#i was out of meds for a hot second | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sceletaflores · 4 months

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No question marks. Motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

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gojorgeous · 8 months

Note

how do the jjk men treat you when ur on ur period? suguru specifically hehe <3

✰ JJK MEN: WHEN YOU'RE ON YOUR PERIOD ✰

pairing(s): gojo, geto, nanami, choso x afab!reader content: (MDNI 18+ only), nsfw-ish/suggestive, periods, period blood, period products, pet names, lots of fluff! a/n: i hope you like anon!! you have great timing cause i’m getting my period and i also have a uti pray for me besties i need help and antibiotics. left out toji and sukuna cause…. nah LMAO. enjoy, and remember ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

✰ GOJO:

Lowkey loves when you’re on your period, but is just barely smart enough to never tell you that.

His favorite part is that you always want more cuddles, which means more cuddles for him.

Thinks period products are really amusing– loves playing with your hot water bottle cause it’s squishy. Finds those ones that look like stuffed animals at the store and brings home like five of them for you.

Will definitely buy you pads/tampons but not without the obligatory “what size is your pussy” text. Won’t buy them until you respond with “extra super pretty” and then sends back this emoji -> 😋.

Highkey likes period sex. Knows it can relieve your cramps and will use that as an excuse at every opportunity if you’ll let him.

Is always on some cheesy ass shit murmuring in your ear about how doing it on your period “bonds your souls”, too.

Constantly offers to get you pregnant so you can avoid your period for the next nine months… he’s only half joking.

Will actually skip work to stay home and cuddle with you if you give him even the slightest inclination that you don’t want him to go.

Watches movies with you and has gotten surprisingly good at rubbing little circles on your tummy that help with cramps.

Keeps the house stocked with candy, but, then again… it’s always stocked with candy.

“Babe. Look what I just found at the store.” You watch with furrowed brows as he sets the bags on your floor. You’re curled on the couch, a blanket tucked up around your neck. He’d made sure to roll you like a burrito before he’d left. He pulls out… a cow? It looks like a stuffed animal, but when he shakes it you hear something sloshing around inside. You raise a brow. “Ummmm–” “It’s one of those hot water bottle thingies! For your cramps!” He tosses the poor cow on the floor and digs around in the bag again. “Oh my god, they had so many. I got the cow, the dolphin–” He tosses a dolphin out of the bag, followed by a puppy, a raccoon, and a cat. “Do you want me to put one in the microwave for you?” He looks far too excited to turn down, even though you just heated up your old hot water bottle minutes ago. You smile and nod. “Yeah, baby. Thanks.”

✰ GETO:

Mans TAKES CARE of you. Like… fully.

Is really sympathetic and gentle when your cramps are killing you– brushing your hair back, rubbing circles on your tummy, letting you put his warm hands wherever it hurts.

Runs you a warm bath and climbs right in with you. Makes you lean back against him while he gives you a massage and works out all the knots in your neck and shoulders.

Buys you period products before your period starts if he remembers. If he doesn’t he’s happy to run down to the store. Doesn’t need to ask which ones you like– he already knows.

Wraps you up in the comfiest blankets and cuddles with you wherever you ask. Gives the best cuddles, too. Rubs your back in a way that has you falling asleep in seconds.

Makes sure you take your meds on time and brings you a glass of water.

Secretly loves period sex. Will never push you for it, but gets super horny at just the thought. Loves the sight of your blood on his dick. Makes him feel possessive of you in a way that’s kind of scary.

“Sugu…” you whine. Your cramps are bad. You’ve been curled in a ball all morning, even with all the meds Suguru has been giving you. “It hurts so bad.” You feel him shifting behind you and then his hands gently prying you to lie on your back. You whimper, the pain spiking again as soon you roll out of the fetal position. His face appears above you, a couple stray strands of black hair tickling your cheeks. His smile is soft, but full of sympathy as he settles over you. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could make it go away…” He moves down your body, settling between your thighs and resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. You sigh when you feel his fingers skate over your tummy, rubbing little circles into the skin that somehow work wonders for the pain. You sigh with relief, a bit of the tension ebbing away. “That feels nice…” Your body relaxes a bit, finally getting a break from the incessant pain. Suguru only smiles, looking up at you through hooded eyes when he presses a kiss just below your belly button. You don’t fail to notice the way his thumb is sliding under the fabric of your panties. “I can think of something that would feel even nicer…”

✰ NANAMI:

Prepares for your period.

Has your cycle marked down on his calendar so he always knows when you’re starting.

Stops by the store a couple of days ahead of time to buy pads/tampons/meds and your favorite snacks.

Runs a bath for you every night and fills it with all of your favorite soaps and scents.

Cooks. Mans knows how to cook and does extra of it when you’re on your period. Will make you nutritious meals and urge you to drink water, but always brings you something sweet if you’re craving it.

Heats up your hot water bottle every thirty minutes without you ever having to ask.

Lays out a fresh change of clothes for you whenever you’re in the shower.

Cuddles you whenever you want, but only after he’s tended to all of your other needs (meds, food, water, etc.).

Will have sex if you want, but will never push you for it. If you just want the relief from your cramps, he’ll just use his fingers to get you off and then pull you back into his arms.

“Time for your bath, sweetheart.” You nearly grumble in protest, but how can you do such a thing when he takes such good care of you? Still, you don’t want to move. Just existing hurts, much less walking to the bathroom. Despite your resistance to saying it aloud, Nanami still seems to understand what you’re thinking. No more than a second later he’s scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. “You know you’ll feel better after, love.” You nod weakly against his chest. “Will you get in with me?” He pauses. He’s got dinner to make and he wanted to change the sheets for you… One nuzzle of your face into his neck has him throwing all those plans out the window. “Of course, princess. I’ll get in with you.”

✰ CHOSO:

Is new to this stuff so he lowkey freaks out.

Worries that you’re actually in danger cause… there’s blood???

Chills out eventually, but is still irrationally convinced that you’re injured.

When i tell you this man is at your BECK AND CALL, I mean it. He will do every little thing you ask. Fetches water, food, snacks– whatever you need.

Mans is panicked when he can’t find the candy bar you want at the grocery store.

Happily buys period products for you but has to facetime you cause the poor baby is overwhelmed and confused by all the options.

Is kind of attached to you like glue. Thinks you’re somehow more breakable in this state will hold you in his arms permanently apart from when you need to bathe, eat, or use the bathroom.

Actually freaks when you have a bout of cramps that makes you hiss in pain. Cannot believe you have to do this every month and hates feeling so useless in taking the pain away. Eagerly learns that he can put his warm hands on your tummy and it helps.

Is actually amazed when you tell him that sex helps with the cramps. Worries about hurting you, but is completely down. Mans is definitely not afraid of a little blood lmao.

“Baby… there are so many…” You can’t help but stifle a laugh looking at your boyfriend’s stressed expression through your phone screen. He’d run down to the store to get you some more pads– you just hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming the experience would be for him. “I know, Cho. I’m sorry. Here– back up so I can see the whole aisle.” He does as you ask, flipping the camera around so you can see what he’s looking at. You have to bite your lip this time to keep the laugh in. You’ve never realized just how many options there really are. “The ones toward the bottom right, baby. With the pink box.” The camera shakes a little as he follows your directions, arm sticking out like he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey. “These?” His hand hovers over a box that is pink but not the pink you need. “Down a couple racks.” Finally, his hands close around the right box. “Thank you, baby. I didn’t think about how confusing this would be for you…” The camera flips again and you grin at the soft soft smile on his lips. “Don’t apologize. Want me to grab some candy, too?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @enchantedsylveon, @httpstoyosi, @bbyxxm, @6kabuki, @myriliy, @complexivelovely

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ovulationation · 22 days

Text

Rivalry

Pairing: frat!Bucky x sorority!reader

Summary: You and Bucky have been academic rivals since the start of college. How will he react when you celebrate your accomplishment at his frat’s party?

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p-in-v (for the love of god just wear a condom), academic rivals, creampie, praise kink

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

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your breath hitches. He grins at you and lets out a chuckle.

“Fuck you, James.” You snarl.

“Would you, Doc?”

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

The first time you met James Barnes was move-in day to your Freshman dorm. He lived right next door to you, which means that you had to hear everything that happened. The parties when you were trying to study, the obnoxiously loud music during his morning showers, and the girls that he would bring home in the middle of the night.

Things got worse when you realized that you were both on the pre-med track.

