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pucksandpower · 17 hours

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Hip Thrusts

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: watching your boyfriend train gives you ideas about other things (or people) his hips could be doing … like you

Warnings: 18+ content

You take a deep breath as you push open the door to the gym. The smell of rubber mats and metal weights fills your nose.

It’s early — the sun is just starting to peek through the windows — and the gym is mostly empty, except for a few dedicated early morning regulars on the cardio machines.

Across the room, you spot Oscar on the weight floor. He’s doing barbell hip thrusts, clanging the weights up and down with each rep. His trainer Kim stands over him, stopwatch in hand, counting out the seconds between sets.

You take a moment just to watch Oscar train. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his muscles flexing and contracting with each thrust. He’s wearing those tiny Nike running shorts you bought him last month, the ones that show off his sculpted quads and glutes.

You can’t help but stare a little bit. Okay, a lot. Your boyfriend’s butt looks amazing.

“57… 58 … 59 ...” Kim counts. “Good, take 30 seconds.”

Oscar racks the barbell and sits up, grabbing his water bottle. His eyes catch yours across the room and his face lights up in a smile.

“Hey babe!” He calls out, waving you over.

You weave your way past the ellipticals and weight machines until you’re standing next to him.

“Hey yourself,” you lean down to give him a quick peck. “You’re looking strong this morning.”

“Just trying to get some strength training in before Kim puts me through the ringer later,” Oscar says. “We’ve got the season starting up so I really need to be on my game.”

He takes a long swig from his water bottle as Kim jots down notes on his clipboard.

“So what brings you to the gym so early?” Oscar asks. “I didn’t think 6 am workouts were your thing.”

You shrug. “I was up early and thought maybe we could do breakfast after you’re done?”

“Sounds good to me,” Oscar nods.

Kim clears his throat. "30 seconds are up, time to go again.”

“Duty calls,” Oscar says, getting back into position on the bench.

You step back to give him space, but stay close to chat. Oscar grips the barbell and hoists it up into position over his hips. You glance at the plates stacked on either end, doing some quick math in your head.

“Seems like that’s heavier than last time I dropped by,” you can’t help but comment.

“Sure is,” Kim says proudly before Oscar can respond. “We increased the weight since last week. Gotta keep increasing the load to build muscle.”

You stare at the barbell plates again. Exactly your body weight. Which means ...

Oscar is doing hip thrusts with the equivalent of you lying on top of him.

A little flutter goes through your stomach at the thought. You try to push it aside though. Obviously he isn’t thinking of it that way, it’s just part of his training regimen that Kim has him on. Still, you can’t help but visualize it for a moment.

“Alright, here we go,” Kim says. “Three sets of twenty reps, and … go!”

Oscar begins thrusting the barbell up in controlled motions, breathing out with each lift. You try not to stare, but your eyes keep flicking back to the movement of his hips. There’s something about watching your boyfriend’s pelvis go up and down right in front of you that’s making it hard to look away.

After twenty reps Oscar racks the barbell again. His chest is heaving a little from the exertion.

“Nice work,” Kim says. “How’d that feel?”

“Good,” Oscar says between breaths. “Definitely feeling the burn.”

He catches your eye and must notice you blushing because he adds with a wink, “Enjoying the show, babe?”

You feel your cheeks flush even more. “What? No! I mean, yes? I just … never mind ...” you stammer.

Oscar grins knowingly and takes another sip of water.

Over the next two sets, you try your best not to gawk. You remind yourself that this is serious training. Oscar is an athlete and you need to be respectful.

But still … when he’s finished his final set and Kim tells him to take a longer rest, you can’t help yourself.

“So, the weight you’re thrusting, huh?” You say, trying to sound casual. “That’s kind of a coincidence ...”

“What do you mean?” Oscar asks.

You glance at Kim, who is occupied on his phone. In a lower voice you say, “Well, it’s exactly what I weigh.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t even realize.” A sly grin crosses his face. “Hey, you’re totally right.”

You take a step closer to him, emboldened. “So basically you’re doing hip thrusts with me on top of you.”

Oscar lets out a startled laugh. “When you put it that way ...”

“I have to admit the thought crossed my mind while I was watching you,” you say. You run a hand slowly up his arm. “I think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar swallows hard, his eyes darkening. “Yeah?” He asks quietly.

You nod, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

He reaches out and takes your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over your skin. “Well I can promise you, the real thing is a hundred times better than any training exercise.”

You lace your fingers through his, reveling in his touch. “Why don’t you remind me later?” You ask boldly.

Oscar leans in, his breath hot on your ear. “It would be my pleasure.”

A little shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his words. You want to kiss him right here in the middle of the gym, but Kim finally looks up from his phone.

“Alright, time’s up! Let’s keep moving.”

Oscar gives you a sheepish look as he releases your hand. “Duty calls once again. But rain check for later?”

“Absolutely.” You wink and take a step back so he can get into position for his next set.

You try to pay more attention to his form as he does the next round of hip thrusts. But this time, your mind keeps wandering to what those hips could do under different circumstances. Judging by the smoldering looks Oscar keeps shooting your way between sets, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

By the last set, there’s an obvious tension and heat between you. Oscar holds your gaze as he finishes the final reps, his hips rising and falling rhythmically. You bite your lip, no longer even trying to hide your desire. You want him, and you want him now.

Finally Kim calls time and tells Oscar to start his cool down stretches. As he reaches for his toes, back arched, you sidle up behind him.

“I think you need to stretch out some other muscles too,” you murmur in his ear. “I’d be happy to assist with that later.”

Oscar straightens up with a groan. “You’re killing me here, babe. As soon as we get home ...”

You grin up at him innocently. “Yes?”

He kisses you heatedly, not caring that Kim is still packing up his things nearby. “Why don’t you head out and get breakfast started for us?” He suggests. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You bite your lip as you back away slowly. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

You toss one last flirty wave over your shoulder as you leave the gym, heart racing. You have a feeling breakfast might be the last thing on both of your minds when Oscar gets home. But you love teasing each other like this — it always makes your time together even hotter.

As you drive home, you can’t stop replaying those images of Oscar doing hip thrusts in your mind. Maybe you should start joining those early morning workouts more often …

***

You can barely concentrate as you drive back home. You and Oscar have always had an adventurous and flirtatious relationship, but that encounter at the gym took things to a whole new level.

When you get home, you quickly tidy up the bedroom and kitchen to get things ready for when Oscar arrives. You take a fast shower, letting the hot water relax your excited nerves.

Slipping into a silky robe, you head to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. You chop fruit, arrange multigrain toast and toppings on a platter, and squeeze fresh orange juice, trying to make everything look as appetizing as possible. Not that food is really on your mind right now, but you want to set the scene perfectly.

Just as you’re pouring two cups of coffee, you hear the front door open. Oscar calls out your name, his voice sending a thrill through your whole body.

“In here!” You call back, straining to keep your tone neutral even as your pulse quickens.

Oscar strides into the kitchen and pauses, eyes sweeping over you hungrily as he takes in the robe and the breakfast you’ve laid out.

“This looks amazing, babe,” he says appreciatively. He comes over and kisses you tenderly. “Thank you for doing all this.”

You smile up at him, arms encircling his neck. “Least I could do after that little show you put on for me. Now come sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

You both take a seat at the kitchen island, filling your plates with fruit, pastries and eggs. The domesticity of sharing a meal together contrasts wildly with the tension still charging the air between you.

Oscar asks about your morning as you eat, keeping the conversation light. But his foot slowly trails up your calf under the table, making your breath hitch. You tell him about your plans to meet up with some friends later in the week. His hand finds your knee, fingers lightly grazing your bare skin. You ask him how training is going, trying to keep your voice even as your whole body tingles.

By the time you’ve both cleaned your plates, you’re squirming in your seat, heart pounding with anticipation. The second Oscar pushes his plate away, you surge forward to kiss him hungrily. All pretense of small talk is dropped — you want him now.

Oscar responds immediately, his strong arms pulling you tight against him as he kisses you deeply. You run your hands over the hard muscles of his chest and arms, feeling them flex and relax under your touch.

“Take me to bed,” you whisper in his ear.

In one smooth motion, Oscar stands and lifts you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you effortlessly to the bedroom and lays you down on the bed, his athletic body hovering tantalizingly over yours.

You run your hands up under his shirt, feeling the ripple of abs and obliques. Oscar lets you pull it up over his head before capturing your mouth again, kissing you ravenously.

“Need to feel you,” he groans, hands fumbling to untie your robe. He pushes the silk aside reverently, eyes roaming over your exposed body with undisguised longing.

You arch up into him, gasping as your overheated skin meets his. Oscar kisses down your neck to your collarbone, hands gliding up your ribcage to caress your breasts. You moan his name, back bowing off the bed at the sensation.

“You’re so beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, lips continuing their descent. “I’ve been thinking about this all morning.”

You smile, combing your fingers through his hair. “Well then stop thinking and start doing.”

Oscar laughs, his warm breath fanning over your stomach. “Yes ma’am.”

He kisses lower, fingers trailing down your thighs to nudge them apart. You let your legs fall open with a pleasured sigh, back arching in anticipation.

Oscar starts slow, kissing and licking with delicate flicks of his tongue that have you squirming for more. He grips your hips, holding you still as he finally puts his mouth on you fully.

You cry out as he brings you right to the edge, only to pause and ease up again, keeping you balancing at the precipice.

“Oscar,” you moan urgently.

He smiles against you, knowing exactly what he’s doing to your body. When he finally takes pity on you, the climax rockets through you powerfully, leaving you trembling and breathless.

You pull Oscar up to meet your lips again, tasting yourself on him. “Your turn,” you whisper.

He groans as you quickly flip him onto his back and kiss your way down his taut body. You pull off his shorts torturously slowly, trailing your tongue along his hip crease in a way you know drives him wild.

Finally you take him into your mouth, noting how he’s already hard and straining for you. You smile around him, working him with your lips and tongue until his hips are bucking uncontrollably.

“I need you. I need to be inside you,” Oscar gasps, stilling you.

You release him reluctantly and crawl back up his muscular frame to kiss him hungrily. Oscar grips your hips and then you’re sinking down onto him, crying out at the delicious fullness.

You move together urgently, the restrained desire from earlier in the gym bubbling over as your bodies join again and again. Oscar’s fingers dig into the curves of your hips as he guides you up and down. You brace your hands on his sculpted chest, grinding your hips in little circles that make you both moan.

The pleasure builds rapidly, urged on by the intoxicating intimacy of your entwined bodies. Oscar’s thumb finds your most sensitive spot and starts stroking in time with your movements. The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge again. Your climax seems to trigger Oscar’s own release. He throws his head back with a ragged groan as he finds his peak deep inside you.

You stay wrapped together as you both catch your breath, hearts pounding against each other’s chests. Oscar strokes your hair back from your face and pulls you in for a lazy kiss, full of satiation.

“Wow,” you sigh, still trembling with aftershocks. “This morning just keeps getting better and better.”

Oscar grins and rolls you both onto your sides, keeping you tucked close. “I guess we have hip thrusts to thank for this extra workout.”

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “Remind me to join your gym sessions more often.”

You lay entwined, trading soft kisses and simply enjoying the intimacy. The frantic passion from moments before simmers down into contented warmth.

Eventually Oscar nuzzles your hair. “As much as I want to stay like this all day, I should probably shower before practice.”

You pout playfully but let him slide out of your arms. He heads to the bathroom and you hear the water turn on a minute later.

Biting your lip, you get an idea. Oscar did say all day ...

You sneak into the steamy bathroom behind him. Through the frosted glass door you can see the outline of his muscular frame under the cascade of water.

Silently, you drop your robe and step into the shower behind him. Oscar turns under the stream, eyes lighting up as he sees you.

“Well hello there,” he grins. “Come here often?”

You press your naked body against his slick skin. “I missed you already.”

Oscar’s arms wrap around you as his lips find yours. “I think we have time for round two before I have to get ready for the afternoon,” he murmurs suggestively.

You smile and reach for the body wash, lathering up your hands. “Better get started then.”

Oscar groans appreciatively as your soapy hands glide over his shoulders and down his chest. You take your time relearning every hard ridge and valley of his athletic physique, paying special attention to the areas still sensitive from your earlier activities.

