#how can you look at that and say ‘im in the right here. im trying to help my child and it’s their fault it ended like this’

[allbark-no-bite]

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

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You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of  your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction. 

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

[apcllpsie]

— ON ACCIDENT

DEAN WINCHESTER x FEM!READ

★. 18+ CONTENT - read at your own discretion , youve been warned.

PAIRING?: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

OUTLINE: After a long day of hunting .. you, sam, and dean all head back to the motel. you & dean have some sort of tension after a incident during the hunt, and sam tries to make sure dean does something about it.

WARNING(S): smut , p : v , dirty talk , semi public sex , praise kink , strong language , use of pet names

It had been an extremely long day of hunting, you were beyond sore. And Sam was right, windigo's are a total bitch to chase. You began to slowly creep up on the windigo, when Dean followed closely right behind you. Unfortunately, Dean wasnt looking at the ground, he was looking at the girl infront of him.

"Son of a Bitch! Hes getting away!" y/n said, beginning to run after the windigo, dean followed right behind you, running after it. this windigo was fast, and could fit through tight spaces. You and dean had made it to a very tight spot, between two walls, deep down in this cavern where the windigo was keeping its victims. As you began to get in between the walls, so did Dean. And here you both were, stuck inbetween the walls. Your back on his chest. "Youve got to be kidding me. We lost him." You huffed in frustration and exhaustion. You were trying to move as best as you could, not helping Deans case.

"Y/n, stop moving." He said, embarrassed, following by a groan. "What..? Why?-" You had said, as you felt something on your back. Your face flushed red, "Im so sorry-" Dean began to repeat, over and over again. "I dont know why or how that happened-" He tried to explain, but you were in not only shock, but in embarrassment. The thing is, is that youve kinda always had a thing for Dean. I mean, he was your type. Total pretty boy, good smile, tall, flirty, knows how to talk, strong.. The list goes on. But, deep down you never thought that you would even have a chance with Dean. There was no way he had any sort of interest in you.. right?

"Dean, its okay. I wont mention it." You said, cutting off Dean. A million things were running through your mind, but you could only focus on one. "Lets get the hell out of here. I dont wanna be here anymore, we can chase after it tomorrow." Dean nodded in agreement, as they both got out of the situation together. That was definitely not something that you had on your bucket list. To get into a moment like that with Dean? As you caught up back with Sam, he noticed that both you and Dean were failing to have eye contact with eachother, let alone the fact that your guys' face was flushed red.

You guys got into the car, sitting beside Sam. You really couldnt sit next to Dean after what happened. It would really be nothing but awkward. And Sam could sense the tension. He needed to know what happened between you two. As you guys got the motel, you went to the back of the car, grabbed your bag and went straight inside. Enough time to unpack and be asleep before Dean talks to you about the situation.

"What the hell happened between you two?" Sam said, pausing in his tracks, turning around to face Dean. "Nothing, why?" He replies immediately. Nonchalant about the whole idea. "Dean, dont give me the BS, what happened between you two?" He repeats again, this time more firmly. A few seconds of silence took replacement of the voices of them when Dean replied. "When me and Y/n were chasing after the Windigo, we got.. stuck?" He says, keeping it to a bare minimum. Dean was already embarrassed about it, he just wasnt gonna show it. "Stuck.. huh.." Sam replied, "Stuck.. what do you mean?" He tilted his head, having a confused face. "She was infront of me, and we got stuck between two walls .. and i .. i uh-" He became silent again. "You.. what?" Sam already knew, he just wanted to hear Dean say it. "I got.. hard." Right after that, sam began to laugh.. hysterically.

Sam and Dean had finally came in. You were unpacked, and about to find something to eat. "I think im just gonna go to the gas station and grab something. Its just a block from here. You guys' want anything?" Y/n says, looking around at the boys who then look at eachother. "I dont want anything, but im pretty sure Dean might." He smirks to himself, with the comment. "Dude, shut up." Dean retaliated, standing up and grabbing his leather coat. "Ill go with you, dress warm, its cold out."

You put on your coat, and head out the door. Sam flashes a smirk at you and a wink at Dean. "You two dont get introuble now!" He laughed, as you began to walk down the road. Dean scoffed, walking beside you. "Im sorry, for today." He said, blurting out of nowhere. "I really didnt mean to, it really just happened in the moment, and i dont want things awkward between us.." You looked over at Dean and smiled. "Listen, its okay. I know it wasnt on purpose." Well, thats what Y/n thought. Dean laughed to himself after the comment. "What? Whats so funny?" You asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Oh nothin, sweetheart."