The past three years have been filled with him basically 24/7. With both of you vying for the top of the class, the best teacher recommendations, and the best volunteering experiences to pile up your resumes.

Things got slightly better when you both moved out of the dorms your second year, but the competition returned quickly when you realized you now lived in fraternity and sorority houses directly across the street from each other.

By this year (your third year) you have become full blown academic rivals. Both of you fighting over the very limited summer spots to shadow some of the best doctors in the country at your college’s hospital.

Today, on the last day of finals, you had finally gotten the message that you got one of the spots. All of your work was paying off and you could finally relax before your intense summer started.

That’s how you ended up at the last party of the year. Your friends had dragged you out as a celebration, but they forgot to inform you that this year it was being hosted by none other than James Fucking Barnes’ fraternity. The fraternity that he was just elected the President of for the upcoming year.

Now you stared across the room at him as he lounged back on the couch pushed up against the wall. Something about just the sight of him made your stomach churn, it had since the moment you saw him, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what. His messy black stubble on his face, his shirt that obviously didn’t even fit right since the sleeves clung to his biceps, the way he spread his legs so casually, taking up more room than needed. That stupid smirk as he made eye contact with you across the room. You started towards him.

You wanted to slap that stupid look off of his stupid face.

You stopped in between his legs, glaring down at him. He cocked his head to the side as he looked up at you, that smirk still spread across his face.

“Congratulations, Doc.” His voice low and casual as he looks up at you with lidded eyes.

“Try not to sound too excited, James.” You roll your eyes.

“But I’m so excited, I get to see you every day this summer.” His eyes rake up your body, taking in your short skirt. You feel a shiver run over you as his eyes meet yours again.

“You got the other spot?” You scoff.

“Yep,” he grins up at you, leaning forward in his seat.

He reaches a hand out to rest against the side of your bare thigh, causing goosebumps to pop up along the flesh. Your knees feel weak.

“Maybe we should carpool?” His head tilts to the side as he looks at you under his lashes.

“I would rather walk barefoot on hot gravel,” you deadpan, despite the shudder that travels through your body as he starts to ghost his fingers over your skin.

You gesture towards the red cup in his other hand with your chin, “How many have you had, Bucky?”

His eyes light up at the nickname. “Just the one, gotta stay sharp.”

“The internship doesn’t start until next week.”

“Not talkin about the internship.”

Both of his hands slide to the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward and onto his lap. You let out a gasp, looking around at all of the people who are too drunk to pay any attention to the two of you.

His hands rest on top of your thighs, thumbs tracing lazy patterns on the skin.

“W-what are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“It’s too loud, I wanna be able to hear you better.” He leans back again, just staring at you. The start of a dull ache pulsing deep in your abdomen.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your breath hitches. He grins at you and lets out a chuckle.

“Fuck you, James.” You snarl.

“Would you, Doc?” He smirks and the ache gets stronger.

A beat passes with you staring at him in surprise before he lunges at you. His lips crashing against yours. You pull back in shock, taking in his red cheeks and his pupils blown wide. Then, without even thinking, you crash back into him.

He kisses you hungrily, taking advantage of the first gasp that leaves you to slip his tongue between your lips and explore your mouth eagerly. You feel him grow hard beneath you and you gasp again. You push yourself down against him, feeling his bulge hitting right where you need it.

He groans into the kiss, his hands flying up to grab onto your hips to still your motion, causing you to whine. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, “My room?” He asks breathlessly.

“Please.”

You jump off of his lap and he tangles his fingers with yours, pulling you through the sea of people and up the stairs to his bedroom.

His room is much cleaner than you would have ever expected. No navy sheets, no empty liquor bottles on the shelves, he even had multiple pillows. His desk had off of his notebooks neatly stacked on top of it.

Bucky shut the door and locked it, turning back to look at you, his cheeks flushed.

You didn’t even have to say anything before he was on you again. Pulling you back to his lap on the bed. This time kissing along your jaw and down your neck.

“Why?” You breathe out, trying to focus on anything besides his lips trailing down your neck.

He pulls back to look at your face, “Why what?”

“Why the sudden switch up?”

He stares at you with a bewildered look, “There wasn’t a switch up, I’ve always liked you.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, “But-“

You’re cut off by his lips reattaching to your skin, now nipping at a sensitive spot underneath your ear. You gasp.

“I thought you liked me too,” he mumbles against your skin. His hands grip your hips, using them to drag you against his clothed erection.

“But,” You’re interrupted by a moan escaping you as his zipper hits your clit through your panties. “You’ve always argued with me and competed against me in everything I did.” Your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I was flirting,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His hands push your skirt up to your waist, revealing your panties. His eyes never leave yours as he pushes them to the side and grazes his thumb over your clit.

“I probably shouldn’t have pushed your buttons as much as I did,” he says, his middle finger sliding down to your dripping core, teasing your entrance. “But you’re just so hot when you’re angry.”

You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he pushes his finger inside of you. His finger slowly working inside of you while his thumb rubbed lazy circles against your clit, his other hand still gripping your hip. He watched you like he was studying you, making sure he was hitting just the right spots. Trying to get you off like he was getting graded for it.

His other hand comes up and pulls your bottom lip out from between your teeth, “Wanna hear you, baby.”

You let out a whine as he pushes a second finger inside of you, curling them against that spot that makes you see stars.

“Bucky,” you whimper, feeling that cord inside of you wind tighter.

“I know, baby” He coos, his thumb speeding up its rhythm on your clit.

You clench around his fingers as you come undone, your forehead falling against his shoulder as you grind into his fingers.

Before you’ve completely recovered, you’re being laid onto the bed. Your back hitting the blankets while your legs are still twitching.

Bucky stands in front of you, pulling his shirt off, revealing his toned chest and arms. When could he possibly have the time to go to the gym?

You sit up quickly, reaching for his belt with shaky hands. He chuckles, looking down at you as you pull the front of his jeans open and push them down his legs. Now he’s just in his underwear, leaving nothing to the imagination as his hard cock strains against the fabric.

“You’re getting a little impatient” He smirks down at you.

You look up at him beneath your lashes, wanting to get that stupid smirk off of his face. You grab his waistband and pull it down, causing his cock to spring free.

He groans as you reach out to wrap your hand around his thick length. Your hand pumping him a few times, testing. His hand wraps around your wrist, stopping your movement. You look back into his eyes, now looking down at you like he could devour you whole.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes.” He growls.

You pull your shirt over your head and throw it to the floor, your nipples hardening as they hit the cool air. His breathing picks up as he takes in the sight, his eyes darting between each of your breasts.

You help him pull your skirt off, tearing your panties off with it. Now leaving you both bare. Your eyes raking over each other’s bodies.

He lowers himself to the bed and crawls his way up your body, stopping to plays stray kisses up from your navel, to each breast, and finally back to your lips. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him against you.

His hands ghost over your hips to grasp the backs of your thighs, pulling them apart. He pulls back to lift onto his knees, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and tapping it against your clit.

You gasp, gripping his arms as he slides through your folds.

“Bucky, stop teasing,” You whine, clutching at the sheets in frustration.

“What do you need?” He smirks down at you with that stupid face.

“Need you, please.” You whimper when the tip of his cock hitches into your entrance.

He pushes into you with a low groan. Your slick walls squeeze him tight as he bottoms out inside you. He pants above you, his eyes going back and forth between your face and where you’re connected. His fingers slip down and tease along your folds, collecting your slick. They move up to your sensitive nub and coat it in your juices, rubbing tight circles.

“F-fuck,” you gasp, throwing your head back into the mattress.

“Nuh uh,” Bucky scolds, stopping completely.

You whine and look back to his face. His free hand moves to grip your chin, making sure you’re looking into his eyes before starting his slow, deep thrusts again.

“Want to see your face, pretty girl.”

You nod and fight to keep your eyes from rolling back when the tip of his cock hits that spot inside you.

“I can feel you squeezing,” he groans, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “You gonna cum for me?”

“So close, Bucky.” You whimper, feeling that cord deep inside you about to snap.

His thrusts get faster, hitting that spot relentlessly over and over again. Soon your vision goes blank, moaning loudly as you gush over his cock. He never wavers, still thrusting into you at the same rhythm even as you clamp down around him.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” He coos, angling himself down to capture your lips again.

You moan against his lips. He never gives you a chance to catch your breath after your orgasm, just keeps his unrelenting pace inside you.

His thrusts start to get sloppy as he groans into your mouth, “can I cum inside you?”