The combination of cascading water and roaming hands quickly has Oscar hard again. This time he lifts you, pressing your back against the cool tile wall as your legs lock around his hips.

You cry out in bliss at the new angle as he enters you. Oscar braces one hand on the wall and slips the other between you, resuming his earlier attentions. The dual sensation makes your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you gasp, raking your nails down his back.

Oscar increases his pace, thumb working you relentlessly as he snaps his hips. You feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it crests explosively, just as Oscar tenses and finds his own peak.

You cling together, slick and sated under the warm spray. Eventually Oscar carefully lowers your weakened legs back to the shower floor, keeping an arm around your waist to support you.

“Okay, now I really need to get ready to head out,” he chuckles.

You sigh contentedly. “Fine, but only if you promise more later.”

Oscar drops a kiss to your shoulder. “Oh I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

As you exit the shower on shaky legs, you exchange a grin. Looks like early morning workouts are going to become a permanent part of your routine from now on.

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moonstruckme · 1 day

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Thanks for being patient with me! This is edited on about four hours of sleep so apologies for any errors <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Water sizzles on the stove. You reach over to turn down the heat, your side heating from its proximity to the boiling water, before spinning back around to keep speed-chopping onion. This is a result of poor planning.

It’s possible that some of your nerves could be reinterpreted as excitement. Giddiness, even. You’re finally—finally—doing something to try and repay all the kindness James shows you. You’ve felt like such a mooch, eating his cooking and stealing his time with his friends, but last week had been too much for you to take. He’d discovered the stomach bug you were weathering, and James had completely devoted the next two days of his life to making sure you were looked after.

Your fever had gotten so out of hand he’d very nearly followed through on his favorite threat (going into your phone while you’re sleeping and phoning your mum), and though you’d done your best to downplay it at the time there are admittedly gaps in your memory wherein you think you were simply too out of it to know what was going on. It’s not a very comforting thought when you’re harboring a humiliating crush on your roommate; you may well have been just as talkative as James always is, you don’t know. At least he hasn’t said anything.

He had, thankfully, managed to avoid catching it. You’re not sure how he managed what no one on your shift at work did, but you assume it has something to do with all that kale he eats. Which is why you’re doing your best to make the thank-you meal you’re making him as healthy as might suit his standards.

You hear his key in the door, and a little frisson goes up your spine.

“You’re early,” you accuse as he walks in.

“Since when do you know when my training ends?” James asks. You sound like you’re sniping at one another, but as usual the joviality in his tone is unmissable.

The sounds of his entrance are familiar, perhaps more ingrained in your mind than they ought to be. Keys jingling as he hangs them on the hook, shoes toed off and left by the mat, heavy footsteps headed for wherever you are in the apartment.

When he finds you in the kitchen, you both speak at once.

“What happened to your shoulder?”

“You know how to cook?”

“Hurt it at training,” James answers, shrugging with the shoulder that doesn’t have an ice pack held to it. He’s probably too nice for it to occur to him to withhold his answer until you’ve given yours, as had been your first thought. “What are you making?”

“How did you hurt it?” Worry pries at your tone. Your hands have stilled on the cutting board.

“We had a scrimmage, and I got shoulder-barged.” He gives you a smile, a shadow of the real thing, but gentler. Reassuring. “It’s not bad.”

You frown. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Didn’t expect you to, love.”

“Why do you need to ice it if it’s not bad?”

There’s a look in James’ eyes that’s wavering between smugness and softness. You balk at the sight of it. “I need to be a bit careful with it,” he hedges, “but it’ll be good by morning. Now, you’ve distracted me. Do you mean to tell me you’ve known how to cook this entire time?”

“Yes,” you concede with a laugh. “I’ve always said I cook for myself when you’re not around.”

“And here you are, doing it right before my eyes.” James leans on the counter with his good arm. He looks immensely entertained. “I’m honored.”

“This isn’t just for me,” you say, looking down to resume chopping onion as your face warms slightly. “It’s for—” Another remonstrative hiss from the stove, and you whip around, moving the pot off the hot part entirely. You’re a bit relieved for the excuse to face away from him. “It’s for both of us. Also, I just want to provide a disclaimer right now that I never said I was good at cooking, only that I knew how.”

James’ laugh rumbles behind you, just as you knew it would. He’s too easy. You can practically feel the force of his smile hitting your back, like the sunshine brought inside.

“Here,” he says, taking a couple of steps toward you, “let me help.”

“No!” You whirl again, stopping him before he can actually enter the kitchen. “No way. James, I’m trying to do something nice.”

“And it is very nice,” he says, earnest. “It just seems like you could use a hand.”

“I’ve got it,” you insist. Your hands are up to ward him off, but you put them at your sides when you realize how close they’re hovering to his chest. “It doesn't count as doing something for you if you do it yourself. Anyway, you’re incapacitated.”

“I’m…” James looks confused, but then he glances down to his icing shoulder. “Oh, come on. I’m hardly immobilized.”

“For all intents and purposes, you are.” You do your best to infuse your voice with conviction. You’ve found that’s usually the way with James. If you show any hesitation, he’ll turn on the charm and have you eating out of his hand before you know what’s happened. You herd him away from the kitchen. “Go sit down. Dinner will be ready soon.”

You can’t help but be aware of him as you finish up, knowing he has to hear the sizzling when you accidentally spill things onto the stove or the one mumbled curse you’re not quick enough to bite back. All evidence that you’re not nearly as practiced a cook as James. You can practically feel his grin from a room over. Still, when it's done you’re fairly proud of yourself.

James is beaming as he accepts his bowl. He hikes his knees up so you can pass between the couch and the coffee table, making a show of sniffing the steam rising from the food.

“Is this risotto?” he asks, waiting for your little nod before his mouth drops open in astonishment. “You are so sneaky! I didn’t know you could cook at all, let alone fancy shit like this.”

“It’s not that hard to make.” You look down at your fork as you raise it to your lips, blowing.

“Sure it is! Loads of people have a hard time with it.”

“Do you?”

James grins, caught. You feel your own smile tugging at your lips as you take a bite.

He follows suit, forking a bit of the risotto and blowing to cool it before taking it in his mouth. His eyes dip closed, head lolling back, and he moans.

“Oh my god, this is good. I’m never cooking again, now that I know you can do this.”

You take another bite to avoid a response. You’re fairly sure the heat from your face could power the apartment for a month.

James makes a few more over-the-top compliments of your culinary skills, which you deflect as best you can. As always, you eat mostly silently while he chatters, but when you look over your attention gets snagged on his shoulder.

He’s only using the one hand to eat, bowl resting in his lap while you hold yours up closer to your face. His ice pack sits beside him now that he can’t hold it on anymore. You catch yourself gnawing on the inside of your lip.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

James looks over, following your gaze. “Yeah,” he admits. “Nothing I’m not used to, though.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “You get hurt often?”

He smiles bemusedly. “It’s rugby, love. Getting a bit roughed up is part of the deal.”

This doesn’t sit right with you. Though you hadn’t pondered it much before, you realize you’ve sort of been thinking of James, with his muscles and constant smiles and easygoing manner, as somewhat invincible. He seems like such a source of light in the world, it hadn’t occurred to you that anything bad could happen to him. You don’t like the idea of him being hurt. In any capacity.

You realize this is likely playing out on your face when you notice James watching you. His eyes are soft. “As much as I would love to milk this for attention and maybe a sponge bath,” he says, setting his fork in his bowl, “it’s really not that bad. See?”

He pulls down the sleeve of his shirt, and the effort to placate you is wasted. You take in a quiet, horrified gasp at the deeply colored bruise on James’ shoulder. One of your hands raises as if to touch it. It hovers in the space between you.

“That’s not that bad?” you look at James in alarm. “It looks broken.”

“It’s not,” he laughs. It’s a bit awkward, as close to self-conscious as you’ve ever seen him. “Trust me, I’ve had a couple broken bones in my time. It’s only bruised, and the muscle’s a bit strained.”

The muscle, you’re noticing now, is quite substantial. Your focus is on the bruise, but the shoulder beneath it is eye-catching as well, hefty and taut-looking, presumably from the strain. That, or James is flexing.

You raise your gaze quickly to his. Brown eyes tinged with smugness.

“You’re worried about me.” His lips stretch into a grin. Not your favorite one in his arsenal. “Aw, sweetheart, I love you too.”

You direct your attention back to your food, face hotter than hot. “I have justification for worry,” you say, the teasing tone you were going for undercut by the unintentional softness of your voice. “You’re voluntarily participating in a sport that seems like it’s trying to kill you.”

James takes a self-satisfied bite of his risotto. “I don’t know, I was pretty worried when you fainted in my arms last week.”

You side-eye him suspiciously. “I didn’t actually do that.”

“Guess you’ll never know.”

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et6rnalsun · 2 days

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something about rafe and his little obsession with you riding him until you both pass out. . .

“'s too much,” you whimpered as you continued to tirelessly bounce on his already-hardening cock, your thighs practically burning with every violent impact they had against his own skin.

rafe didn't care if you had already made him cum multiple times, he really didn't. he was too mesmerized by how you kept moaning and whining pathetically, hoping he would be clement, how your pretty lil’ boobs practically pressed against his face at every frantical movement your sore body made. “focus on pleasing me” that was his only response as he breathed heavily, lifting your hips up briefly before slamming you hard on his cock again, only to get him deeper. at that, you were genuinely giving in, your movements slowing as you cried out. until a hard slap on your ass made you snap out of it. "the fuck you think you're doin'?"

“sorry” you were quick to apologize, your cracked voice reaching his ears so deliciously as his rough fingers caressed the spot he just hit which was already turning a slightly redder color. & he really thought it suited you. your fucked up expression turned him on to no end, making him want to ruin you more than he was already doing.

“you can do better than this, c’mon. don’t act like you aren’t a pretty little slut for me” he grunted, his hips finally starting to meet your movements as he pulled his head back slightly, holding you in place with his tight and almost bruisingly grip. you mewled at that, lips parting in pleasure as tears almost fell down your big eyes. "there we go..," he cooed, watching the way your face contorted into one of the pretty little slut he mentioned, who craved nothing but cock. his cock.

"bout to fill you up again, doll" he breathed, one hand reaching up to grip your hair and pull at it slightly, arching your body just right. "i'll fuck you full until you can only feel satisfied with my cum" rafe then let out a string of curses, stilling inside you and allowing his cum to fill your tight pussy to the brim. “fuck, yeah”

he was dead tired at that point. sweat was rolling down his hard, muscular chest, his breathing even more labored as he slowly lifted you up, watching the milky substance seeping out with a grunt of satisfaction. "that's it. this is exactly how little things like you need to be treated.”

likes & reblogs are highly appreciated

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #obx x reader #outer banks #18+ content #mdni #smut #rafe cameron smut

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andvys · 3 days

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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Warnings: angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of loss, insecurities, allusions to depression, mentions of cheating (jancy), sad memories, fluff at the end (with Steve, yes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You take a painful road down memory lane and it makes you question everything.

Word count: 10.4k+

⭐︎ as always a special shoutout to @hellfire--cult thanks for plotting and writing with me hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

“Are you ready to tell me or not?”

You look up from your plate, still chewing on the pasta that Eddie had cooked, you put down the fork and reach for your pepsi as you look at Max who stares at you with a tilted head, a knowing smile resting on her face.

You shake your head and furrow your brows at the girl, glancing at Eddie who looks just as confused as you do.

“Tell you what?”

Max picks up her garlic bread and shrugs, “about you and Steve and how you’ve been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs,” she says nonchalantly before she takes a bite.

You nearly choke on your drink, eyes growing wide, matching the ones of Eddie who seems to be just as surprised as you are, he even stopped eating.

You blink, trying to process her words.

“W-What?” Is all that you can say as you stare at the redhead, like a deer caught in headlights and with a pounding heart.

“You know, at first I thought Lucas was crazy for teasing Steve about you and making all those comments about how perfect you two are for each other, especially because Steve always seemed just as annoyed with you as you with him but then he suddenly had different reactions whenever Lucas said something about you and I noticed how red his cheeks got every time he looked at you all lovey dovey,” she holds her finger up, eyes growing wide as she pointing at you to stay quiet, “and then… and then! You both started disappearing at the same time and started whispering to each other, sitting next to each other when it’s something you wouldn’t have done before, not to mention the secret hand holding,” Max laughs, shaking her head at you.