That name came out of his mouth like butter, and god didnt it really heat you to your core. To hear him call you that, you just wanted to have him ALL over you. You guys got the stuff from the gas station and came back. It was a quiet trip, in the moment, your heart was racing and you most definitely wanted to take Dean somewhere you two could be alone. "Y/n?" He stops in his tracks, and turns around to look at you. "It was on purpose." He says. You were confused, but then it clicked. There it was again, that same feeling. "Why?" You ask, curious. "Because your attractive." He said, getting closer to you, he began to speak, his voice raspy, and deep. Perfectly just how you liked it. "You make me feel like that everday. You drive me insane." He says, letting it off his chest. "I need you, Y/n." Followed by a groan, he leads you to his car.

This was happening. What you thought about all the time. You got in the car, as he went around and slammed the door right behind him. He got in between your legs, kissing you roughly. He was starving, he needed you, badly. "God, you have no idea how long ive been waiting for this. All those nights, when it was you and me. I thought about bending you over then, and fucking you so rough." He said, kissing along your neck, leaving purple bruises. "Your mine now, sweetheart" Dean said, and he meant every word.

"Now, I need you to be a good girl for me. Can you do that?" He asked, looking at you in the eyes. "I can." You said, looking up at dean. "You cant cum til I tell you to. Okay sweet thing?" Hearing those names fall off his tongue was heaven. And it made you wet. "Yes sir." You said, following his order. “That’s my girl.”  He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored. He ran his fingers along your core, in a circular motion. "Im gonna stretch you out so perfectly." Dean said, as he inserted two fingers in, and curled his fingers, giving the feeling that you needed. "Thats it, keep on making noise, i want everyone to know your mine."

He took out his fingers, holding your legs open for what was gonna happen next. His pulled off his jeans, followed by his boxers. Y/n always thought about how big he was, but to now see it in person, made her mouth water. "Im gonna stretch you out realll good" Slowly beginning to insert his dick inside. A moan escaping your lips as you tried to fit him. "Oh baby, this is all you needed. You needed someone like me to come in, and stretch you out." He began to pickup the pace, his thrusts getting deeper and deeper each time. He couldnt help it, the times when the pants hugged your ass perfectly, or the times where your lips were just so kissable. He needed it to be his. He began to go rougher, the slapping and the groaning was making your head fuzzy. "Fucking you good, you cant think straight, hm?" He began to raise his voice. "This pussy was made for me, for me to stretch you out, and show you how good I can make you feel." You moaned at the feeling of his dick perfectly hitting your g-spot. He felt so good, and you needed this so bad.

"whos my good girl?" he repeated. all you could manage was moans. "fucked you so good, cant think straight, huh baby?" he said. making sure that you still were feeling good. "dean, im gonna- fuck, im gonna cum!" you stated, tears in your eyes as you began to get overstimulated. "me too baby." he replied, pacing himself as he came. followed by you right after. he pulled out, watching the cum ooze out of you. "no baby, you need to keep this in." he took his finger, pushing back inside you. now, you were beyond tired. you put your pants back on, your legs shaking. "dean, im gonna need help!" you said, he smirked, and picked you up. "cmon baby." he laughed, as you guys went into the bathroom. he cleaned you up, getting you into your comfortable clothes. laying you down, as you fell asleep in his arms. he ran his hands through your hair, holding you close. Sam pipes up and says "So, how did it go?" He says, smirking. Dean follows by a "Shut up." as he smiles and goes to sleep with you.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! this was my first smut book, and i did a light reading over to make sure it wasn't TERRIBLY bad with spelling! feedback is always recommended <3!

[angel5ofp0rn]

pt. 8 😋

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

just a short lil chapter 🤭

John didn’t sleep at all.

Still, when the morning sun started to peek through the blinds, he got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen.

He couldn’t eat, but he knew he had to make sure you and the kids did.

After making eggs, bacon and toast, John sets the table and then heads upstairs to his your oldest child’s bedroom to wake him.

The sight of you sleeping in the twin bed with both children snuggled up to you made his heart ache.

Your tear-streaked cheeks and their blissfully unaware sleeping faces made John want to cry.

You woke slowly, rubbing your puffy eyes and lifting your head to see John in the doorway. You sigh.

“I, erm... Breakfast." John spoke softly. You nod, slowly rubbing your oldest’s back to wake him, telling him to get ready for school before he eats.

John watches for a moment as your oldest sleepily trudges to the washroom.