You moan at his desperate words, “yes, please Bucky.”

He thrusts a few more times before stilling deep inside you, spilling his cum against your cervix. The feeling of his hot seed spreading through you makes you whine. His face presses into your shoulder as he lazily thrusts into you, kissing a little trail up your neck.

After a few minutes of sloppy kisses and trying to catch your breath, Bucky slips out of you and rolls to lay beside you.

Your chest rises and falls quickly as you turn your head to face him. He’s already looking at you.

His stupid grin plastered back to his face as he leans in to give you a short but hungry kiss.

“This summer is gonna be fun, Doc.”

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

I swear to god writing this felt like pulling teeth for some reason. It def doesn’t feel as good as my last one, but I wanted to try writing again and I was OBSESSED with the academic rivals to lovers trope so here ya go lol

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reiderwriter · 9 months

Text

Please Accept My Apology

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After three days spent trying to convince the BAU that they had made a mistake, Spencer Reid shows up at your door to offer his apology.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, smut 18+ minors dni, slight age gap, penetrative sex, squirting, fingering, dirty talk, name calling, degradation, hints of bdsm, implied creampie etc.

You can find my masterlist here and my 2024 song fic challenge here (don't forget to send song recommendations to my inbox!)

You never thought you'd ever see the inside of an interrogation room before this week. Now you didn't think you'd ever see the outside of it.

“Y/N, you're brother ran from law enforcement multiple times, if you know where he is you need to tell us or you'll be charged with accessory to murder and kidnapping after the fact. Is that what you want?”

“Of course it isn't what I want, but I already told you I can't fucking help you!”

You paced in the boxed room, feeling closed in and hot.

Your brother - your innocent brother - was the key suspect in a series of child abductions and murders, and as he'd ran from law enforcement multiple times, they'd dragged you into the police precinct to try to track him down.

For the last three days, you'd been stuck sitting at that table across from Doctor Spencer Reid, waiting for the worst news of your life, because you knew it was coming.

“He's not a murderer. He's mentally ill, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. I keep telling you that, why won't you believe me?”

“A lot of loved ones protest a suspect's innocence, right down to the last second.” You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from the depth of your chest.

“My brother is schizophrenic. He was violent before, sure, he had outbursts. But he has been monitoring his meds for the last three years perfectly. He has a job, he has a son. He would not hurt those kids.”

You had always looked up to your elder brother, even through the tough years.

He'd inherited both your fathers drinking problem and your mother's mental illness, each demon feeding the other until he had a breakdown at age 19.

You were only 17 yourself, but with no one else to hold him accountable, you'd been there. You'd checked him into a facility, you drove him to each of his doctor's appointments when he was clean. You'd been around for each sober anniversary, for each birthday and holiday and celebration that he'd made it one more year without falling into himself.

He'd reciprocated by being the most reliable man you knew. He helped put you through college when he was stable enough, he'd managed to work his way up in the ranks at his construction job. He had a beautiful wife (currently in another interrogation room with another agent) and the cutest little boy.

He'd promised you that your family struggles would end with the two of you. You'd promised each other to take care of each others families if anything happened to them in the future, and while you currently had no family to speak of, you sure as hell were going to make sure that your nephew never wanted for anything in his life.

Your brother wasn't a murderer, and you had proof enough.

“You know, you haven't asked me yet why I think he's innocent.” You took your seat again, and gathered your hands together on the table, leaning in closer to the agent in front of you.

You watched him think for a second, then mirror your pose, leaning in just as close, eyes locked with yours.

You'd talked about a lot of things these past three days, and you got the idea that he was a bit of a jackass. If not a jackass, then at least big-headed; he'd practically shouted his title of Doctor at you as he'd walked in, and made sure to correct you every time you'd called him agent or sir.

You kept doing it just to piss him off eventually.

“It's denial, Miss Y/L/N. You don't want to see the signs you'd ignored for that lingered, so you beg and protest and plead, hoping that eventually you'll turn out to be correct.” His voice was low, but you caught every word.

“While I am sure you know what you're talking about Agent Reid, that is not why I'm here still. I'm not being charged with a crime, and I've been here much longer than 24 hours. I'm free to go at any point, but I'm sticking around here, lawyer free, because I want to watch your face when you realise you'd been wrong this entire time.”

He shifted uncomfortably and you smiled, happy to get under his skin once again.

“Okay, Miss Y/L/N. What makes you so sure your brother is innocent?”

“Your profile.” His eyes slightly widened at that, and you basked in it, leaning back and waiting for him to take the bait as the tide turned in your conversation.

“We profiled that our unsub would be late 20s to early 30s, probably a family man who'd likely been abused as a child. The profile also suggested he may have had a psychotic break recently, likely as a result of coming off his meds. Your brother fits the profile, Y/N.”

He'd dug his own grave, and you were happy to see him getting ready to sleep in it too.

“No, he doesn't, Agent.”

A tense silence passed between you, and you knew his gaze was fixed on you. You let your eyes dart elsewhere, rolling down his body to his hands. They were totally still of course, but you could see how tense he was by the way he pushed them flat against the table, almost as if he were trying to ground himself, finding reassurance in the pressure.

“How does he not fit the profile?” His brows were knitted together, and his expression was one of annoyance now.

No matter how much you had shouted or let out your frustrations these past few days, he'd kept a placid look of sympathy plastered across his features. He hadn't listened, or even suggested he'd wanted to, assuming your brother was guilty.

Now he was annoyed, as if he had the right.

“Despite what your records supposedly tell you, my brother is not off his meds.”

“Miss Y/L/N, we know that your brother did not refill his prescription three months ago, and that he looked into some clinical trials in the metropolitan area and was rejected.”

“Congratulations for having 50% of the facts. My brother wasn't rejected from those trials, he withdrew because they changed the terms. They wanted to study my nephew as well to see if they could predict where hereditary cases of Schizophrenia would manifest.”

You leaned in again now, enjoying watching the thoughts rush through Spencer Reid's head once again.

“His health insurance had some issues after the withdrawal, so his prescription couldn't be filled until next week, but my brother always had six months of pills delivered.”

You watched the realisation come crashing down on the agent in front of you, though he was doing a good job of keeping himself out together.

It was time to end this conversation.

“To take part in the clinical trial, he needed to stop taking his regular medication for two weeks. Meaning he has two more weeks of his regular medication. I watched him take it Monday morning, right about when your second kidnapping occurred. My sister-in-law will confirm.”

He stood from his chair slowly and nodded at you, making his way to the door.

“And Agent Reid?” You said making sure to hold his attention one last time before he could leave. “If anything happens to my brother, I will hold you responsible.”

He slipped from the room without another word, and you relaxed into the chair, letting your eyes fall shut as you waited patiently.

Xxx

It was another week before your brother was totally cleared. He'd turned himself into law enforcement the same day you'd forced the BAU to reevaluate their profile, and both he and his wife had cracked up your story.

With nothing else to distract them, you'd been happily informed that they'd caught the actual perpetrator, and saved another victim.

You were back at home now, trying to relax, to get back on track.

You knew by the knock on the door that you weren't going to get back to your normal routine just yet.

“Agent Reid, I wasn't expecting you.” He was there at your door, and you had to brush off a wave of annoyance, forcing yourself not to slam the thing in his goddamn face.

“It's Doctor Reid. You know that, though.” He mumbled the words, jaw tense as he heaved out a sigh, trying to get to his point but being distracted by your prickly words.

“I came to talk. May I come inside?”

“We talked for three days straight, Doc. What else could we possibly need to discuss?” You made sure to block the door with your body, one arm resting on the doorframe as you leant across it, the other holding the door tightly next to you.

You thought he'd get the idea, tuck his tail between his legs, and swiftly leave you alone, but you were sadly mistaken.

Instead his eyes raked over your body as you put it on display, curiously exploring every inch you put in his eyeline.

“May I come in?” He repeated, eyes still trailing down your body. If it weren't for the heat building inside of you, you'd have slammed the door in his face. A moment's hesitation was all you got instead, as he locked eyes with you again, and you reluctantly moved an inch to the side.

You stayed there in the doorway even as he entered, his body brushing against yours almost intimately for the second, his hand faintly tracing over your hip as he stepped inside, watching you all the time.

Needing desperately to gain your composure back, you jumped into asking questions. “You're in now. What do you want?”