Your eyes widen at her ‘lovey dovey’ comment, hope that has been rising in you more and more, burning warmly in your chest but Steve doesn’t look at you that way, does he?

Eddie stares at her, feeling impressed by her observations.

Just like him, you feel impressed too, shocked and a little nervous but not scared the way you would feel if it were anyone else but her. She can keep a secret and she is like a sister to you – and unfortunately, sisters always know everything and uncover secrets without a struggle.

“I don’t know how the others haven’t figured it out yet, you two are so obvious,” she snorts, picking up her fork again, she stabs her pasta onto it, “just as obvious as my mom and your uncle,” she says to Eddie who shrugs and nods in agreement, “I mean… does anyone actually believe that he’s fixing our fence? The fence is fine! … They go to Enzo’s like every Friday night, by the way.”

Eddie chuckles and takes a bite of his food, “it’s only a matter of time until you and your mom move in with us.”

You expect Max to roll her eyes at him but instead she smirks, “yeah, hope you’re ready to become my personal driver.”

“Am I not your personal driver already?” Eddie snorts. “I mean, you even got two personal drivers, didn’t you both go shopping this morning?” He asks, pointing between you.

“Yes we did, and we were very successful,” Max nods.

You aren’t surprised about Susan and Wayne, they’re truly very obvious and now you can’t help but wonder if you and Steve are the same, with the exception that you two aren’t dating… sadly.

Max looks away from Eddie, returning her gaze back to you, “so when were you gonna tell me that you and Steve are a couple?”

Eddie coughs, glancing at you sideways as he grimaces when he sees your falling expression.

“They’re not a couple,” Eddie says for you, noticing the way your eyes sadden and your lips curl downwards at his words.

Max furrows her brows, tilting her head at you and giving Eddie a look of confusion.

“What–”

“Yeah, Steve and I are not… dating.”

The past few weeks have felt like it though, it felt like there was something more between you and him, and after finding out that you have been the only girl for him these past few months, it started feeling even more like it.

Max stares at you now, eyebrows pulling up and eyes flashing with even more confusion, “but… huh?”

“They’re just having… uh… fun, Red,” Eddie chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back in his seat, “you know… adult fun.”

You roll your eyes at his choice of words, just the way she does before she gives him a deadpan look.

“I’m not five, Eddie! I know what they’re doing but that makes no sense!”

“What doesn’t make sense?” You ask and reach for your drink again.

She looks down bewildered, dropping her fork and waving with her hands as she points at you, “Billy had fun and you know how much fun he had!”

You chuckle and nod.

“But he never held hands with those girls or looked at them like… like he was in love or something! He had fun and then he moved on to… the next… fun. It’s different with you and Steve though!”

A sigh falls from your lips and your shoulders slump as you lean back.

Yeah, of course it’s different with you and Steve, the difference between Billy’s fun and your fun is that he never loved any of the girls he had been with, you on the other hand, are sickly and madly in love with the guy you are having ‘fun’ with and you are pretty certain that Steve doesn’t feel the same, no matter what anyone says.

Eddie glances at you, waiting for you to say something, to tell her the truth because he knows you will, you don’t seem to feel the need to hide from Max, knowing she won’t run off to her friends and tell them all about it and risking it reaching Steve, Max isn’t like that, especially not when it comes to you.

“It’s not, Max…” You sigh, looking down at your hands.

She raises her eyebrows again, squinting her eyes at you.

“So… you’re saying it’s actually just fun?” She asks like she almost wants to chuckle in amusement.

You sigh again and raise your head again, rolling your eyes, “well… yeah… no, I– fuck… no, no it’s not just fun… not for me.”

Eddie looks at you sadly, sighing too.

“And Steve?”

You shrug, despite the hope in you, you don’t know what he feels, if he even feels anything for you.

“It’s just… fun… for him?” You mumble, flinching at your own words.

“Uh… is it?” Max mumbles, not looking or sounding convinced.

“It’s what he said,” Eddie shrugs, rolling his eyes when he thinks back to the night he confronted you both, “and he seemed pretty set on it, he said it just that and nothing more when I found out about it.”

“Mhm.” You nod, hiding your face as you tilt your head down again, not wanting to show more feelings than necessary. “Can we talk about something else now, please?”

Eddie nods, “sure–”

“No,” Max shakes her head, “I wanna talk about this!”

“My relationship with Steve isn’t appropriate to discuss with a teenager–”

“Oh, so there is a relationship,” Max interrupts you, giving you a smug smirk.

“No, there isn’t, you know what I mean!”

She chuckles and crosses her arms over her chest, continuing to stare at you.

“So… Do you love him then?”

Your eyeroll is enough of an answer to that question.

“I knew it,” she murmurs under her breath, “and what about him, you think he doesn’t feel the same?” She asks, thinking that her own question sounds absurd, she saw the way Steve looked at you, multiple times already.

“I know he doesn’t,” you shrug.

“Why not?”

“Because he hated me, Max–”

“Yeah, he obviously hated you so so much, that’s why you’re holding hands now and kissing every time you think no one’s watching! I don’t know about you but I wouldn’t hold hands and kiss my enemy… oh! Or look at them with lovesick smiles and everything!”

You sigh again, tilting your head back as you look up at the ceiling.

This isn’t good for you, it really isn’t, you don’t need to be fed with more delusions.

“I think he feels the same, it’s pretty clear!”

“If it’s so clear then why isn’t it being talked about?” Eddie retorts, not feeling convinced of Max’s words, “why didn’t he say anything to change their relationship yet? I mean, he had no issue talking to his ex-girlfriend about his feelings for her when he knew she was with someone else! Oh and by the way, Nancy cheated on him and left him for someone else and he still confessed his feelings for her again… years later, he knew he would look like an absolute fool – which he did but that didn’t stop him! So what should stop him now, hm? He’s got nothing to lose with her!” Eddie points at you, “she never hurt him, she has no one else that he has to compete against, she fucking loves him! So him confessing his feelings for her wouldn’t ruin anything like it would have with Nancy or Jonathan if they reacted badly to his stupid confession!”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the stinging in your heart.

You knew all about his love confession to Nancy – their conversation in the RV was only the first step towards it. You remember the jealousy you felt when he told her about his dream, about the kids and the future he always wished for, you knew who he saw by his side when he talked about it all. To find out that he confessed his love to her in the Upside Down made you feel even worse, especially when you were still recovering from all your injuries. Robin rambled away about it and told you every detail, you didn’t even ask for.

Eddie’s words make your heart ache yet again, you know he is right, but they kill your hope a little and you are holding onto it so tightly.

Max, on the other hand, refuses to agree with him, she squints her eyes at him, leaning closer to the table, “maybe he is scared, Eddie? Have you thought of that? I mean, the whole thing with Nancy was… a heat of the moment kind of thing, there was literally nothing between them but there is something between them!” She argues, pointing at you.

“I have thought about it,” Eddie nods, “but if I feel like I might lose someone I love for not saying anything to them, I damn right would do something!”

“I love him, Eddie,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up at your vulnerable confession in front of Max, “but I never plan on telling him how I feel, so…”

Max groans at your words and rolls her eyes, “two idiots, I swear to god, I bet Steve is feeling and saying the same shit to whoever else knows.”

“Robin,” Eddie nods at her.

Robin, yeah.

Robin who is suddenly not as fond of you as she was before, rolling her eyes and scoffing at you every chance she gets, irritating you a little more every time you’re around her now. You considered her a close friend before she suddenly turned on you and started acting weirdly towards you. You don’t know what her deal is but you suspect that she minds your presence around her best friend, fearing that you might ‘steal’ him from her because he is spending less time with her and more with you – as though she wasn’t the first to ditch him to be with Vickie.

“Great!” Max shrugs, “then why don’t you talk to her, try to get information out of her… since you two are accomplices?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head quickly, turning to Eddie in panic, “please don’t! Don’t talk to Robin, Eddie! She’s gonna tell Steve and if he doesn’t feel the same then…”

Eddie shakes his head at you, not needing you to finish the sentence. He reaches his hand out to you and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t, don’t worry,” he sighs, looking at you with sympathy in his eyes. He knows how deep your feelings are for Steve, how much you love him and how long you have loved him for already and now that you somewhat have him, you try to do everything to keep him, even when you are breaking your own heart in the process.

He isn’t fond of this affair because he has an idea of how it will end and he fears that day, knowing what it will do to you but he can’t do anything to change it, he can’t save you from heartbreak, knowing it will happen sooner or later.

You slump back in your seat, feeling pathetic for feeling this way, for holding on so desperately when there is only a small chance that there might be something and even that chance isn’t enough for you to go and find out the truth, not even when hope lingers in you after all the sweet moments you had with him.

Max looks at you in a way her brother once did, when he found out the truth and realized just how deep your feelings were, back then already.

You remember how the look in his eyes went from shock to confusion to sadness and sympathy.

And you remember how awkward and embarrassed you had felt that night.

It was raining outside, the windows were fogged and the smell of sex lingered in the room, you never knew what people meant by it when they mentioned that smell until that night. Your forehead was coated with sweat, your cheeks were glowing and feeling hot, your skin smelled like him, like his cologne and his aftershave, and your body felt different, not in a bad way, just in a foreign one.

You held the sheets tightly against your chest and looked out the window, watching as the rain paddled down the glass, a smile tugged at your lips and your chest wasn’t filled with sadness for once.

“Hey,” Billy said and pulled your attention back to him, “give me a smile.”

You turned your head to look at him, a giggle fell from your lips when you noticed the polaroid camera in his hands, his eyes were squinted and a smirk lingered on his face.

“Seriously?”

He took a picture of you before you reached forward and swatted the camera out of your face.

Billy leaned back from you and held the camera away so you couldn’t reach it, he laughed at the bashful expression on your face.

“Need a picture of your special first time,” he joked and laughed again when you rolled your eyes at him and blushed.

He took the picture out and started shaking it for reveal. He leaned back against your pillows and reached for his beer, drinking it while staring at you.

“Well, we are not doing that again,” he said and you knew that it would’ve offended many other girls, but not you, because you felt the same.

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right, did it?” You scrunched your nose.

“Not at all,” Billy laughed before his face grew serious as his eyes roamed your face, “do you feel alright?” He asked in concern because he noticed how distant you looked, like your mind was somewhere else or with someone else.

He straightened up and furrowed his brows at you, “who are you thinking about?”

You felt caught and you felt ashamed.

You never admitted your feelings for Steve to anyone, they didn’t even make sense so how could you even begin to describe them?

You looked down and closed your eyes, you pulled your brows together as though in pain and it only made him more curious.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” Billy asked and dropped the polaroid camera and the picture on the mattress beside him. He placed the beer back on the nightstand and grabbed his pack of cigarettes instead, “is he ugly?”

His question made you snort, you opened your eyes again and looked at his serious face.

“No, he is not ugly, not in the slightest.”

His lips curled downwards for a moment as he nodded, “do I know him?” He asked before he placed a cigarette between his lips.

You only gave him a look and that was enough to confirm his question.

He hummed and kept staring at you with a curious look on his face, he lit up his cigarette and threw the lighter on the nightstand, taking a long drag before he blew the smoke out.

“I do, huh?” He chuckled and squinted his eyes at you, “are you gonna tell me or are you gonna let me guess?”

You smirked and shrugged at him, you held the blanket tighter against your chest and reached for the camera beside him, “guess, Billy,” you teased him as though your heart didn’t start pounding from all the nervousness inside of you.

“Jesus,” he sighed in annoyance, “is he popular or a loser?”

You shrugged and squinted your eye as you brought the camera up to your face and wasted no second to take a picture of him too, he didn’t seem to mind, not like you did.

He started saying names, random names of guys you weren’t even sure went to Hawkins High. You kept shaking your head and saying no, you felt surprised that Steve’s name hadn't left his lips yet.

“Huh, it’s not the drug dealer is it? What’s his name again?”

“Uh… You mean Eddie?”

He nodded and pointed his finger at you, “yeah, him.”

