#flyers carry

[adelphenium]

tk telling nolan all about the sick planet-watching date he's got planned out (yes the moon is a planet)

[dogwittaablog]

SIGN OF LIFE WITH HIS BOYFRIEND WTF

[infinitegalahad]

SOMEWHERE IN TRIBECA (PART ONE)

Pairing: Jimmy Vesey x Female! Indentifying Reader Summary: It took Jimmy a second, and it sent him into shock. Chills overtook his body. God, Jimmy felt fucking old, and like a damn dirty dog.  He tried, tried to say no, but he couldn’t. He sent her a rose and threw his phone down.  Not even a minute later, Jimmy’s phone buzzed. Immediately flipping it over and bracing for the worst, he saw the notification that he thought was fake.  (Y/n) liked you! Match to return the conversation.  Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: Age gap, mentions of trauma, depression, and alcoholism/alcohol abuse. Notes: This idea has been infecting my mind for months on end. There's been a lack of Vesey content, and given my expierences this year, I had to contribute them! To myself and Jimmy Vesey, of course. This chapter starts out a little slow, but the buildup is there (and Kevin and Brady being the best bros to ever exist). Things will definitely pick up next chapter, I promise. Idk anyone watched the game tonight, but NO QUIT IN NEW YORK. AND WE DEMAND MORE VESEY CONTENT. I promise to go in more about what the hell happened in my life soon, in another note! Tomorrow since I wanna read some fanfiction and go to bed lol. And Here is a playlist for the story. I recommend listening to Secret Garden by Bruce Springsteen and Duckworth by Kendrick Lamar for the best vibes of this story. . Anyways enjoy!! :) Taglist | Masterlist

Jimmy had been sitting a whole thirty minutes in a corner until somebody noticed him. 

Jimmy didn’t want to be there, but he really didn’t want to be there. Even before Kevin’s and Katya’s wedding, he had spent so many days drinking and socializing. Not that he had an issue with it, but nothing was new and interesting with him, minus being thrown around the country before landing back in New York. With his new contract, he was secured in New York. No more jumping around, for at least another two years. 

And of course, it had to be Kevin four beers deep. He dragged himself over from one edge of the table to another, draping an arm around Jimmy. Jimmy, of course, threw his phone down at sight. 

“You need to meet somebody,” Kevin bluntly stated, as if Jimmy didn’t know that. Jimmy looked around the table to see the gaggle of Rangers, ex-Rangers, and Philadelphia players, all with wives or girlfriends. 

“I’m trying,” Jimmy quietly said, not making eye contact as he held his beer. 

“Well, you need to try harder,” Kevin said, slinging an arm around Jimmy. You’re telling me you can’t find anybody?” 

Jimmy sighed and shrugged his shoulders, looking at Kevin with a helpless look. He wanted to crack a joke, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew there was a sadness in his eyes. He felt like he had most of everything, even though it was perfect, but he lacked one thing; somebody else. 

Here he is, as a thirty-year-old, still in the same boat he was at eighteen. After years of one serious relationship, a few hookups here and there in between moving teams, and another serious relationship that devastated him, Jimmy felt like couldn’t catch a break, nor could he catch one. 

Jimmy shook his head and took a swig of his beer. He had been keeping count, and it was his first one of the night. It wouldn’t be his last, but that was for later. He didn’t like getting drunk, especially around other people. Years of drinking he thought would have taught him to hold it, and he can, just not his emotions. Those always manage to come out. Everybody at the table knew that since they had seen it. 

Secret Garden lowly played in the background of Blue Ribbon, matching the quaint and hipster ambiance of the SoHo restaurant. 

Kevin was an asshole, but he was a loveable asshole. Jimmy was a brother to him, and he knew when and when to not make fun of him. He patted Jimmy’s shoulder and brought him close. He didn’t make a big deal of Jimmy’s loneliness, which Jimmy thanked him for. He simply sat and closed his eyes, feeling lightly tipsy as he listened to the low melody of the lyrics. He had tickets for a Bruce Springsteen Concert Labor Day Weekend, which was literally next weekend, and yet no one to go with. 

When that stupid lonely emotion started to make him feel heavy and shitty, Jimmy sighed and pulled his seat out. 