“I wanted to apologise.” He hadn't moved far into the apartment, and you realised aa soon as you turned away from locking the door, overestimating his distance. You spun right into his arms, one of his palms coming to your waist to steady you as the other steadied the two of you against the wall.

“And whatever would the wonderful Doctor Reid need to apologise for?”

Your words were venomous, but the heat in them rose from somewhere deeper than the acid in your stomach, somewhere more fiery than the burning sensation at the back of your throat.

“I'm trying to do the right thing here, Y/N.”

“After a week of doing the wrong thing, Spencer, I'm not sure you're fully capable of that.”

His brows furrowed as he pouted, and you hated his proximity, both too close and too far at the same time. You wanted to run him apart, and then delicately sew him back together.

“I was doing my job.”

“You almost got my brother killed.”

“I'm sorry.” He heaved out an exasperated breath with the words, body relaxing and pushing your back fully against the wall. His eyes widened, and you could tell that he hadn't meant to move you in that way, but you just stared at him still, eyes flicking down to his lips with every intrusive thought.

This was how close you needed him.

“I don't give a shit if you're sorry.” You meant the words to be harsh a warning, but you hadn't realised your heartbeat bursting from your throat, your breathy gasps for air making it sound more erotic than angry.

He blinked once, then twice, slowly as if he was a scientist observing an experiment, not wanting to take his eyes off of it until he was certain something wouldn't happen.

“You're enjoying this.”

“I'm not.”

“Your heart rate is at 127 bpm, your pupils are dilated, your breathing is shallow. You're enjoying this. Why?”

His hands didn't let up, even as he shot out his words, brows furrowing further as you resisted the urge to push him away.

It was more comfortable keeping him close.

“I told you I am not enjoying this. You're just too close.”

“So, you're having a physical reaction to me?” He asked, almost quizzically. You had expected to hear a triumphant smirk or something in his voice, but he seemed genuinely curious.

“For God's sake, Spencer, yes. Yes, you're close and it's making me uncomfortable. You spent three days making me feel uncomfortable, and now you've come back for round two, are you happy now?”

“You're not uncomfortable,” he shot out again, almost as if he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. “You're aroused.”

“Know it all.” He laughed at that, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks. You weren't sure what the hell was going on with your body, because you'd spent the week despising the man in front of you, but now a simple hand on your wrist and a laugh had you blushing like a schoolgirl.

“So what if I am aroused? You're touching me, you have me pinned against the wall, really this is your fault, Agent.”

“It's Doctor, but you can call me Spencer. Or you can go back to another colourful insult if you'd prefer?”

“You're pretty full of yourself, I thought you came to apologise.”

“I did, it's not exactly me that is acting like they want to be filled right now though.”

“Jackass,” you snapped, as he lowered his hand around to cup your ass, finally allowing himself a tiny hint at the smirk you'd predicted earlier.

You gasped as he took a handful of your ass and pulled you flush against him.

“I want to say sorry, I want to make it up to you. I'm being quite charitable here.”

“Charity, my dear Doctor, is where you give something and expect nothing in return. It seems like you want something in return.” You spat the words again but you let your hands press lightly against his chest, waiting for him to make the next move as you played with the buttons of his shirt.

“I'd be more than happy to do that, too.”

You weren't sure who reached for who, or which one of you made the first push, but you were suddenly joined together by your lips, each of you battling furiously for dominance.

Your hands pushed up desperately, clawing into his long, busy strands and pulling him down further into you as you worked against him.

He was still stronger than you though, so when he forced your head back an inch, you moved out of necessity.

“Is that enough, or should I keep apologising?”

“Nowhere near enough, jacka-” he cut you off by pushing the tip of his thumb into your mouth, using one of his legs to spread yours so he could nuzzle himself between them.

“Why so quiet now? We couldn't shut you up in those interrogation rooms, but now you're so polite and obedient.” You moaned around his thumb as he stroked your tongue, encouraging you to suck it.

You didn't need much instruction, desperate now to show off your superior skills to the man in front of you.

“That's it, show me how much you want it, my little whore.”

His hand slipped into your pants quietly, but you twitched as his hands feathered their way along your pelvic bone, twitching at the sensitivity of the connection.

His hands slipped into your panties and you knew immediately it was over for you. You were so wet, and he was going to be able to tell just how much you apparently wanted him.

You moaned as he roughly pushed your pants down, finger teasing your cunt through your panties as you still struggled to suck his thumb so you didn't make any louder noises.

“You're enjoying this.” It was no longer a question, but a confident statement, no curiosity but simple satisfaction at how good he was making you feel.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, rubbing some saliva across your lips to make them shine before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your hands barely pushed out in from of you before your chest collided with the wall, and he was close behind you.

As he coaxed your panties down your legs, you closed your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady, desperately clinging to some high ground where you could find it.

His fingers were hot and long, and they quickly found your clit and got to work as he ground his hard cock against your bare ass.

His pants were still on, but you could feel the outline of his dick against you, hips rutting back into him with each flick of his wrist.

“Now, come on Y/N. You said it's not charity if I receive something in return, right?” He whispered into your ear as you tried to reach behind you to grab his dick.

“We're going to take this nice and slow, and you're going to enjoy all of it.”

His fingers slowed to an aching pace as he finally pushed a first digit inside of you. His hips finished moving and his free hand held you still too, so the only friction was coming from that one hand between your legs, practically edging you.

“Fuck me, just fuck me Spencer.” You moaned in frustration.

“Doctor.” He whispered in your ear, the glee in his voice igniting your hatred of him all over again.

“What?” You spat out.

“Call me Doctor Reid, and I'll give you anything you want. You want to cum, right?”

His fingers kept their slow pace, and you could feel yourself growing more impatient, even as you grit your teeth together.

“Fuck me, Doctor Reid.”

“What about please?”

“Fuck you.” You instantly regretted your words when he pulled his hands off your body completely, retreating further into your house.

“No, shit, wait.-”

You scrambled after him as he took a seat on your couch, removing his jacket and loosening his already dishevelled tie.

“What do you want, Y/N?” He asked, palming himself through his pants as he watched you practically fall at his feet, needing his hands back on you.

“I want you to f-fuck me, please Doctor Reid.” He nodded slightly, pulling your remaining clothing off as he responded.

“That's a good little slut.” He led your hand over his cock and let you undo the buttons and pull him out. You needed no other instructions as he leaned back and pulled your legs into a firmer position.

You gave his cock a few strokes before lifting your hips and sinking back down onto him.

“So fucking wet for me, you were so aroused, baby.”

He didn't let you control the pace, but held your hips still just above him as he began pushing into you from below, lifting his hips to fill you up with each thrust.

You couldn't bite back the screams as his balls slapped against you, Spencer trying his best to fit his entire length into you with each deep thrust. You wanted to kill the man only an hour earlier, and now you were sure you wanted to have him inside you like this forever.

“Oh fuck, just like that, just like that Spencer please!”

Your hand drifted down to your cunt and you're began to rub feverishly, even as you felt the pressure build up from your gut.

The pressure was almost unbearable and before you knew it you were squirting on his cock, fingers splashing wave after wave of your arousal over his cock and clothes.

“Already squirting for me? I thought you didn't want anything to do with me, Y/N. I guess you are just a little whore.”

You twitched, but couldn't respond, as he began thrusting sloppier than ever before, grunting in your ear as he finally joined you in your mess.

His grip on your hip slipped as he finally started cumning, and you moaned feeling him so deep as he gathered you in his arms and pulled you chest to chest.

You sat there panting together for an eternity before you even thought about detangling your limbs from one another.

“You made a mess of my fucking sofa.” You said as you finally rose up slightly, looking down at the mess beneath you.

“No, Y/N, that was you. I simply helped.”

“Jackass.”

“Whore.”

You gasped as he laughed at you again, pulling your hips back down over his so you couldn't slide off his cock again.

“Don't act so scandalised when I can feel just how much that turned you on. You're enjoying this.”

You pouted a little, but let your head fall back against his chest.

“And what if I am, Agent Reid?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic

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homestylehughes · 5 months

Text

kiss it better

pairing(s): jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: jack's injury takes a toll on his and y/n's relationship, when tensions come to rise. emotions get the best of them and, feelings are hurt and tears fall. but that's nothing a little kissing or more can fix.

warnings: smut 18+ (idk what happened..), lots of angst, emotional reader and jack. cussing, fluff, cuteness, use of pet names and y/n.

wc: 3k

authors note: hi my little loves!! i'm back with another jack fic... no surprise! BUT this is my second back to back upload. look at me. i wrote all of this in one day, BOOM. anyways! this one was a little emotional to write, i'm trying my hand at writing angst, i love angst. i wasn't going to write smut but HEY IT JUST HAPPENED LOL. so hopefully you guys enjoy!! reblog and like if you enjoy <3 as always much love!!

happy reading <3

The devils had a rough year, everyone knew it, with their season ending in a heartbreaking way.

