#massages

[justcatposts]

Kitty provides complimentary massages to her owner’s clients as they receive eyelash services.

(Source)

[heldbybarnes]

this THEEEEEEEEEME oh my god i’m obsessedddd

i’m thinking…buckgy lowkey valentines celebration. like stay-at-home, no expectations, just wanting to pamper his partner kinda night. maybe something sexy. and smutty but doesn’t have to be. just lots of fluff and lovey and sickly sweet

thinking of it as bucky soup for the soul yknow? lowkey this is a ploy to think of vday ideas for the girl i’m dating 😛😛😛

You’d told him—at least six different times—that you didn’t want anything for Valentine’s Day.

No dinner reservations, no flowers delivered to your office, no surprise gifts wrapped in red and pink. Just a night in. Just him.

You really should’ve known better.

Because when you step through the apartment door after work, the entire place is glowing in warm candlelight. Soft music hums low from the record player. Something smells like vanilla and something else like sandalwood. And Bucky—your ridiculous, beautiful, over-the-top husband—is leaning against the kitchen counter wearing sweatpants slung indecently low on his hips and a stupidly soft smile.

“Before you say anything,” he murmurs, pushing off the counter to meet you halfway. “You said you didn’t want a big Valentine’s thing. This—” he gestures around the room “—is not big. This is… cozy.”

“Cozy?” you ask, glancing at the dozens of flickering candles.

He shrugs. “Romantic cozy.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, stepping into his chest. His arms wrap around you instantly, warm and secure.

“I just wanted to make tonight easy for you, doll,” he murmurs into your hair. “No crowds. No pressure. Just us.”

And God, he means it. Bucky loves you with a full, earnest intensity that never needs grand gestures—just the quiet kind, the soft kind, the kind that makes your chest ache.

“Okay,” you whisper, tipping your head back to look up at him. “What did you do?”

“Nothing much.” Which of course means: everything.

First comes the bath.

He guides you to the bathroom where he’s drawn a warm tub, steam curling into the air, rose petals floating lazily on the surface. There’s a stack of fluffy towels waiting, candles lining the perimeter, and Bucky kneels down so he can take your shoes off like it’s a privilege.

“You are unreal,” you breathe.

He grins up at you. “Get in, sweetheart. Lemme spoil you.”

You slip into the hot water with a sigh that feels like it leaves your bones.

Bucky climbs in behind you, long legs bracketing yours, metal arm draped carefully along the tub’s edge so you can lean back into him without hesitation. He kisses your shoulder once… twice… then keeps going, a trail of lazy affection up your neck.

His voice is low, nearly a purr. “Missed you today.”

“You always miss me,” you tease.

“Damn right I do.”

You sink against his chest, and his hands begin to move—slow, purposeful, kneading into your muscles like he has all night and nothing else in the world matters.

The touches start innocent. Loving. But Bucky Barnes has never known how to touch you without wanting more.

His palms smooth over your stomach, then up, fingertips grazing the swell of your breasts with a reverence that makes your breath catch.

“James,” you whisper.

“Mhm.”

“That’s not very innocent.”

“That’s not very Valentine’s of you, doll,” he murmurs against your ear, giving the lobe a gentle nip. “Tellin’ your husband he can’t touch you when you’re makin’ those little noises.”

Your face heats. You are making noises—soft, lazy ones you only make when you feel safe.

You turn slightly in his arms, water shifting around you, and kiss him. It’s slow at first, melting. But then he deepens it, hand coming up to cradle your jaw just the way you like, and suddenly you’re leaning into him like gravity itself is pulling you there.

When you break away, you're breathless.

“Bed,” he says quietly. “Now.”

You don’t argue.

---

The bedroom is even softer lit than the rest of the apartment. Fresh sheets. Plush pillows. The kind of atmosphere that makes you feel treasured before he even touches you.

He lays you down gently, climbing between your legs with a warm, worshipful look that always makes your heart stutter.

“No expectations,” he reminds you, brushing your knee with a thumb. “Not doin’ this because it’s Valentine’s. I just… wanna make you feel good.”

You cup his cheek. “I always feel good when you’re with me.”

Something flickers in his eyes—something tender and overwhelming—and he lowers himself, kissing the inside of your thigh with obscene slowness.