You scoop your sleepy youngest child up and walk past John, going downstairs to the kitchen without a word to him.

John knows there’s no point in trying to smooth things over just yet. Instead, he decides to get a shower in while you and the kids have breakfast together. Without him.

You try to smile and be happy around the kids, not wanting them to sense the tension between you and their father right now.

They seem to be oblivious to it all, thankfully.

As you playfully ruffle your oldest’s brown hair as he eats, you can't help but wonder if John's other son looks like him.

Like both of them.

Your children look just like John; surely his other child does too…

John joins the three of you in the kitchen after a while, but he doesn’t say anything to you. He doesn’t even look at you.

“Could you walk Gabe to the bus stop? It’ll be here in 5.” You ask suddenly, finally catching his eyes.

“Of course.” John nods curtly, taking the little green backpack from the back of one of the chairs. As he walks with your oldest, you send your youngest off to the playroom so you can chat with John privately.

You meet him by the front door, arms crossed, almost hugging yourself for comfort.

“What’re their names?” You ask bluntly.

John is caught a little off guard by your question, not expecting you to ask about his other family right now. He wasn’t expecting anything other than you kicking him out, really.

He studies your eyes for a moment, then nods as he responds.

"My son's name is Theo. His mother's name is Nadia."

You exhale a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The way he says “my son” so naturally makes your stomach drop.

"Show me a picture of him." Your voice is shaky.

"Of Theo?" John asks, surprised. At your nod, he takes his phone out of his pocket, finds a photo and hands his phone to you.

Your eyes study the photo of a ten year old holding up a lego creation that he presumably built himself.

He looked exactly how you pictured him to look; John’s brown hair, John’s blue eyes, John’s freckled nose.

You start to cry again.

John notices you crying, immediately wanting to be there to comfort you but he knows that he shouldn't make a move now, not when things are so tense between both of you. He stays put where he is, just watching you cry for a few moments before speaking."Is.... Is there anything else you want to know? I’ll tell you everything, love.”

"Do they know about us?” You ask, handing him his phone back with a sniffle. “About me, the kids...?”

John pauses for a moment before he responds. He feels like he needs to be honest with you about this; he's kept so much hidden for the last six years, but he doesn't want to keep anything else from you.

That being said, he knew his next few words might hurt to hear.

“They do… I show Theo photos of the kids every time I see ‘im.”

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve. "So you could tell them but not us?”

John has no words, no way to defend himself in this situation. There was no excuse for it either, he knew that. He just takes a breath in and out, then stays silent as he simply nods.

You sigh.

"What was your plan, John?" You wiped more tears. “To just keep both of your families from each other for the rest of your life?"

"No." John answers, his tone soft but clear. "I- I’ve always wanted to tell you. I just couldn't stand the thought of you hurting... I didn't want to lose you."

"And then you did lose me. And you still didn't say a fucking word."

John's expression was full of regret, but he knows that he can't change the past, no matter how much he wishes he could.

"I know that. I just- Christ, I don't want to lose you again. I couldn't have just let us get back together without solving the issue that ripped us apart on the first place, love. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

You didn't speak. You couldn't.

John sighs, rubbing his face and shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry..." That's all he says because right now he feels as though any other words would hurt more than they would help. He wanted to speak, to say more, but he just couldn't bring himself to.

'..l want to meet them." You finally look up at him, meeting his eyes.

"... You want to meet them..?" John asks back in a soft, shaky voice. He can't help but be a little shocked by your response.

Maybe it's because he expected that you would ask him to never see his family ever again, or to never see you and your children ever again…

"The kids, too. Gabriel and Linnie have a big brother; I want them to know him."

John studies your face as if he’s waiting for you to retract your request.

"Gabriel's spring break is in two months. You're taking us to the London and we're meeting them." You don't ask, you’re telling him.

"Alright... I said I’d do anything and I meant it." John nods as a small look of relief crosses his face. He thinks about speaking again, but decides against it, as he just takes a small breath in and out.

"I should probably get some work done." You glance at the clock on the wall.

He nods. "I'll… see you after work, then...?"

“I’m just gonna be upstairs in my office.” You explain. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

You’re not kicking him out.

“Lovey, what’re you saying?”

“You’ll be sleeping on the couch until further notice.” You continue. “And… you’ll be making breakfast every morning from now on." Your lips twitch into the tiniest smirk.

"Oh?" John smiles a tiny bit as well. "I... I can do that. I’ll do anything- everything.” John pulls you into a hug.