You shook your head, “no, he’s cute but no, he’s not really my type,” you mumbled and sighed, “probably would’ve been better if it was someone like him, he’s nice, at least.”

He hummed and stared at you, he fell quiet for a while and his face grew serious after a few minutes, then his eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.

“Fuck… girl, please don’t tell me that it’s King Steve.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your face started burning beneath his gaze, you couldn’t stand to look into his eyes any longer so you broke eye contact and looked down at your hands in your covered lap.

“Shit…” He sighed and slumped back, looking at you in disbelief, like you had fallen in love with his arch nemesis.

“I know,” you mumbled in annoyance because you knew what he was about to say, “you don’t have to tell me how stupid I am, I already know that.”

Billy stayed quiet for a moment and stared at the pained expression on your face. Yeah, he was about to say something stupid about Steve, about his stupid hair and your feelings for him but when he looked closer – and he knew you pretty well at that point, he could see just how much pain lingered behind your eyes, how glassy they got and how your bottom lip wobbled just the slightest bit.

He was never the best with words and he certainly was never someone to give comfort, he didn’t even know how to, no one ever comforted him, only you did.

He bit his tongue and swallowed the bitter words that were about to leave his lips.

He opened his mouth but shut it again when he saw you wiping away a tear.

Billy sighed and ran a hand through his mullet, he pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes at the thought of the jock.

“It’s pretty serious isn’t it?”

You only nodded and said nothing.

“So… you’re like in love with him or some shit?”

“I guess so,” you whispered even though you knew for certain. “Feels like it’s tearing my heart apart or something every time I see him, every time he says something dumb to me.”

“How…?” He asked and sighed again, “shit, I knew you liked him, you wouldn’t have defended him every chance you got but I thought you were just being nice to that fucker… Jesus…”

You shook your head again and slowly looked up at your best friend, “I can’t give you an answer, Billy. I don’t know how it happened, it just… happened. That’s gonna sound so cheesy but… when I first saw him I just… I felt safe and comfortable… happy. He smiled at me when he passed me in the hallway and I just – I don’t know, I can’t explain this feeling and it doesn’t matter anyways, he turned out to be a dick who hates my guts so… I’ll get over these feelings someday.”

Billy didn’t believe your words and you didn’t either.

You have loved him at first sight and that never changed or lessened, your feelings kept getting worse and worse and it made no sense because he kept treating you badly.

You were infatuated with him, bewitched.

You expected Billy to judge you but he didn’t, you thought he would say bad things about Steve but he never did, at least not when it came to you and your feelings for him.

If anything, Billy encouraged you to act on your feelings, to get closer to him, to make a move and try.

And you did, but it only made everything worse.

And now, you stare at his sister and watch as she tries to do the same.

It went sideways the first time and you fear that it won’t go any different this time – yes, things have changed, you and Steve are something now, something you would have never seen coming a year before, especially after what happened when you did try to make a move on him. You just can not find it in yourself to even try, to gather all your confidence and use the sliver of hope to confess to him in hopes that he could feel the same, that you could be something more than what you are now.

You can feel that things have shifted into a different direction, the softness in his eyes, his gentle touches and acts of affection are proof of that and still, you fear rejection and losing this because this thing between you is just too fragile, too easy to break and ruin.

It’s not long ago that Steve couldn’t even bare to look at you without rolling his eyes or scoffing some cold words at you and you try not to think of them, to leave things in the past, to not go over his hurtful words again and again but something inside of you seems to manifest all the saddening and painful words your poor heart was attacked with in the past and you can’t fight off those memories, you try to but you can’t and it saddens you even more because the past few weeks with Steve, have been nothing but heavenly to you.

You woke up in his arms every morning, he held you through the night, woke you with kisses and cooked you breakfast, he held your hand and treated you as if you were his, like you were his girlfriend and he your boyfriend – you got a taste of something you always craved and longed for and that should bring you peace, it really should but he is showing you, giving you something that you know he will take away again when the time comes.

When you step into your house after dropping Max off at El’s, you make your way up to your bedroom and open your closet, looking for something comfortable to change into, when the navy blue color flashes in your peripheral vision. You grab a pair of your sleeping shorts and a random shirt of Steve’s, trying to ignore the dress that practically stares at you, forcing you to recall one of your worst memories.

You clutch your clean clothes to your chest and take a look at the pretty sundress you bought at the GAP store when Starcourt mall was still intact. You reach out to touch it, pinching the thin material between your thumb and your pointer finger, a sad smile tugs at your lip when you think back to the day you bought it – just to look pretty for him.

Your best friend kept encouraging you, filling you with hope that you could have a chance with Steve, that he wouldn’t say no to you if you tried to make a move, if you tried to ask him out, if you went after your feelings. Week after week had passed and Billy forced confidence onto you and pushed you towards a guy he didn’t even like.

You kept denying his words, you knew you had no chance with him, not even after you graduated from high school, not even after Steve had changed and his mean words became less harsh.

And yet, a part of you listened to Billy, that naive and hopeful part of you that really wanted her crush to like her back and give her the chance she always wanted.

You bought a pretty dress, you got your hair done and did your makeup, lighter and girlier than usual, you put on your favorite perfume and jewelry and you decided to give it a try – you shouldn’t have, you should’ve listened to your brain and not your heart.

The mall was bustling with people, kids were running around the water fountain, a group of young girls rushed past you, giggling in excitement as they carried their many shopping bags, you were standing in front of Scoops Ahoy, with your cheeks burning and your heart racing.

In all honesty, you had no idea what you were doing, you came up with no plan before you came here, you just woke up that morning and decided that Billy was right, that you could take a chance and go after what you wanted – you had nothing to lose, except for your dignity. Besides, you were no longer in school, if things went wrong, you could easily avoid him.

You had taken a look inside, only a few teenagers sat by the window, it wasn’t crowded, not in the slightest. You saw him, he was standing behind the counter with his back turned to you as he was talking to his co-worker who spoke to him through the small window between them.

Your heart skipped a beat when he turned to the side, a smile lingered on his face as he nodded along to the music that played on the radio.

You could have still turned back, you could have still left without being seen, without having made a fool of yourself. But you didn’t, you didn’t turn around, you didn’t change your mind, you walked into your own demise.

You took a deep breath and walked up to the counter, you twisted the ring on your finger and focused on him. He looked so good, even in his silly uniform, he looked so pretty. His sailor hat was laying on the counter and he was twisting the ice cream scooper in his hand, he only turned around when his co-worker, Robin, nudged her chin at you before she turned her back to him and disappeared further into the room.

You blinked and breathed heavily as you realized that you didn’t even know what to say, you didn’t prepare for this, you were never good with words or conversing with boys, you didn’t know how to flirt – well, you did, Billy taught you, but you had never used your newly learned skill before.

And when Steve turned around to face, it was too late to think of what to say, anyways.

“Ahoy–” his cheerful words cut short and the smile on his face fell when he saw you, “oh, it’s you.”

That should have been enough to change your mind, to make you turn back and run the other way.

“Hi Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped and he slid his scooper back into place, he put his hands on the counter and sighed.

“Blondie,” he nodded.

You were too nervous to see the way he looked at you, the way his eyes roamed your face and your styled hair, your glowing skin and your pretty dress, the way his cheeks changed color as he kept staring at you.

“What can I get for you?” He asked and cleared his throat as he gestured to the many ice cream flavors.

You shifted and tilted your head to the side, your hair fell from your shoulder and down your back. He looked again, at your exposed skin, at the dainty chain around your neck.

“I uh… I’m… I don’t know yet,” you stuttered and felt yourself growing more nervous than before.

Steve sighed and looked away from you, “of course,” he murmured under his breath.

Your cheeks burned hotly, your eyes felt heavy and you looked down as you already felt the regret rushing through your body. You wanted to say something, anything, but all your words were caught in your throat, everything you would’ve said if he liked you a little more were stuck and frozen.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, you looked at his face and wondered why you even let Billy encourage you and talk you into doing this. The few ‘nice’ interactions you had with Steve meant nothing. The smile he wore on his lips before could never be directed at you, the soft look in his hazel eyes disappeared the moment he saw you, the tone in his voice changed in an instant.

“How are you…?” You asked, cringing at yourself, at the question, at the shakiness in your voice.

He looked back at you and raised his eyebrows, an unamused chuckle fell from his lips.

“What do you want?” He asked and shrugged at you, “we’re out of high school, we don’t have to see each other anymore and I know you’re not here for ice cream, you usually don’t have an issue making a decision, so why are you here, Blondie?”

You could not help but draw back as a cold shudder ran down your spine, you blinked and looked down.

You missed the look of guilt that flashed in his eyes when he watched you step back and you closed your eyes for a moment, your brows scrunched together as though in pain.

He was always this way, you knew what you were stepping into, you knew how he would react and you couldn’t blame him, you weren’t exactly nice to him in school and snapped back at him every time he threw a rude comment at you.

You swallowed and took a deep breath, you looked back up at him, at the hazel eyes you always loved so much.

Steve huffed and he took a deep breath, he stared at you intensely and you didn’t know what it meant, a part of you thought that it was his hatred, the other was foolishly hopeful.

“Yeah… I know but I just… I thought that maybe we could,” you paused as your heart felt as though it was about to tear from your chest any moment. He looked at you so intensely, he made you feel so small beneath his gaze.

“We could what?” He asked a little too harshly and made you cower back.

“This was a bad idea,” you whispered to yourself and took another step back, “I’m sorry I just…”

“What’s up with you?” Steve mumbled and furrowed his brows at you, confused at the side of you he never met before. “Did you miss being annoying so much that you had to come bother me at work, Blondie?”

You heard the teasing in his voice, you saw the sliver of amusement in his eyes but you really only focused on the way your heart clenched in pain and how regret took on full control.

You rolled your eyes, not at him but at yourself, at your foolishness.

Of course he doesn’t want to see you, why would he?

He never liked you and he certainly wouldn’t start now, he would probably laugh into your face if you asked for what you came for – a date.

Your cheeks were nearly hurting from all the blushing, your heart was skipping and pounding, your hands felt clammy. You never felt the need to cry in front of him, you never felt vulnerable around him because your walls were always high up and guarded by a second layer, now you came without protection and decided to let yourself be vulnerable for once, only to feel like breaking down from the embarrassment that was gnawing at you.

“Cat got your tongue? That’s new…” He chuckled and stared you down still, eyebrows still furrowed and lips pursed. His hardened expression fell a little and something else took over, something you couldn’t read. “Did someone stand you up?”

Steve wasn’t used to your silence so you weren’t surprised about the confusion on his face. You looked at him again and caught him eyeing you up and down, his eyes lingered on your dress for longer than necessary.

His question went unanswered and he grew frustrated with you.

“Can’t blame them if they did,” he mumbled, throwing daggers at your heart.

That stung.

Normally his words would’ve angered you and you would’ve shot back straight away, despite your feelings for him, you wouldn’t have kept quiet or struggled to say something back but not today, today you let him hurt you – deep down you knew this would happen, this was always how you interacted, he said something mean and then you would too. His words were nothing new and yet they cut deep.

You swallowed hard and dug your nails into your palms, your breathing quickened and you knew you had to get out of here but something kept you standing, you felt as though you were frozen.

Steve coughed awkwardly and looked away for a moment, he grabbed his scooper again, “so… wanna eat your feelings or what?” He asked and pointed at the many flavors, eyes back on you.

“No–”

“Hi, Steve!”

You nearly flinched at the high pitched voice and had to hold back the eyeroll when you saw the girl next to you, who didn’t bother to hide the dirty looks she gave you before she returned her attention back to him, flashing him a sickly sweet smile that made his eyes light up.

The girl used to be on the cheer team, very popular and gossipy, unkind and one of the most unpleasant people you have met – and she usually spends her Saturday nights in Billy’s sheets.

Steve’s eyes were no longer on you, instead they were stuck on the pretty girl beside you, he eyed her up and down, not with distaste or annoyance but with interest and a smirk on his lips.

“Hey, how are you?” He asked and leaned against the counter, a flirty look crossed his face, “you look amazing, Olivia.”

She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger, she licked her lips as she eyed him like she was hungry.

“So do you.”

Steve smirked at her and chuckled softly.

