#note on his age (because I'm extremely not normal about him)

[blvcklizard]

He's so babygirl (a 26 y o mass murderer)

[sceletaflores]

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No question marks. Motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 6

Part 6 – Supporting character musings – Eden kids

In the first three parts of this post series, I talked in detail about how each of the Forgers' specific ways of speaking in the Japanese version helps shape their character. Now I want to analyze the supporting SxF characters in terms of their speech and see what traits we can infer. I'll discuss the Eden kids first, and then the supporting adult characters like Yuri, Fiona, etc, in the next post.

I'm going to start with Damian since I feel he has the most complexity in terms of what can be analyzed from his speech. While there's nothing about his speech that really stands out to me, at least compared to the Forgers, there's still little telling nuances based on his choice of words and honorifics. He uses casual speech for fellow kids his age, and polite speech for (most) adults, which is normal…I say "most" adults though because, while he uses keigo (the standard polite form of Japanese speech) for Eden teachers and the adults in his family, he doesn't use it at all during his first encounter with Loid. He even calls Loid おっさん("ossan"), which is basically "mister" but for middle-aged or older men, instead of 兄さん("niisan"), which is the same, but for a younger man akin to Loid's age.

Later, as Loid's goody-goody act gets on his nerves, his speech becomes a bit vulgar. He adamantly shouts that he "won't hang out with that peasant girl," using the "crude" conjugation of "won't be friends with/hang out with", 相手にしねー! ("aitei ni shine!") instead of the casual 相手にしない ("aitei ni shinai"). He even says うるせー ("urusee") which means "shut up" and is even more rude than うるさい ("urusai"). I'm actually surprised he let himself talk like that in front of Donovan. I suppose it shows how passionate he is about his "aversion" to Anya.

Speaking of Anya, he's never addressed her by name in the Japanese version, opting instead to call her, at best, the casual form of "you," "omae" ("お前") and at worst, some rude name like "temee" ("手前"), the derogatory form of "you."

When it comes to his family, he addresses Donovan and Melinda as 父上 ("chichi-ue") and 母上("haha-ue") respectively. These are more formal terms for the standard polite ones typically used to address your father and mother, "o-tou-san" (お父さん) and "o-kaa-san" (お母さん). For Demetris though, he's more casual. Not only does he use plain speech, but he also calls Demetris 兄貴 ("aniki"), which is a term of endearment, like "Big Bro."

He uses casual speech with Jeeves as well, which makes sense since Jeeves is a butler and thus "lower" than anyone in the Desmond household.

To me, all of this implies that Damian is a fairly normal kid in terms of how he addresses those around him, with the exception being his extreme formality with his parents. Terms like "chichi-ue" and "haha-ue" are mostly used in uptight, flatulent families, and obviously families like the Desmonds match that description. But it also shows how this is forcing Damian to rarely get the affection and bonding he craves from his parents.

As a side note, I don't have much to say about Bill and George, since they're such minor characters and nothing about their speech stood out to me in the few chapters they appeared in. But I found it interesting that they both call Damian "Damian-kun," with "-kun" in this case being an honorific to show endearment for a male equal, similar to "-chan" for females. However, Damian doesn't use "-kun" with any of the other male students, which is another indication of his comparatively standoffish personality.

Ewen and Emile speak similarly to Damian, using casual speech for fellow kids and keigo for adults. The exception with them, however, is that they address Damian with keigo as well. Not only that, but they call him "Damian-sama," which is unusual among friends their age. The honorific "-sama" is more humbling than "-san" and is often translated as "Lord" or "Master." I wonder what Damian has done to make them think so highly of him.

Moving onto Becky, she uses feminine speech in most situations. This speech is defined by adding softening interjections at the end of sentences, like "ne" (ね), "no" (の), and especially "wa" (わ). She also uses a variety of honorifics for the other characters. She calls Anya "Anya-chan," with "-chan" being a term that shows affection between female friends. She uses the feminine "I/me" pronoun "atashi" as well.

Because of her infatuation with Loid, she calls him "Loid-sama," with "-sama," as I just discussed, being a very polite honorific used for someone you're subservient to, or at least someone you look up to immensely.   

She's actually never called Yor by her name – at first she calls Yor 奥さま ("oku-sama"), which is a polite way of addressing someone else's wife, typically translated as something like "honorable wife." But after she sees how strong Yor is and "officially" decides to be her mentee (in her mind anyway), she calls Yor 師匠 ("shishou") which means "master" or "teacher" in a trainee to trainer sense.

But despite her high social status as a Blackbell, Becky uses the most childish terms for her mother and father, "papa" (パパ) and "mama" (ママ) respectively.

It's not uncommon for very young kids to address their parents in such a way, but it is ironic that everything else about Becky makes her seem like she wants to be more "grown-up" than she actually is, but she's still just a kid deep down, at least when it comes to her relationship with her parents.

Continue to Part 7 ->

<- Return to Part 5

[bet-on-me-13]

Misunderstandings really really suck

Edit: Part 2 is Up

So heres the deal, it's a normal Vivisection AU where Danny had to run away to Gotham after his parents try to kill him, and let's say that he takes Ellie with him too.

They stay there for a few years and after a while they manage to establish a little life for themselves. Danny is running a small Shop that makes them enough money to live comfortably in the apartment right above his Shop, meanwhile Ellie is going to Gotham Metro Academy on a scholarship because she is really smart and they managed to fake some school records for her when they were making themselves new Identities.

(Side Note: Danny is now 26, while Ellie hasn't started aging yet and still looks 12, but she will begin to soon since she just hit her 12th birthday)

Danny also runs a small Ghost Shop out of his store, just selling small bits of Distilled Ectoplasm or Ecto-Infused Treats to the local Ghosts in return for small favors or help around the shop.

But here's the thing. Ellie is still an unstable Clone, even if they did managed to find a reliable treatment in the form of Ecto-Dejecto. But Danny's parents were the only ones who knew how to make that stuff, and the Ecto-Dejecto they stole all those years ago is beginning to run out.

Danny begins to work tirelessly trying to replicate it, diving full on into his Mad Scientist side to try and find a way to make more ED for Ellie. He manages to make some prototypes, but he is nowhere near confident that they are good enough.

He decides to call in some favors from the local Ghosts. He calls the ones he is confident will survive this and asks them to try out his Ecto Dejecto to see if it will work for Ellie, but he does warn them that there will probably be unexpected side effects that they will probably not like.

The Ghosts agree to do it, because in the years that the Fenton's have lived there they have grown extremely attached to Ellie. She is like a little sister or daughter for many of them, they would throw away their afterlives if it meant helping her.

For most of the samples, the ED doesn't work at all. Some of them work for a single moment before cutting out, others don't do anything, and some have crazy effects that affect them for a little while before disappearing abruptly. One guy turned into a Dog, not the worst outcome but not the intended one. Another began to glow brightly and couldn't turn it off, that one lasted for an hour.

They keep testing them, out in the nearby Alley since they don't want to destroy the house or Danny's makeshift Lab, for a few weeks.

They problem comes when they are spotted one night by Red Hood.

...

Jason was crossing the Rooftops while on Patrol. He was going a little farther than his normal patrol range, since he had the time and he wanted to make sure there was no trouble in the nearby areas either.

As he was about to hop from one rooftop to another, he got a weird feeling. It was strange, he didn't feel anything on his skin, he didn't smell anything, he didn't even hear anything, but he somehow knew that there was something strange happening in the nearby Alley. It was like he could sense it.

Peeking over the edge of the rooftop, he saw a group of about 10 people. It was a bunch of strange looking people with green-ish skin, and one normal looking person. The normal looking one was wearing a lab coat, and seemed to be about 25 yrs old. Jason felt like there was something off about that guy, but he couldn't place exactly what. He was holding a box of something in his hand, and talking to the group.

"Ok guys, I'm really confident this time!" He said, "I think one of these may be the one!"

The man placed the box on a nearby Dumpster and opened it up, taking out a strange glowing green Vial. He handed it to one of the Greenish people and watched as they injected themselves with it.

Jason watched as they began to glow slightly before their arms suddenly grew to be longer than they were tall. The Man in the Lab Coat sighed in discontent, before saying "Ok, not that one. But we still have a few to try out!"

Jason watched as one by one the people below injected themselves with the green Liquid, each of them having some strange phenomenon happen to them before moving on to the next. The strange thing was that none of them seemed to be concerned with the changes, just commenting on it felt before moving on.

Finally, they got to the last person in line. As they injected themselves, Jason felt a sense of Anticipation well up in his gut. He didn't know why, but he felt like this was going to he important.

He was proven right as the Man who had injected himself began to glow brightly. Jason was overwhelmed with the sense of Pure Power coming from him. It was intense, he didn't know how, but he could actually feel the man begin to grow stronger and stronger. The feeling was nearly suffocating, but he managed to regain his senses long enough to hear Lab Coat laugh maniacally. He looked over to see that the entire group was enthusiastically high-fiving and fist-bumping eachother, all cheering at the success.

"Hahaha! Yes! Finally!" Labcoat Cheered, "It's done! Once I make some more, we'll be able to-"

The overwhelming power suddenly cut out. It was so abrupt that even the people below didn't speak for some time. They all just stood on slight shock before Labcoat spoke up, "Ok...ok this is fine. All I need to do is take that formula and find a way to make the effect Permanent. After that we're all set." He said, a thoughtful expression on his face, "I think we'll be good to go within a Week!"

The group of people muttered in agreement, and Labcoat thanked them all for a bit before they all began to walk away. It seemed like the meeting was over.

Jason took a moment to collect himself, before deciding to follow some of the group so he could question them. Unfortunately, everybody he followed disappeared into thin air after a short time.

It occurred to him that he hadn't tried to intervene at all. Usually he would have jumped down and beaten them all black and blue for testing drugs right in front of him, but he didn't this time. Why? He also realized that he should have followed the Lab Coat guy first, not waited until it was his last option. Why did he not go after that guy instantly? Why did he hesitate? Was it something to do with that Ominous Feeling that led him to the meeting in the first place? There was just something about the guy that made Jason feel inexplicably sacred of him.

Either way, he needed to tell the others.

Because from what he had seen, a Mad Scientist had been working with a group of Metahumans to create a Super Soldier Drug right there in Gotham, and they needed to stop them.

[kaerumi]

Hello dear, I was wondering if you can do some yandere for the very infamous OP men shanks, mihawk,ace,and sabo with normal y/n who's younger than them in separate senariors..

Y/N traits : innocent, sweetheart, warm personality, enchanted beauty with extremely cutie pie face and amazing warm and calm voice that melts the snow from its sweetness it's make anyone feel at ease only by hearing it , it's one of the most reasons why those men had gone insane over her ,why they want to possess her at any cost .

TY and have a good day ☺️.

TW/CW: Yandere, Age gap is up to 3 years, obsession, implied murder, implied poisoning, mention of murder & arson, manipulation (for Sabo)

Notes: I'll be honest I have no clue how to do an innocent reader. And it's gonna be GN Sorry I don't particularly do Female readers Also sorry for not writing in so long :^

Shanks

Shanks was a popular Model, he can flirt with anyone without hesitation.

Then there was you, you weren't popular at all. When he saw you he felt the urge to just... Take you.

He felt jealous of the guys around you that soaked in your attention, in your voice and innocence and especially your beauty.

He just needed it. Needed you.

Eventually he started obsessing over you trying to find every photo there was of you, eventually it got worse

Just hope for both your innocence and sanity you don't meet him.

Until you did.

And suddenly you started to notice people around you get killed, you somehow trusted the red bloody haired man with your safety.

