glared at him, slapping his hand away.

"don't touch her!"

she turned to look at fayza, who nudged her head, "don't worry about it, go and take those hooligans with you."

+_-

10 minutes later, ethan was one goal down, with [y/n] on a aggregate score of 3.

"you're good at this— like good good. better than kylian."

to ethan's satisfaction, his older brother had been summoned by his mother to help her, saying he 'needed to use that football strength to good use'.

"how the hell did he even get a girlfriend like you? way too good for him, in my humblest opinion." she knew his question was far from ill-mannered, and didn't take it to heart. ethan tend to say whatever came to his mind at that moment.

"he definitely tried his hardest to ask me out," [y/n] stated, chuckling at the ever-vivid memory of his unrelenting advances.

"he's never one to give up, is he?"

she shook her head, "absolutely not. gave him my number for professional use only, and he saw the opportunity to flirt with me."

ethan visibly cringed at the fact, "that's embarassing."

"it was cute," she shrugged, "until it actually started to work and it all went downhill- or rather uphill- from there."

ethan's irises glimmered as he attempted a shot, but took in a sharp breath as he missed.

"all i can say is, he loves really hard. hasn't loved anyone as much as you, but from what i hear from him about you, he's deeply infatuated. i think it's scary, at this point," paused to regain his bearings as the ball was within [y/n]'s possession once again, "but, as much as i make fun of him, he's a good person. sometimes too good for his own sake."

he spoke truth. truth that hurt, because kylian's kindness was constantly taken for weakness, but he always, without fail, moved past it without another thought wasted.

"and he hides how much it affects him."

"exactly," ethan responded immediately, then laughed, "you know him just as much, or even more than me."

[y/n] grinned, "happens when you spend everyday with the boy. he's more readable than he thinks."

"or maybe you adore him so much that you just... care."

silence, then, "or maybe that."

it was only the noise of intense clicking and frustrated sighs that filled the room for a few minutes. it was a relaxed quietude, one that none saw the need to disrupt, but ethan wanted to express how grateful he was for [y/n]'s presence in his brother's life. it was comforting to know that he had someone, that wasn't a platonic friend, to confide in and find solitude in.

"you two were definitely meant to be."

"you think?"

"yeah," he looked at her, taking a hand off of the controller to punch her lightly in her arm, "i see you becoming [y/n] mbappé, one day."

"really?" her voice was incredulous, "you see me being one of you lot?"

"come on [y/n]," ethan rolled his eyes affectionately, "you're already one of us."

[tinyfantasminha]

Jumping on the Jack R outrage bandwagon

What also gets me about Jack getting another R card, is this also means Savanaclaw is the only dorm now to not have a Halloween SSR card. And this is just my prediction, but given the way that Jack's card is the only one that doesn't have ribbons or strings attached to the side, he's probably going to be pretty important to the story, aka with the puppet theme and likely people being controlled, it feels like he's not going to be controlled and making him Very Important for the story line

Anyways Justice for Jack

So far, I noticed that ALL the halloween events had at least one dorm leader SSR; Vil for SM, Riddle for EH, Malleus, Idia and Azul for GM and now Kalim for PL; Which makes it highly likely that Leona will be 2024's halloween SSR! It will happen, it's only a matter of time (that rules out Jack and Ruggie as possible halloween SSRs for next year tho 💔)

NO LISTEN I'VE BEEN THINKING THE SAME. ABOUT HOW JACK'S OUTFIT SEEMS DIFFERENT THAN THE OTHERS

Out of the R cards, Lilia, Trey and Jade all have loose ribbons on their sides. Now look at Jack; his ribbons aren't loose, but rather...

...They are tied to his cuffs and connected to his back. Why only he has ribbons tied that way?? And something that particularly makes me uneasy is why he has ribbons tied to his knees. Doesn't that seem oddly restricting? Especially for THE most athletic and physically strong character?

Notice that it's a single ribbon, tying his knees together. All of the ribbons on his cuffs and knees seem to be of enough length to make him move comfortably at least, but wouldn't that prove to be a hassle for his movements in case of an emergency? He can't properly run with his legs tied like that. He can't properly fight using fists with his arms tied like that.

Considering the boys did not choose their outfits (it magically appears on their bodies once they enter inside playful land) it's almost as if... That was purely intentional on Fellow's part. As if he's wary of Jack and is very much conscious about how he could use his raw strength to break out, and the ribbons tying up his limbs is to ensure that he will stay contained and restricted like a dog on a leash.