At that point, you didn’t know what you felt because your sadness ran so deep, you didn’t have it in yourself to feel jealous anymore.

You just felt like a fool.

And you felt angry, at yourself and at him for being so horrible to you. Olivia’s giggles did nothing to make you feel less horrible, like nails on chalkboard her voice was irritating you in the worst way possible, so before leaving, you turned towards her and when she met your gaze with a fake smile, you matched the look on her face.

“Wouldn’t waste your time here, Olivia,” you said her name, mockingly and looked her up and down, not feeling jealous over the ugly sandals or the green skirt she was wearing. “He only flirts to pass time. Besides, isn’t that your boyfriend waiting for you?” You asked and tilted your head at the guy in front of the store, he was already glaring at Steve.

Olivia clenched her jaw and glared at you, huffing in annoyance which gave you a little satisfaction.

“Better not leave him waiting or someone might tell him what or who you do every Saturday night.”

Her pale face grew even… paler and you couldn’t even bite back the smirk, despite the blow that was just delivered to your heart.

Steve raised his eyebrows as he looked between you, he saw the way you blinked, fastly, he saw how glassy your eyes were despite the look on your face.

You turned back to him and looked at him with a straight face, “you usually don’t mind sharing your girls though, do you? So… go nuts,” you shrugged before you turned around and walked away from him, not planning to look back.

You should have, you should have looked back because then you would’ve seen the guilt in his eyes, the regret that crossed his features, the tension that slipped off his shoulders and the disinterest that took over for the girl in front of him. The sadness that flashed in his eyes for missing an opportunity, for letting you go like this.

But you didn’t, you kept going and you rushed back out into the bustling mall, you blinked away the tears and made your way back home. You tore the dress off your skin the moment you stepped into your room.

And you never wore it again.

You roll your eyes at yourself for feeling pain for the girl you were a year before, for still hurting because of the things he said to you, for the way he looked at you, for the way he flirted with a different girl in front of you.

The past doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, especially not now, not anymore – not after what you have gone through together, not after he changed, not after he started treating you differently, not after all the nights and mornings you have spent with each other, not after all the gentle touches, not after the way he kissed you and held you close that one night, not after he called you late at night just to hear your voice.

He is different now, you are different now, you aren’t the teenagers you were a year back.

The past shouldn’t hurt.

You slam the closet door shut and walk out of your room and into the bathroom, you start the shower, letting the water warm up while you take off your clothes. You feel frustration bubbling inside of you, the conversation with Max and her encouraging words triggered all the memories that you refused to think about in these past few months.

The day at Scoops Ahoy made you sad and angry, it made you want to never see him again, you avoided the mall after that day and you didn’t see much of him after. You hated yourself for hoping, for going after your feelings, for believing that you could have a chance after Billy’s encouragement – Billy who pushed you away only a week later, with harsh words and a mean look on his face, he pushed you away when you needed him the most and you felt alone again, so alone. At that time, you didn’t understand why he did it, why he didn’t want you in his life anymore, you didn’t know that he was just trying to protect you from the upside down, from himself.

And then he died and you lost yourself completely.

You drowned your sorrows in alcohol and kissed the lips of strangers, you let them touch you in hopes that you would feel something, you woke up in their beds and hated yourself after because no matter how good they were to you, how nice the conversations went, how much they made you laugh, how nice they made you feel, they couldn’t make you forget about the friend you lost, they couldn’t make you forget about him, they couldn’t give you what you wanted, what you needed, what you longed for.

You searched for glimpses of Steve in every man you kissed and you hated yourself for it because you wondered why you even felt that way for someone who couldn’t even stand you, who hated you with all his being.

What made you fall in love with him?

What tied you to him the way it did?

Because he never gave you a reason to fall in love with him back then, he treated you unkindly from the moment you met and yet you couldn’t help your feelings, you couldn’t help but adore him, you couldn’t help but admire him.

You even felt your own heart break when you found out about what Nancy did to him, how she broke his heart so carelessly, how she cheated on him with her friend.

And you felt it break even more when he still wanted her, even after everything she did to him, he loved hard, just like you did, like you do. No matter what she did to him, he still loved her.

And now, you can’t help but ask yourself the question that you have always avoided.

Does he still have feelings for her?

You wonder if he still wants her, if he still wishes for a future with her, if she is still the one he craves by his side.

He doesn’t look at her the way he used to, not anymore, he doesn’t seem sad around her the way he did after she rejected him and yet, you still wonder, if you are just someone he passes time with while he hopes that she might change her mind in the future. If you are the person he finds comfort in because he can feel that you love him the way she never did.

Are you the replacement? The filler?

You feel yourself crashing, the water feels hot on your skin but you feel the shudder running down your spine, the goosebumps that rise on your skin make you shiver, your throat tightens and your eyes blur with tears as your heart clenches in your chest.

You wipe your tears in anger even though your whole face is wet from the water pouring down on you, you turn off the water and open the curtain in anger, you reach for your towel and wrap it around your body.

You wipe the fog off the mirror and look at your reflection, at the marks on your neck, at the tears running down your cheeks.

Are you stupid for crying when you knew exactly what you were signing up for?

You always knew what this was to him and you were satisfied with it because you just wanted him, no matter how, you wanted him and you got him.

But you can’t stop your heart from aching because somehow, you fell even harder for him and you can’t stop from hurting when you think about what you are to him and what you might never be.

Just sex.

A friend… nothing more than a friend, that’s what he said, you are just a friend.

The confidence that only started growing inside of you not too long ago begins to crumble and you don’t know how to stop it from falling apart.

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and the thoughts that drive you mad. You take a look around, at the things he left in your bathroom, his toothbrush next to yours, his body wash and shampoo in your shower, his Farrah Fawcett hairspray that no one can know about.

Would all this be here if you didn’t mean something to him?

Would he have made space in one of his drawers just for your stuff if this meant nothing?

Would he have let you in if he still wanted someone else?

Does he even still want someone else?

You huff in annoyance for letting yourself fall into this spiral of overthinking. You feel as though all these questions come to haunt you for pushing them away all these weeks and now you feel a headache coming and you grow irritated with yourself and with your insecurities.

You shut them down as best as you can and busy yourself with other things, you moisturize your skin and blow dry your hair. You put on your fresh clothes and comb through your hair before you leave the bathroom, it’s much darker in the hallway than expected, the grayish clouds hide the sun and the sound of thunder rumbles in the far distance, drops of rain already paint your windows.

Goosebumps rise on your skin and an unsettling feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach. You feel the cold wind on your exposed skin from the open window in your bedroom, you make your way inside, pushing the blowing curtains away as you reach forward to shut the window.

Lightning surges through the sky, deep purple colors flash in the darkening clouds far away. You would’ve felt your heart dropping by now if you didn’t notice the burgundy car parked in your driveway, the door opens and he steps out, a second later, a brown paper bag in his hand and something tucked beneath his arm, he shuts the door and locks it, wasting no time to find shelter under the roof on your porch as it starts raining harder.

Instead of dropping, your heart skips a beat, forgetting all about the pain it just felt from the saddening thoughts in your mind.

Through all your overthinking and pondering, you forgot that he was coming over.

You shut the window and rush downstairs, opening the door as he rings the doorbell for a second time. A frown lingers on his face but it disappears when his eyes lock with yours as soon as you open the door and a smile tugs at his lips instead.

“Hey Blondie,” he breathes and rushes inside when you step aside to let him in, “looks like the end of the world out there.”

“Hi…”

You close the door and lock it before you turn around to face him.

Steve kicks off his shoes and throws the movie tapes that were tucked beneath his arm on the counter where you keep your keys and sunglasses, he puts his keys into the little bowl and then he steps towards you and reaches for your hand, he pulls you towards him and takes you by surprise when he leans down and smacks his lips against yours, kissing you shortly. Greeting you with a kiss, something he had never done before.

Your eyes widen a little and your throat tightens for a different reason now, you stare at him, unable to hide the surprised look on your face.

And Steve, he furrows his brows and his smile falls a little, not because of your widened eyes but because of the glassiness in them, he frowns as worry swirls in his chest.

“Hey,” he murmurs and lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek, “is everything okay?”

You blink.

Your heart jumps at his action, at the question, at the concern in his soft brown eyes. You breathe in deeply, you open and close your mouth a few times, unable to find the right words.

You didn’t cry all that much, it’s not so visible on your face, is it?

“Did something happen?” He asks, a little softer this time.

You shake your head, “n-no, I’m fine, just tired, I’m probably coming down with something…” You lie.

“In the summer?”

You force a smile and look down, shrugging, “guess I’m not that strong…”

“Well, then let me take care of you,” he whispers and caresses your cheek.

You wonder if he knows what he does to you with such words and actions, you sometimes wish he knew that your heart leaps every time he does such things, maybe then he would take pity on you and not fill you with so much hope, even in your worst moments.

You nod at him and let him take your hand back in his, he gives you a sweet smile that nearly makes you crumble.

“So how was your day?” Steve asks as he tugs you along with him and leads you into your kitchen.

You swallow the lump in your throat and shrug, “good, I went shopping with Max and then we ate lunch with Eddie.”

Steve smiles at that, he places the brown paper bag on the kitchen table and turns to face you.

The soft look in his eyes and the smile on his lips makes you feel guilty for the thoughts that rushed through your mind just moments before. This side of him is the only one you have known in the past few weeks, the gentle and sweet side you never thought you’d ever get to see.

“I got us dinner, burgers and fries but I got the fancy ones from Enzo’s,” he chuckles and lets go of your hand, stepping away from you and towards the sink. “Did you find anything?” He asks as he runs the water and uses the hand soap you always leave in your kitchen to wash his hands.

You furrow your brows at his question, feeling a little lost and confused.

“Hm?”

“When you went shopping.”

“Oh.” You nod your head, you went back to the jewelry store to look for new rings and the necklace you fell in love with but it was already gone, it would’ve looked pretty with the dress you picked out for Joyce’s and Hopper’s wedding. “Yeah, I finally got a dress for the wedding… oh and shoes… and makeup.”

Steve smiles fondly when he turns back to you, “what color is your dress?”

“Uh, it’s black,” you say and walk over to the fridge to grab a drink for you both, “sounds boring, right? But it’s really pretty and I got some pink heels to go with it.”

“It doesn’t sound boring,” he shakes his head at you and carries two plates to the kitchen table, “besides, you look gorgeous in anything.”

You freeze.

Your eyes grow wide and your cheeks start burning.

Gorgeous?

He surely never called you that before, especially not after greeting you with a kiss on your lips.

“T-Thanks, Steve.”

He hums in response and you look back at him to see him placing the food on the plates, putting more fries on yours than on his. His brows are pulled together in concentration, his lips pressed together, his hair looks a little messed up from the wind but he looks so cute like this.

And you can’t help but think of how intimate this all is, him kissing you after walking in, him asking you about your day and the color of your dress, him plating your dinner.

You can’t help but hate yourself for all the overthinking and reminiscing of the things that happened in the past.

You close the fridge with a sigh and make your way back to the table, placing the coke in front of his plate.

“Thanks, Honey.”

You give him a smile and sit down across from him, looking down at the delicious food in front of you, “I’m horrible, you always cook for us or order something and I never do anything.”

Steve shakes his head, glaring at you, “you’re not horrible and that’s not true, you cooked breakfast and dinner before.”

You pop open your soda can, “yeah, I made french toast and sandwiches.”

“Yeah and it was amazing, now shut up and eat your dinner, kid,” he says playfully, his eyes glinting with amusement when you laugh.

You push your hair out of your face and pick up the burger, unaware of the fond smile that tugs at his lips as he watches you take a bite. His eyes roam your face, your eyes are a little red and he can’t help but think that you lied to him about feeling sick, you look fine, you just look a little… sad and it makes him feel upset because he knows that you won’t talk about it, especially not with him but he wants to be there for you, he wants to give you a shoulder to cry on, to lean on, he wants to give you comfort.

He looks down at the shirt on your body and when he recognizes it, his eyes lighten up and warmth blooms in his chest, it’s his shirt.

He bites back the smile as he looks down and starts eating too, welcoming the comfortable silence between you as the rain paddles down the windows, the thunder still crashing somewhere, far away.