"You'll be fine I'm here after all! All you need is me sweetheart."

After all what did you know?

You're innocent after all

And that's what made Shanks' job of getting you to be his more easier.

Mihawk

Mihawk was a famous swordsman and you were always interested in swords so naturally you took interest in Mihawk.

Unfortunately he took a interest in you as well.

You ended always staying behind the classes because of how much trouble you had with sword, you'd have small conversations with Mihawk.

Slowly Mihawk started to know everything about you and wrote of it down in a notebook that was always locked in a case.

When someone annoyed you too much or confessed to you they suddenly would fall ill and be unable to attend.

Due to Mihawk naturally being cold people didn't notice anything different about him and you didn't know better.

Though you slowly started to blame yourself because people around you would get ill and naturally they ended up dying to the illness.

"My dear... It's not your fault, they naturally fell ill. It is not your fault and anyone who is saying such things is a horrible person who is just jealous. It is unfortunate they fell ill yes but there was nothing you could do. My dear..."

You never knew why they fell ill, and you may never know.

Maybe it's better if you never did anyways.

Ace

Ace was Ace, he's a popular play boy in the town but all he did was flirt and play with hearts.

That was before you came along.

He knew he needed you once first meeting your eyes.

You were most certainly more cuter than anyone else's hearts he's played with.

He wasn't gonna break your heart, no. He could never, he was gonna make sure he was the only one in your heart not matter what he had to do.

He would do whatever you wanted to do or needed.

He'd gladly kill with no hesitation.

Want him to stab that guy who catcalled you? Done.

Want him to burn down a place that has bad memories? Done before you could mention it.

No one went near Ace when the missing people news started getting known, knowing how cold he got when it came to that, they tried to warn you how cold he could be.

You always laugh it off and hang out with him anyways.

He'd act like nothing was happening.

Why read the news when you already know it before anyone else?

You wake up from your nap when you started hearing the news "Mmmh?" Ace turns off the Tv "Don't worry about it my love just go back to sleep."

Sabo

Sabo was the second in command of a powerful business.

Once you joined everything changed.

However unlike the other three Sabo wouldn't kill, no. Sabo wouldn't want his hand or gloves dirty and blood stains too.

Sabo would figure out your favorite things to do and food and everything and give it all to you.

He'd spoil you with everything you'd ever wanted.

He'd help you with a lot of things

He sublely manipulates you into being dependent on him and him alone.

No one would dare go near you if they cared for their job or reputation.

No one went near Sabo either, Sabo didn't mind this, it just meant he could give all his attention to you.

He tested it once day by hiding on purpose.

When you realized Sabo wasn't there you got really nervous and got a bit upset, until Sabo popped

 up and helped you again which you immediately calmed down when he did.

Sabo smiled at you, he was glad that his plan was working and working well.

"Please don't leave me alone..." "I promise I won't ever again my angel..." "Thank you Sabo." "Anything for you. My sweet Angel."

[bweeeb]

TENNIS CLASSES

Art Donaldson x Reader

Notes: Age difference (Art is 29/31 and Y/n is 19), Dirty content, Smut, P in v and whatever...

Notes: This writing was very messy and I apologize for that.

Summary: When Tashi convinces Art to continue in the tennis business, he agrees to teach Y/n Adams, but he didn't know that the 19-year-old girl would be such a problem for him.

Art Donaldson thought the house he lived in was fancy, but when he arrived at the Adams' residence, he almost thought he'd stopped at the wrong place. The house was surreal. As he stepped out of the car, looking for the entrance, the front door was opened by Y/n, wearing an extremely short white skirt and a Nike sweatshirt in the same shade.

To Y/n, the skirt looked normal, but it was definitely the first thing Art noticed about the new student. — Hey, sorry for the visual confusion this place is. My mom loves trees around the house. Not that she likes dealing with dirt, because she hates it, but you get me. — Y/n said while descending the stairs with a gentle smile for the man, who smiled back.

— Nice to meet you, Art. I'm Y/n.

— Hi, sure, I'm happy to be here. — He said, grabbing the hand she had extended as a greeting. Art didn't know how many times he repeated in his head how soft her hand was.

— My parents are out for a while, but if they were here, they'd show you around. Since they're not, you've got me, so... I can show you the court out back if you want.

— The house is pretty cool. I'm curious to see the back. — Art said, looking at Y/n who was ahead of him, and it was almost inevitable for him not to check her out entirely when she turned to walk.

— So, how much tennis do you know? — He asked as Y/n stopped and opened the door leading them to the back of the house.

— Not much. My dad likes to play, so I learned a thing or two, but you know how it is.

— If he knows, why doesn't he teach you?

— Well, he wants me to learn from the best. — She said, glancing sideways at Art who chuckled as they passed by the pool and walked towards the tennis court.

— I think that's flattery. — He said and Y/n laughed.

— No, come on, I saw your last match, it was insanely good.

— Well, I... thank you. — Art nodded, a brief memory of Patrick's gesture before serving the ball flashing in his mind. He and Tashi had fought many times after that match, and even though he loved tennis, he didn't want to compete anymore. That irritated Tashi, so as a solution, she convinced Donaldson to at least continue practicing what he loved most, and she convinced him by arranging private lessons for Y/n Adams.

— So, where do we start? — Y/n asked, snapping Art out of his thoughts.

— Let's start by watching you play, then I can try to help you with any mistakes. — He said, and Y/n complied, grabbing her racket, taking off her sweatshirt and cap, and most importantly, capturing Art Donaldson's attention when her serve was practically perfect.

— Lower your elbow a bit and aim lower. — Art said, unfolding his arms and moving closer to the girl.

— Here. — He said softly, standing behind her.

— Position your feet better. — Art placed one hand on Y/n's waist and the other on her right arm.

— This way, you'll hit it perfectly. But you did well. — The blonde said, and Y/n looked up at him behind her and smiled in agreement.

— Alright, coach. — She would be a big problem for Art.

A month had passed since Art and Y/n started training together, and it was almost undeniable to Art that he noticed Y/n flirting with him naturally and spontaneously. Art reciprocated without any guilt. Tashi had no position to be mad about it, she had ruined their marriage before.

— I think that's it for today. You're good, Y/n. You impressed me a lot. — Art complimented Y/n, who was too distracted looking at him. Art was wearing a black Adidas T-shirt, black shorts, and a white cap worn backward, and Y/n had lost count of how many times she'd lost her breath looking at him.

— What? Sorry, what? — Y/n asked while laughing awkwardly. Art, on the other hand, smiled and bit his lower lip as he leaned against the fence behind him.

— Something distracting you? — He asked, and Y/n smiled at him, rolling her eyes and leaving the court with his eyes fixed on her and the tiny red skirt she was wearing.

— Are you going to stay there or can I leave you on the court? — Y/n shouted, and Art grabbed his tennis bag and ran after the younger girl, who slowed her pace for Donaldson to walk beside her. The sun was setting, and as they entered the house, Mr. and Mrs. Adams were coming down the stairs.

— All done? — Y/n's mother asked, looking in the mirror and smiling at the two of them.

— Art, how's my player doing? — Mr. Adams said, giving Art two pats on the back.

— She's been playing well, much better than many of my friends who played at Stanford. — Art said, and Y/n smiled, taking off her shoes on the sofa near the entrance.

— Be careful, because this girl is not modest at all, my friend. — Y/n's father said, and the girl opened her mouth in shock.

— I am modest!

— Yes, you are. — Her mother agreed with Y/n, giving her a kiss on the head, and she smiled, picking up her shoes from the floor.

— Art, it was great to see you, but now we're leaving, dear, or we'll be late. Bye, guys. — The two left the house, leaving Art and Y/n at the entrance, looking at the door.

— So... I think I should go...

— Do you want something to drink? Water, coffee, wine, beer? — Y/n turned quickly to look at Art, who laughed and adjusted his cap on his head.

— I don't want to intrude; you probably have more things to do...

— I don't, actually. I was going to the pool, you know? It helps relax the muscles after playing. — Y/n said, approaching the man.

— If you want to join me. — She offered, stepping up a stair and leaning on the railing, looking at him with puppy eyes.

— Uhm, I don't know if it's a good idea, it's late and you know... — Art cleared his throat and squinted, thinking of the right words — I don't know, you know, there's Tashi and...

— Shit. Shit, you're married, and I forgot about that. Right, don't worry, you... Y/n closed her eyes momentarily, remembering the existence of his family.

— But I think she wouldn't mind, it's just tennis, right? Art said, taking a step towards the stairs, and when Y/n opened her eyes, he was already closer than she imagined he would be.

— If you don't want to stay, it's okay... I just...

— It's important to relax after a game, and you need to learn that. I'm your coach, and I can help you, Y/n. — Art said, touching the girl's forearm, who smiled and nodded.

— Okay then, I can get my brother's swim shorts if you want. — She suggested, and the man agreed without thinking much, he just wanted to follow her and not be alone down there.

The two went upstairs while Art followed Y/n like a puppy. It was almost humiliating for him because if she asked, he would do anything she wanted. Y/n grabbed a pair of swim shorts for Art and went to her room.

— I'll change quickly, but you can stay here; I'll be right back. — Y/n said, and Art agreed, sitting on the edge of her bed and watching her enter the closet without doors. Y/n made a move inside, and her figure's reflection appeared in the mirror in front of the bed. Y/n took off her tennis clothes, that skirt Art wanted to take off so badly, and her underwear, and at that moment, Art shifted on the bed, feeling his cock getting hard.

— You can change there if you want, you can't see anything from here. — She shouted, and Art got up from the bed without taking his eyes off her.

— From here, you can see a lot. — He murmured while taking off his shorts, trying to adjust his length that wanted to jump out of his underwear.

— Damn. — Donaldson put on the black shorts and heard the girl again.

— So, you went to Stanford, right? — She didn't want to make the atmosphere awkward.

— Yeah, I did, and you? Are you in college? — He asked.

— I'm studying at Columbia. You know.

The brief conversation was the right amount of time for Y/n to come out of the closet wearing a black strapless bikini on top, and there was Art again, almost falling to the ground with the weight his cock was becoming.

— That's... that's cool, yeah.

He said, following her downstairs again, ignoring the fact that he shouldn't notice how her ass bounced with every step she took ahead of him.

Both walked to the pool, chatting about college and life until they entered the pool and kept staring at each other.

— So... feeling better? — Art asked as he approached the girl, who smiled at him.

— I don't know; my coach should teach me how to relax. — She said, and Art laughed. He murmured a small "okay" and brought his hands to her waist, pulling her further from the pool's edges.

— Is your wife okay with this? You touching another woman? — Y/n asked provocatively, and with a harsh movement, Art pulled her close to his body, making her feel his hard erection against her ass.

— She cheats on me with my best friend; she doesn't care at all.

— Damn, sorry, but she's really dumb. When the words left Y/n's mouth, Art laughed genuinely and brought one hand to her neck.

— Relax... — He said as his hand traveled down her body, passing over her breasts, her belly, and stopping at the waistband of her bikini bottom. When Y/n started grinding against his hard cock, Art lowered his hand and touched her sensitive spot.

— Damn, you're so wet. — Art said, moving his fingers inside her while bringing his other hand to her already bare chest. In a desperate move, Y/n turned her body and wrapped her legs around Art's waist, kissing him hard. Art's erection brushed against the girl's clit, and suddenly both were naked in the pool.

— Fuck me, please. — Y/n moaned against Art's mouth, who squeezed her ass hard. He and Tashi hadn't had physical contact in a long time, he could say he wasn't attracted to Tashi at all anymore, not after this.