“Sweetheart,” he exhales, settling between your legs like he was made for this. “You smell so good.”

You arch when his breath ghosts over you.

“Relax for me,” he whispers.

And then he licks you—one slow stroke that has your spine bowing off the mattress. Bucky moans at the taste, fingers gripping the backs of your thighs to hold you open.

He devours you like it’s his purpose. Soft but greedy. Patient but hungry.

Every time you whimper his name, he goes deeper, sucking gently, murmuring praises against your skin.

“That’s it, doll… so sweet for me…” “Let me take care of you…” “Good girl… just like that…”

When you come, it’s soft but shattering, your fingers tangled in his hair as warmth floods your whole body.

He doesn’t let go of your thigh. Doesn’t stop touching you. Just kisses your hip and climbs up your body to press his forehead to yours.

“Happy Valentine’s,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“You did too much,” you murmur, still dazed and blissful.

“Nah.” He smiles softly. “Just enough.”

You curl into him, and he pulls the blankets over both of you, arm snug around your waist.

No fancy dinner. No big celebration. Just Bucky holding you close, kissing your temple, whispering love into your skin like it’s the only language he’s ever known.

[thewritersaddictions]

The Pitt- Dr. Robby : Between Lavender & Quiet Breaths

Pairing: Dr. Micheal "Robby" Robinavitch x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, domestic married life, physical affection (Touching, messages, cuddling), soft intimacy, Reader pampering Micheal, Micheal pampering Reader, face touching / scalp message, minor teasing, sleepy!Micheal, slightly flustered reader/Micheal, husband behavior, very soft vulnerability, nickname angel

Summary: Robby comes home exhausted, and you take care of him with a spa day. The next morning he tries his hardest to return the favor and it melts all over again.

A/n- Dividers by @ Firefly-graphics. This has both the pov of the reader, and Robby.

Wc- 3.6k

The Pitt Master List

Robby comes home with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he tries to protest. You clock the second he walks in through the apartment door and is slipping off his shoes by the front door. Dropping his stupid backpack in the dinning room chair.

"Long night?" You ask softly from your place on the couch. He doesn't answer just walks further into the apartment, slumps in front of you on cracking knees and presses his head into your lap. His breath trembles as you feel it fan over your bare legs.

You've got your answer, it was a shit day. Please just let me sit in your presence and melt into your touch. The two of you sit there for a little longer Robbys knees would normally allow him. You card your fingers through his sweat covered hair and let him hum at the sensation.

You guide him up, and pull yourself up from the couch. "Lets get you clean up yeah?" You say guiding him through the apartment and into the bathroom. Your fingers lacing together as you walk together into the bathroom.

The bathroom is covered in a dim light that is warm and soft. The smell of candle hits his nose and he's unable to look away. The bathroom smells of lavender and a blend of eucalyptus in the air. The tub is running and he can feel the heat coming off the water even from standing in the doorway.

Robby takes a moment and stares at the entire thing in front of him. It nearly breaks him, but he holds himself together as he takes a deep breath before looking over his shoulder at you. "You… did all this for me?" He questions, still not understanding how he managed to get a wife like you. "Of course Robby, I'd do anything for you."

You drag Robby to the toilet letting his sit down with a groan. You stand between his opened legs and cup his jaw. Pressing kisses to his nose, and cheeks. "I'm gonna get these dirty scrubs off ya, okay?" You ask and he just nods. You smile down at him. "Arms up."

Grabbing the hem of the dark blue scrub top, Robby moves his arms so you can drag the rest of it over his head and throw it into the dirty laundry bin near the door. Then comes the white shirt underneath. When Robby is half-exposed he grab at your own shirt. "I'll get undressed when you're naked Mister." You tease.

He groans but understand that tonight isn't about anything but him, a feeling that he doesn't really enjoy, but for you he'll do anything. For you he'll sit through the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. You have Robby stand and help him out of his cargo pants, and boxers. "Get in the water, I'll be right behind you." You tell him sweetly, watching your sweet savior of a man step into the steaming water and hear him groan as the water starts to works his over worn and tired muscles.