You flinch every time a loud crash booms through the sky, it’s nothing new to him, he noticed it the very first time it happened. Every time the sky turns a little darker and the wind picks up, you fidget and get anxious. He wonders if it’s a fear you have taken with you from the upside down or if it is something that accompanied you before, he never dared to ask before.

Every time he showed up during a storm, your eyes were filled with fear and your hands were shaking. You would relax and calm down a few minutes after his arrival, his presence seems comforting to you and it’s why he rushes to get to you every time he sees the dark clouds and hears the thunder.

“Hey Blondie?”

You look up at him through your lashes and raise your eyebrows, “yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You put down your burger and reach for your drink, nodding at him.

“Have you always been afraid of storms?”

You seem to be taken aback as you stare at him and blink, not moving or saying anything just yet and he fears that he crossed a line.

“I just, I noticed that you flinch at every crash.”

You always tried to hide your reactions, not wanting to seem scared or weak, and usually no one ever noticed things about you that you didn’t want them to see but Steve seems to see right through you.

His hazel eyes aren’t filled with judgment or amusement, just with curiosity and… a hint of concern?

You take a sip of your drink and sit back, relaxing your shoulders as you look into his eyes.

“Yeah, I just, I guess it got stuck with me from when I was a kid,” you chuckle and roll your eyes, “I know, embarrassing right?”

He shakes his head and frowns, “no, not at all.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad when I was a kid, it got worse when I was a teen. My parents would go on these business trips sometimes and trusted my sister to look after me but she used those opportunities to go hang out with friends or go to parties or whatever else she was doing,” you explain, not looking away from him, “and I hated being alone, it probably didn’t help that I watched horror movies every time I was alone.”

Steve chuckles at that, though he can’t help but feel sad for you.

His parents left too, hell, they still do. To know that you were in a similar situation as him when you were younger fills him with regret, knowing that he could have been there for you and you for him, if he just wasn’t such a dick to you.

“I just always got so anxious whenever I heard the howling wind and the loud thunder, it felt like the fear paralyzed me in a way… I don’t know, does that even make sense?”

Steve nods, “yeah, yeah it makes sense.”

But now he wonders how the hell you jumped into the water to save him, after everything that you had been told about the upside down, about the storms, about the monsters, you still jumped into the water when he was pulled under. You knew what was waiting for you on the other side and you still did it.

“B-But how… I… the upside down was filled with storms?”

You would’ve jumped into a hurricane if it meant saving his life.

“I wasn’t going to prioritize my fears over your life, Steve.”

Steve feels a little stunned, he knows how paralyzing fears can get, how they can hold you back from everything, but you, you didn’t care about your fears, about yourself, knowing that it could’ve ended badly for you down there, you cared more for him than you did for yourself, even when he was nothing but an asshole to you who treated you like shit.

If he knew you, the real you, he wouldn’t have been so harsh to you, he wouldn’t have been so… cold. He would have never said a single bad word to you but he thought you were cruel and he thought you hated him so he gave you a side of him that didn’t even exist, it was an act, nothing more, nothing less and he regrets it more than anything.

He regrets every word he said to you before this. And he feels as though he doesn’t deserve this, you, not even in this way, not after everything he said to you and about you.

He wants nothing more than to take it all back, to make it up to you.

And as you sit there in front of him, with red rimmed eyes that prove that you have cried before he came here, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms and apologize, over and over again.

But instead of doing that and risking making you uncomfortable, he slides his plate closer to you and changes seats so he is right next to you, he ignores the confused look you give him and the question you were gonna ask before he grabs your face and kisses you, making you gasp in surprise.

You melt into the kiss quickly, despite the confusion that lingers in you. You place your palm on the side of his neck and kiss him back softly.

And just like that, your worries and your anxious thoughts fade away into nothing, his touch, his kisses, he makes you forget about all the sadness that gnawed at you before, for a moment, they don’t matter and they won’t be back till later.

For a moment, you’re allowed to feel hopeful and confident again.

When his hand finds your waist and his lips move slowly and softly with yours, when he hums into the kiss and pulls you closer, when he makes you feel special.

Steve’s eyelashes flutter when he pulls away and opens his eyes again, smiling softly as he pecks your lips once more before he moves back, like he didn’t just steal your breath and made your heart pound wildly.

“What was that for?” You breathe.

“To calm you down from the storm,” he shrugs, chuckling at his own words.

“Why do you think a kiss would calm me down?”

“I don’t know, I read it in a magazine,” he lies and looks down at his food with rosy cheeks and a sheepish smile.

A giggle falls from your lips.

“Right,” he nods and points a finger at you, still smiling, “it’s scientifically proven that kisses help with the distraction.”

“Mhmm,” you hum and nod, “right, totally yeah.”

Instead of tears, you’re biting back a smile now, falling right back into the state you are always in when you’re around him – into bliss.

You continue eating and you ask him about his day, you push your plate towards him, sharing your fries with him once he practically inhales the ones on his plate. He keeps on talking, the whole time you sit at the kitchen table you ate your meals alone at, he tells you all the gossip he’s heard from Robin, keeping you entertained and making you giggle, making you forget about the raging storm behind you or the pain you felt before, he makes you forget about everything.

And you thought this would be like any other night you spent with him.

But it wasn’t.

Steve didn’t sleep with you that night, and you didn’t initiate it either. The storm was at full blast over your house, and Steve made sure to have the TV at full volume when watching the movies he stole. He mentioned Keith was busy trying to talk to a female customer and he didn’t even look at Steve when he shoved them down his shirt.

You laughed with him, giggled, and – are you the replacement? Are you really? Or are you actually in his heart?

The past tells you that you are the filler for the holes in his heart, but the present– the present tells you otherwise. It tells you that there might be a chance. His smile tells you that he likes spending time with you. The frown over his eyes when something happens to you tells you he is worried for you. The way he is possessive over you tells you that he considers you his.

Is it foolish to believe in the present? Is it foolish to simply forget about the past? Is it foolish you cannot and won’t let go of him? Is it foolish to simply love him, with no reason at all?

And you just know… that Billy never once said it was.

Billy who wouldn’t want you to give up. Billy who wouldn’t want you to go back into the past. Billy who would want you to keep living in the present. Billy who would still encourage you if he were here. Billy who helped you pick that dress at the GAP to shoot your shot that day at Scoops.

Billy never gave up on your love for Steve.

You shouldn’t either.

And you won’t.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst

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hannieehaee · 3 days

Note

can u do how svt members act during their girlfriend's first time, please? sorry for my bad english

18+ / mdi

their first time with their virgin s/o

content: established relationship implied, smut, mentions of penetrative sex, reader is a virgin, mentions of losing virginity, etc.

wc: 724

a/n: such a cute concept omg i hope u like it!!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

goes crazy at the thought of being your first but holds back to prevent scaring you off. plans your first time to the t, wanting to make it as loving as humanly possible. sensual in the way he undresses you, kisses you, gets you ready and eventually makes love to you. would have to constantly muffle groans at the pleasure you so effortlessly gave him.

jeonghan -

coo's and praises you constantly. treats you like royalty, teasing you but also overwhelming you with his touches. drives you to the edge of losing your mind many times before taking it all away with a wicked laugh. super soft during it all, but still tortures you with pleasure you'd never felt before.

joshua -

the epitome of a gentleman. seduces you for days until you finally fall into his arms and beg for him to take your virginity. touches you in places you didn't know could bring pleasure until driving you into desperation. slow and attentive when it comes to actually making love to you.

jun -

so nervous aaahhh!!!! but he's an absolute gentleman and prioritizes you over everything so he pushes any nerves aside to make your first time as perfect as possible. has to hold back from cumming the moment he sees you naked for the first time, but manages to make the experience perfect for you.

soonyoung -

will try not to show it but he'd be soooo anxious to be your first time. sometimes his emotions get the best of him, so he'd be afraid that his lust would be too obvious. would still be super soft with you, becoming instantly infatuated with your naked form.

wonwoo -

would be so soft and attentive to you, never letting his hands stray away from you. kisses every inch of your body with murmured praise into your skin. your pleasure absolutely comes first, so he'd prolong his own to prioritize yours. goes at your pace and holds himself back to make you feel as comfortable and loved as possible.

jihoon -

visibly nervous and fidgety, but super sweet to you. stops every five seconds to ask for permission before making any move, then proceeding to ask you if you were okay or if it felt good. loses his mind the moment he feels you, but still holds back and remains a gentleman throughout.

seokmin -

so so so so thankful to be the one you decided to give your virginity to. literally worships you every second in which he holds you in his arms. anxious about it all but pushes it aside to prioritize your pleasure and comfort. literally the best person to take your virginity bc he takes it to heart and gives you his soul.

mingyu -

prepares the perfect night for you, cooking a romantic candlelit meal and grooming himself perfectly for seduction. guides you through it all and teaches you everything there is to know without judgment. provides you with the greatest pleasures possible, creating the most loving atmosphere for you.

minghao -

he's the perfect person to lose your virginity to lol he'd be so loving and such a gentleman throughout it all. whispers praise and compliments into your ears and marks your body with love bites. draws out the experience for hours by making you cum with every other mean possible before actually taking your virginity.

seungkwan -

super nervous about it!!! does not want to risk disappointing you or somehow hurting you so he's just a nervous wreck. in the end, he lets himself relax by communicating with you during it all, wanting nothing more than to provide you with a loving and memorable experience. would maybe make some jokes during it whilst also worshiping you.

vernon -

is mostly casual about it, but is still slightly nervous to be the one to take your virginity. would be super nice and go at your pace, dropping a few jokes to make you feel comfortable and at ease. immediately entranced by how pretty you are and driven by the lust you cause him.

chan -

super cheesy about it all. plans a day with you in which you'd do it and creates the perfect ambience with rose petals, wine and candles. makes love to the entirety of your body with his lips before finally fucking you. the type to cuddle and hold you the entirety of the night.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen #seventeen oneshot #svt #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt oneshot #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen reactions #svt reactions

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woso-dreamzzz · 2 days

Text

Kidnapped II

Fridolina Rolfö x Baby!Reader

Summary: You're sick

The league win is tonight.

Or, rather, the presentation of the trophy is tonight and Frido's excited. It should be a fairly easy win for the team so that combined with the trophy lift is going to make this day amazing.

It falls just short of perfect because you've fallen ill.

Frido's parents arrived nearly two days ago and, while you were perfectly fine on the plane, you're now a bit wheezy with a sore throat and a cough that just won't seem to go away.

"Älskling," She coos, bouncing you around as she gets ready to leave," You sound so bad."

You've been up most of the night coughing and Frido stayed up in solidarity, allowing her parents some sleep while she cared for you.

You cough again, as if to prove that you are feeling incredibly bad.

She measures out some medicine. Most of the team thought it was a little silly for her to be stocked up on kid's medicine when the only kid she hung out with was Cub but Frido had wanted to be prepared for if you got sick during any of your visits.

She'd be smug about it if it didn't mean that you were feeling terribly icky today.

She sways you softly as she squirts the medicine from the syringe down your throat.

"I know," She coos," Yucky, huh? I'll give this away to Mapi and Ingrid and find you some nice-tasting stuff for next time."

You whine a little and drop your head against Frido's collarbone. She keeps rocking you, rubbing your back softly as she lays kisses on top of your head.

"I'm going to call in," Frido says when her parents finally join the two of you in the kitchen," It's a fairly easy match. I won't be needed."

"Trophy is presented today," Her father replies gruffly," You can't miss that."

"Älskling is sick," Frido insists," I don't want to leave her. She needs me."

"You're not her mother," He says," You can't just pause your world because the little one is sick. Go to your match. Your mother and I will decide what to do with her. One of us will be there."

Frido puffs out her cheeks just like you do when you're annoyed. "I can stay!" She insists," She needs cuddles!"

"Cuddles that we are more than capable of giving her," Her father reminds her.

"Not sister cuddles!"

Her father laughs a little bit with an eye roll, taking you from Frido and soothing you easily when you whine against his chest.

"You know, I thought we left this petulance behind when you became an adult."

"I'm not petulant."

"Sure you're not.

Frido stamps her foot. "I'm not!"

Her father keeps laughing. "You're thirty years old and you're still stamping your foot? You're showing your baby sister a bad example."