— Damn, you're so hot. — Art said, attacking her neck and positioning himself at her entrance.

— Art, please. — As she begged, Art slid inside her and looked into Y/n's eyes for confirmation that everything was okay. When he received that confirmation, both of Art's hands fell on her ass, lifting her up and down on his cock. With not-so-fast thrusts, Art then picked up her body and turned her towards the pool's edge, making her bend over.

— Fuck, Art. — She moaned, and Art increased the speed inside her.

— Are you going to cum, baby? Uhm. Art asked as he moaned and continued thrusting deep into Y/n.— Are you going to cum for me? I'm going to cum too.

— Yeah? Cum in me Art, please.

— I'm going to cum inside that tight pussy, damn, so good, I've wanted to do this for so long. Art said and with a few more sloppy thrusts they both came.

— Cum. Y/n moaned and her body fell against Art's chest, who hugged her right after they both reached their peak. —That was good. — She whispered and he nodded in agreement behind her. The comfortable silence between the two ended when the front door slammed, both of their eyes widened.

Art thought about getting out of the pool but Y/n refused. Head quickly. They would see art naked if he decided to stand up. — Get down, below me. Get down. She said and Art lowered himself beneath her, with his head right between her legs, she smiled under the water and slowly came up for air for the last time. Y/n looked at the figure of her mother coming towards her and did her best to hide her nakedness.

— The restaurant went wrong, your father is irritated, I'm going to bed okay, dear. Her mother said just a few steps from the pool.

— What a shame, good night THEN. Y/n's tone unintentionally increased when Art stuck a finger into her.

— Are you well? It's getting late, don't stay there too long.

— Of course, I'll be right out. When he was about to leave the area she came back with Art's fingers in her pussy.

— Art left much later than us? Such a good man, it's a shame he's old for you, right, love. She said and Y/n just agreed, we received a strange look from her mother.

— Ok, good night. As soon as she left Y/n opened the clinic he was ecstatic and threw his forehead against the edge of the pool. Art's head shot up again and a mischievous look came with it. — This wasn’t fair. She complained and Art grabbed her waist, sat her down outside the pool, spread her legs and buried his face in them, sucking her like she was ice cream. — Art, my parents…my parents can see. Oh. She moaned as Art ran his tongue over her swollen clitoris. — uhm, right there. She moaned, taking her hands to his blonde hair, forcing him for more. — fuck, Art. That's it, uhm. She moaned softly and aart inserted two more fingers into her before she came once again.

— You are my sin, Y/n Adams. He said looking at her before getting out of the pool, grabbing a towel and keeping her out of the cold of the night. — I think I have to go.

— You come back?

— We still have class tomorrow, right?

Art knew that from now on he would need her like he needed air to breathe, Y/n Adams would be his biggest problem and he already knew that.

>>>>>>>

Requests are open ✨

[krispycreamcake]

Laito Sakamaki bf headcanons♤♤

🃏- Ok so uhhhhh let's all just be honest with ourselves

🃏- I really really do enjoy his character and its development, but this man would not exactly be the best boyfriend

🃏- Obviously all diaboys have their extremely toxic flaws, so I'm gonna be as unbiased as I can and give him a worthy depiction

🃏- Depending on your personality and how you've acted towards him, I see him as someone who usually seeks out your comfort in trying times

🃏- It's moments like these where he's so unaccustomed to being vulnerable that he'll have a slight panic attack that you'll betray him

🃏- Luckily however, the more your relationship grows, the less that feeling will be there, but it will definitely take time

🃏- He's definitely asked you to shower with him multiple times, but for different reasons

🃏- Like sometimes he's genuinely so at peace to finally be naked and not hate himself after, or to share something so intimate with you that isn't sex

🃏- Let's be real, sex isn't something special for him, it's just a regular Saturday night

🃏- But knowing that he gets to share it for the first time in his life with someone who he feels safe around, is something he can get behind

🃏- Has you sit on his lap while you both do crossword puzzles together

🃏- Doesn't seem like the type who enjoys making big meals, so he prefers to take you out to eat if it's a special occasion

🃏- Honestly loves talking to you late at night(?) Or morning or whatever it is

🃏- He enjoys the honesty of the conversations and the fact that he doesn't need to see through you, you're just reading to him the pages of your mind

🃏- Watches shows like NCIS, Law and Order, Dexter, etc. He begssss you to watch it with him and catches you up to speed with the episodes

🃏- Realistically, he doesn't always want to cuddle and be in your space. Some nights he just needs time alone for whatever reason and teases you when you get lonely

🃏- Extremely clingy when he's having a hard time keeping his mask on so he tries to play it off as just his normal behaviour (if you know him well enough, you'd immediately catch on)

🃏- Give him well thought out gifts and he'll start planning your future together

🃏- Talks about growing old together and having kids

🃏- Speaking of, you're not dying to old human age on his watch. Whether you want to become a vampire or not, he will turn you into one, you are not leaving his side

🃏- Dry ass texts when he's fully awake and long ass convos when he's about to pass out

🃏- Helps you learn how to play sudoku but will purposely give you wrong tips the first time around so he can flaunt how good he is

🃏- Doesn't understand why you like it when he wears his glasses and insists he looks like an otaku

🃏- Late night walks away from the manor so you both can moon gaze and enjoy the serenity of nature

🃏- One time when Ayato bit you, you insisted that instead of causing drama, he try something more civil (He put laxatives in his Gatorade before a basketball match against another school)

🃏- Also on a related note, really enjoys pranking you and encourages you to prank him back

🃏- For some reason I can imagine him getting really into butterflies and their anatomy. I personally think he has his own sketchbook where he draws them and makes notes on the different species

🃏- Loves to fly kites, he does not care whether you're with him or not, will fly a kite because why not

🃏- Watches mukbangs with you and even chooses the next couple videos

🃏- Jokes about you starting an OF, but had a nightmare that your dream partner found you and whisked you away from him like a prince in shinning armour

🃏- He enjoys playing hand games with you. Yeah idk why I thought about this but it seems to fit

🃏- Enjoys seeing you wear modest clothes. Not because he's picturing the underneath, but he knows you're gorgeous because you can pull being modest AND being naked off

🃏- Wants a Shiba Inu as a pet someday

🃏- He really tries to love you even if he does hurt you from time to time

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

With Friends Like These: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: In the aftermath of Emily's death, everyone is grieving in their own way. This case forces Spencer to face the truth about his own well-being and the well-being of his mother.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If any warnings exceed the normal deaths/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

You two walk back into the main room, and you give Hotch a nod to let him know he can begin.

"We believe our unsub is a white male paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from hallucinations. Since schizophrenic breaks usually occur in your early twenties, we believe he's around this age and that he lives nearby." Spencer becomes worried so you put a hand on his shoulder to let him know that you're here for him. "We think this unsub is hypervigilant, and in this condition, he's unable to travel very far from his home."

"He kills at night and is extremely violent. During the day, he's most likely a loner. Someone in this state probably can't keep a job. We believe something happened to our unsub in his childhood. The childhood voices are telling him to kill, or he's misinterpreting them as doing so."

Spencer starts playing with his fingers nervously, so you rub his back in comfort.

"Our unsub has probably been coping until now, but a recent stressor brought him back to that childhood incident and is causing him to act out. Our unsub spends his days wandering, trying to fight the desire to kill, yet he feels trapped by his hallucinations. No matter what he does or tries to do, the hallucination's power is greater than his own. Because of his limited social circle as a child, it is our belief that the incident involved close friends or family. Once we figure out what happened when he was a kid and the stressor that recently triggered a relapse, we'll be that much closer to narrowing down the killer's identity."

"Reid?" Hotch asks.

Spencer snaps out of his trance and grabs a map of the area with shaky hands. His confidence drops several points and is more quiet than usual. This whole case is throwing him off and it makes you sad to see it.

"We need you all to start searching in this area. Based on previous kills, we know that he strikes at night and will not retreat until we find him. Excuse me."

Spencer leaves and heads to the bathroom while the rest of the team finishes the profile briefing. When you're done, you approach Derek who also has a look of concern on his face.

"Is he okay?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Maybe you can talk to him."

Derek walks into the men's bathroom and sees Spencer looking at himself in the mirror.

"You know, that profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing," Spencer sighs.

"That's not what we said at all, Reid."

"My mom has schizophrenia. There are many different types."

"I know that."

"Catatonic, disorganized... Just because someone suffers from an inability to organize their thoughts or can't bathe or dress themselves, it doesn't mean they'd stab someone in the chest thirty times postmortem," Spencer says angrily.

"Reid, what's really going on?"

"Our unsub's hallucinations aren't fractured like a typical schizophrenic. They're vivid and clear, leading me to believe that we're missing an important variable. Rather than making crazy conjectures, I think we should be trying to figure out what it is."

"I know this is a scary age for you. It's when schizophrenic breaks happen. Have you talked to anybody about this?"

"Y/N."

"Listen to me. That woman loves you. Even I know that if you went down that road, she'd stick by your side. You have a support person in her. Lean on her. That's what she's there for."

"Yeah, I know," he whispers.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Yeah. Multiple ones. They all say I'm fine.

"Then why don't you believe them?"

"Because predicting one's chances of developing a genetic condition is like finding a penny in an ocean. I have terrible headaches. I can't sleep at night. I can't focus on our cases. I only read five books last week."

"Come on, kid, you gotta cut yourself some slack. You're also depressed about Prentiss, and I get it... We all are. Reid, I miss her every day, but if your mind was splitting, do you really think you'd be able to figure out that this team is missing a variable?"

"I'm just speculating that we are. You need to prove it."

"Then you do that. The moment you are wandering around the streets aimlessly, that's when I'll be concerned about you. Come on, Pretty Boy. Let's get to work."

Both men leave the bathroom, and Spencer sees you waiting outside of it casually. Derek walks off and Spencer approaches you with a tired smile.

"Are you going to be okay?" He nods and kisses you. "What was that for?"

"For always being there for me."

"You never have to thank me for that. I will always be here. Maybe after this case, we can go to another doctor if you want."

"No, I just want to spend it with you in bed."

"I can do that," you grin.

You sling your arm through his and start walking back toward the others.

"I only read five books this week."

"Want to make it six? It can be my turn to read to you."

"Yeah," he smiles. "I'd like that."

Penelope is on the phone when you enter the conference room.

"Because of HPPA laws, I can't get information on twenty-something-year-olds who've had schizophrenic breaks."

"Check police records. Maybe he's been arrested."

"Oh, I should have thought of that. Blame the fumes." She types. "Six kids have been locked up in the last month within a forty-mile radius."

"Any of them for theft?"

"Mugging, lewd behavior, and car theft."

"Go through personal information. Maybe they've had run-ins with the law when they were younger."

"Yes, sir, I am on that."

"You know, at the grocery store where Holly was shopping the night she was murdered, the clerk said the unsub was buying water and a lot of salt. Now, it can be used to remove blood from clothing, but think about this. The visions that schizophrenics have can be interpreted as demons. What do some people do when they think they have demons inside of them?"

"They get an exorcism," Derek answers. "Holy water and salt are used in exorcisms."

Spencer looks for the Yellow Pages and sifts through the book.

"What are you looking for?" Ashley asks.

"The number of churches in the comfort zone. There are three."

"Let's see if any of them keep their doors open late," Hotch says.

Only one of them is open late so you and Spencer immediately head over to it before they close. The only person inside is the priest who looks a little shaken up. Either he was just involved in something heavy or the unsub paid him a visit. Considering you see the stretched-out energy, it's the latter.

"He came here in duress about two hours ago," the priest says after introductions.

"What did he say?" you ask.