Jack had an even tougher year, his season being filled with 2 injuries that led his season to end early, so he could undergo shoulder surgery. We all knew this was coming, it was only just a matter of time.

This time it hit Jack harder than the times before, he felt like he let his team, fans, and family down.

Resting and recovering wasn't something Jack liked to do, he’s always been a go go go person, always doing something, always on the ice.

Jim and Ellen went with him to Colorado for his surgery, I stayed back and waited for his arrival back to Jersey. When he arrived back from Colorado from his surgery on Saturday, everything was fine. The first few days had been pretty easy for Jack, sleeping for most of the time. Only getting up to eat, shower, with my help and take his meds.

He had been home for a week before tensions in our home started to rise.

I woke up to a loud noise coming from the kitchen I think, rubbing my eyes quickly. As I lifted up out of bed, I turned to Jack's side of the bed, to see that he's not there.

Quickly slipping on my slippers I make my way down stairs, to see Jack in the kitchen trying to fix himself a bowl of cereal. As I make my way further into the kitchen I see that the milk is spilled all over the counter on the floor, with the bowl also on the floor broken into pieces.

I hear Jack mumbling words under his breath that I can't quite make out, but I'm assuming none of them were things I wanted to hear.

Jack spots me before I even open my mouth to speak. “Shit i'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to wake you up,” he says, looking at me.

“ I just wanted to make myself breakfast, but I can't even do that.” His head hung low as speaks. I could hear the sadness in his voice.

“Jack it's okay, I promise” I say, making my way towards him. “Let me clean this up, and then I'll make you something, okay?”

“NO!” Jack says loudly, the raise of his voice catching me off guard. “No, I can clean up my own mess. I made it.”

Taking a deep breath, trying to choose my words carefully, I can already feel the tension in the room rising.

“At least let me help,” I said quietly, not wanting to upset him. “I don't need your help y/n.” Jack says aggressively, “you've been helping and taking care of me all week.” he says as he turns to grab a towel to clean up the spilled milk.

I stood there in shock, Jack had never talked to me like that before. Anger and sadness ripe through my body. My head is telling me to fight back, but my heart is telling me not too.

Im hot on his heels, following behind him, “jack.'' I called out his name, his back turned to me, as he began to clean up the mess. I get no response, “Jack'' I say again but a little bit louder this time, which still doesn't get a reaction from him.

My head is beginning to win, now wanting to fight back. I go to grab the towel out of his hands, throwing it in the sink behind me. Grabbing his hip, to turn him towards me so I can look at him.

His eyes are locked on the ground, not looking at me. “Jack.” I try again for the third time. “Talk to me, what's going on?” softly saying to him, bringing my hand to his chin to lift his face up, to look at me.

Jack is quick to rip his face from my hand, “i don't want to talk” he says looking straight at me now. Tears of anger, sadness, frustration swimming around in his eyes. “I'm going to clean up my mess, and you’re not going to help, leave it alone.” he says sternly at me.

My eyes are beginning to fill with tears of my own, not wanting to cry in front of him, not wanting to speak and argue with him to make the situation worse. I nod at him and make my way out of the kitchen, tears falling on my face as soon as I do.

I just wanted to help him, be there for him, he needs someone right now even if he won't say it. I know this is hard on him, mentally and physically, but that doesn't make his actions okay.

All of these thoughts are running through my head as I make my way to our shared bedroom. Making my way to the closet, deciding to start getting ready for the day, there's no way I'll be able to sleep after this.

Tears are still falling on my face, I want to go back down there and say something, help him, talk to him, give him a hug. Do anything that I can for him, but I know he doesnt want that right now, he made that very clear. The situation is already tense enough.

While getting ready for the day, I decided to give Jack space today. It seems to be what he wants from me right now. The tears have stopped falling for now, but my thoughts and feelings haven't stopped wandering.

I hear Jack enter our room, as I finish up my makeup, my body instantly tenising up, taking a deep breath I make my way out the bathroom. Grabbing my jacket, my back turned to him, there's so many things I want to say to him but I keep them to myself.

I can feel Jack making his way closer to me, his front facing my back, his hand sliding on my waist.

“Baby” he quietly says, the sound of his voice making me nervous. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, my eyes beginning to water again. Our eyes locked, I can tell he's been crying. I want to reach out to him, but i don't, scared of his reaction.

Jack's hand is still on my waist, pulling me slightly closer to him. I'm the first to speak, I can't handle the silence anymore. “I'm going to run a few errands, I'll be back in a few hours. Text me if I need anything "I say softly, looking at the ground.

“I want to talk” Jack speaks again, I internally scoff at him, so now you want to talk.

“I don't want to talk to you right now jack.” I say, making my way towards the bedroom door. Jack followed behind me, “that's a little childish don't you think? walking away, when i'm trying to talk to you” he says a little louder this time.

Anger is flowing through my veins, hot angry sad tears are now falling down my cheeks. “You don't get to speak to me like that.'' I say a wip my body around to face him. “You don't get to decide when we talk, or when I want to talk to you! '' I say with a voice full of venom. “You didn't want to talk 45 minutes ago, when I tried to talk to you. So yes jack, I am walking away. I have things to do. I don't want to be around someone who treats me like shit when I’m trying to be there for them”

My voice is losing its battle of being strong, my emotions are winning, as my voice begins to trail off. I'm not stopping there, quick to cut off jack as he opens his mouth.

“Actually, we are going to talk now.” I say, throwing my jacket on the ground. “I am trying my best to be the best I can for you right now. As much as you won't admit it, you need me right now, you're so stubborn that you won't let me. Let me be there for you, let me help you, we are in this together, stop acting like you are doing this alone.”

“I know this is hard on you in so many ways, I'll never know what you're going through, but let me be there, talk to me. This isn't easy on me either, seeing the person you love the most in pain and you can't help them.” I'm beginning to sob at this point, trying my best to get everything out that I want to say. I'm not sure if I'll have the strength to do it again.

Taking a few steps, to stand in front of Jack, grabbing his face in my hands, tears also streaming on his face. He leans into my touch this time, instead of pulling away.

“I love you so much, don't push me away, please.'' I say staring in his eyes, looking for a response. Instead of words, Jack pushes his lips to mine, the kiss surprising me, knocking me off my feet almost. My hands never leave his cheeks, our mouths moving in sync, in a passionate kiss.

Jack pulled away first, lips swollen, our chests both rising. “I'm so sorry” Jack begins “ I'm so grateful for your help and love during all of this” “this” he gestures to his shoulder which is sitting strapped up in a brace. “This is dragging me down. I hate it. I can't do anything for myself, i feel so bad when i ask for help im scared that I'm annoying you.” he says, “you'll never annoy me, Jack.'' I say while running my finger under his eyes, wiping away the tears.

“Thank you for being here for me. I do need you, I'll always need you.” he finishes, before I have the chance to speak, jack is reconnecting our lips.

Walking us back towards the bed, where he sits on the edge, his free arm urging me to sit on his lap. I pull away quickly, “ Jack, I can't. I don't want to hurt you”

“You wont hurt me baby, what's hurting me is you not being on my lap, kissing me. Now get up here” he says with a smirk, pulling my body down to rest on top of his.

Once I'm settled safely on his lap, Jack immdentially pulls my face down, to reconnect our lips together.

Our makeout session is picking up, our hips grinding together, lips moving frantically together, jacks tongue slipping into my mouth, clashing with mine.

We haven't been this close in awhile, I've missed his body, his lips on mine. With another roll of my hips, Jack pulls his lips back groaning, throwing his head back.

Giving me the perfect access to his brace free shoulder, kissing and sucking on exposed skin of his neck. His grip on my waist tightening as our bodies move together.

“Baby, I need more. Please.” Jack whines out to me, “I need to see you, I want to feel you, please, please”

I pull back from his neck, his eyes filled with desperation. “Are you sure? I don't think we should, your shoulder, I don't want to hurt you jack.” I can see his heartache when I say those words to him.