Nothing is confirmed yet but I sure hope those ribbons will have a bigger role in the plot and aren't there just for aesthetics 😭 If those ribbons really will be like strings that holds a puppet together, I can imagine that Lilia's, Trey's and Jade's ribbons will be holding them up like they're puppets and Jack's ribbons will be for restricting him.

Ok as much as I'd love for Jack to be important in the story I don't think that's going to happen since he's merely a R card AGAIN and much less will be of more importance than the others 😭 Whatever predicament happens to Jack will likely happen to the R characters (and SRs?) as well, like being restricted or controlled. The SSRs are supposed to be the protagonists of the story after all. BUT I still hope there's a small scene that shows his ribbons restricting him and proves that the placement of HIS ribbons especially aren't just for show 😳😳😳

[cacoetheswriting]

Hello! I hope all is well. I had a fluffy request if that’s ok? Eddie x fem!reader where reader is an art nerd that likes to draw for their campaigns. One day, they’re hanging out preparing for the campaign and maybe Eddie had a run in with Jason earlier and was feeling a little down that day so then reader just starts aggressivley complimenting him out if nowhere. I really love your work! ❤️

thank youuu for this request & for your sweet words, makes my heart happy that you like my little fics ❤️ hope i did your vision justice!

-

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.6k content warnings: adult language, use of pet names, a little mutual pining, insecurities / self-doubt, mentions of bullying, mainly just fluff - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Your friendship with Eddie was an odd one — if you could even call it that. More colleagues than friends, to be honest. Or better yet, acquaintances by association.

Freaks. Geeks. Social outcasts.

There was however, one big difference.

Your status at Hawkins High was by design. A strategic decision you put into play long before you even stepped through the building doors. Growing up in a busy house with a younger brother too loud for his own good, solitude was your best friend. Art was your escape. Often you only found time for both at school. So no, you didn’t wanna socialise or try out for the cheerleading team. You were quite content being left alone.

Being neighbours with Nancy Wheeler, and your younger brothers being practically attached at the hip, helped with staying invisible ‘cause who’s gonna bully the girl that sometimes hung out with Nancy and King Steve.

Eddie unfortunately was not as lucky. His label wasn’t his choice — not at first anyway. It followed him through the years from an age arguably too young. No kid deserved to be treated the way he was simply ‘cause of how/where he was brought up. The curly-haired boy couldn’t escape the names, the teasing, the dirty looks. He couldn’t change his fate. So eventually he stopped trying. The Freak.

And perhaps that’s why he’s never fully warmed up to you. You were a fraud, not actually understanding what it’s like to be an outcast.

But it’s not like you cared what Eddie Munson thought of you or if the metalhead liked you in any way. Hanging around him was simply a means to an end. He needed someone to immortalise his D&D campaigns and you needed continuous inspiration as well as material for your portfolio.

Most of your meet-ups were surrounded by quiet.

Thinking back, that was the first mistake since it was in that congenial silence, you noticed how he sucked his lip between his teeth whenever he was deep in thought, and how he’d scrunch his brows together if what he came up with didn’t quite make sense. He was undoubtedly pretty. The faded freckles on his face are reminiscent of a million stars. The dips in his cheeks, appearing whenever he smiled, comparable to picturesque valleys. Those big brown of his eyes were like chocolate buttons and the more time you spent together, the more you thought you caught him glancing in your direction with that cocoa gaze, but that would be insane. Right?

It was also in those moments, as you drew the monsters he described in grave detail, you got to see the Eddie he so desperately tried to hide away from the rest of the world. The real Eddie. He was ridiculously smart. Not many people in Hawkins, if any at all aside from your silly little brother with his band of friends, could come up with such intricate ideas. Funny too, making you snort a laugh one too many times with practically zero effort. And he was kind. Asking you how your day was, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

The small talk was kept to a minimum in the hours you two spent working on the campaigns, but whenever you did have a short conversation, Eddie always made sure his attention was focused solely on you. The second mistake was letting him, because being his priority, if only in the moment, made your stomach flutter.

But today Eddie hasn't uttered a single word aside from a measly hello when you opened your front door earlier that afternoon to let him in.