"He said... He said voices were blaming him for a fire, and he needed me to get rid of them."

"Did he ask you for an exorcism?"

"Yes. He claimed his mother had taken him to get one when he was young. I couldn't do it. Throughout history, people have confused possession with mental illness. Some still do. Nowadays, most churches turn people like him over to medical professionals."

"I'm assuming he didn't take your rejection well," you say.

"He was very angry."

"He didn't attack you? He didn't threaten you in any way?"

"No."

"He's probably gotten help from the church before," Spencer says to you. "Was there anything else about his behavior that you found odd? Like something he maybe said or did?"

"No. I told you everything. Oh, there is one thing. He had a stutter."

You and Spencer leave and call Penelope to tell her the new information. She will get on it right away since this has been a problem in the unsub's life for so long.

"Psychogenetic stuttering begins in the area of the brain that controls thoughts and reasoning. It's most commonly associated with mental illness," Spencer explains, "which means it's either caused by the schizophrenia medication or maybe it's situational."

"The presence of it along with the fire information should help Penelope narrow down her list."

Reports of another murder come in and since you and Spencer are closer to the scene, you two head over there immediately. Detective Colbern meets you there with the crime scene unit. This time, he's murdered an elderly woman in her bedroom. The same energy as before is everywhere inside the house only this time, it's messier than before. It's only a matter of time before he'll hurt himself to get the hallucinations to stop.

"This victim's a lot older than his other ones, Y/N. She must represent something to him. Maybe his mother who had him exorcised? Now that he can't get one, he's taking his anger out on a surrogate."

You look at the body and frown when you see another imprint in the blood.

"No, why?"

"There's a body imprint next to her. Why would the unsub lie down next to a person he's just killed?"

"He slept here," Spencer says. "Look at the number of stab wounds." Spencer counts them. "Seventy-one. Do you know how physically exhausting it would be to stab someone seventy-one times? It's hard enough to stab someone ten times, but seventy-one? He'd be completely worn out."

"He's accelerated wound counts which means he does it intentionally."

"Why?" Detective Colbern asks.

"Wait, that's it. If you add the increased number of stab wounds and the fact that he slept here to the vivid hallucinations and the unexplainable onset of stuttering, you get the missing variable. This guy's an insomniac."

"Just as adrenaline makes a person love the feeling of killing, once it leaves the body it makes them tired."

"He does this all to sleep?"

"The insomnia is what makes the hallucinations so clear, and sleep is the only release that he has from them."

Since it's so late and you don't think the unsub will hurt anyone else tonight, you have to pick things up in the morning. You only get a few hours of sleep but it's enough for the time being.

"Okay, here we go," Penelope says. "I looked at that list of schizophrenics that have been recently arrested in that forty-mile radius. I cross-checked it with ones that have gone to local pharmacies to get schizophrenia medication like Thorazine or Prolixin. There is only one person. Ben Foster."

"It's likely he uses the money from the stolen items to buy the pills," Ashley says.

"What's his background, baby girl?"

"He moved to Portland three years ago. A month ago, he was in an apartment fire after which he got a sleeping pill medication because his insomnia began again. Oh, my. When he was ten, he was questioned during an investigation about a fire that killed three people. I'm looking at the police report right now. It turns out that two months before, his mom had a local minister perform an exorcism on him, and the three people who were killed in the fire helped perform that exorcism."

"Was Ben charged?" you ask.

"No, he was acquitted in juvie court."

"Do you have an address?"

"2627 Halden Way."

You don't waste time in getting to his house. "Be careful! He's aggressive and highly violent. He will lash out."

You and Derek head to the right side of the house while Spencer and Detective Colbern take the left. Rossi and Hotch go through the house. As soon as you turn the corner, you see Ben fleeing from the home... alone.

"He's out back!" Derek yells.

You and Derek follow Ben as fast as you can, but he's a bit faster than you. The neighborhood has tons of houses on either side of the alleyway so there are a million and one places for Ben to hide. You see him jump the fence into the alley and start sprinting away. There is a locked gate that's blocking your way so you have to go around. By the time you get to the alley, Ben is gone.

With his energy, there is no hiding from you. His energy leads into a random house through the back, and you point to the house.

"He's in there. There are two children there. Hotch, do you copy?"

"On our way."

When everyone gets there, he takes the font while, Spencer takes the back, and you and Derek take the side. Inside, he's holding a little girl and her younger brother at knifepoint.

"Ben, drop the knife," Hotch orders.

"Shoot me," he cries.

"Ben, we're not gonna shoot you, but we do need you to put down that knife, okay?" There is no reasoning with Ben so Spencer tries a different tactic. "Where are the other people in this room, Ben?"

"Right there," he points behind Spencer. "Do you see them?"

"Were they there for the exorcism?"

"Mm-hmm. I didn't kill them, though. I didn't do it." He looks behind Spencer. "I'm not lying!"

"Ben, they're dead and they can't hurt you anymore," you say.

"They can't?"

"No. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Once you get help, it'll all stop."

Ben looks at the spot behind Spencer as if his hallucinations are talking to him. He shakes his head but then cries.

"Alright, I killed you. I set the fire!"

"Ben, listen to me. It's okay. We're gonna get you a doctor's help. I promise you that."

"No. The... The only way that you can help me is if you do it... If you kill me."

"Ben, that's not true," Spencer says. "Listen, the only way we can help you is if you drop the knife."

There is no reasoning with Ben, and the only way you're going to get him to stop is if you force him. He won't go on his own.

"Are you sure that'll work?"

"Don't reason with him," you warn.

"Oh, I'm absolutely sure of it. Put that knife down, okay?"

Ben nods and he pushes the kids away from him gently, and the kids run behind Hotch. Ben only takes a second before lunging at Spencer. You're way ahead of him and shoot his shoulder which is enough to take him down.

"We need an ambulance," Spencer says to the cops outside of the house through his earpiece.

His hallucinations might never go away but you hope they get better in time. The case took a lot out of Spencer so when you two get back home in your own beds, all he wants to do is snuggle and listen to you read. You open to the first page of his favorite book and begin reading, and he rests his head on your chest.

Frank watches you through his cameras, a smirk adorning his face. This couldn't go better for him if he tried. Emily dying makes his life so much easier because it's easier for him to take it out on you. For the entire time you were away, all he could think about were Spencer's words.

"I've thought about turning back to Dilaudid."

He picks up his phone and dials a good friend. It pays to have friends in different industries, and he makes sure to make as many friends as he can.

"You only call for one reason and one reason only, Frank, but I'm hoping this is a social call."

"Your hope is poorly misplaced. Are you still a pharmacist?"

"You know that I am. How else do I supply to you and all of your friends? My drugs come in handy when parents know their children are in danger. I like it when they fight hard," he chuckles.

Frank chuckles at the memory of a particular mom who wouldn't give up. He still has the scar on his face from where she dug her nails into him.

"Can you get my Dilaudid?"

"It'll cost you."

"How much?" Frank sighs.

"Oh, you know I've been wanting to adopt one of your kids for a while. That's what you're calling it these days? Adoption?"

Frank clenches and unclenches his fists. If Kyle was here, he'd punch him in the face for manipulating him.

"Fine. You can have one," he grits out.

"Good man. How much do you need?"

".1mg."

Frank doesn't want to kill Spencer. Not yet. For now, he just needs to scare you.

"It is not his enemy or foe that lures him to evil ways." - Siddharta Buddha

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[massiveharmonytiger]

Anyone ever think about the fact that Armand probably hated the hell out of Claudia for having what he never could.

Claudia gets rescued from death as an innocent. Armand gets rescued from death as someone whose innocence died the day those slavers captured and raped him.

Claudia gets Louis and Lestat's love and takes it for granted. Armand craves their love but gets their scorn.

After she is made a vampire, Claudia lives with two caring fathers only to pine for a mortal life she'll never have and run away from the situation when the cruelty of being a vampire gets to be too much for her.

Obviously this isn't how I see it. Claudia had every right to run away after how she was treated and seek out her own answers. And her child/fledglinghood definitely wasn't all sunshine and roses. Her aunt abused her, Lestat was extremely cruel to her after Charlie's death, the Loustat brawl, Lestat dropping Louis from the sky, Bruce's abuse - all of these were extremely traumatizing and hard to live through.

My point is that Armand could know all of this and still see Claudia's past as the rosy childhood he never had because his was just that fucked up.

Also, I think book Armand is enslaved around a similar age to when book Claudia is turned (I read it this way, although I'm struggling to confirm this, can anyone confirm?) and I can see him wondering why he couldn't have had the dark gift to protect him then. Why does Claudia get it? Why is she any more worthy than he is?

Where Claudia doesn't have to do a thing, Armand has to prove his cruel streak to earn the dark gift and after he is made a vampire, he lives with his groomer, Marius, who is set on fire and Armand is captured by a coven that teaches him to hate himself until Lestat steps in.

So yeah, why would he stop the coven from killing her when she's had everything he's ever wanted?

Side note because I've seen some really bad takes on the Marius/Armand relationship.

Yes, Armand was in love with Marius and Marius loved him too. Yes, Marius rescued Armand from the brothel. Yes, Marius was kinder than Armand's slavers and Armand enjoyed a lot of the sex stuff he did when he was living with Marius. Yes, pederasty was normalized during that time and Marius was just acting like any man in his position would.

AND

Marius was still a groomer and an abuser. Marius was still in a position of power pulling strings to get Armand to do what he wanted and throwing tantrums when things didn't go his way. Marius still got off on Armand worshipping him. Marius was still Armand's owner and his kindness was dependent on Armand doing what he said (like letting himself be donated when a friend came from out of town - some people will say Armand was lying about that, to which I say, fuck you).

The fact that Armand enjoyed sex, started fetishizing his own abuse and using his body as a tool of manipulation doesn't make him complicit, neither does the fact that Marius had redeeming qualities (beauty, kindness, wisdom) and Armand fell in love with him.

None of this makes what Armand went through any less traumatizing. He's 500 years old and we can still see him grapple with what happened in his childhood.

I have no idea how they're going to portray Marius/Armand's childhood in the show, but I feel that even just a fraction of this would make Armand's resentment of Claudia pretty real, and I really hope we get to see Armand confront this in later seasons even though I'm pretty sure a lot of it is unconscious and he may not even be fully aware that he feels this way.

Update: Okay, so the consensus seems to be that book Armand was 15 which is pretty close to show Claudia's age (which is 14) and I don't think this is accidental. I think the showrunners highlighted this on purpose because they know that when we're engaging with the show, we're engaging with the books as well. This actually helped me realize how Armand and Claudia were technically both "child vampires" in the books, but Claudia was the only one that was really treated that way because she was turned at 5. Armand was turned at 17, and teenagers are so sexualised (then and now) and have so many demands placed on them that people tend to forget that they're also just kids.

[octopus-punching-union]

Subaru Kagami headcanons

(some spoilers for Hotarubi chapter)

kind of a foodie

Has never thought of himself like that and would deny it if you ever pointed it out

"But of course I spend hours thinking about what snacks and tea my friends would like. It's just part of being a gracious host"

He doesn't really cook, though. If he tried, he could follow a recipe competently, but he would never serve a guest anything less than perfect. And cooking just for himself is a lot of effort and he's not very good at doing nice things for himself. (He has just hot water for breakfast??! Not even tea or coffee??)