"I’ve gotta get to work.” You gently push him off of you with a small chuckle. “Go check on Linnie.”

You wanted to keep being mad at him, but you couldn’t... He knew what he had to do in order to fix your relationship, and he's doing it.

He has you. Fuck, does he have you.

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[jocelynscrazyideas]

Just friends? pt. 2 | Matt Rempe x Reader

pt. 1

Summary: making your way up to your dream job was difficult, but leaving it may be harder that ever.

Warnings: language, small portion of smut, eating, THE NOTEBOOK IS MENTIONED😛🥲

A:N- it’s really short but yuhh

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

It’s been a good month of dating my bestfriend. I’m just scared that if anything goes wrong, that we wouldn’t be the same.

I’ve understood that when or I should say, If we breakup, we of course won’t be friends, but I wnat to talk. Keep up in life. Support him.

Matt has made it clear that it’s me, and only me. I know, dating an nhl player will be hard, because there is always someone out there thinking your boyfriend is cute.

“Dumper?” Matt calls out for me. I’m getting ready in his bathroom. Today, it’s the first day in off season. The rangers had won the third round of playoffs, but we didn’t make it to the end.

You might be wondering why Matt calls me dumper. It’s a long story, taht im glad to walks down with you.

~memory~

“Matt!” I groan as he thrusts into one last time. He releases into me, I feel I’m going to cum as well.

“You cum dump.” Matt laughs out. He cleans us up, and stands up to throw the tissues he used to clean up away. “I do not!” I yell out, I know I do. It makes sense to me.

Why would I cum in like five different times if I feel I’m going to release at one time?

Matt comes down onto me and kissed me from my knee up. He hits my neck and sucks down until I feel nothing.

“Nice hickey.” He chirps at me.

“Oh yeah? I wonder wher i hit it from.” I sarcastically joke with him. He gets hurts from that and lays down on my bare chest.

His brown hair all over.

It’s dark. Bedroom lights are off and the only thing lighting the house is the stars.

He cuddles into me for a few hours while I talk and yap about school, and when I should get my job.

~

“Where are you?” Matt yells for me.

“Bathroom! I have the interview today!” I let Matt know that I’m fully booked, and don’t have time for him.

“Well can we watch a movie tonight? Play some uno!” Matt asked me as he walks into the bathroom. His warm chest connects like a puzzle into my back. He leans into me and kissed my neck. He lays his fluffy hair into the crook of my neck. “I love you.” Matt whispers into my ear.

“Three months.” I say. I pushed him off my shoulder and cussed at him.

“Hey shithwsd?” I laugh at him.

“Hm?” Matt moans in his sleepy voice.

“Go shower. I’ll drive you down to the office.” I follow up. Matt has locker clean out today, many last minute interviews and press conferences.

~

I dropped Matt off at the arena and sat in my car.

Maybe he’s the one for me. The one guy that I won’t mess up with.

~

“Hey baby! How was the interview?” Matt asked me as I walk into the kitchen. Matt is cooking us some dinner and I set my purse down. I fall on the couch.

“That bad?” Matt questioned.

I felt my heart drop. How do I tell him, “No it was good… it’s the fact they don’t have an official employment spot for me here in New York. If I took the job, I would have to move to Wyoming.”

Yeah, no.

“Um, it went pretty well.” I replied, my high pitched cracky voice squeaked out. I think Matt knows I’m stressed. I’m sure I have actual sweat droplets swimming down in my face.

“You’re lying.” Matt looked down at me. He standing above me form the couch.

“No im not.” I laugh out. I stand up and dance with him back to the kitchen.

“Oh my love. My little baby.” I say as I rest my head into his chest. He smiles down at me and he picks me up.

“Give me.” Matt gestured to my foot as he set me down on the counter top.

I eye the stove that he left on. “What are we eating tonight?” I ask him. I try to distract myself.

God. Maybe I shouldn’t take the job.

He looks back at the side over his shoulder, and continues to take off my left shoe. My right foot is hanging and I kick him.

“Oh, uh I made some eggs, just so we could eat some toast and eggs. I was lazy, sorry.” Matt explained. He turned red in embarrassment.

“No. It’s perfect.” It’s the little things. I have to take things into consideration, not just the fact he does big gestures. He does this small thing that matters to me. Like, cooking dinner every night. Or just listening to me talk. Even if he doesn’t care, or deep down isn’t listening, he still looks like he cares.

Matt smirked and he dropped my left foot, only to un tie my right shoe. Once he finished he picked me up and kissed me. “What movie?” Matt asked me as I sit in our couch.