Normally the silence doesn’t bother you. If anything, you welcome it as it helps you concentrate on the details of any piece you’re currently working on. There was just something about the way Eddie was sitting that made you feel uneasy. He didn’t seem present. Leaning against your dresser, legs sprawled out in front of him, gaze focused on something out the window as he fidgeted with the pencil in his hand.

At first you thought maybe he was planning the next move in his new campaign and just needed a minute, but then fifteen minutes passed and the metalhead still hadn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d doubt he was even breathing. As still as a rock.

A sudden wave of concern rushes through you and without taking a second to consider what you were doing, you grab one of the pillows from your bed and throw it in his direction.

“Shit, what the—”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that question, especially when he looks at you. Eyes wider than normal, accompanied by delicate worry lines that he's never really been on the receiving end of — aside from Wayne's constant frown. Eddie first thinks you're clearly faking the concern 'cause why would you actually care? But the longer his gaze remains connected with yours, the more he wants to believe your sincerity is genuine. And that's fucking scary.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothin' you need to worry about.”

But you don't give up as easily as he hoped you would.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His lips twitch though he never actually smiles and you are certain then something definitely happened because it's as if he really wants to offer you a glimpse of happiness, but his body is refusing.

Dropping his gaze to the pencil in his hands, Eddie sighs. “You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

“Pretend like you actually give a shit,” he replies with a little more disdain than intended while once again catching your eyes with his own.

You don't mean to scoff, but you do. “Look, Eddie, I know we're not like best of friends or anything,”  you begin, hopping off the bed with an elegant bounce. “But considering lately I spend more time with you than Nancy or Steve, I feel like we can at least talk about shit, no? Like when something is bothering us, we can talk about that.”

He's slightly surprised at your words. The admission that you hang out with him more than your actual friends didn't seem right to him. In his mind, you and Wheeler are inseparable. He sees you two together all the time, sharing a ride to school, having lunch at the same table. And in the evenings or at the weekends, you're always around Harrington and that other girl, Buckley. Not like Eddie seeks you wherever he goes... He's just... observant.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes, tone full of disbelief. “You don't gotta lie to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” you defend and sit cross-legged at his feet, knees brushing against the soles of his dirty Converse in the process. You know you don't owe him an explanation or reasoning, but it seems Eddie won't let up about what's on his mind without one. 

“Nancy and I have drifted apart since I kinda took Steve's side in their breakup. Sure we carpool and sit at the same table in the cafeteria, and our idiotic brothers are good friends, but that's pretty much it.”

Eddie starts to feel like a jerk for assuming shit when he clearly had no clue, but you don't give him a chance to interject. 

“And yeah, I see Steve often, but it's not like we're all buddy-buddy. He likes it when I stop by the video store to literally sit on the counter and draw his stupid head of hair just so he can make other girls jealous.”

“Jesus, that's shitty.”

You shrug, a small smile circling your lips. “I don't mind. Free film rental and peaceful sketching time.”

The lighthearted tone of your voice makes the corners of Eddie's mouth curl upwards, matching the expression currently present on your face. There's a semi-second of quiet. He's no longer feeling bad 'cause you've taken those worries away with one simple look. And when you knock your knee against his shoe again, Eddie's completely relaxed.

Lost in the way the sun reflects in your eyes, the metalhead doesn't really think when he asks, “So how come you've never invited me over for movie night, huh?”

You smirk. “Horrors aren't really my thing. I actually like to enjoy what I'm watching,” you tease, “Even if the shit is free. Don't wanna see any decapitations, thank you very much.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He pulls his legs up before sliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom until he's about a reach away from you. Closer than he's ever been. His arms make way around his legs, ring-clad fingers hanging low, poking at your calf.

Surprisingly, you don't flinch at Eddie's sudden proximity or the delicate touch.

“Quite presumptuous of you, sweetheart.” He affirms, gaze focused on where his skin brushes against the denim of your jeans.

“So you don't only watch gruesome things?” You challenge, your own fingers hesitantly reaching towards him, stopping before you can actually graze him in any way.

Eddie's smirking. “Not the point.”

“Sounds like I'm right,” you muse, your smile growing wider. “But I'll make you a deal.”

He looks up to meet your eyes then, hiking a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod. “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier, I'll let you pick a movie we can watch together. Even something horrific.”

This was uncharted territory — (and also your third mistake). The two of you have never hung out outside of working on D&D campaigns, but since Eddie asked a mere minute ago, even if he was just teasing, you figured why the fuck not. What's the worst that could happen? Plus this seemed the only way to get him to open up.