He remembers his friends' favorites and makes sure he always has something they like on hand

(don't think about him being alone after the Clash and trying to figure out what to do with his stash of Zenji's favorite things)

On a lighter note. He was checking out Sho's food truck the instant it appeared on campus — he totally went to the mystery diner exactly once when it first opened. Like, even before Ren got hired, when it was just the anomalies working there. It was extremely awkward (he had so many questions and the anomalies can't talk), but he was polite and has never gone back. He doesn't even like to walk past the diner anymore because he feels so awkward about it.

sensory issues

Since he picks up residual memories from just about everything he touches, Subaru is very intentional about everything he buys — especially clothes that are touching his skin all day

Given all the issues with working conditions in the production of clothing, he has a hard time buying clothes and needs to touch everything. There are probably a few students in Hotarubi who are really passionate about sewing, knitting, or other textile crafts, and he goes to them whenever possible.

He puts so much work into helping you pick out a yukata for the summer festivals. He's anxious about taking up too much of your time, so he'll go beforehand so that he can take his time touching everything. He wants it to be perfect and to suit you in every way.

childhood / "rebellion"

Gifted kid burnout x 1000. Subaru has been working since he was four years old and his family is a big deal — he's been in the public eye since he was very young and always had to be on his best behavior because someone was always watching. (No wonder he has anxiety...)

So like, a lot of people who had a strict upbringing kinda go off the rails as soon as they get a little bit of freedom. But to (formal, reserved, self-conscious) Subaru, "subversive" means things like: 1) being a normal student at a normal school (not actually normal at all), 2) lying about the true nature of his stigma so that he won't be ostracized by his peers, and 3) advocating, through the proper channels, for his werewolf bff to be released from prison.

He feels like he's in his rebellious phase right now though, and that's what matters. Plenty of ordinary things feel thrilling just because he was never allowed to do them. Just being around people his own age is exciting! He's never had friends before.

(Ever since he was little, school always took backseat to his kabuki career. Now he's at the top of his class! He's so good at rebelling, guys 🥲)

He is (very slowly) learning to relax and be less formal. Zenji's death really affected him, and he doesn't seem totally comfortable around Haku. I'm really hoping Sho will help him to feel more confident and free!Lyca will cause problems and help him loosen up a little.

I really want him to go on a motorcycle ride with Sho at some point. I ship it think it would be cute. He would over-apologize for being nervous and clingy and Sho wouldn't even clock it as a big deal.

as your boyfriend

No matter what you do, your relationship will be a really slow burn. He's hesitant, afraid of doing something wrong, and genuinely doesn't understand why you would want him. You'll have to be the one pursuing him. (But, if you're patient, your relationship completely changes as he becomes more comfortable and confident.)

He loathes his stigma. It means you'll never have privacy from him, and at first he thinks you haven't considered the extent of it. Of course you'll change your mind, he thinks, once you realize it's constant and unending. He thinks of his affection and desire as an imposition that you'll find offputting, at best.

(Besides, there are plenty of people who would be better suited to being your partner, he thinks. Haku is so relaxed and has no problem joking around with you. Zenji is passionate and unafraid to express his admiration for you. In comparison, Subaru feels quiet and awkward and unable to talk about how he truly feels.)

He can't control what he sees with his stigma. It's frequently innocuous, but when he sees something painful or heavy, he feels that he's betraying you. Because you didn't choose to entrust him with those memories.

So when he accidentally sees something heavier, he'll share one of his secrets in return. He wants you to feel safe being vulnerable with him in this way.

(but sometimes, when you're asleep next to him and he's feeling particularly anxious or insecure, he might touch you hoping to see any reassurance that you're happy with him. He trusts you, he really does, but what if he's not good enough? What if you're only pretending to be happy to spare his feelings? He always feels like shit afterwards.)

Because of all this, he's really uncomfortable with physical affection at first. He feels a lot of guilt for wanting to be closer and wanting to touch you, and he worries that you'll think he's creepy or trying to dig through your past. His affection is sporadic, as he spends a lot of time worrying and mentally preparing.

Also, like. He sends a two paragraph text message full of pre-emptive apologies just to ask you to get lunch. He's going to be that stressed about all of your firsts.

Before asking you to be intimate for the first time, he'll wait until he's so pent up that he can't stand it, then he'll feel really awkward about asking. Because what if you don't want him? What if he's pressuring you just by asking? It's ok if you don't want to, he assures you, and he's so relieved when you say yes.

Not at all a fan of PDA. He'll sit closer to you when you're hanging out with the other ghouls. He might hold your hand if he thinks no one's paying attention. I think he would be clingy when really drunk, but then upon sobering up would be so embarrassed if anyone else witnessed it. (Haku would like gently tease him about it and he would be dying inside.)

He expresses his affection more often with food and gifts — nothing extravagant, just little things to show that he's thinking of you. He wants to spend a lot of time with you, even if he seems distant. Some of his more formal mannerisms with always be there, not because he's uncomfortable or trying to distance himself, but as a way of showing how much he respects and cares for you.

Over time, you become someone he can relax with, someone he feels secure around. He'll always hesitate for a moment before touching you, giving you a chance to move away, but he doesn't feel the crushing guilt anymore.

(he still doesn't eat breakfast, but it's because he would rather stay in bed with you in the quiet of the early morning. It helps him calm and center himself before getting up for the day.)

He wants a peaceful life with you, unremarkable except for the love that you share.

[missyxxxxx]

I want a taste of you . | Gunner Jensen x fem!reader

Title : I want a taste of you

Pairing : Gunner Jensen x fem!short!shy!reader

Summary : This time you left him and his place for good . It was difficult to locate your older brother's location . As long as you can remember , Barney always had you in arms length . Always . But this time you needed someone who could protect you and save you . And that person was your older brother Barney . You wanted to feel free , but instead you found him . Cold , brutal but helpless . In desperate need for somebody to love him .

Tw : abusive ex partner , mentions of rape , substance abuse , psychological problems , drug use , Gunner is unstable , crying (a lot), big age gap , wet dreams , extreme sexual tension between Gunner and the reader , some touching , dry hamping , big size difference , manhandling , Gunner takes the reader for a ride on his motorcycle , love at first sight , fluff .

Note : I still haven't proofread this , so there are going to be some mistakes ( so sorry about that ) , also remember that English isn't my first language so just bare with me ( so sorry for that too ) . I'm going to write for the character of Ivan Drago from Rocky IV so don't worry about that , because new content is coming .

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" Fuck America . Fuck the American dream . Bunch a load of bullshit." You screamed while driving .

Tears stained your face .

Beaten up face .

You were trying to drive from Philadelphia to New Orleans. 18 hour drive .

You were exhausted .

" Damn you Barney Ross . " You said quietly thinking about your brother .

" Why New Orleans ? Why don't go and live someplace else ? " At this point you were going crazy . Talking to yourself . He made you crazy .

You were travelling for nearly 3 days now , making stops in Alabama , Nashville , Kentucky and Tennessee .

You were more than exhausted .

You haven't seen you brother in ages . Although he always kept you in arms length he was protective of you . But right know , you needed help and protection .

You had to be somewhere where he couldn't find you .

" Barney's gonna freak out when he sees me and the bruises . " You thought to yourself .

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" Another one huh ? Again ? You practically have no skin left there Barney . " Tool said to him with a smile .

' Get to work Toll . " Barney answered him laughing to his friend .

After a couple of hours the place was packed with the rest of the team .

Toll and Lee were arguing about knives again .

Caesar was watching Tv and Yin was watching Ross getting another tattoo .

Gunner was on the couch drinking a bear with no alcohol just watching them all .

He was nearly half a year sober . He hasn't touched drugs in over a year now . He was getting better everyday or so he thought .

Everything seemed normal . It was just a normal day for all of them . Just peace and quiet .

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You had difficulty parking your Land Cruiser . So many motorcycles .

" This is for sure Barney's place . " You said while exiting your car locking it and making your way over the open place . It looked like a huge garage that had floors . More like a hangar .

You didn't have enough time to cover your bruises after getting out of the bathroom .

Your sweatpants covered the ones you had on your legs , but your shirt wasn't so much of a help .

Barney had just finished with his tattoo and was putting on his shirt when a quiet voice called out for him .

" Barney ? "

The whole crew has gone quiet over your sudden appearance . A woman with dark brown hair and light blue eyes was calling over to their boss .

Barney turned around seeing his little sister's face .

Her neck and collarbone beaten up . Bruises could be seen in all over her face too .

Your hands shacking . And not from happiness for seeing your brother after so many years . Barney new that look .

Fear .

Fear for your life .

" Y/N ? "

You burst into tears while Barney made his way over to you embracing you in a big hug .

Barney's heart broke in a million little pieces from the way you grabbed him . Your now fresh tears staining his shirt .

" Your okay . Your safe now . Come on Y/N , come on honey , please . What happened ? Tell me honey . I'm here . " Barney said to you while gently holding your head .

He wiped your tears trying to sooth all your fears away .

He placed your face in his hands closely observing your bruises .

" Who ? Tell me who did this . Who did this to you honey ? Who was it hm ? "

" James . " You said in a whisper after you had finally calmed down .

James . Your ever first boyfriend and now apparently ex . Barney was furious . Scared that he may followed you all the way here he ordered the rest of the team .

" Search the area . " Barney said to the rest of them . " I want this place to be monitored and safe 24/7 from now on . Be back in 5' we have work to do . " And with that the 5 men stood up ready to follow Barney's order's .

" Gunner , grab your stuff . If anything happens ... I want him dead . "

And for only a moment you locked your eyes with him .

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You could feel his gaze watching you closely this whole time . After the team made sure that your ex isn't nowhere near you , they closed the hangar for the first time in broad daylight .

"Here you go sweetheart, hope you're doing a little bit better. " Toll the tattoo artist said to you while passing over to you a hot cup of tea.

" Thank you so much , I feel a lot better . " You answered to him .

You could see that he was a genuine man that loves you already as much as he loves your brother .

Barney had been asking you questions all this time about your ex .

Lee was searching him up and Yin was making small talk with you trying to get you to smile .

' So do you have a degree or anything like that ? " Yin asked you .

" I have a Bachelors in Psychology and a Masters in Criminal Psychology and now I want to get a PhD in Forensic . " You answered him and Barney chucked proudly .

" Oh . I thought that you worded as a model or something . " Caesar said to you with a chuckle .

Gunner was beyond mad .

" Oh shut up you big idiot . " Lee said to him obviously tensing your awkwardness and standing up for you .

" She has the beauty and the brains . " Barney said .

You smiled .

And Gunner fucking lost it .

He was head over heals for you already .

He would burn this world for you .

He would tear it apart just to get to you .

You caught him looking at you .

You were finally experiencing what love at first sight meant .

What true love is like .

" Christmas is there anything else that we need to know about ? Y/N?" Barney asked , but before you could even answer Lee said "No". And with that Barney stood up from the couch.

" I'm so sorry Y/N " . Lee Christmas said to you while closing his laptop .

He had read your police file report , all of it .

He said quietly for no one to here . Except he heard .

Gunner watched you as your eyes filled with tears .

Then he finally understood .

You were raped .

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Gunner was beyond mad with himself . He was furious . Everytime you were in the same room he you get hard as a rock . Every.Single.Time.

And it was fucking cruel .

Every day he found himself extremely eager to return back to his house .

Sitting on the couch , with his hand on his croch and then his dick fucking his fist .

On the bathroom, on his bedroom , hell even in the hangars bathroom .

He couldn't even get a good night's sleep in these paste few months. Every single night he would experience a couple of wet dreams were he would eat you out for hours . Orgasm upon orgasm . Images of your sweat moans when he licked at you puffy clit .

And everyday it was getting even worse .

He was cumming his pants everytime you would caught him looking at you . How easily you got flustered, your face becoming light pink .

But this time was the worst one .