“I need to piss,” Jimmy mumbled to Kevin and patted his shoulder. He made a quick escape to the bathroom, needing a moment to pull himself together. 

Kevin wanted to go after him, but he knew JImmy needed his time. Out of the whole table, Jimmy was the only guy without a partner. And as much as Kevin loved him, it was point blank obvious before, during, and even after the wedding. Everybody was aware of it, and whale they did what they could, nothing budged, and nor would Jimmy. 

The other guys had dates, but that was different. Jimmy came, per usual, empty handed. From what Kevin knew, he hadn’t been out on the market since he his breakup with Madison. Jimmy didn’t like to talk about her or how it ended. Of course, he had moved past it, but some of the past was holding him back. 

Kevin looked down and saw Jimmy’s caseless iPhone on the counter. The screen was bright under the hardwood table, and Kevin’s thoughts were racing. He didn’t know if it was the beers talking or him, but a minute later Jimmy’s phone was in his hand. It showed off his Hinge profile, which Kevin partly didn’t want to see, but was also incredibly curious. 

In good old Jimmy Vesey nature, in between the zoomed photos and short prompt responses, it lacked character and information. No wonder he was having no luck; his presentation on daring apps was awful,

“Kevin, what the fuck?” 

Nearly pissing himself as a grown map, Kevin held the phone to his chest and swung over to see a topple of gorgeous salt and pepper hair; it was Brady. With a furrowed eyebrow and flushed cheeks, Brady gave a confused expression both at whatever he and Kevin just witnessed. 

Brady held his hand out, and Kevin let out a sad sigh. He handed it over, and Brady took a few seconds to scroll, making both disgusted and cringed faces at Jimmy’s profile. 

“My best trait is being chill?” Brady cringed.

“It’s better than his first photo being of him–at Harvard,” Kevin put his head into his hands, “Oy vey.” 

“I love Jimmy, but this is not a good look,” Brady said as he scrolled through his profile again. 

“What’s not a good look?” Katya said as she came behind. He saw Kevin and Brady loudly moping and throwing a phone around. 

Kevin and Brady helplessly looked at Katya, and Kevin handed her Jimmy’s phone. Takenaback, Katya took the phone. She was blinded up the bright and cracked screen of purple and white, but quickly adjusted to the profile. Taking her time as she scrolled through, she also too had a face of disgust.

“Oh wow, that is…” Katya said, trying to formulate words, “This is not good.”

“Oh believe us, we know,” Brady sighed as he pushed back his hair. 

“He couldn’t even get a date–” Kevin moped as he fell back into the table, “A damn date! Jimmy’s a fox, he can get any girl he wants–”

“--If he puts in the effort,” Brady finished Kevin’s sentence. 

Katya still stared at the screen. The photos weren’t the issue, it was just the presentation. She had known Jimmy for years. For a many who played Hockey, he was one of the better ones. He was kind but most importantly respectful. She knew his breakup had devastated him through the many long phone calls and Jimmy’s stays at there summer house, but it had almost been five years since he broke up with Madison. Especially since Jimmy was going to be in New York for a long time. 

Out with the old, and in with the new. 

“And he can do that, with some help,” Katya said as she sat between Kevin and Brady. Kevin and Brady, grab your phones. Send me every good photo of Jimmy you have right now.” 

“What are you-” Kevin asked before Katya placed a finger on his lip. 

“Best photos of Jimmy, now. Please and thank you.” 

When Jimmy came back to the table, at least five different guys and their partners were huddled together. Curious, Jimmy walked forward. Among the hushed whispers and nods, his phone was handed back to him–by Kevin, of course, who was red and all smiley. He giggled like a mischievous child, and knowing Kevin, he was up to no good. 

“What did you do?” Jimmy bluntly questioned, shoving his phone into his pocket. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Brady stated, putting his hands together. Jimmy looked down at him as Brady contained his laughter. Confused, Jimmy looked at both of them with a “what the fuck” expression. 

“You’ll see,” Kevin pointed out, “Don’t worry.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, “Well, I’m scared to look. And I’m very worried.”

As Kevin and Brady drunkenly laughed, Katya noticed and came over. She put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and reassuringly patted it. 

“Don’t listen to them,” Katya reassured, “You will be totally fine. We just…helped you out.” 