Eddie tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he mewls over your proposal. On the one hand, talking about feelings or problems isn't something he's necessarily into. And when it comes to spending time with you, part of the allure is congenial silence, unless he's the one fishing for information. On the other hand, his heart rate has increased tenfold at the thought of you hiding in his embrace during a particularly gross scene or before any jump scare.

In the end, the physical urge to be close to you, an unmistakable desire he's been experiencing for far longer than Eddie would care to admit out loud, wins.

“Carver just got in my head.”

The instant frown on your face, and how your fingers are suddenly reaching for his, looping together, make Eddie want to elaborate.

“Called me talentless. Usually the shit that douche and his gang of imbeciles spewer doesn't bother me 'cause I've been called many things throughout my life and whatever they come up with is more idiotic than hurtful, but I dunno, that comment just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He drops his gaze, focusing instead on your hands now perfectly intertwined. He began to rub gentle circles into your soft flesh and although this was completely odd behaviour for the two of you, it felt more than right.

“Because it's not true, Eddie.”

The metalhead's heart flips at your words and the encouraging tone behind them. Although he didn’t let it show, focusing instead on the dips between your knuckles and every single crease in your skin as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

“You're not talentless,” you affirm, dipping your head lower in hopes of catching his brown eyes. “If anything, you're one of the most talented people I've ever met.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, still refusing to look up.

“Eddie, you can't let those idiots make you feel worthless. You've got more talent in your left pinky than Carver and his band of bullies have put together.” You declare, rather passionately at that. “These campaigns you come up with, do you know the imagination that takes? I-I also know you play the guitar a-and sing too. Plus those extra curricular activities of yours require a mathematical brain. That's already also more talent than I have.”

He glances up at you then. “Shut up. As if you actually think I'm more talented than you?” he disputes and jerks his head towards some of the drawings covering the walls. “No one I know could do that and I know I never told you, but my campaigns would be nothin' without your art, sweetheart.”

Although heat rushes to your face at the unexpected compliment, you don't let Eddie's kind words steer you off course. This wasn't about what he thought of you, this was about what you thought of him and, as it turns out, how badly you wanted him to know.

“My stupid brother won't shut up about how fucking cool you are,” you reveal, chewing briefly on the inside of your cheek. “He's never said anything remotely as nice about me.”

Eddie lets out an airy chuckle. He drops his hold on you, but he doesn't give you a moment to even register how you instantly miss his touch, how your hands are burning with invisible imprints of where his skin brushed yours. No, because he's pushing your legs apart with little to no effort and sliding in-between them.

“Well, I happen to think you're cooler than me.”

It's your turn to laugh while again choosing not to comment on his closeness and ignoring how it made you feel. Ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed his legs to your sides, hands hovering near your face as if he debated whether he was crossing some sort of line.

“Right. Don't fuck with me, Munson.”

“Cross my heart,” the metalhead promises. “Why do you think I asked you to help me out in the first place? Why do you think I willingly spend most of my afternoons with you? Like, there's no need for us to do this together. I can come up with the campaigns on my own then share the concepts so you can draw them out.”

You swallow 'cause the thought has never crossed your mind.

Before Eddie approached you with the offer, your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons was definitely limited, only privy to whatever your brother and his friends shared. When Eddie asked you to draw something that very first time, and every time after that, you didn't stop and think if it was really necessary for you two to sit together for hours on end, crafting and creating on opposite ends of the room. Now that he's mentioned it, you really didn't need to.

“I-I don't—”

“There's no cooler chick than you, sweetheart.” Eddie interrupts, hands now cupping your face, no longer hesitant, and you're left wondering when the topic shifted from a conversation about his talents to whatever this was shaping up to be.

“Eddie...”

“How Harrington can use you to make other girls jealous instead of realising he should just ask you out, I-I don't understand.” The sentence fades with each word until his voice is a low muffle and you're not entirely sure you heard him correctly.

But every fibre of your being is screaming, so you know he definitely said it. And the way his doe-eyes are glimmering, your own reflection prominent in the pretty brown, only cinches that feeling.

Your final mistake is not asking then and there what Eddie meant.

He stands shortly after and extends a hand to also help you up.