You were all at the hangar . Toll was fixing Barney's tattoo , Caesar was cleaning some of his knives while watching TV and Lee and Ying were chatting about something .

Gunnar was sitting in his usual spot on the couch drinking his 0% bear , manspreading .

Looking at you .

You were trying to read your book , but you were stuck for what seemed like endless minutes on the same paragraph .

He could see your nipples getting as hard as his dick .

And then he did the impossible .

He placed on of his enormous palms on top of his crotch . Veins popping . Your clit was begging to be touched .

Unfortunately Lee and Yin had caught upon this and told Ceasar .

" Hey Y/N were done , want to see ? " Toll asked you .

" Thank God . " You said and got off the couch while the boys made their way over to Gunner .

" We knew that you were crazy , but are you out of your god damn mind ? " Lee said .

" Yes , he's right , she'e Barney's little sister and plus your way older than her." Caesar added .

" And Barney want's to make you her bodyguard . " Yin said and with that a smirk formed on Gunner's face .

" You are torturing the pure girl . " Lee said .

" Fuck tell that to my dick . Do you think that she wants me back ? " He asked them .

" Dude are you freaking serious right now ? Go for it . " Yin said to him.

" So who's coming to the bar ? " Barney asked the rest of the team .

" Why do I ever bother asking ? " He said to himself knowing fully well that since Y/N was coming they had to be there .

But as everyone was getting ready to leave " Y/N your gonna ride with Gunner . He's your bodyguard from now on . Keep you safe . You know what I mean ? Gunner take the safest road . " Barney said .

" Huh ? What bodyguard ? Barney ! "

This is bad . This is really bad .

Gunner stood up walking towards you . Your face on his chest .

Good Lord.

He was 6'5 nothing compared to your 5'2 frame . He was huge .

He is huge .

He is a large man .

" Come on sugar . " He said leaving you speechless .

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The one and only reason why you were coming with them at bar , was because you would finally meet Lee's girlfriend , Lacy . She was just a couple of years older than you and she had been into an abusive relationship in the past . But Lee was there for her .

" I'm so glad that you're here . I can finally come to the bar with the boys and chat with you and actually have fun . " Lacy said to you , passing you a cold bear . Upon the first sip you immediately realised that it had alcohol in it .

You had a wonderful night with all of them , but you got to say that you and Lacy were a little bit wasted . Laughing uncontrollably when she smacked Lee's bald head and when you made Barney think you were going to smoke pot .

Gunner's eyes haven't left your body in the entire night. He just couldn't stop thinking about your first ride on his motorcycle .

" If you don't wrap your arms around me , you'll fall. " Gunnar had explained to you , hoping to feel your arms around him . " Fine , we'll have it done your way." You spat back doing exactly what he said .

Good God .

You couldn't even reach your hands from how big Gunnar was . But you could feel his abs and his toned chest .

The ride was amazing , even though it was a slightly cold night , the lights of the city were perfect . You were cold and you hadn't realized that you were now glued to Gunner so you could get some of his warmth . Chin rested on top of his right shoulder , your hair dancing with the wind .

Gunner was in absolute bliss from your beauty . Your blue eyes changing colors with the lights of the city , your hair all messy from the wind , your face so close to his nech that he could feel yout wark breath , your hands darted across his torso .

He was glad that he took the bog road to the bar .

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The ride back at the hangar was nice for everyone except for Gunner .

You and Lacy were a little bit drunk , so when it was time to head back home Barney took you with him on his motorcycle , even though Gunner said to him that he would be more then happy to give you a ride back home .

While the boys hang out on the couch , you and Lacy where resting on your bet at the top floor.The place did not have the best soundproof. So when Lacy open up a special conversation with you , everything could be heard from the boys downstairs .

" You know I too had an abusive past relationship , so I know what you've been through . " Lacy said to you , " Yeah , but you had Lee with you . He helped you get out and away from it . You were not alone and afraid . " Lee and the rest of the time sighed happily but their smiled vanishe away right after .

" Y/N what happened ? What did he do to you ? " Lacy asked you with concern to her eyes .

You took a deep and loud breath and with that prepared for hearing the worst .

" He was my first boyfriend since the start of University . There was this fake love at first but then he made his true self known . That's when the abuse started . He yould come back to our shared studio apartment , drunk every single day , with syringe's on his hand , indicating that he had start using cocaine . The beatings came soon after that , he would hit me just because I would try to help him . But that is not even the worst part . " You said and with that you started crying . The whole team was listening carefully .

" That night he came back drunk and high on some drugs . He came in the kitchen with two syringes on his hand . I tried to fight back Lacy , I really did , but he was stronger than me . The next thing I know ? I wake up with the worst possible migraine , my eyes red and my nose bleeding uncontrollably . My lips basted , my whole entire body in pain , scratches on my arms and legs like someone tried holding them down , blood between my legs and two syringes in my left arm . " You told her while crying non stop .

" I am so so sorry honey , What happened next ? " Lacy said while giving you a hug .

" I called an ambulance and I went to the General . I was hospitalised for 3 whole weaks . That bastard had raped me and then tried to kill me . He injected me with both cocaine and meth . " You said and with that Gunner felt the ground shake . His eyes closed in fear , remembering of his dark past but ther her chuckle made him instantly forget about it . He got a couple worried glances from the rest of the team but said nothing . He was okay .

" But I'm trying to leave this in the past . I'm here with you and the guys and I fell more than just safe . I feel loved . I had missed my brother so much . " You said smiling , Lacy agreeing with you .

" So let's just change the subject . " You said in hope of letting go the other thing . " So how is everything with Lee ? You guys love each other so much , you make me happy . " You said to her smiling once again .

" Everything is great . I love him so much . But something is going on with you and someone huh ? " Lacy said to you and in an instant Barney and Gunner were all ears while the others waited for the bomb to drop .

" No , nothings going on with me . Everything is fine . " You said trying to get done with this conversation as well . " Oh come on now I've seen the way Gunner is looking at you . " Lacy said and Hell broke loose .

" What ? " Barney whispered at Gunner and instantly the whole team stood up ready for everything .

" I have feelings for him too , but I'm to afraid you know ? Besides Barney he's gonna have a heart attach at this age . " You said and both laughed not knowing the silent war downstairs .

" I am 100 % absolutely sure that Gunner has the same feelings that you have for him , just wait for the right moment . I'm gonna go now , we both need a bath and a good night's sleep . " And immediately the boys were down at their seats acting like they hadn't been listening their conversation .

" Hey Lacy - leaving so early - ? ? " Different voices could be heard trying to break the akward silence .

" Good night to you too boys , Lee we're leaving . " Lacy said . " See ' ya ! " Lee said leaving quickly .

And then all you could hear was instant shouting between the rest of the team . You grabbed your things and headed downstairs to take a shower and to see what was this all about . The moment you were into their sight , everything stoped .

" I'll just take a shower and then head to bed , so goodnight y'all . I'll see you tomorrow . Had fun today . " You said to them making your way into shower .

" I will give you my permission to date my sister , only because I know that she deserves the best treatment after everything she went through " Barney said to Gunner " But if anything happens to her , I will kill you in an instant . " This could be your last chance Gunner , don't let it leave . " Barney said to his old friend and then slowly rose up from the couch . " That doesn't mean that your free . You still are her bodyguard so from tomorrow on I want you in here 24/7 "

" Of course Boss . And Barney ? Thank you ! " Gunner said to his best friend , now both smiling .

After Barney left Gunner was left to face Ceasar and Ying .

" See that is why I told you to go for it . You are her boyfriend and her bodyguard . " Yin said happily .

" What the Hell was that ? " Ceasar asked confused from the whole thing making Gunner and Yin laugh while the left the hangar .

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To say that you were frustrated with Gunner was an understatement .

It had been a couple of months since you had this conversation with Lacy and nearly half a year with the team . You grew to love them all , but Gunner ...

The sexual tension was becoming increasingly difficult and on top of it ? He was your bodyguard . Meaning ? He was behind you , observing and closesly watching your every step . Your every move .

Plus you had this new problem . Wet dreams . You would see him in your sleep doing unspeakable things . " Taking a shower sugar ? " He asked you in a flirty tone while sitting in the couch drinking a bear and watching TV . " Do you have a problem Gunner , again ? " You spat back , his flirtatious tone driving you mad .

His chuckles made it even worse so you made your way upstairs , sat on your bed reading your new book , leaving him to his own little funny world , doing nothing about this thing ( if you could even call it a thing ) that obviously exists between you .

______________________________________________________________

" What are you doing ? " You asked Gunner while he started to make his way towards your brothers bed . " Barney is gonna be out of town for a couple of days , so we'll be stuck together for a while . " He answered you . Stuck together ? That did not sound so good . Did he not want to spend 2 days alone with you ?

You thought that you both knew that you had the same feelings for each other but you were waiting for one of you to make the first move?

You gathered all of your courage and asked him . " What do you mean by stuck together ? Have I said or did anything to make you uncomfortable ? I mean I know I can be a little harsh sometimes , but I - i ... really did not meant it that way . I'm so so sorry , I talk to much . I just wanted you to know that I really like you and that - " You rambled but he suddenly cut you off . " You really like me huh ? Do you ? In what way ? " He asked you cutting you off guard .

" Well if you like me in what way do you like me ? " You asked him , trying to sound of pretty cool about this whole interaction .

" In the same way that you do actually . " Gunner answers to you smiling . Oh he was enjoying this . You saw him quietly laughing to himself and a felling of rage washed upon you . You spread out of your bed making your way over his , without noticing that you were in just a shirt and your panties .

" How do you know in what way I like you ? You never even came to me so we could talk about it , only sitting in the couch looking at me with your hands on your pockets and drinking bears . How can you possibly know - " Gunner was so out of this , looking at your breasts and not listening to what you have to say .

Once you stopped talking and realized that he was more intrigued in your nipples , you hide them with your crossed arms . He then looked at you with dark eyes and his hands found their way on yout right hip and at the back of your head . Gunner have had enough . He slammed his lips on top of yours .

After a few seconds you kissed him back . Wanting to taste more of you his hands both slide and grabbed your ass making your mouth to open just a little bit so he could slide in his tongue . You grabbed the back of his neck jumping , him holding you up like you weighted nothing .

The size difference made it even more cruel .

He sat down with you on top of him , placed both of his palms on your hips and started to guiding you on how to move . You slowly started to move back and forth . The clothed riding . You could feel his dick being hard as a rock , and you were sure that you were so wet that you left a pach on top of his groin .

Still kissing you started to ride him a little more fast trying to reach your high. He grabbed your ass rutting against you , the need to cum was just so strong , trying to get more friction . He tried to get you as close as possible , grabbing you so hard , manhandling you , trying to make you reach your high .

Your sweet moans driving him crazy , how much he wanted to feel you , but he knew that was something that you should both talk over first .

Sliding your hands on his hair , his mouth sucked on your neck and collarbones leaving a trail of kisses .

Suddenly your breath hiched and without a second he kept grinding until he felt you cum . The feeling made him cum in his pants not long after , leaving both a mess .

" I want to experience more than just this with you . " You said to quietly to him between the after kisses .

" You're mine . I want you . No I need you . From the moment that I first saw you I knew that you were the one for me . " Gunner said to you looking deep into your eyes and then kissing you .

" I'm gonna be here next to you , waiting for you to get back from missions " - Gunner kissed you again .

But this time it felt caring , it was jentle , indicating love .

But then Gunner felt your body freeze .

" What happened baby ? " He asked you with a worry .

" I can't believe that I just humped my brother's oldest friend on top of his bed ! Oh my God Gunner we almost had sex on top of my brother's bed . " You said to him while laughing .