Now Jimmy was beyond fucking confused. Not to mention, he was tired. And he was feeling a lot of emotions he didn’t want to be feeling or thinking about. But the anger was outweighed by his sheer exhaustion. With a yawn, Jimmy sighed, figuring out it was a dumb prank. 

“Well, fuck the whole lot of you, I’m going home,” Jimmy announced. Acting over dramatically upset, Kevin and Brady wished him a goodbye. They laughed as well, telling him to “be careful” and “make sure to use a condom”. Jimmy scoffed and shrugged it off as teasing, primarily coming from the alcohol. After bidding his goodbye and congrats, Jimmy grunted and ordered himself an uber. The subway was not the route tonight. All he wanted to do was just get home and most importantly, be alone.

Even though he hated it. 

–

Name: Jimmy

Age: 30

Location: New York

Hometown: Boston

Occupation: Sports Professional

School: Harvard

My Ideal Date: Trying out a new recipe together at home, followed by a cozy movie night with homemade popcorn and our favorite snacks. As long as I get to be the big spoon. 

A random fact about me that surprises people…: I read a lot. My favorite way to unwind after a long day is curling up with a good book and a cup of tea. Looking for a cuddle buddy. 

I'm Looking For: Long-term, open to short-term (Monogomy)

Two Truths and a Lie: I speak Mandarin fluently, I play for a professional sports team, and I love Sushi. 

My Anthem: Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band

Jimmy sent you a rose. 

Name: (Y/n)

Age: 21

Location: New York

Hometown: New York

Occupation: Consultant and Law Student 

School: GW, UVA, Columbia Law School

My ideal weekend getaway destination is...: A charming bed and breakfast in a quaint coastal town, where I can spend my days exploring local shops, indulging in fresh seafood, and taking long walks along the beach.

I'm Looking For: Long-Term Relationship. No games, please. 

A random fact about me that surprises people...: Despite my innocent appearance, I have a mischievous side that loves to tease and flirt shamelessly.

My Anthem: Fire Fly by Childish Gambino

You now have a new match.

–

Jimmy got home around 9:30ish. Naturally, his growing feeling of loneliness had remained with constant reminders. The couple on the edge of the street, the doorman asking if he had been coming back from a date, and the worst of all; the damn couple in the elevator. With ti already being a small space, they couldn’t keep their hands off eachother. With Jimmy watching them unable to keep their hands off eachother, it made it all the more awkward. 

Hitting the 56th floor, Jimmy escaped. He heard giggles and shushes as the elevator silently shut. Looking back and sighing, Jimmy scoffed and dug in his pocket to grab his keys. 

He opened the door and was welcomed to a dark and unlived-in apartment illuminated by the World Trade Center and the skyline of Hoboken. As the light danced on the water, Jimmy kicked off his shoes, threw his keys into a bowl full of restaurant cards and matchboxes, and switched on the overhead lights. He wanted to rip off his clothes and simply decompress. 

A rinse-off and Corona certainly did the job for Jimmy. Slipping on a pair of boxers and an aged Harvard Men’s Hockey shirt, Jimmy took his beer and jumped into bed. The drinking was bad in college, and Jimmy thought it would go away with age, but somehow, it got worse—especially when he was alone and feeling what he called his therapist “things he didn’t want to feel.” 

Mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, he had already finished another beer. The bitter and blunt taste left a heavy taste in his mouth. He leaned back and let out a loud sigh, knowing he didn’t want another one. But he had training tomorrow, and he needed a good sleep. 

Forcing himself out of bed, Jimmy dragged himself to the kitchen. Opening the fridge and grabbing a beer, he looked at his phone for a distraction, checking his notifications. Emails, texts, and most importantly–Hinge notifications. 

He went from having two likes to fifteen, which was certainly progress. Forgetting his beer, Jimmy proceeded to scroll his matches. Expecting some hope, he found none. None of them rang a bell. Jimmy rested against the counter, resting his hand on his cheek as he mindlessly scrolled. 

Too boring, Too old, Too Familiar–

However, reaching his last match, something caught Jimmy’s attention.