“Baby, I'm okay. I need you so badly, fuck” he says breathlessly as he beings to move our hips together again. I moan, as Jack connects our lips again, his hand sliding under my shirt, urging me to pull it off. In a quick motion I pull it above my head, leaving me in my bra.

“Off. off. I want it off baby '' Jack says pulling at the straps of my bra. I reach behind me to unclip it, throwing it somewhere behind me.

Jack is quick to grasp one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking and lightly biting it, the sensation causing me to moan out from above him. “Fuck Jack, yes fuck.” our hips moving at a quicker space, the dampness between my legs growing by the second, I can feel Jacks bulge swell benenth me.

“Jack.” I moan out as he sucks and licks both of my breasts. “Jack i need more fuck, but i dont want to hurt you.'' I whimper. “I know baby I can feel it” he says in between the kisses his trailing up my neck. An idea pops into my head as his lips are about to meet mine again, I pull away. “move and sit up against the headboard.” I say to him, Jack's eyes widen in surprise.

I get off of him, and he quickly makes his way to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard.

I began to unzip my jeans, pulling them down my legs along with my underwear, leaving me completely bare in front of him. I began to crawl to Jack on the bed. I reached him, grabbing the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down his legs, leaving him bare.

I take in his state, eyes swimming with lust and love, pupils blown, chest falling, lips swollen. He looks beautiful, brace and all.

Wasting no more time, I sit myself back down on his lap, his cock resting warm and hard against my inner thigh. “Hi” I said to him, “Is that what you wanted? Want me to kiss everything better?” I say, grabbing the base of his cock, lifting up so I can align myself with him.

Without warning I sink down on Jack's cock, the both of us groaning at the same time. I'll never get used to the way Jack feels inside me, the burn between my thighs feels dealicious, I want more. I need more.

“Fuck baby.” Jack whines out, his free hand grabbing my waist harshly. “I need you to move please.” “like this?” I say as I raise up slightly and slide back down on his cock.

“Yes, like that baby, fuck. More. More.” Jack says as he's looking up at me, so desperate and needy.

I decide I'll stop tourchoring the both of us, as I lift off of him completely and sink down again. The action causing me to throw my head back in pleasure. “Fuck jack you feel so good” i say as I begin to ride at him at a slow pace.

“Faster, fuck” jack groans from below me, getting tired of the pace he begins to thrust his hips to mine.

“Right there jack please”. The angle of this thrusts hits my clit perfectly, causing shock waves to crash through my body. I can feel myself beginning to get tired, needing something to grab on too.

Grabbing the headboard behind Jack, I lift myself off of him, and sink back down, putting all of my weight into the headboard, to create more leverage.

The new movement causes my whole body to shutter. glancing below me, Jack's head is leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed, mouth open moaning below me.

As if he can feel me looking at him, he opens his eyes, pushes himself off the head board and takes my left nipple into his mouth, his eyes remain on mine.

I began to speed up my movements, causing the whole bed to move below us.

“Fuck right there baby.” Jack moans out to me, his hand moving from my waist to the back of my neck pulling it down to connect our lips.

Moans spilling out between the both of us, I can feel the coil starting to build in my stomach, as our hips meet.

“Jack fuck” i moan out i a throw my head back, now resting my hands on his hips.

“I can feel you clintching around fuck baby.” “im almost there fuck” slamming myself harder down on his cock.

Jack trailing his hand down the front of my body, stopping where we’re connected, his fingers finding my clit instantly, pinching and rubbing it between his fingers.

“Oh my god, fuck” I drop my head to jacks neck, still working myself against him.

“Don't stop, don't stop.” I yell out to him, I can feel my legs beginning to shake

“Baby I'm about to cum.” Jack lifts his hand from my clit, forcely grabbing the back of my head, smashing our lips together, teeth and tongues clashing.

One last snap of our hips, and I'm cumming. My head dropping to Jack's shoulder, incoherent things are falling from both our lips as we chase our highs together.

After a few seconds I gained enough strength to pull myself up. I can feel Jack's hand rubbing up and down my back.

I sit back enough to fully look at him. Our chests falling quickly, trying to catch our breaths. “That was the hottest thing I've ever seen.'' Jack says to me, his hand moving to push hair out of my face. “Did so good for me baby” I smile at him, before I'm quickly pulled back into reality when I remember his shoulder.

“Jack. your shoulder” i say frantically, “are you hurt? I knew we should have done this. Oh god "I say as I'm trying to push myself off of him quickly.

“Hey hey, baby I'm fine.” Jack says as he grabs a hold of my face, his eyes locked with mine. “Hell, I'm more than fine. I'm great, all because of you” he smiles fully at me.

My nerves settle a little, as I look over at him to make sure he's actually okay. Jack laughs at my concern as his face follows my movements. “Baby i promise i'm okay” he chuckles out to me again.

“Okay sorry, for caring about you.” I sigh dramatically out to him. “Hey now, none of that” he says, pulling my face closer to his again.

“Come kiss me better.” he whispers out before connecting our lips.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #jack hughes #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut

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satorusugurugurl · 4 months

Note

How would satosugu, nanami, and choso react to reader trying to hide a really bad injury after a mission and thinking they’ll take care of it tomorrow, but they end up passing out or something ?

Mwah 💋

Hurt

Summary: You get injured on the job, and try to hide it from your boyfriend, how will they react when they find out the truth?

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Choso Kam, FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,221

Warning: Mentions of injuries, blood, suggestivness, little angsty, little crack!

A/N: Ah nothing like a good stern lecture from sexy anime men! Thank you for the request Nonnie enjoy!! 💚

Gojo Satoru + Geto Suguru

This wasn’t good, nope, not in the slightest. Your side was killing you. The structures the doctor at the hospital did sting each time you moved, and you’d already taken the pain meds he had prescribed. You just needed to wait until tomorrow. Shoko said she’d heal you as soon as she was in town. Until then, you just needed to fake it.

“I don’t think you should be alone right now,” Ijichi announces as he opens the car door for you. “I should call Gojo and Geto to tell them what happened.”

“I’m fine,” you respond with a grimace. “They're busy teaching right now. I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“But you lost a lot of blood.”

“I'm fine!” you assured him, patting him on the back as you headed towards your house. “Don't call them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Standing inside the threshold, you waved as he drove away, but the second the door shielded your face, you doubled over in pain. If the assistant supervisor had seen you like this, he wouldn’t have let you go inside alone. Your trusted friend would have called your partners, insisting for them to come home. If they had known what had happened, they would have cared for you, of course, but you would also have received a lecture on why you should be safe. Geto would insist you train specifically with him. Gojo would ensure you were sent on missions with him until they were sure you could protect yourself.

That would be the worst-case scenario. You hadn’t gotten injured like this in years. It wasn’t even your fault. The floor gave way, leaving you vulnerable for a second, totally not on you, but your boyfriends wouldn’t see it like that.

“Oooh fuck me.” You whimpered, resting your head against the door. “Fuck me”

“That can be arranged.” Hot breath fanned over your neck, making you jump. “Whoa, easy there!”

Gojo’s eyes were on you as soon as you turned toward the voice. They were full of happiness and joy over seeing you come home. “Satoru? What are you doing at home? Shouldn’t you be teaching right now?” Your sudden outburst had him blinking in confusion.

“All of the students were sent on missions,” Geto answered as he leaned against the wall, cocking an eyebrow. “There were no other missions, so we decided to surprise you.”

“Oooh!” The throbbing pain in your side had you wincing. “That’s great! Awesome, what a nice surprise!”

“You don’t look too excited,” Satoru bluntly called you out. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”

“Oooh yeah, I’m great.” You were lying; you were far from great because the room was spinning. “I need to sit down; my feet are—” your vision blurred as you stumbled past Satoru leaning against the wall.

“You sure?” Suguru asked, gently grabbing your shoulder and steadying you. “You look pale.”

“I'm just tired.” the faster you got past them, the quicker you could get off your feet and relax.

Suguru releases your shoulder, letting you step towards the living room. “For someone who’s doing great. You sure are swaying a lot.” Satoru was by your side, watching you as if he thought you would fall, which you might end up doing.

“Yeah, I can assure you, I’m fine.” Your tone was as sharp as a knife, causing both partners to cease interrogation. “I just wanna sit down with you both., watch a movie and cuddle.”

Upon hearing your request, the request you always made when you returned from a mission. Both men fell into your routine. Suguru walked past you, heading to the couch, while Satoru ran to the bedroom.

“I’ll grab blankets!”