" That's nothing . We have to catch up for all these months . " Gunnar said as he flipped you over , in need for more .

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Tags : @unimportantbabymilksharkte

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Don't Touch Her - James Wilson x peds!reader

description: y/n will challenge whatever threat there is to her children, at any consequence to herself. James will always be there to pick up the pieces.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: sexual assault, child sexual assault, mentions of rape, yelling, angst

authors note: I've realised I'm great at writing angst!

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

House’s pov

I stared at the test in front of me.

Everybody lies.

I held the DNA test in my hand, and I could feel it burn through my skin as I limped my way down to the office of my ‘sister-in-law’.

Knock knock.

“Is that Mrs Wilson in there? I can hear you caring.” I shouted through the wood in hopes of gaining access. The door was flung open. I was met by sunshine itself.

“Mrs Wilson? I thought that was you?” She jabbed. “What can I do for you, House?”

Her face was the picture of innocence, and the smile never left her face despite the witty comment. I worried about her reaction. Usually, I relished in the extent of human outbursts, wondering how far I could push them so long as the consequences never fell on me. But this didn’t feel right. This wasn’t going to be fun. I only prayed I could get to Wilson fast enough before these consequences ricocheted back on to her.

She widened her eyes in a silent question of why I was here. Her eyes flitted down to the piece of paper in my hand.

“Well come on, what medical supervillain are you going to brag about curing to me now?”

“Actually, this isn’t my patient. It’s yours.”

She scoffed at my ambiguity and proceeded to take the paper from my hands.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She giggled at the joke she assumed I was trying to make. But my face revealed the truth. When she received no further taunt or clever wordplay her smile dropped. Without much further thought she practically tore the paper trying to unfold it. Her eyes danced across the words on the page and each word took a little bit more life from her face each time.

In a flash she had exited her doorframe and had unceremoniously crashed into my shoulder. I couldn’t even bring myself to mock her for ‘injuring a cripple’ because as I watched her frame run further down the hospital hallway I had more important things on my mind. Primarily, protecting her from herself. And there was only one person I needed for that.

I limped down a few more doors and finally barged into the one office I needed. Wilson turned away from the new photo he was hanging on his wall. It was him and y/n at the beach.

“Please, come in. Have a seat. Thank you for knocking.” He mocked but I remained unmoved. “You’re not taunting back?” His brows furrowed at the abnormality. “Why are you here?”

I looked to my feet, suddenly afraid of my friend’s reaction.

“Your girlfriend is about to do something incredibly brave and incredibly stupid.”

Wilson carefully removed the nail and placed the picture neatly back on his desk. His eyes never met mine until he said.

“Where is she?”

Your pov

Flames burned my soul, and my heart was filled with anguish. I flew down the hallway. People jumped out of the way when they saw my sunny disposition replaced by hard stone. Normally, I didn’t like feeling like an imposition in the hospital. I would run towards a patients room when they’re seizing whilst simultaneously apologising to anyone who moved out of the way for me. Yet here I was, a torpedo through a sea of colleagues.

I made it. Room 309. The doors creaked at the weight of my push. A mother and father sit at their daughters bedside. 10 years old, in for a heart attack. The two parents turned towards me as their daughter remained peaceful and sedated. I was thankful, as the words that were about to spew out of my mouth were not for young ears. I held up the paper and presented it in front of them like a detective who just cracked the case.

“Three days ago, your daughter was brought in for a heart attack. Because of her extremely young age I decided to keep her in for observation so I could come up with a diagnosis for a myocardial infarction in a 10-year-old girl. I was coming up blank and eventually I was going to have to release her back into your care, but I was terrified. Terrified that if I let you go, I’d be dooming your daughter to a disease I missed. That was until today when I found out that your daughters heart attack was brought on by a short but severe onslaught of emotional distress.” At this point the two parents had closed in on me, eager to hear my findings. At this the mother became confused and sought answers amongst her tears. The father remained quiet.

“Emotional distress-I don’t—I don’t understand? Nothing happened before. We would---I would’ve known?”

I opened my mouth to speak but it just wouldn’t come out as my eyes fell on the little girls sleeping form. My eyes drew in and I decided to merely hand the mother the results which I had been given moments ago. She took them from me with shaky hands. I turned to face the man to the side of me.

“The police are on their way.” A loud shriek exploded from Mrs Hart as the words on the page resonated in her already fragile mind. I stared him down. “I don’t suggest running.”

I made my way to exit the room, preparing to actually call the police but also because, as selfish as it was, I couldn’t be subjected to that level of despair any longer. The screams of a mother learning about her child’s pain were enough. However, I was harshly ripped away from the door.

“What the fuck do you mean by that.” Mr Hart had my arm in an iron grip.

“I think you know. And now, so does your wife.” I tried to pry myself free, but he was too strong, and I was thrown up against the wall.

“What are you insinuating!”

“She had vaginal tearing, and her 10-year-old uterus was filled with semen. Semen that was just confirmed as having your DNA from a test which your wife is now holding the results of. Along with a comprehensive list of the injuries you subjected your daughter’s body to.”

I gained new strength and shoved the significantly taller male away from my body.

“My professional opinion is that when you crept into your daughters room that night and started subjecting her to your own examinations, the extreme emotional distress caused her body to shut down and brought on a heart attack. At least we now have the cure, no more playtime with daddy.”

“YOU BITCH!”

He lunged for my throat but not before I fled the room. I should have ran; found James or House or anyone. That would have been the smart thing to do. But I just couldn’t. This man disgusted me, and he needed to feel it. I needed to say it. The police would deal with him later, but I needed to get a few shots in first. I turned back to face him.

“That little girl in there, she depends on you because she has no one else. She trusts you to take care of her and you treat her like that. Every day I take in children, and I work to save them and I work to protect them. Every day I do my job as best as I can only for there to be people like you who take the innocence of a child and control it for their own perverted needs.”

Now he was fuming, and he stalked towards me. A lion to its prey. My resolve began to crumble, my bravery slowly lacking. He towered over my body, and I suddenly felt the fear that his little girl felt every night when daddy came in to her room. His face was confident, but his body held an anger.

“You’re lying.” His face was now inches away from mine. His hot breath washed over my face, and I began to shrink into my body.

“I have the proof. I have medical proof.” I whispered, my eyes struggling to hold his firm gaze

“Papers can go missing. It happens.” As he spoke his tainted fingers found a new resting point in my hair as they slowly began to stroke through my locks. I shuddered at the action that I ordinarily found so much comfort in. I remembered the nights where I would lie on James’ chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. The memory couldn’t save me from the situation I currently found myself in. As I went to speak I could feel the words crawling back in my throat. ‘Don’t antagonise. Play along. Wait for someone. He’s stronger. He’s bigger.’ But these inner thoughts were overshadowed and my mind replayed the first moment that little girl walked into my care.

“Enjoy your last moments of freedom.”

“I’m not going to prison.” He smirked at this, concocting a plan of escape. I had to say it.

“Really? I hear it’s so much fun for kiddy touchers.” In my peripheral I saw his hands fly up to grip my neck. I gasped. But before I could even feel his icy touch around my throat, he was ripped away from me and his back hit the floor in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t ever touch her.” James stood over his body. Just looking at him I felt my racing heart slow. He wasn’t wearing his lab coat, only his shirt and tie with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He panted from the long run from his office. Once he composed himself his professional nature returned.

“Officers, please escort Mr Hart off the premises. I believe Dr Y/l/n and Dr House have the medical proof of the sexual assault of a minor along with the DNA evidence to prove Mr Harts involvement.” The two police officers, who had obviously been called, but not by me, held Mr Hart by his arms as they hoisted him up off the floor. They secured the handcuffs around his wrist whilst reading him his Miranda Rights. “Whilst you’re there you can also add the physical assault of Dr y/l/n to his list of accusations.”

As he spoke, James approached me. At this point, I realised I hadn’t moved since the confrontation. James noticed my thousand-yard stare and approached me like how one would handle a skittish horse. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat and he saw the beginnings of a bruise where his hands had gripped me.

I uttered a less than believable, “I’m fine.” Despite the lump in my throat.

His arms eventually wrapped around me, and I sunk into his embrace. He placed a gentle kiss onto my hair. I allowed myself to sink into him more. My head rested on his heart and the gentle thud offered me a consistent beat to focus on.

“How did you know?” My once strong voice came out as a whimper. He only needed to utter the word.

“House.” I felt a warmth spread through my heart at that. He knew. Somehow, he’d known. And James had known. And he knew how to take care of me.

“I don’t need you to defend me.” I spoke, uncertainly, into his chest.

“I know.” James softly said as he stroked my hair and brushed his thumb against the exposed skin of my waist.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He punctuated his sentence with the lightest kiss to my lips. As he retreated, I leaned in to seek him out again and he answered with another, deeper kiss.

We stayed there for a while. Neither of us speaking but our breaths saying everything for us. In that moment, despite what my words said, I had needed him and now, more than ever, I needed him to save me from myself. From the spiralling thoughts that flooded my head ready to push me down further and further. Eventually we separated but our intertwined hands meant I could still make sure he was there, and he wasn’t going to leave. He led me down the corridor, in the direction of his office rather than mine.

“What did you tell the police, when you called them? I was so blinded; I couldn’t even think about following procedure.”

“I didn’t call them. House did. Seconds after he got the results.”

We made it to his office where I remained for the rest of the day. James explained what happened to Cuddy and she allowed me the rest of the day off. James offered to drive me home but, honestly, there was nowhere I wanted to be, nowhere I felt safer than in his arms. So, he sighed and pushed out his chair in a silent allowance. I curled up on his lap as he sat and filled out forms. His left hand wrote as his right gently ran up and down my thighs. We didn’t need to speak; we were just there.

---

[rookiesbookies]

Seeing your hc of greek god!ghost made me think of how much of a disaster it'll be if he found someone he's into only for them to get cold easily and wears like 5+ layers everywhere they go

So I have bad circulation and a neurological condition that makes my extremities get very cold, which is why I believe I am qualified to write this. There’s nothing I love more than grabbing my partner with my cold fingers or touching him with my cold feet, my friends are also victims. As I write this one of my hands is ice cold and the other is a completely normal temp. Wish he was here so I could rub my hands over where he’s ticklish and make him shiver (im evil)

I had a lot of fun writing this ask, I do want to do more with this AU later so I love getting asks about it but I do need to clean up my master list😭

Fic under the cut

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Price was sent a younger maiden one other time. She had been just under the age he liked and he truthfully believed she would work better with someone else.

SO he delivered her to Simon’s doorstep in the underworld. Simon looked through the peep hole to see you holding a pie and a note from Price. When he opened the door and read the note (something along the lines of : she’s too young for me but seems more like your type) he tried to shut the door. Luckily for you, the future mother in law was there - Persephone was not having any of her son’s shit.

She quickly read the note herself and set you down, sending Simon to go make tea while she got a good look at you. Poor thing, so nervous, dropped on this doorstep, she wasn’t having any of it.

Then she noticed how cold your hands were and cursed her husband for giving their son such cold hands, he was always so clammy he just had to pass it on.

She quickly yelled for Simon who rushed in with the tea, telling him to start a fire.

You tried to tell her it wasn’t a problem with a nervous smile and laugh but she wouldn’t listen. So you told both you didn’t want to be a bother.

“Ya think yer cold?” Simon said sharply before grabbing your ankle with an ice cold hand from the floor where he was sitting trying to start the fire, the sudden chill made you let out a soft shriek. He giggled behind the mask.

Persephone saw that. She heard it too.