It was a short yellow and lace dress, a bright smile, rosy cheeks, and dewy (y/s/c) skin. The girl posed with another group of girls, but among them, she stood out. Not just because of her dress (and how well it fit her and defined her figure), but it was how dead-drop gorgeous Jimmy thought she was. She had looked done up, but in a natural way, with soft makeup and silky curled (y/h/c) (y/h/t). Regardless, something about her intrigued Jimmy and made him feel warm inside. 

Upon further scrolling, (Y/n) was the yellow dress girl’s name. All of her photos were, as the first, beautiful. In the photos with groups, she always stood out in the best way possible. There were photos of her with friends, one of her serving in tennis, one with her diving on a beach–they all caused Jimmy to stare longer than he usually did. Not to mention, her prompts were perfect and interesting. (Y/n)  was adventurous, flirty, and full–a total minx. A mixture of gorgeous and cute, who had a fiery streak. Just what Jimmy loved. 

Not to mention, (Y/n) was smart, which made her more attractive than she already was. A political communication major, a former Divison 1 tennis player, and someone who just got her Master’s in Public Policy, she was more than accomplished.   

“Beauty and brains,” Jimmy smirked to himself, scrolling through his profile. The beer had become a pastime. 

Reaching the first photo, Jimmy scrolled to see her recent job. She was in her first year at Columbia Law School, working part-time as a consultant at one of those big think tanks. 

And she was twenty-fucking-one years old. 

It took Jimmy a second, and it sent him into shock. Chills overtook his body.

God, Jimmy felt fucking old, and like a damn dirty dog. 

He tried, tried to say no, but he couldn’t. He sent her a rose and threw his phone down. 

Not even a minute later, Jimmy’s phone buzzed. Immediately flipping it over and bracing for the worst, he saw the notification that he thought was fake. 

(Y/n) liked you! Match to return the conversation. 

(Y/n)’s profile opens, and Jimmy’s heart stops. She might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Through a series of speed tying to the point were his eyes blur att he small letters on the screen, Jimmy throws his phone down, again. He does it again–a stupid decision, of course. 

Jimmy: Consultant by day, law student by night, and a secret tease all the time? I think we might just be a match made in heaven. 

Nervously speeding back to his bedroom, he sat on the edge on his bed when his phone buzzed. Not even a minute later, and y/n responded. 

Y/n: Heyy Jimmy ;) Sexy, sporty, and smart? You’re a rare breed lol You’re definitely my kind of guy

In between (Y/n)’s response and her profile, Jimmy switched back and forth. Fuck, she was an absolute beauty. Inside most importantly, but also out. 

Jimmy:  You’re definitely my kind of girl. You seem fun. Why don’t we test out our chemistry? 😉 Y/n: What ideas do you have for a date? Jimmy: How about we put our brains and flirtation skills to the test over dinner sometime? Y/n: Haha damnnn Are you a Harvard exam? Because you've got me feeling all kinds of pressure 😏

A flash of white and yellow lace flashed across Jimmy’s eyes. He imagined his fingers tracing her thighs, which hugged the short edges of her dress, slowly riding up her curved thighs and-

Jimmy blinked and shook his head, distracting himself by typing up a response, red as a lovesick puppy.

Jimmy: Slow your horses, sweetheart Good thing I'm great under pressure. Let's see if you can keep up. Y/n: Haha I can you old man lol ;) Not even a hi, hello, how is your night And they say chivalry is dead lol  Jimmy:  How is your night? You’re the tease, not me.  Y/n:  And you fell into my trap lol It’s better now I’m bed with a face mask on lol, how about you? 

Jimmy felt a cool breeze as he made himself comfortable, bringing the heavy comforter over his lower body. 

Jimmy:  Not too bad, it would be better if you were right next to me.  As the little spoon, of course Y/n:  Hmmm, that is a tempting idea  You’re tall, you look like you give good cuddles Jimmy:  Anything to make you smile You have a beautiful smile, by the way Y/n: Aww, thank you ;) You’re pretty handsome, ngl   Once again you’re my type haha  Jimmy:  And you’re a dream come true I wanna know more about you, y/n Want me to order an uber? 

Fuck. It was a dumb response, but Jimmy couldn’t control himself around Y/n. He just wanted to see her in person. Not even to touch her, but to see her. If he could lucky, even hold her. Jimmy just wanted the company and the warmth, not her body. 