He plates everything into a large bowl and hands me a few slices of apples. “You’d be such a great dad.” I muttered.

“I’m sorry. A father?!” Matt exclaimed. He looks me up and down, smirking. Teeth out. His eyes look at me, I feel him leaving closer.

He grips onto a blanket as he sits down on the couch right beside me.

He turns the TV on to play the notebook.

~

I cried at the en of the movie. Matt holds me as he sleeps in my arms. He snores and he shakes as I weep and cry.

Matt looks up as his head rested on my breasts. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?” Matt mumbled. He rubs his eyes once he kissed my left boob.

He gets up and puts out dishes away. He cleans up the couch, and picks me up. “The movie that sad?” Matt asked me. I understand this season was hard so I let him sleep during the movie.

“You’ve never watched The Notevook?” I inferred, I look outside our window and Matt sets me down.

“I have, but I always fall asleep.” He looks at me and he pulls his clothes off. He’s left in his under set and I do the same. I unclamp my bra and lay in bed. I slide my panties off and lick them to the floor.

Matt fliers with me and he tightens his arms around me.

“I love you.” Matt reminded me, for the hundredth time.

“I have to move, if I take the job.” I let out.

Matt loosens his grip and he breaths in. “So take the job.” He said.

“It’s hard, but we can always fly out together.” Matt implied. We lay in bed. Not thinking about anything, well other than the fact I could leave.

Right when life gets good.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Ok so, here’s what I’m thinking… feeling kinda self conscious now that summer is approaching (with revealing clothing, shorts and all that coming back into circulation, all the “beach body” talk etc) (mayhaps even more so bc Tan has THAT FREAKING BODY) and trying (and failing) to hide that from Tan. And he’s super reassuring, comforting, loving ALL THAT STUFF 😭😭😭 maybe he’s even a little angry? Bc he hates hearing that 🥺

felt this to my very insides🥲 im a trouser, jumper, long cardigan and docs kinda girl. hate summer, especially clothes wise. literally just had to buy new stuff bc nothing fits right/have nothing to wear. kinda struggled writing this in fic form, so did my thoughts instead💌

implied fem!reader, 614 words

READER SELF-CONSCIOUS WITH SUMMER CLOTHES AND WEATHER.

he notices EVERYTHING!! !! !!!!! 

so maybe it's a hot day and you're meant to be going out together for the day, maybe a nice lakeside pub lunch??

he's all ready to go, but you're still in a towel/ home tee/ pjs trying to find something to wear. so you're at that point where you're really frustrated and hot and bothered and you're throwing clothes out of your dresser/ wardrobe bc you can't find anything

you don't like anything in there, maybe the tops show too much arm and shorts show too much leg and dresses show too much stomach. maybe most of your summer clothes don't fit anymore?? and you don't have enough pieces to make multiple outfits out of and you don't like buying new ones bc you think there's no point

maybe you feel embarrassed/ intimidated to be seen with tan bc he just looks so good and you feel like the opposite

so he knocks on the door and asks how long you'll be. but you're really stressed and honestly very sad, so you're just sat in a pile of clothes on the floor, so you don't answer. he knocks again and opens the door a tad to peek through

he's all like "you okay? what's the matter?" bc idk maybe you have your head in your hands

and maybe you say "I don't want to go out" bc the thought of wearing something you hate is VERY deterring

he comes in and crouches beside you and says "why's that?" he's being super patient and reassuring in the way he speaks, and keeping his eyes on you, all that sorta thing. not being pushy, just being patient and warming

"I have nothing to wear"

and he's looking around all the clothes like wtf you on about? but he doesn't say that. so he just waits for you to finish

so you wait a minute and say "I hate all my clothes"

and bc he doesn't quite understand, he picks up a dress from the floor and says "this is a pretty one. you'll look good in that"

and you're like "no, I hate that one. don't like my arms in it"

and he moves on to pick another dress up and then his brain processes what you said and he's neck whips to face you and he's like "what do you mean?" and he's literally at a loss for words bc he has no idea why you would say that about yourself

and then you shrug and go "I don't know"

maybe now he's finally catching on to what you mean by you have no clothes. he's learnt that 'have no clothes' doesn't mean what it sounds like, but instead something different

and he asks if that's why you don't want to go out etc etc. and bc he's a good bf he says how you can cancel, but will have to rearrange. so he's being supportive in the now (by not having to go out) and in the future (by helping you out of your comfort zone)

he's frankly a little upset that you think so little of yourself, and doesn't understand what you see and how it can be so different to him

he says how he wants to get you a new wardrobe and it's his treat. giving you his card to get pieces you want to wear. it's gonna be a hot couple of months and he doesn't want you feeling shit about yourself

he wants you to get things you'll wear and feel good in. anything you don't like can be returned and if you have no luck finding stuff, move on to another shop