“I'm calling Hades and we’re planning the wedding!”

Simon’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“I can’t marry someone I’ve just met,” you awkwardly laughed between sips of tea.

“Well it takes time to plan a wedding, you’ll both know each other quite well by the time it comes around!”

Simon groaned, “just because you and Hades-”

“Shush!” And Simon shut up quickly.

And with that, Persephone fled the house.

“I would have thought because of how she was taken by Hades-”

“Stockholm syndrome, I'm sure of it,” Simon grumbled. Pulling off his fur cloak and throwing it over you. “I’ll sleep on the couch until I can sort this out.”

“Oh but I can’t take your bed from you-”

“Did I ask?”

You shake your head and quietly sip your tea.

Now lets time jump just a bit. Assume they both bond at some point and a month or so passes, they’re trying to cuddle, right?

There’s nothing that brings Simon more joy than torturing you with his cold hands. Making you whine and shove them under your arms to warm them.

“You’re colder than a dead body!”

“Why do ya think the lads call me Ghost, love?”

After more time, he chooses a new favorite place to warm his hands.

“Simon, we are at dinner! You can’t do that in front of others!” You hushly yelled at him.

“Come on, they’d be jealous that's all, not judgin ya!” He laughed.

“Simon this is so embarrassing,” you mumbled. His hands gently holding your tits. One hand over each.

“It’s my favorite place to warm em.” He shrugged then grumbled. “Plus Johnny made a comment about ya rack and I gotta remind him whose it is.”

You let out a whine, “your hands are so cold! I didn’t sign up for temperature play!”

He chuckles, “here, I’ll distract you. Two goldfish are in a tank-”

“You’ve told me this one so many times,” you giggled as he massaged your chest with his cold hands. You smacked his hand, “I'm only doing this to warm up your hands, this isn’t touchy time.”

He groaned in disappointment. “Price wouldn’t notice or care!”

“Oh he definitely would, especially if it was at his dinner table!”

“What are ya love birds whisperin on about?” Johnny holard from the other room.

“SHUT.” Was all Simon had to yell back.

[autohavenwreckerz]

Please, please, please share more Rocky headcanons!!

Okay I'm putting it under a read more because I'm the art guy not the HCs guy and I don't want to put a huge wall of text on people's feed so. //Vauge handwave

...Hi guys . I'm becoming the token Rocky guy now aren't I. Anyways.

Firstly, sorry, I am a sucker for siblings with first born syndrome so I inflict it onto any siblings in media I can think of. Let's get that straight.

they go like (and this is whatever the train equiv of this is. I'm not a starlight express world building lore master so I'm just like [makes a vauge face] ehhhhuuu????)

anyways I think in terms of age they go like. Rocky 4 is the oldest (he's ~31) => Rocky 1 (23) => Rocky 2 & 3 (21). There's a huge age/maturity gap between 4 and 1 which is why 4 is off doing his own things a lot while the other three are so much closer.

Stuff about 4; I think, growing up, 4 & 1 (when it was mostly just them and the other two were still kind of babies.) were far closer, but when you're twenty two you don't really want to hang out with a thirteen year old even if he's your brother. (This is relevant) The freight yard kind of reminds me of the type of small working class town I grew up in where there's not like. A lot of opportunity for growth , and for a lot of people (including myself) leaving feels like the only option to be able to go and do what you want, which I imagine is the deal with Rocky 4. Left to go do his own things and is gone for most of the year; he comes back for holidays but it gets more and more sparse as the years go by, partly because he's just busy and partly because he realizes he doesn't really recognize his siblings because they aren't babies anymore. On a more lighthearted note, the mental image of him coming back to see Rocky 1 stole the #1 spot from him and designated him the last Rocky tickles me way too much. Rocky 4 VC: are you fucking shitting me rn.

Stuff about 1; used to be #2, designated himself Rocky 1 because now he's the oldest and Rocky 4 doesn't live in the yard ("How are we going to have a rocky 1 and he's never even here?!?! That doesn't make sense!") He's a huge ham and also very very loud. Rocky 4 was a very important figure/role in his life that he feels like the other two don't have so part of his ego/eccentrics is just him trying to emulate the person he imagines 4 to be. I think he kind of puts Rocky 4 on a pedestal and struggles with wanting to be like him vs like. Not being him. U get it. The other two kind of just let him do it but wish he'd just act normal instead of trying to be like someone he's gassed up in his head.

Stuff about 2; hes the one I think about the least unfortunately but I still love him lots. He's a terrible liar. 1 will tell him that the three of them are lying about breaking a window but as soon as mama puts any pressure on him he'll fold immediately and be like. we. Did it. I'm so sorry. We threw that baseball into your window. When he's with his siblings (especially 1) he is just as loud and rowdy and instigates just as much but I think he kind of needs the other twos energy to bounce off of; he gets very quiet when he's by himself. when he was a little little kid (like, 6) people thought he wasn't going to ever talk because he'd only whisper to Rocky 1 and have him speak for him. Very good friends with Dustin because Dustin is extremely lax.

Stuff about 3; 3s fraternal twin. If you had to pick between one of them to be 1's right hand it would be her; like the other two she likes to poke fun at people and tease, but she's also genuinely very nice especially to people she doesn't particularly know. Got most of her knowledge about how to fit women's clothing/apply makeup from mama. For a while she felt kind of barred from the other women in the yard/womanhood as a whole and didn't bother to interact with them because they're all coaches and she's freight (and, by extension, she's working class and "too tomboyish" for them). Became fast friends with pearl once Rusty started bringing her home and that kind of ended up becoming the bridge between her and the others. Gets invited to girls night all the time and it makes her very happy. Sometimes people look to her to baby leash her two brothers when it's really 2 they should be asking bcus 100% of the time it's 3 also causing a ton of problems/stirring the pot.

.. there's also something to be said about the message of right place right time and the kind of apathetic acceptance of ur future never going anywhere that I find interesting but Im running out of time to elaborate.

[coraniaid]

I guess I'm running the risk of sounding like a broken record at this point, but I don't think I'll ever not be deeply depressed by the way so many people on here talk about Joyce Summers.

I mean, I'm just thinking out loud here, but.  Maybe the reason that Giles was much more immediately accepting of Buffy's identity as the Slayer than Joyce was might have something to do with the fact that Giles has been training to be a Watcher for over three decades when he first meets Buffy? That his family sat him down and explained to him that vampires were real when he was a child, and that he's had over thirty years to get used to that fact? And that he is in fact literally paid to train Buffy and mentor her and prepare her for being killed in the Cruciamentum after she turns eighteen and he helps rob her of her powers her destiny? 

Whereas Joyce learns about the reality of vampires and Slayers and the supernatural for the very first time while in a state of extreme emotional distress, only hours after discovering that her daughter is wanted by the police for murder, and in circumstances such that Buffy simply has no time to sit her down and explain things in more detail in the manner they would both want?  Which is a turn of events that can be attributed in large part to the fact that Giles himself repeatedly told Buffy that she couldn't possibly tell her mother about vampires, even after (1) a vampire attacked her in her own home (in Season 1's Angel) and even after (2) the vampire Buffy had been dating, who had a standing invitation into her house, lost his soul and started going after the people closest to her, people explicitly including Joyce. (And note that Giles never offers a better argument for not sharing this potentially life-saving information than Xander's "the more people who know the secret the more it cheapens it for the rest of us".)

I mean, I know you're all pretty wedded to the popular competing theory that it's because *checks notes* Giles is a perfect dad who Buffy should have been much more grateful and sympathetic towards while Joyce is an evil bitch who never once did a good thing for her daughter (and Buffy must be stupid for ever thinking or saying otherwise), but the problem is that that theory is … uh, bad, actually.  Really incredibly cartoonishly bad. And dressing it up in pseudo-progressive language doesn't make it any better.

Wringing your hands over how poorly you think the show writes middle-aged women as if there's simply nothing to be done about it except conclude that they are indeed horrible people (and maybe give them some completely new flaws the show never did), while at the same time you write endless hagiographies and apologia for the show's canonically terrible (and often just as badly under-written) men is definitely a choice though.

And yes, it is definitely true that Giles matters more to the story of Buffy the Vampire Slayer than Joyce does. It is clear that the writers care about him more as a character than they care about Joyce, and that he is consistently used in a metaphorical way that Joyce normally isn't. At best you can perhaps argue that Joyce exists to vocalize and reify Buffy's own lingering desires to be seen as respectable and 'normal', but I don't think this is a reading the show ever commits to in the systematic way it does the Mind/Heart/Spirit reading of Giles/Xander/Willow. But on a less metaphorical level, thinking about the different characters of the show purely as distinct people in their own right, nothing Buffy says or does ever suggests she cares about her relationship with Giles more than her relationship with Joyce. Quite the opposite, in fact.

[inchidentally]

Why do you think Max f protect Lando like his children? Do you think he does it because he saw how Lando struggled in f1 and couldn't just stand there and watch?? 🤔

oh anon idk how much Lando/Max F lore you know but Max has been Lando's protector from day one. Lando was teeeeeny tiny for his age up until like 19?? so Max was bigger than him up until around then. I'm still learning a lot about them as I go but Max's protective instincts toward Lando run extremely deep. it's why I can't decide if they're more common law husbands, platonic soulmates or each other's weird gamer racing gremlin guardian angels.

I think for me one of the biggest standouts for me about their bond is how much Lando wanted to look after Max when Max left racing for good. because when you read about Max's particular struggles, it's like hearing Lando all over again:

Getting bad results each weekend was just having more of a knock-on effect on my mental health. Normally, I’d say that’s one of my strengths through a championship. That’s how I’ve been able to win titles, I’m able to stay calm under pressure and I don’t let many things get to me but when you have a bad qualifying result and you see guys up there that you know you’re capable of beating, it definitely takes a dig at you inside and it’s been a lot to process throughout the year. -- As soon as more thoughts come into your head, it gets worse, then you start panicking, over-driving, and it all goes wrong. I think a lot of the pressure is in your head, but it does get to a point where it just all piles on you. [source]

it's got to mean the world to have a best mate who can completely and openly identify with exactly what you're feeling - esp since they're each now looking at racing from the inside and the outside.

what I find interesting is that Max was just as much of a hyper competitive kid as everyone who came up through that system and from what I can tell he performed strongly enough to easily assume he could make F1 (but he doesn't seem to have assumed that) so him taking to this tiny kid with all these little quirks who was absolutely dusting boys older than him, idk that's just something special about Max. he comes across as kind of gruff or misanthropic at first but he's extremely emotionally intelligent and self-aware - he's always the one to open up and be vulnerable to Lando and unlike Lando he doesn't squirm or make jokes when things get serious. it sounds like I know the guy super well which obv I don't but idk, it just feels like Max is an easygoing but also extremely loyal guy - especially with Lando.

anyway I'm not enough of an authority on nortrell and if anyone wants to add to this please do <3 but yea

side note I always love how in this video we get a sort of funny confirmation that Max approves of Oscar as temporary guardian of Lando. but then I get a little emotional and serious about that bc Lando has cited precisely Oscar's ability to stay calm and not let things pile on top of him as something he's reminded to do for himself. and that Oscar quickly observed Lando and after only a couple months (or maybe even just a month) as his teammate realized that patience and loyalty are what make Lando feel the most relaxed and comfortable with someone. he's adorable and fun w the friends who make him laugh all the time and swat him down when he gives them attitude. but as a self-described shy kid who's also hyperactive, you can see the difference between Lando alone with Max and Lando with other friends. and well, Oscar spent years before his McLaren contract watching that dynamic so. makes sense he'd get the nod of approval from Lando's closest friend <3