The rumble of laughter from your father's chest has you let out your own raspy giggle that has Frido beaming at you.

"I'm staying here," Frido insists," Just to watch her a bit. It could get worse, you know."

"We raised you," Her father replies, adjusting you on his hip and bouncing slightly to help you settle," I think we know all about sickly children. She's much more well-behaved than you ever were."

"But-"

"Fridolina," He says, pulling out the full name and essentially silencing Frido with one word," If I have to drag you into that stadium by your ear then so help me I will. Your sister is capable of watching you on the tv no matter how sick she is."

Frido knows her father very well so the threat isn't empty.

She is going to the pitch even if he has to drag her there himself. It doesn't mean she has to be happy about it though.

Actually, Frido decides that she's not going to be happy at all even if the trophy is being lifted tonight. She forces herself to keep a frown on her face even when she listens to Ingrid complain about the two ginger cats that have now taken over her house.

Frido refuses to let herself be happy after being forced out of her own house while you're still wheezy and coughing.

"You can smile, you know," Mapi says," It won't break your face or anything."

"I'm proving a point," Frido replies," I am letting my parents know I'm not happy with this situation."

"Are you twelve? Because this is super childish."

Frido ignores her.

"Is this what I have to look forward to? God, I hope Cub never grows up."

"It's the principal of the matter," Frido says," My parents will understand."

It's difficult to keep the frown on her face when the team go seven nil up by the end of the match but if there's one thing Frido is, it's stubborn and she refuses to act like she's enjoying herself when you're sick in her home.

The trophy is brought out while the team celebrates and Frido gets up to join them before there's a familiar call of her name.

It's her mother's voice and Frido now knows it's her father who stayed home to look at you.

Good.

Because Frido isn't quite sure how she would react to seeing him here after her forced her to come without you.

Only...

You're being dangled over the railing to her, looking much happier and perkier than before.

"Look who decided to get over her little cold to see her sister win the league."

Frido grabs you and you clumsily fall onto her chest, giving her a big wet kiss on her neck.

She laughs. "Thank you, Älskling!"

You screech something unintelligible and Frido nods.

"I love you too!"

#woso x reader #fridolina rolfö x reader #fridolina rolfö #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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sickslimez · 2 days

Text

STILL IN LOVE! #8 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

“Fuck,” Toji grunted before letting out a deep sigh, sweat dripping off his skin as he placed the weights down on the floor. He looked around the room, glancing outside the window.

“That was three more than the last time,” Gojo spoke with a smirk, leaning up against the wall. He took a sip from his water bottle before speaking again, “who’re you tryna impress?” He teased.

“No one. Just tryna get back into the gym.” Toji grabbed his water off of the floor along with his towel, wiping the sweat from his face. Gojo causally walked over towards Toji, standing over him with his arms folded. “May I help you?” Toji glared at the white haired man. As good of a friend gojo was to Toji, he was also very annoying at times, which eventually he had to get used to.

“You never told me how your talk with y/n went? How is she anyway? Single? Not single? Just wanna know when I can make my move.” Gojo quirked a brow, clearly trying to get a reaction from his friend.

“Very funny. She’s doing just fine.” Toji stood from his seat, pushing past Gojo and walking out of his gym room towards the kitchen to grab a small snack. Gojo trailed right behind him, laughing.

“And?” Gojo snatched the box of granola bars from Toji’s hand, slamming them on the counter as he waited for more of a response. “Come on man, I want the details!”

Toji rolled his eyes with the shake of his head, snatching back the box. “We talked about us as parents and our kids. That’s it. What more do you wanna hear?” The crinkling sound of a wrapper filled the silent kitchen.

“That’s it?” Gojo’s brows furrowed, genuinely confused. Toji nodded in response, chewing on his food. “You two didnt have sex?” Gojo questioned, eyebrows now raised in surprise. “Not even a kiss?”

“Nothin. Just a hug and a see you later,” Toji explained.

“Holy shit! You two are actually over. Wow, I never thought I’d see this day come,” Gojo scoffed, grabbing a granola bar from the box. “Have you met or seen her new man?”

Toji shrugged. “No, not really. I’ve seen him, but I haven’t properly talked to him. Don’t think I want to. I want her to be happy, she deserves it. I just can’t stand seeing her happy with someone else. Is that wrong of me? I still get jealous, possessive. But it’s no longer my place to say anything.”

“Who are you and what did you do with Toji?” Gojo had a scowl on his face. Toji let out an airy laugh, shaking his head at him. “It’s weird seeing you all…mature.” Gojo shivered before taking another bite of his granola bar.

“I know. I’m still getting used to it myself.” Not a second goes by where you’re not on Toji’s mind. He thinks about what you’re doing, how you’re doing. He wants to text you, see you, hear your voice, touch you again. He hates that it has to be this way now, but it’s for you, for your family.

Though he has these thoughts in the back of his head, imagining you forgetting about him, acting like he doesn’t exist anymore, you getting remarried to someone that isn’t him. He’s scared of fully losing you, losing his family. You and the kids are the only thing keeping him together, giving him hope that things we maybe work out in the future. But every now and then, he sees those flowers on your table, the kiss your shared with him, the smile on your face when you hugged him. It haunts Toji.

“I forgot to ask, how’d your talk with Toji go?” Kento questioned, his arms snaking around your waist as you wiped your makeup off in the bathroom mirror. He peppered kisses down your neck as he waited for your response.

A smile crept on your face before speaking, “it went well actually. No argument. He was actually very understanding.” You softly smiled, continuing to wipe the makeup off. Of course you wouldn’t mention how Toji practically told you he was still in love with you, held you in his arms while you cried into his chest. It still felt like you smell his cologne in your nose each time you took a deep breath.

“Well, that’s good, right? Now you won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Kento chuckled, pulling away from you. Your brows furrowed at his comment, something in the way he said it didn’t sit right with you, but you decided to ignore it. “He seems like a pretty shitty person, but who am I to judge. I’m just glad you’re doing better, sweetheart.”

You turned around to face the blonde haired man with a puzzled look on your face. “Yeah, who are you to judge?” You asked, tossing your makeup wipe down on the bathroom counter. “Me and Toji may have not had the best relationship towards the end and we may not agree on some things, but I do not need you coming up in here and bashing my children’s father to my face.”

“Woah, woah, calm down, I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I’m sorry, it just came out wrong.” Kento grabbed onto your hands, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. “I just seen how much he’s put you through and I don’t like it.” You pulled your hands from his, leaning Nanami with a slightly shocked expression.

“That is not how you meant it. Calling him a shitty person? Really? He’s a good dad, takes care of his kids, he cares about the people in his life, Kento.” You started to get defensive. Toji had his bad moments, every one does, and your relationship showed that side of him, but you also saw the best of him too. You knew deep down Toji was actually someone trustworthy, a good person at heart.

“Yeah, like the way he cared about you towards the end of your marriage?” Kento questioned.

You stared at him, unable to form words, trying to process the ones that just came out of his mouth. “What did you just say?”

Kento stepped closer towards you, realizing what had just slipped from his mouth, an apologetic look on his face when he saw the saddened look in your eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”

“You have no fucking right to talk about my marriage with him. Just because I told you what happened doesn’t mean you know the whole story, you understand? He was my husband, he’s the father of my kids! How fucking dare you? Get the hell out of my house.” Anger lined your tone. You never thought that someone like Nanami would ever judge someone’s character, let alone, speak about them in such an ill manner. He seemed understanding, open to the whole situation, even offered you advice—which you took.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean to upset you. Forgive me. You’re right, it isn’t my place to speak about your marriage. I just thought—”

“Let me make this clear again…get out of my house, please.” You sharply inhaled, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to control your anger. And to think you were going to have a nice night while the kids were at Shoko’s and you had the house to yourself. You stood there looking at the tiles of the bathroom floor, Nanami stepping out of the room to grab his things. A shaky breath rattled through your body as tears began forming in your eyes, but just as quickly as they came you wiped them away even faster.

The front door shut, leaving you in complete silence.

Toji rubbed the towel over his wet hair, sweats hanging low on his waist as he walked into the living room to settle down for the day. He grabbed the remote, turning on the tv to find an interesting moving to watch before bed, choosing between horror or thriller. “This is same shit as the other one,” he spoke to himself, sucking his teeth.

Toji’s phone began vibrating as he clicked through the movie selections, not bothering to look as he picked it up. “What do you want, Gojo?” Toji asked with an unenthusiastic tone.

“Toji,” you sniffled. He immediately sat up, eyes going wide at the sound of your voice.

“Y/n? What’s wrong? Are you okay? The kids okay?” He asked with panic, standing to his feet.

“The kids…the kids are fine, they’re with Shoko.” You could barely talk, trying to control your emotions.

“What’s wrong, mama?” Toji questioned, walking over to the front door to slip on his shoes. “What happened? Talk to me.” He opened his front door, walking to his car, unlocking it.

“Can you just come over? Please?” You asked.

“I’m already on my way, okay? Stay on the phone,” he demanded. The sound of your cries made Toji fill with worry. You wouldn’t tell him what was wrong or what was going on, but he’s never driven anywhere else faster before. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.” You nodded as if he could see you.

Toji didn’t even turn his lights or tv off. Hell, he can’t even remember if he locked his front door. But at this point he didn’t give a damn. All he knew was that you needed him right now. He wasn’t going to leave you like he did all those times before. “I’m around the corner, be at the door.” Toji hung up the phone as he turned down your street, slowly breaking as he pulled up to your house. He noticed how there was only your car in the driveway.

He saw your front door open, the light from the house illuminating your figure as you stood on the steps. Toji quickly got out of the car, rushing towards you. He could hear you crying the closer he got. You reached towards him with open arms, Toji took you in his, nearly out of breath. “Mama, what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked, soothingly rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry for calling so late,” you sobbed.

“No, no, shh, come on, let’s go inside.” He noticed how you were only in your nightgown in the cold. Helping you into the house, he locked the front door behind him. He stood there with you in his arms, embracing you, comforting you as you cried. “I’m here, baby,” he said softly.

“I just…we got into a fight…and I started drinking and I—I can’t stop crying. I needed you,” you explained, tears rolling down your cheeks. Toji could faintly smell the alcohol on your breath as you spoke. Toji wasn’t going to intrude on your business when it came to your new relationship, but if he had to guess, the argument was pretty recent.

“He didn’t touch you or anything, right?” Toji sternly asked. You immediately shook your head no. A weight of relief lifted off of his shoulders at your answer.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late, Toji. You didn’t have to come I was—”

“I don’t care about that, okay? I don’t want you to be alone while you’re feeling like this. Not anymore. Let’s go.” He guided you towards your bedroom, the plush carpet under your feet as he sat you down on the bed. You finally stopped crying, wiping the tears off of your face as you sat there to collect your thoughts. “I’ll be back.” Toji felt a tug on his hand as he went to step away, looking back to see you staring up at him.

“Stay.” It almost looked like you were begging him. Is this what you were like all those years ago? How he just ignored you? How could he do something like that to you? You squeezed his hand tighter as you crawled into the bed, pulling him with you. Toji reluctantly followed, but still gave in. His arms wrapped your body, pulling the blankets over you as you snuggled into him. You inhaled his scent, hugging onto him like you never wanted to let go. “Don’t go,” you mumbled against him.

His fingers ran over your skin. “I won’t, mama. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He kissed the top of your head. Toji laid there as you fell asleep his arms, bedroom light still on, his hair still damp from his shower. He doesn’t know what to think right now, lost in his head. Was this real? Or were you just drunk? He doesn’t want to think about it too much, but yet he does. Will you hate him when you wake up? Scold him, yell at him? God, he hopes not.

“I love you, Toji.” Those three words made his heart sank, his movements came to a halt.

She’s drunk. She’s doesn’t mean that. Don’t read too much into it. This will never happen again. It isn’t real.

It takes everything in him not to say those three words back. He doesn’t want to give into something that he knows won’t even be a second thought to you the moment you open your eyes again. His jaw clenched as he stared at your bedroom wall. “Just sleep, baby,” he quietly spoke. He slumped the lump in his throat, continuing to trace patterns on your skin.