[beesmygod]

today is webcomics day. i am bea and i make "A Ghost Story" - part 3: sketch 1

ed note from the future: this got long. its going mostly under a readmore for everyone's sake. and i didnt even finish sketching, just trying to explain what is going through my mind while trying to sketch. look, if i write down my process in exhausting detail people will realize im completely insane. this is a net benefit to anyone trying to interact with me in the future who thinks i can be reasoned with. community service. thank you for allowing me to post this shit lol

hmmm. giving up on the first few panels for right now. here's what i'm thinking about as i sketch this:

too many of my panels were talking heads or constantly relied on one point perspective. i have been trying to work against this for a while with mixed results. sometimes the result is so bad i have to scrap what i did and start over but sometimes it's "good enough for TV"* and i hit publish on it. no risks, no reward after all. can't get better if you don't try.

in this first panel, i have two people having a back and forth conversation through a weird magic hole in the floor/wall. maxine is laying on a couch with hole right above her head. homestar runner will demonstrate what i mean:

however, there are logistical problems with maxine that homestar runner doesnt have. maxine's right shoulder is dislocated, so she can't lay on that side, or any side that would put pressure on the joint. im realizing i don't actually know what position would be most comfortable in her situation or how she would instinctually arrange her body to avoid pain. i start looking up videos from physical therapists on how they recommend patients sleep for some ideas.

also i start looking up what women look like sleeping on couches. how does the human body fold up. because this isn't it.

anyway, this was my first effort with the first panels.

for reference, the last page ends like this:

the top left of the sketch would have been the hopi clown back on the shelf with the "camera" tilting above it to reveal maxine. while this keeps the relevant object from the previous page in frame as a piece of connective tissue between updates....i'm struggling to fit the second character in. the one talking from the hole. maybe there's still hope for this? it's not terrible. initially i nuked it but maybe i can make this work.

fuck! she needs a pillow or two to make this work. this video is right, that DOES look naturally comfortable compared to the standard fetal position that would pull the affected shoulder inward. i didn't draw any pillows into the stupid establishing shot of the office bc its not the kind of couch you are expected to sleep on!!! this is a man's business office!!! i thought i was so smart!!

basically every couch comes with decorative pillows though, and the shot of the room didn't include the wall the "camera" was up against. my 2-point perspective failure might have paid off here lol. if i can establish that the second character is talking through the hole, he can use his rayman hands to reach across the room and get the pillow for her. it can be part of his personal campaign to show maxine he means her no immediate harm. the pillows were just out of frame. lurking. ok let's try it again. uhhhh after i eat some lunch

---

*my friend kelly had an anecdote from working in animation that im going to retell badly from memory. her boss would take the work she labored over to meet by deadline and would laugh at it, saying "ah, its terrible! but good enough for TV". and while extremely mean, he had a salient point: it never has to be perfect. it just needs to be good enough to be seen. sometimes i seriously think about this anecdote when im dissatisfied with my own art. it's bad. but it's good enough for tv.

[mulloey]

the new girl (preview)

on your first day as ateez’s new pet, they test how much training you’ll need.

this is a PREVIEW to a full length fic im working on which may end up as a series. not sure when exactly it will come out, but i wanted to post something & see what you guys think. since this will be a longer fic than ive done before, i want to know people will enjoy it before i spend a lot of time editing & perfecting it. so reblog & comment if this is something you’d enjoy and let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see in the fic!!

warnings: polyamory (ateez x reader), reader is afab and referred to as she/her, sir kink, discussion of bdsm training & dynamics, implied pet play, spanking, implied punishment

——————

[PREVIEW]

“We’re going to give you a little test, pet,” Hongjoong says. “It’s not to see if we want you, because you’re already ours, but to see how much training you’ll need.”

You nod in understanding and he clicks his tongue, already displeased. “The first lesson is verbal answers, it seems,” he says. “Unless we tell you not to speak, you respond to everything we say in words. Do you understand?”

You nod again, but realise your mistake quickly and squeak out a weak “yes sir.” Hongjoong smiles approvingly.

“Strip down to your panties,” he says. “Put them on the chair then come back to stand over here. We’ll see which commands you know.”