“Princess, do you want to grab the snacks? I’ll pick out the movie.” there was a particular look in your dark-haired boyfriend's eyes. He was trying to test you to see if you were as fine and dandy as you claimed to be

Knowing him, the interrogation would start if you asked to pick out the movie instead. Neither he nor Satoru would let up until you came clean about the injury. Once that was out in the open, you knew the lectures and scheduled training sessions would soon follow.

Blinking away, the blurry vision in your eyes, you gave Suguru a thumbs up, heading into the kitchen. You grab different kinds of snacks, candy, popcorn, and some chips. Each wavering movement had the stitches in your side screaming in protest; your sore skin begged for you to sit down and relax. You tried to fight through the pain, but your painkillers weren’t cutting in. Leaving you in a sheen sheet of sweat as you carried the bowls back to the living room.

Upon hearing your footsteps, Suguru turned just as Satoru returned with a blanket. The bowls in your hands felt like they weighed a ton as you tried stepping forward, but your legs refused to move. Suguru noticed your behavior, standing and taking a tentative step forward.

“Princess?” Two Suguru’s stood before you as your vision blurred with black spots. Something hot and wet ran down your side.

“Why are there two Suguru’s?” Your voice cracked as the bowls fell to the ground. “I-Is it my birthday?” Your hazy attention was suddenly on Satoru as you stumbled. “Oh,” Blinking at the Satoru’s rushing for you, the room suddenly turned on its side. Oh no, you were falling. “Fuck.”

Darkness overcame you, and thoughts of double Satoru’s and Suguru’s infiltrated your dreams. Dreams that were lewd, sweaty, and full of pleasure. But in the midst of your, what would you call it? SatoSugu orgy, Shoko appeared, staring down at you.

“Make sure you sterilize that wound,” Her cigarette bobbed between her lips. “Infection can set fast.”

“I know that.” The Suguru at your neck responded less out of breath than you were.

The Satoru between your legs looked back at Shoko. “Do you want us to bring her in tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll stop by on the way to work.”

As you blinked in your dreams, your groggy eyes opened, and you found yourself lying in bed. Suguru was shaking a spray bottle before spraying it on your side. The wound suddenly felt like hundreds of hot needles were stabbing it. With watering eyes, you screamed in pain. You knew the spray was supposed to help, but it seemed to enhance the throbbing pain in your side.

“Looks like your patient is awake.” Shoko chuckled on the phone Satoru held. The pain made you try to curl in on yourself just to have your boyfriend stop you. “I’ll let you guys go. See you in the morning.”

“Bye, thanks, Shoko.” the second you heard the FaceTime call, cerulean eyes met you. “Soo, you wanna try telling us how your mission went again?”

“N-No.”

“Ooh, she said no, Suguru.”

“That she did. Do you want to tell her?”

Your white-haired boyfriend shook his head, a sinister smile on his face. “No, I know you were looking forward to it.” Suguru’s eyes were shut as he gave you a gentle smile that wasn’t gentle in the slightest.

“Did you seriously think Shoko wouldn't call us and tell us about your injury?”

It feels like your house crashes around you. “That traitor.” Your wound receives another spray of antiseptic. “Ow fuck! What was that for?!” Suguru continues to smile, the smile that always scares the loving shit out of you.

“You heard Shoko, I need to make sure it’s clean.”

Satoru is by your side in an instant. “Why wouldn’t you tell us what happened? Did you think we were going to yell at you or something?” You bark out a laugh, giving them a look of disbelief.

“Yes! I made a rookie mistake. Regardless of how it happened, it ended with me leaving myself wide open and getting hurt in the process. I know that this one.” Suguru hums in response. He cleans up the bloodied gauze around you. “Is going to make me train with him. And you aren’t going to let me go on any missions by myself.”

“You’re right about one thing: you will be training with me every morning for a week.” Suguru pats you on the head.

“But you’re wrong about me going to higher-ups. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself; you had an accident. You’re not the first sorcerer to get injured on the job.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Both your partners exchange a look with each other. “Yeah, we aren’t going to lock you in the apartment and not allow you to go out. You’re strong, but you shouldn’t have lied to us.” Suguru gently strokes your hair back. “So in the future, if you happen to get hurt, just be honest about it. You wouldn’t like it if Satoru or I hid something like that from you, would you?” They watch as you shake your head.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I won’t ever keep something like that from you guys again.”

“Good,” Suguru kisses your forehead as Satoru lies beside you on the bed. “but just because you apologized doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”

“Huh?”

Satoru claps his hands together above his head, drawing your attention. “Sex ban for a week.” If your side wasn’t screaming in pain, you would have sat up.

“S-Sex ban?! Why?! Shoko will have me all healed up tomorrow!”

“Your side might be healed, but our hearts are still wounded.” Faux sorrow is thick in Satoru’s voice.

“L-Let’s be reasonable about this! I haven’t seen you guys in like a week! I need you both!”

The sound of things being thrown in a trashcan draws your attention. “Should have thought about that before you lied to us. For the next week, you’re training with me; in that time, neither me nor Satoru will touch. You’re not even allowed to touch yourself. Princess, you’ll have to suffer and watch us go at it.” Satoru scrambles off the bed, throwing himself at Suguru, his delicate pink lips pressing against your boyfriend's. “It’s a shame, too, because you sounded like you were having a great time when you passed out earlier.” You helplessly lay in bed, watching your boyfriends make out with each other.

You never hid another injury from them after that torturous week.

Nanami Kento:

“Ow, ow, ow.” You gingerly touch the gash on the back of your head. It throbbed in pain to the point it was making you dizzy. You had Nitta glue it shut with the first aid kit from her car, ignoring her pleas to call Nanami and go to the hospital. The gash itself wasn’t a big deal. So, there is no point in calling Nanami on his day off. It could wait until Shoko was back at school.

A cursed spirit got too zealous and threw you against a metal gate. The impact had you seeing stars, but you quickly shook it off and finished your mission. The wound would be another addition to the scars you had gained over the years. A superficial cut was something your boyfriend did not need to worry about or get involved in. The only thing he needed to do was lose himself in his book.

Reading was precisely what he was doing as you stepped into the apartment. Nanami’s legs were propped up on the ottoman, his eyes roaming over the pages of the book he had eagerly awaited. The gentle smile on his face as he sipped tea was the only clarification you needed to know you had made the right choice and not bothering him.

“I’m home!” You announced, kicking your shoes off before collapsing on the couch beside him.

“Welcome back.” Nanami laid his book down on his chest, allowing him to kiss you gently. “How did the mission go?”

“Easy, I’m happy to be home.”

“I'm happy to have you home. I was pretty lonely and bored.”

“Lonely and bored? Is your book not that good? You’ve been so eager to read it for weeks.”

“Oh, it’s good, I missed—” his lips move, but a sharp ringing in your ears drowns him out. He notices the blank look as you try to pinpoint what he said. “Love?”

“Hmm?” Play it cool, play cool.

“I asked you a question.”

Well, playing it cool might not be as easy as you thought. “I’m sorry I’m a little out of it. What did you say, Ken?” The questioning look in his eyes lets you know he’s on to you. Damn him for being so perspective.

“I said I missed you and asked if you wanted to lie down on my lap while I read.”

“Oh! Sure, of course.”

You rest your head in Nanami’s lap, making sure your gash isn’t anywhere close to him. Your husband notices the awkward way you lie down, as if your head is tender to the touch, but he doesn’t say anything. He lifts his book while his free hand gently strokes the top of your head.

Each time he pulls his hand back, you stiffen in fear that he’ll graze over your wound. He doesn’t come close, though. Nanami focuses his strokes solely on the crown of your head. Usually, you would have called asleep and could fall asleep, and you would have if it weren't for the pulsing, pounding pressure that begins to build in your head. You choke back, pained groans, and whine, not wanting Nanami to know what’s going on.

The pressure continues to build, and nausea swirls in the pit of your stomach. Ringing in ears, headache, and nausea put the three together, along with a head wound, and you don’t even need a doctor to tell you what’s wrong. Most likely, you have a concussion, and it’s a bad one.

You should have listened to Nitta and went to the hospital. Getting checked out right now was probably a good idea, but how could you tell your boyfriend now? ‘Oh, my brain got scrambled by a cursed spirit and failed to mention it to you. Could you maybe take me to the hospital?’ Yeah, that was a conversation destined to end in an argument or lecture, both if you were lucky. If Shoko hurried up, you might have been able to sneak out to meet her at the school.