Y/n:  Oh wow! Not even the first date yet haha  Guess you are right, chivalry truly isn’t dead lol

With his thoughts racing, Jimmy overthought her response, which he never did with anyone. 

Jimmy:  I was joking, don’t worry. Not a dirty dog for nothing I just wanna get to know you because you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen on the app so far.   Y/n:  I knew it, I can tell you are a good guy don’t worry :) I wanna get to know you too, I like talking to you…a lot I’ve got some questions to ask you

Jimmy felt his cheeks go red as he smiled, hearitng all three of her messages. 

Jimmy:  And you are a good girl, straight off the bat  I like talking to you too 😌 I’m an open book. Speak to me  Y/n:  It’s about your two truths and lie I’m good at this game, but I can’t figure it out. Walk me through it? Jimmy:  And what do I get in exchange with you?  Y/n:  My company, of course! Jimmy:  Fair point, y/n.  I said dinner, but I just remembered something. Are you free on Labor Day weekend? Specifically, Sunday?  Y/n:  Yes…why ask? Jimmy: You, me, suite tickets to Bruce Springsteen at Metlife. Uber, drinks, and dinner are all on me.  Anxiously awaiting her response, (Y/n) took her time to respond, but eventually came through.  Y/n:  That doesn’t sound too bad at all  Alright, you got me  But I have one rule  Jimmy:  Talk to me, baby  Y/n:  Answer my questions nothing but truthfully?  Jimmy:  Of course, honesty is key.  What are your questions, sweetheart? Y/n:  Do you play for the New York Rangers, Mr. Hobey Baker? 

Holding the phone in his hand, Jimmy looked at the message and the time. It was just a little past eleven. When he thought his night was ending, it was only beginning. 

Jimmy:  Y/n, what time do you have to get up tomorrow? Y/n: Not early Why ask? Jimmy: I’m not a good texter. How does call sound? Y/n: Not even the first date…and I’m not saying no, at all 

Within the minute, she sent her number. 

For the first time in a while, Jimmy didn’t feel lonely. It was a change in scenery—a nice one, too. 

[joelsfarabee]

couldn’t watch the game but frosty getting 2 goals and tipper the empty netter <3

[morgansyorkie]

Wait that makes no sense…if you are in concussion protocol..how you be cleared to practicing but not play in a game 🧐

[dreamertrilogys]

the idea of queen’s hoco is SO crazy to me. like just in terms of the sheer # of ppl who go it’s literally INSANEEEE

[ihopeucomehomesoon]

my prof is a bit disorganized ….

[iwantahockeyhimbo]

someone’s gonna be on the internet about how “carter should’ve had that” and i’m making it so clear that i will hunt those people down and fight them myself

[bbycats]

brière i will never forgive you if you trade hart.

[sethjarvy]

no pulju tonight im sad

[whatever-dude]

Carter Hart = The Flyers 

[ave-studio]

VALISE will be performing the tour kick-off show for Jacob Winans & $5000. Network Glass, Placebo Damage, and Carrie Decunzo are also performing on 31 October 2023 

[ryansbedroom]

Carry-All Trailers (1960s)

[hedgehog-moss]

Whenever I buy something heavy from the farm supply store, the cashier carries it all the way to my car, which is very nice of him and I don't mind since he's a strapping young man, but sometimes he's busy with other customers and the co-owner of the store will come out to carry the thing for me. And she's an incredibly petite fifty-something woman so it just feels wrong. I'm a short person but I'm significantly taller than her and also younger, and every time I'll desperately trot behind her insisting that she let me carry, say, the 20kg bag of chicken feed I just bought and she adamantly refuses and just goes "no problem"

I'm in awe of her. I once bought a pile of 2-metre solid chestnut fence posts that are so heavy and cumbersome I can only carry 2 or 3 at a time and she just scooped up the whole lot, threw it over her shoulder and strode away. I was fully expecting her to fall backwards on account of the laws of physics but no...?? And the tall quince tree I bought last year was no problem either

This week I saw a flyer in town advertising a cattle fair to be held in the field behind the farm store and I am reasonably certain of what would happen if I went and bought one of these animals

[too-deviant]

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

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

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But.

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

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

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

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

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

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lily likes you.”

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

“Tashi likes you.” 

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of all the things… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

divider by @cafekitsune !!

[saltlakehardcoreflyers]