You breathe out a “yes sir” and do as he instructs. You turn away from the men as you undress, too embarrassed to face them but you can still feel their eyes burning into you. Your hands shake as you unbutton your shirt, folding it neatly before placing it on the chair as instructed. Your bra quickly joins it, then the skirt and tights until all that’s left are your tiny white panties, clinging to your hips as you turn around nervously.

You feel exposed, clad only in one flimsy garment and surrounded by eight fully-clothed men. Their gazes are dark and intense on you and you’ve never felt more vulnerable, but they look pleased, which eases your nerves slightly.

“Very good,” Hongjoong says approvingly, gaze fixed on your chest. You blush, hands instinctively reaching to cover your breasts but you think better of it before you do. Just in the nick of time, you think, if the scowl on Yeosang’s face is anything to go by.

“Smart girl,” Seonghwa chuckles. “Are you ready to start?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. He smiles gently and beckons you towards him. As you approach him, the others move to form a circle around you. You gulp, somehow feeling even smaller than before. Now you’re trapped.

“Right then,” Seonghwa says, clapping his hands together. You flinch at the sudden sound and you hear a few of them chuckle. With your eyes cast down, you miss the glint that crosses each of their eyes at your momentary fear. “We’ll start by seeing which commands you already know. We’ll teach you the ones you don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

“Look at me,” he says. You look up, meeting his gaze nervously and he smiles.

“Down,” he says.

It takes you a moment to register the command, and by the time you do it’s clearly too late. Seonghwa sighs, looking disappointed. He nods to a man behind you and before you can register it, five hard slaps are delivered to your ass. You yelp and try to lean away but the man snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you backwards into him.

“Disobeying already,” he breathes and you recognise the voice as Wooyoung. You whine and he slaps you again, this time reaching around to hit the front of your thigh.

“Don’t complain,” he grumbles. You breathe out an apology and he hums, rubbing the pink mark on your thigh with momentary tenderness. “Turn around.”

You turn to face him, shyly meeting his gaze and he pets your hair. “When we say ‘down’,” he says, “you get on your knees. Instantly and without question. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. So let’s try that again. Down.”

Desperate to obey, you let your legs give out, falling to your knees with hopeful eyes on him. He smiles, pressing a hand to your cheek and letting you nuzzle into it. “Good dog,” he says.

——————

please let me know your thoughts :) you can also send me an ask if you have requests but don’t want to comment! love🖤🖤

[that-one-xachster]

JJK but Dazai's the new teacher Hcs (ADA)

I'm a sucker for crossovers so- also dazai shenanigans trigger warning y'all bsd fans yk

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

how did this even happen bro

oookayyyyyy lets say yaga and fukuzawa were besties <3

GOSSIP BESTIES

and once fukuzawa was complaining about his subordinates bc cmon give the 45 year old baby a break

and yaga was like

"I will grant you peace my child"

"you're younger than me"

"idgaf"

"anyway can I steal one of your subordinates for a bit :)"

"SJKDFHADKSJ YES PLEASE"

and thats how ma man dazai got roped into this

so fukuzawa was like

*deeeeeeep breathhhhhhhh*

"dazai I'm disowning you."

/J /J LMFAOOOOO

he was just like dazai get your ass to jujutsu tech you're gonna be a new teacher there

"but I don't have a teaching license"

"you've committed over 500 crimes what can illegal teaching do"

"true"

so whoopee dazai's now in jujutsu tech

hes still in his detective clothes though

but if ya want him in jjt uniform then sure

the way shoko visibly deflates when she realizes she's getting a gojo 2.0

megumi joins her

nobara doesn't care she just hopes he's a good teacher and not utter shit

I feel like maki and Inumaki would join her on this

Yuta would be the ball of sunshine he is like 😇

panda's being panda

AND NOW YUJI'S EXCITED AF BC ANOTHER GOJO-SENSEI? LETS FREAKING GO

okay dazai makes it there

no gifts sadly he was rich in the mafia but not anymore he's broke

and kunikida aint here for a wallet stealing mission

he soon found a kunikida 2.0 though (na-na-na-na-na-na-min)

so obvi everyone wants to know what his cursed technique is

...yeah thats the problem he don't have one but this is dazai so he goes

"oh I can just obliterate a curse by touching it lmao"

and then yuji's like "HOLY QUACK THATS SO OP"

and I'm gonna make dazai a leeeetle op here

so gojo's like "ah? let's have a spar?"