“Speaking of, is the King of Hawkins working right now?” Eddie asks and when you nod slowly, still recovering from the small bomb he's after dropping, he claps his hands together. “Let's go then. I'm thinking we can start with My Bloody Valentine and because you're providing the entertainment, I'll get us some snacks.”

thank you for reading!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

[chuuyasheaven]

400 follower special thingy!!

no one is paying attention to my boy atsushi and it makes me so sad so if possible i would like to do atsushi with prompt 10 and stress relief with soft/passionate sex, whiny atsushi as well pls :)

(fem! reader too btw !!)

anyways that’s all, hope you have an amazing rest of your day and congratulations<33

Prompt+K!nk; 10: “Quit teasing me, darling..” | 7: soft/passionate sex / 8: stress relief.

Summary; Working at the detective agency can sometimes be really overwhelming for Atsushi, so maybe you could help your darling! <3

Warnings; switch!Atsushi, switch!fem!Reader, hand jobs, praising kink (not from the list), soft/passionate sex, stress relief, dirty talk (kinda), pw/op, petnames, overstimulation, Reader sits on Atsu’s lap, teasing, etc.

Format; Short fic? (idk bruh)

Notes (from me); YOU ARE SOO RIGHT..but also, i have a unfinished draft for him!! BUT LET ME GIVE HIM HIS JUSTICE!!!💪🔥🔥

“You’re doing so well, Atsu..”, you praised him, as you were stroking his cock.

The whines that left Atsushi’s mouth, those were true heaven.

“Mhm..feels g-good..”, you were glad that he was, this weeks mission was to stressful for your poor darling, so you wanted to relieve him from it.

Picking up the speed, Atsushi hitched his breath, his head resting on your neck.

You noticed that he was close, the precum slowly coating your hand.

Suddenly, you slowed down and then eventually stopped at once.

“W-why did you stop? I-i was close, darling..”, he whined, you smirked to yourself.

“Don’t you want to cum inside me, Atsu? Somewhere,”, you started stroking him again, “where it’s warm..wet enough for you just to slide in.”, Atsushi started whining and moaning as you picked up the speed, “dying to be fucked by your cock, baby.”

“Quit teasing me, darling..”, you were gonna be the death of him.

Atsushi felt his knot tightening by each stroke. When it finally broke, he felt true bliss. Yes, he was relieved from some stress, but what about you?

“Take off your panties, dear, let me give you the same treatment..”, slightly surprised by this, you got a little wetter, loosing the ability to dominate him.

“A-atsu, it’s really not necessary! I just needed you to relax-”, “It’s a command, princess, fuck yourself on my cock, ‘kay?”, you did so as he wanted.

Throwing ‘em on the floor, you positioned yourself on his cock, already hard from just feeling your slick dripping onto his tip.

You let yourself sink down on his cock, feeling all dizzy from the pleasure.

Since you already were wet enough, you started bouncing right away, sending the both of you to oblivion.

“F-fuck! Oh my god..Atsushi! Feels s’good..”, notice a pattern here?

The pleasure was making you grow weaker to bounce, so Atsushi improvised.

He was on top of you now, continuing fucking into you, soft and passionate, desperate to feel his high.

You didn’t mind the change, it hit all the right places, whimpers and moans leaving your lips as you just lay there.

“S-such a good girl, hm? Wanting to take care of me..now who’s taking care, darling?”

How was he suddenly such a teaser?

“You f-feel so fucking good around me..oh fuck..”, Atsushi's breathy moans and whines just brought you closer to your high.

Then it came crushing to you, after some while it came crushing to him too.

I HATE THIS SM. BUT THE END WAS SO EFFING RUSHED?! BUT YEAH THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO!! 😦

[boxwinebaddie]

alright be gentle ( ironic because this whole hc is violent asf ) because i'm still sad girl nina, but to cheer myself up i was looking at this piece of kyley b fanart and i Know that i said jersey wasn't a jewelry boy BUT! that is present, put together, dark academia college student jersey...i think that high school head crackin' gangbangin' delinquent kyley-b era jersey actually WORE TONS OF JEWLERY.

and i'm not talking dainty stuff, i'm talkin' really big thick gold chains, brass knuckles, big, fake gold rings with colored gem stones in them,

-- but Not as a fashion statement.

more like...a Threat.

and a PROMISE.

because legend says none of that #bling actually belonged to him and that each piece was specifically lifted and looted from the prone, facedown, bruised battered body of a different low-life bafoon...