“Love.” Your husband whispers. “You’re trembling, and you keep wincing. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Nanami holds his hand out in front of your face. His palm is coated red with blood.

“You’ve already lied to me once, so do not do it again.”

“Ooh, I’m bleeding.” You try to sit up, but your body falls forward as dizziness overwhelms you. Nanami catches you, lifting you into his arms. “The blood is supposed to be inside of my body.”

You blink slowly as Kento rushes out of your apartment. There are blurred shapes and muffled voices as you’re treated in the hospital; you feel disoriented like you’re high. Your husband's hand holding yours is the one comforting sensation that grounds you.

His thumb rubs comforting circles over your knuckles. His deep, soothing voice talks to you, shushing your pained cries as the back of your head is stitched shut. And his smell engulfs you as you lay together in the hospital bed.

Once the room clears, you look towards your husband, who stares ahead with an unreadable expression. The instant he feels your eyes on him, his head jerks in your direction. That unreadable expression shifts into a look of anger and disappointment. You were royally fucked.

“Ten stitches.” An audible gulp sounds from you. “The doctor had to put ten stitches because your makeshift patch job failed.”

“It was only—”

“Stop talking, do not interrupt me.” Oh, he was pissed, and you felt like you were five inches tall as you snapped your mouth shut. “I called Nitta to find out she told you to call me, but you insisted on not bothering me on my day off. When have I ever in our entire relationship made you feel as though I’m not available on my days off?”

“You haven't.”

“Then tell me why you wouldn’t have called me.”

“I-I didn’t wanna be a bother. You work so hard you deserve to relax on your days off.”

Kento turns so he’s facing you, fingers gently holding your chin. “Just because I have a day off does not mean I am incapable of caring for my wife.” The anger that burned in his brown iris shifted to sadness and concern. “Do I make myself clear? We don’t hide stuff like injuries from each other.”

He had every right to be angry. If he had hidden the injury from you, you would’ve reacted the same way. Hiccups bubble in your chest as you softly cry. Nanami’s grip on your chin slides up to your cheek fingers, gently brushing away the falling tears.

“I'm sorry, Kento, I should’ve talked to you.” His lips kiss away the last lingering tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing. Are you okay now? You're not in pain, are you?”

“No, I'm just drained.”

Nanami peered at the clock on the wall. “Go ahead and get some rest. I’ll wake you in about an hour to check on you.” His warm and gentle voice has you drifting to sleep.

“I love you, Kento.”

“I love you too, darling.”

Choso Kamo:

“Ew, do you think it’s broken? It shouldn’t look like that.” Nobara cringes as Megumi and Yuuji help ease you onto a bench.

“It’s just a sprain.”

“I don’t know, but it’s already swelling.” Megumi’s blue eyes lock on your ankle. “I might be broken.”

Yuuji is biting down on his knuckle, glancing between your ankle and face. “My brother is going to kill me.” You were going to kill the three of them if they didn’t give you some space to breathe.

“It’s not broken. I assure you of that, and Choso will not kill you.”

What had started as a typical training session had turned into a full-on brawl. One that ended with you getting kicked so hard you stumbled back ten yards just to roll your ankle. None of your students were at fault; if anyone was, you encouraged them to go at you with full strength.

“Look, just do me a favor, okay? Do not mention this to Gojo. The bastard will never let me live it down, and if you see Choso, don’t mention it to him either.”

“Should we just go grab Ieri for you?” Megumi glanced back at your ankle, which was already starting to bruise.

Oh, if only life were. “She has today off, and I refuse to bug her with some so Minuscule; I’ll be fine until tomorrow.” Skepticism painted the features of your students. “I’m fine. Go wash up. Class dismissed.” None of them moved like they were waiting to see if one of the three would fight you on your decision. There was hesitation in their features, so you mustered the best mom look you could.

One that terrified them more than a curse.

“Right, right! Later!” Yuuji was the first to take off, running down the path. Taking a second glance at you was all your other students needed to follow close behind him.

You sat there on the bench, looking up at the sky. All you needed was a few minutes to yourself before you attempted to head back. But those few minutes turned into an hour. Not because you got tired or lost track of time. No, it was because when you tried to get up, your ankle protested at the weight you put on it.

Maybe it wasn’t a minor sprain like you thought.

Regrets of your choices in the last hour lingered like cheap perfume. You had no phone, no students to help you, and there was no one to come to your rescue. Your only choices were to crawl back to the teacher dorms or wait for a soul to pass by. If no one stopped by, you would have to settle in for a long night

You were about to start crawling, praying Gojo didn’t walk by when a confused “Baby?” Called out from down the trail, drawing your attention in.

Choso was rushing forward, his hair bouncing with each step. “Hi, Cho!” You waved before patting the seat next to you.

“What are you doing here? Gojo said your training session with the kids ended over an hour ago.”

“Oh, I, uhm, just wanted to admire this beautiful day. Take a chance to smell the roses.”

Your boyfriend sat down next to you, his eyes moving to look up at the trees. The sunlight that shone through the branches and leaves caused the rays of sunlight to dance over his handsome face. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes and soaked in the sun's warmth.

At that moment, you forgot about the pain in your ankle. He looked so happy; the last thing you wanted to do was ruin his peaceful zen to have him worry about you.

Opening his eyes, he let out a soft sigh before his warm gaze met you. He looked at you like he had when admiring the towering trees above. Damn, your busted ankle; if the numbing pain weren’t so bad, you would’ve kissed him until neither of you could breathe.

“I see you’ve been here. It’s a perfect day.” Yeah, if only he knew the other reason you were sitting on the bench. “As beautiful as the view is, it is getting late. Do you want to head back? Yuuji invited us to go to the movies tonight.”

“Uhm, yeah.” Choso took your hand in his, helping you stand up. “Nngh.” You cry out behind your hand as the pain in your ankles shoots up your leg.

Choso’s warm gaze on you and an. “What’s wrong?” He studies your stance, noting how you put all your weight on your good ankle.

“N-Nothing, I’m just stiff.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm!”

“Okay then.” he pulls his hand away, causing your balance to falter. “Let’s go if you're fine.”

Sweat beads on your forehead, not from the warm day but from the pain. “Alright.” You try to come off as chipper, but your voice betrays you, cracking under the discomfort. “L-Let’s get going! Movies! Yay!” Choso crosses his arms over his chest as he watches you.

Taking one step forward feels like a sore is plunged into your foot. You grit your teeth before taking another step forward, the pain more intense this time, the singular sword suddenly multiplied by ten. Blinking away the tears in your eyes, you attempt to take another step forward, only to stumble.

You brace yourself for the impact that never comes. Choso’s arm is around your waist the second you stumble forward. He can feel your ragged breathing as he eases back onto the bench. His long fingers gently push up your leggings, revealing your swollen and discolored ankle. It seems as though sitting on the bench has made it worse. You knew better than to let it dangle. I.C.E., icing, compressing, and elevating was best for you to do with a sprained ankle. Instead, the swelling was out of control when this could’ve been avoided.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” In your tear-filled gaze, Choso’s eyes are lingering on your face. “Is this the real reason you’ve been sitting here for so long?”

There was no sense in lying, not when you had been caught. “Yes, that’s why I’ve been sitting here. The kids offered to help me, but I was being stubborn.” The sigh that leaves Choso’s mouth is thick with disappointment. “I didn’t bring my phone, or I would have called you eventually.” Your boyfriend moves, turning so his back is facing you.

“Yet when I’m beside you, you still hide it.”

“I-I know, I’m sorry.” You wait for him to get up and leave you stranded on the bench. But instead, he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Well, come on,” he gestures to his back, “get on, we’ll go home, and we’ll take a look at it there,” You do as he says, climbing onto his back. “And up we go.” he stands, allowing you to bury your face into the crook of his neck. He gives you a piggyback ride across campus. Things remain relatively quiet until he sighs. “Baby, next time you get hurt, please tell me. That way, I can help you,” he glances at the corner of his eye. “I know you think you have to do things all on your own, but you don’t when I’m with you.”

Not even a second passed before you bit down gently on his cheek. “I promise I’ll tell you next time. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. I’m sort of embarrassed that I got taken down by my ankle. I’m a sorcerer, for god's sake.” You give his cheek another nibble, winning shy laughter from him.

“Don't eat me~ how will you get back to the dorm?”

“Crawl?” You suggest, resulting in Choso laughing harder.

“No crawling for my baby, I got you.” and you couldn't have been more content with that.

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