and dazais like 😳🫢🤭

so yes these two start sparring

so how this shit works is that if cursed energy touches dazai it just boom no more cursed energy and you die

and infinity's made of it right

right

so my bro just activates his infinity and doesn't move and dazai just kalmly walks up to him

and just throws his hair a lil back-

yeah my guy show off that big ass forehead

and he steals gojo's boop that makes you unconscious (how could you dazai)

and gojo was like 'WAIT WTF'

and stumbles back kinda concerned

okay change of plans

let's try something a lil dangerous

he pulls out a very minuscule

when I mean very I mean microscopic level of blue

just for shits and giggles

no not really he wants to see how this goes

and dazai's unaffected

like full unaffected

and gojo's even more confused, concerned, and slightly alarm

okay let's take it up a notch

dazai's smiling like the person he is

(Im not saying cause tw but yk)

"woah were you tryna off me? sorry but I'm looking for a beautiful woman to join me in my journey to the afterlife-"

gojo's even more concerned

"..dude you okay?"

"why not"

"what"

kay so we're taking this up a notch back to that

and dazai lets out a visible sized blue and megumi's just questioning how stupid his teacher is like gojo why do you want to kill the new teacher?? no way can he survive th-

it goes poof

gone

obliterated

nonexistant

megumi's like ...huh

everyone's concerned for life

and dazais just like "heh"

:D

okay you have the advantage here what about in physical combat-

boom all attacks dodged

all

gojo's impressed needless to say

now after this comes the actual torture

yuji's fawning over dazai and ofc dazai's tryna like

gaslight gatekeep girlboss 😜‼️

"hey did you know that if you move your arms like this all the time your bones will eventually melt-"

"wha- actually?"

"yes"

"he's messing with you"

shoko says that last part

and yk whats coming

shoko = beautiful lady

beautiful lady = wybwtjmiads

"ah belladonna will you be willing to join me in a double suicide-"

"uh no thank you"

*CRIES*

gojo's at the side though

bombastic side eye

creemeenal offensive

side.

eye.

sigh thats all for now imma make more hcs later

drop ideas please I'm begging you

I'M BEGGIN BEGGIN YOUUUU SO PUT YOUR LOVIN HAND OUT BABYYYYYY-

[ccassettetape]

i am writing an accidental haiku to attract haiku bot

[halonescock]

I think, given the portrayals of discrimination and how oripathy is treated within the setting, its very easy to read Arknights characters as transgender. When doing that, though, especially in fanfiction, I think its important to think about how the characters' countries of origin respond to that - luckily we know exactly how most countries treat the infected, and can largely extrapolate from that.

Kazimerz is, I believe, the most interesting example. We know that there are transgender I mean infected celebrities; the Blood Knight, the Pinus Sylvestris knight club, etc. They can even achieve success, fighting against a great deal of discrimination and even sabotage along the way - especially if they refuse to be a tool of the system that oppresses people like them. However, when Margaret Nearl was accused of hiding her infection (her trans status), it was a massive controversy and she fled Kazimerz entirely. This is not dissimilar to transvestigation that we see IRL. A Kazimierzian transgender person wouldn't face the same level of outright hostility as an Ursine one, but they would face systemic discrimination and lack of opportunity unless they concealed their status.

Another interesting case is that of Kazdel, or the Sarkaz in general. Its more of a surprise to see an uninfected Sarkaz! We don't know too much about the day to day life of Kazdel, but from our glimpses into Sarkaz mercenaries, we see that being Infected is treated much more casually - there's camaraderie and community, but its not set apart from uninfected community the same way it is elsewhere.

I also want to call out an important part about the way trans people (specifically trans women) are treated that is entirely without comparison in Arknights, as far as I know. Trans women are discriminated against and fetishized - a very specific dehumanization that we don't and won't see in Arknights. Fictional discrimination will never be a perfect analog to any kind of real world problems, and that's okay - the point is to make observations and draw your own conclusions based on the comparisons you make.

[iftitah]

.

[quietwingsinthesky]

what if. Amy “fix-it” because hallucifer makes sam so paranoid about dean leaving for no reason that sam gives in and follows him and is witness to the whole thing

[eeunwoo]

.

[cinnamon-notes]

i have been ghosting my friends for idk a month??? and they have been doing the same??? except for when we meet in a workplace cuz somehow our jobs decided to cross over :)

[todayisafridaynight]

uhhh something something 'the only time a yakuza should laugh with his teeth is when he's with family or in trouble' something something arakawa gradually doing so more and more when hanging around jo something something Uh Oh™️

[pepprs]

crying again lol ok