That He Beat

BLOODY.

talk shit, get hit, misbehave and you're pavement, this isn't hoboken, so take your broke ass home before it ends up in a body bag.

( bars! As In Jail! as in go to PRISON, girl! )

tldr; fuck the police, no laws on the street, but when kyley b's on the beat, justice is always served: iced out...

and Ice Cold, Bitch. xx <3

this post-fight ritual, which i think kyleyb used to call 'debt collecting' his southside jersey way of showing street cred, a way of generating culture of fear and respect, sort of like how warriors used to collect their enemies heads and mount them on their walls except jers had his spoils over war frosted all over his neck and hands, as if to say,

oh? that guy that used to run shit? that guy whose boots you were lickin? that guy you were mad scared of? well, he's My bitch now. <3 asked me to marry him and everythin', ain't he cute? gave me his big dumb ugly ring and everything. sigh. unfortunately; i'm spoken for. and him? well...let's just say, he's gonna have a hard time saying anythin' with his jaw wired SHUT. so from now on, shithead, i tell you to jump, you ask how high and if it amuses me, i might not break ya legs. because this is My Circus, sweetheart. so you can kiss my ass...

or your can Kiss The Ring. ;)

K.O.

so basically, instead of waving heads on sticks, he was wearing the rings and gangster jewelry of all the biggest, toughest dirt bag, jabroni, low-life mobster street rats in new jersey on his fingers. <3

edit: the rest of the hc was trash but please note that The Kyley B Origin Story is that asshole nj juicehead and his friends jumped jersey in an alleyway on his way home from school and stole the Star of David necklace that zayde and bubbe for him for his bar mitzvah, so he traded his polo and khakis in for a white tank top and baggy jeans, tracked the guy down, beat the living shit out of him, got his necklace back, but as a souvenir…

he took this huge, heavy letter B ring off his finger.

and from that day forward, kyle broflovski…

became Kyley. Motherfuckin’. B.

( but really just kyley bc the the b stands for bitches

AND THEM BITCHES ARE DEEEEAD. MF. SILENT! )

but anyway…The Gold B Ring…is The KB Signature Ring.

and speaking of signatures, j.k’s was ramming the cutting the sharp ass metal of the giant B ring into the cheek of his foes and BRANDING THEM as a display of dominance and/or using the blood oozing from his enemies like a fuckin water color paint and stamping a sick scarlet B into ur clothes as a Warning.

( jersey im scared, but pls one chance )

p.s. he wore the b ring on his middle finger btw

the ring finger…Is Reserved For Stan. ( he’s married )

[silverzoomies]

I genuinely cried tears of joy when I first discovered your writing. That's how fucking amazing I think you write Peter. As I'm sure you know the SCARCITY of content surrounding him (ESPECIALLY before the new deadpool movie came out. He should've been in it 💔) it was like near impossible finding fics for him. Not to mention before he had a cameo in WandaVision. (which they also did him dirty in.) But I am not kidding when I say I religiously re-read your fics. I love how you include him speaking Russian and his birth name being Pietro type shit even if it is a little oc who can blame you? He doesn't have nearly enough screentime in the fox movies as he should have had. I have done plenty of Peter fic reading and I don't know anyone who writes him better. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOUR WRITING. I LOVE PETER MAXIMOFF AND I LOVE YOUR LOVE FOR PETER MAXIMOFF.

jfnkdhdskjghkdsjhgksg ?????????????????????

i'm abt to ramble, pls forgive me, anon honey 💗

it's so true, it hurts !! prior to deadpool and wolvie, quickie was such a rare commodity. i missed out on wandavision hype. so the fandom has been mostly barren for me. it's awesome to see everyone recognizing him again !! he's so beloved !! that's my boy !! 💗💗💗 thank you immensely for sharing your thoughts. 💗 i've been so down on my writing lately. i don't have the balls to share it because i vastly overthink everything !! augh !! even though he's already such an under-written character, peter is so deeply important to me. i drive myself crazy trying to do him justice (as much as one can whilst writing weird porn about him, anyway). it's silly, but what i want more than anything is to really capture him. that's my primary goal with every fic. and whenever i feel like i'm flanderizing him too much, or straying too far from my goal; i get so gosh darn peeved off !! it makes me wanna give up !! so, thank you !! seriously !! you're literally inspiring me to try harder, and to keep writing !! i love you so much !! 💗💗💗