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kajibunny · 2 days

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Helloooo, it’s really cool to see a new writing blog here!! I always get excited about scenarios/hc, especially when I have hyperfocus. Can I request Furin (Suo, Ume, Sakura, Kaji) + Togame reacting to the reader (gn or fem) looking at them intensely and they ask what the reader is looking at and the reader says "I'm admiring my future husband" (I'll leave it up to you whether this will be in front of others or when they are alone). The reader says it more as a joke (or not?) to see their reaction (although it doesn't sound like a joke)... Just established relationship, they already have a good level of intimacy. I hope this isn't confusing... Stay hydrated and stay well 💚

•⊹💌₊˚✩dear future husband ₊˚⊹♡ w/ the wind breaker boys

✿ featuring: haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji, hajime umemiya, togame jo ✿ fluff, f!reader (mentions of being called their 'wife') ✿ a/n: hi cutie~ @kuppuru thank you for this wonderful request and for the warm welcome ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ had so much fun making this, made myself laugh a couple times while writing these silly wb boys aaaa i wanna bite them!! hope you like it! ✿ wc: 1.4k

— you place your hand under your chin, posing all cute and dreamy-eyed, admiring your sweet, handsome boyfriend. when he catches you staring, he asks you why, and you tell him “oh, i’m just admiring my future husband.”

ʚɞ sakura -

“h-husband?! y-you want t-to get married to me!?” his face heats up instantaneously, and you could have sworn you saw a little steam coming out of the top of his head.

“whenever you react all cute like that, i kinda do!" you exclaim, happily smiling at his crazy and very red reaction.

his imagination goes wild, and a bunch of different scenarios of what sakura pictured married life with you was like began entering his brain without his consent.

“sakura…?” he imagines you in a wedding dress holding a huge bouquet, walking down the aisle towards him, all prim and proper.

“sakura?” he imagines you two kissing as newlyweds in front of all bofurin members (umemiya is of course bawling his eyes out and yes, even his sworn “frenemy” sugishita was there as one of his groomsmen) on your wedding day.

“sakura.” he imagines coming home to you after a long day, you welcoming him back with home cooked omurice, wearing a cute little apron, and warmly embracing him as you ask how his day went.

“sakura!” he imagines going on a honeymoon with you, you two on the bed, your cute voice calling out his name, your fleeting touch caressing him all over -

all over. it was all over, sakura has blacked out. you poke his cheek multiple times, and still nothing.

“guys, sakura has crashed. error 404 unresponsive page.” you called out to suo and nirei, who were observing the whole thing, how sakura gets redder and redder every time you called out his name, and the both of them have probably figured out more or less why he was reacting that way.

“maybe that’s his way of saying, “till death do us part.” suo remarks, and you couldn’t stop giggling.

ʚɞ suo -

he tilts his head and chuckles. a little “oh?” escaping from his mouth. he was certainly curious on what made you decide that you wanted him as your “future husband” or you so claim. it was usually him that pulled some smooth talk like this, so he was surprised that you suddenly became so – bold.

you were so cute if you thought this would fluster him.

it made him determined to retaliate and play along with your moves, as he found you ever so amusing as always. “my, my, how mature of you. already ready to take the next step?” suo teases. “i’ll be waiting, then.” he smiles. it was your turn to be flustered. you were at a loss for words, as you expected him to be a little playful, but not this much.

“cat got your tongue?” he leans in closer, and his lips capture yours in a chaste kiss. he repeats this at least three times. you tried to lean in for a more passionate one, but suo raises a finger and touches your lips. “no fair, hayato. what are these baby kisses you’re giving me?” you pout. suo looks at you affectionately. “let’s save the mature kisses for when i become your future husband, hm?”

these kind of one-liners were his specialty. his forte. and you were in his territory, so of course suo, the competitive little devil that he is, wastes no time to put you in your place.

ʚɞ kaji -

he looks at you for a moment, as if in deep thought. kaji finally stands and says: “im leaving.”

you worry that you might have tested his patience for some reason, as you have been trying out some pick up lines on him nonstop since this morning. he was used to your antics, so he either ignored you or waved you off but this was the only time he actually responded.

kaji looks back at you, as if waiting for you to stand up and follow him. “are you coming with me or not?” he extends his hand in invitation, motioning for you to take it.

“where?” you were so confused. kaji clicks his tongue, reaching out and grabbing your hand.

“to go buy you a ring.” he says, as if it were the most obvious thing.

you hold your hand up in protest. “wait, what?! i said future, ren, future! and i was joking!” he pretends to have heard nothing, putting on his headphones to tune you out and does not at all pay attention to your explanation. you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but ren kaji was always full of surprises, using metaphors to get his point across, so you just waited to see what he would do.

he drags you off to the convenience store, told you to wait outside, comes back out with a small paper bag. reaching into it, he opens his hand and unveils a wrapped candy.

a ring pop.

he puts the ring pop on you, and you admire how the oversized candy diamond looks on your ring finger, almost sparkling in the sunlight. “i’ll get you a real ring in the future, but for now, this will do.”

you jump up and hug him. he buries his head in your shoulder, trying to hide his small smile.

you couldn’t stop gushing at how lucky you were and how ren kaji is as sweet as the ring pop he “proposed” to you with.

ʚɞ umemiya -

you don’t think you’ve ever seen umemiya smile this big at the mention of the word “husband”. his blue eyes all sparkling and lit up.

the thought of you wanting to marry him in the future or even mentioning it made him so excited, he considers the townspeople and members of bofurin as his family, but of course, you were different. you two already do lots of domestic things together, like helping him tend to his garden, cooking together (you even knew the recipe for his special umemiya soup), tucking him into bed whenever he falls asleep with his glasses on and a book on his face, and of course very intimate things that are only shared between the two of you. you’ve seen many sides of umemiya, but this one is definitely a first.

“oh, baby, the thought of that would make me so happy! i have so many siblings, and now i will have a wife too! now all that’s left is children! i wouldn’t want them to get lonely, so how’s ten?” he picks you up and spins you around, then hugs you tightly.

“you’re not even my husband yet, and now you want to be a father?!” you giggle, peppering his adorable face with kisses.

ʚɞ togame -

he does not utter a word, but togame stares back at you with the same intensity, his bright green eyes making it difficult to look away. it’s as if he has captured you with his soft gaze.

he mimics your position, his chin also resting on his palm. the two of you now looked like you were having a staring contest, but much closer and much more intimate.

you blink. “hello? why are you looking at me like that, jou?” you ask him, a perplexed look on your face, waving your hand in front of his face.

“don’t mind me, i’m just admiring my future wife.” he remarks. “and how beautiful she is going to look on our wedding day.” he smiles, almost slyly. he was being so charming lately, always praising you and telling you how much he’s so grateful to be yours.

you were almost tempted to be the one to get down on one knee and propose to jo togame and ask him to be your husband right there and then.

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 days

Text

Overprotective

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!reader

Summary: Your son is due to be born any day now and Feyd is very protective. He kills anyone who so much as lays a finger on you, but it’s gotten out of control.

Notes: this was an anon request. same Feyd x reader from The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim. *can be read alone*

Warnings: mention of murder and pregnancy.

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

“You’re mad,” Feyd says, his smile dropping at the sight of your frown. Your arms are crossed over your swollen belly as you lean back against the headboard of your bed. He closes the door behind him. “Why are you mad?”

You roll your eyes. He knows exactly why you’re mad. By your count, you’ve been pissed at him twenty-three times in the past month and a half and you don’t care for your widely-known highly-intelligent husband playing naive. “Don’t act like you don’t know. We only ever fight about one thing, Feyd. One.”

Feyd sighs and steps closer to the mattress, but when you put your hand up, he stops in his tracks. Your throat strains as you swallow your grin. You still get little flutters in your belly when he demonstrates how you have that kind of power over him, but you cannot let him see the satisfaction on your face now. If he sees you smile, he will smile, which means you will have lost because he’ll know he’s won, and when he wins he gets turned on, so then you’ll get turned on, and then you’ll end up fucking. But you cannot be fucking right now. He needs to learn a lesson. His hard dick in his wife’s warm pussy will not achieve any lesson-learning. If anything, it will encourage his bad behavior.

“You killed another one,” you tell him, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed; though that’s far from surprising.

Feyd crosses his arms over his broad chest. “He touched you.”

“I tripped.”

“And then he touched you.”

“He caught me.”

“So you agree,” Feyd says with a sharp nod. “I’m glad we are on the same page.”

Your huff descends into a groan as the heels of your palms press against your closed eyelids. “Your wife—your heavily pregnant wife—would’ve fallen on her ass if he hadn’t.”

“He shouldn’t have let you trip in the first place,” Feyd tells you. “He was meant to ensure you have a clear and safe walking path.”

Your lips part, mouth opening and closing and opening again as you search for a response. However, you end up with the same one you always do: “You are unbelievable,” you reply, shaking your head. “Twenty-three servants, Feyd! It has surpassed extremes! You killed one for brushing my hair–”

“Touching—and she was pulling on it too hard.”

“You killed one for helping me dress in the morning when you had already been called away for a meeting.”

“I prefer you naked anyway,” he says, shrugging, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Naked and in this bed.”

You raise a brow. “And the one who helped me sit down so I could watch you in the arena?”

“Ah, that one—” Feyd waves his finger as he clicks his tongue “—that one thought I wouldn’t notice because you were so high up in the stands. I don’t like sneaky people,” he reminds you, though you’re plenty aware of how he handles deception and trickery. “You should have told me you planned to attend and I would’ve helped you well before it started.”

Ignoring his point, you retort, “You cannot keep killing everyone.”

Feyd groans. “My love, you’re in too delicate a state,” he says. “I gathered all of them together not two months ago and explicitly forbade them from laying a finger on you. It is not my fault if they break the rules. And what sort of Baron am I if I do not enforce punishment?”

You hum in dissatisfaction. “You do understand you put me and your child in more danger by not permitting their assistance?”

Immediately, his brow pinches. His head turns to look away from you and when his jaw clenches, you realize the weight of your mistake. A sickening feeling settles in your gut. Your face falls from frustration into total devastation. “Oh God, Feyd…”

“I do not put you in danger,” he says, and it’s so shockingly meek that your heart cracks right down the middle. Not once in almost two years have you heard that tone leave his mouth, and you think maybe his eyes have become glassy, but you’re praying it’s a trick of the low lighting in your bedroom. Feyd has never cried in front of you, if he's ever cried at all, and you hope you didn’t just unfairly yank that vulnerability out of him.

“I’m so sorry. That isn't what I meant,” you whisper, sinking into your shame. You know it’s such a sensitive topic for him and you spoke without thinking. You reach your hand toward him. “Come here….please.”

Feyd stares at you for a long moment, but then he sighs through his nose and walks over to sit at your side atop the mattress. No tears—your breath shudders in relief. One hand grasps his and your lips brush his knuckles. The other cups his cheek as you guide his forehead to rest on yours.

“You protect me,” you swear to him. “No one could ever keep me safe the way you do, and I know that's all you want, but our son is coming soon. We will need help. I can’t birth this baby without a doctor and that doctor will have to touch me. Me and our son.”

The heat of Feyd's heavy breath warms your face. You wait for his response but he doesn’t have one, and instead, he shifts to lie down. You adjust your body until you’re flat on the mattress beside him. “Sometimes,” he starts as he rubs his palm over your stomach, “I have dreams about the three of us living elsewhere. Everyone is forced to leave us alone and all we have to care about is each other and our child.”

Feyd kisses your exposed shoulder, and in that moment, you’re reminded of how different he has become. He’s transformed from someone whose sole ambition was to be the Baron—a man driven to control this planet and have the people of Giedi Prime bow to him; a man who sought destruction and pain and power—to a man who secretly craves a bit of peace for his family. Though no one other than yourself sees this side of him, it’s hard to watch him tackle that burden, especially when you know you’re the responsible party.

“What have I done to you, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen?” you mutter as you press your lips to his forehead.

He chuckles lowly and hugs you into his body. “You turned me soft.”

“You kill servants without batting an eye.”

“Fine,” he relents. “As soft as I’m capable of being.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune fic #austin butler #dune part 2 #feyd rautha #dune

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sceletaflores · 3 days

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

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, malpractice? unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

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

authors 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 some random massage therapist.

“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 about that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

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