You strip your clothes quickly, and shut the bathroom. Making sure that the two towels are sitting on the heated towel rack before you slip in behind Robby. You can tell the hot water is working his muscles, as his shoulder start to fall and he rests the back of his head on your shoulder. You grab at the forgotten wash cloth on the side of the tub, dipping into the hot water, "Close your eyes, Robby." You say quietly not wanting to disturb the peace the two of you have found in the tub together.

Robby listens to you. You press the hot towel over his features. Waiting for a few moments, before dragging it down his face gently. Pulling the dirt, sweat, city grime, and stress away. Robby believes that he has to be a strong man, because the ER has forced him into that position. Be strong for his patients, be strong for his interns, and nurses. Be strong for you.

For right now though he feels himself slipping from his role. He feels how you hold him, tilting his head gently to the side, and scrub behind his ears a place that Robby tends to forget about in the pre-work showers. Then how you drag the wash cloth along his jaw, his stubble grabbing at the soft cotton. Finally you drag the soft wet cotton cloth down the column of his throat. Your well manicured fingers dragging gentle over his adam's apple.

Robby forces his eyes open at your touch, "Robby will you grab the sugar scrub?" you ask. Right now in this state you could probably ask Robby to kill someone for you and he'd forget all about the Hippocratic oath he'd taken many years ago. "Of course angel." He mutters grabbing the small container that is just out of your reach and giving it to you over his shoulder.

He can hear you unscrew the top of the container. What he feels next he can only say is both relaxing and grating against his skin. The wash cloth from before drags agasint his skin that is exposed above the waterline. In small patterns you rub the sugar scrub into his skin. "That feel good, Robby?" You ask as you wait for his response.

Robby can't help the low sound that almost is a sigh of contentment. You smile, knowing that you can now continue. You drape the wash cloth over the rack. You massage his shoulder just under the water. Your thumbs sink into the tight knots until you feel them give loose. All while Robby groans and moans at the sensation of being taken care.

You grab the wash cloth again and Robby tilts forward. The water sloshes back and forth with his movement. You wash down his back, as you wash his back and skin you count the freckles that are strewn across his body. When you're done with his back you glide him back into your warm chest.

Robby brings both of his hands up and lets you grab ahold of his fingers. Each finger you clean individually. Running the wash cloth over his long fingers and then pressing a kiss into each knuckle when you're done.

Ringing out the wash clothe before throwing into the laundry basket. "I'm gonna wash your hair okay." You tell him as you wash him close his eyes and hum. You cup water in your hand and watch as it cascades down his scalp. You lather his shampoo in your fingers, and palms before gentle stroking it through his short brown hair.

Your well manicured nails barely scratching at his scalp, slow enough that Robby seems to be able to slow his breathing. It's a deep and steady breath every time and you know he's just melting against you. Robby melts in parts, first his shoulder seems to drop even more then before, then his neck and his head leans to one side, finally Robbys jaw loosen and his lips part just enough that he's pushing air from his mouth every time he breaths.

You let the shampoo sit in his hair for a moment before repeating the process of getting his hair wet. Making sure to keep the soap from his eyes. Robbys eyes open like he wants to thank you, but the relaxation has taken over his bones. It's not the same as when he walked in through the apartment door and wasn't able to answer your question. That was due to the stress, and fatigue. This is because he's melting into your touch the longer the two of you stay pressed together.

The water goes cold, and you're scooting out form behind him. Grabbing your towels. You help Robby stand and for the first time in a long time his knees don't crack as he stands up straight. You wrap the towel around Robby waist, and then wrap your towel around your chest. Robby sinks into the heat that the towel gives off from being on the heated towel rack.

You sink down to the floor in front of the sink, digging around in the cabinet. "What are you lookin' for angel?" Robby ask, his voice is filled with tiredness. "Don't you worry about it Robby." You say sweetly, finally managing to grab what you had been looking for. He nods and waits for you to return to him.

You once again sink down to your knee, this time in front of a half wet, half tired Robby. You flip the cap on the lotion bottle, and squeeze a sizable amount into your hand and warm it up between your palms. Robby brings is arms down, and lets you smoother his hairy arms in the lotion. You move on to his chest dragging the lotion over his pecs, and then his little tummy.

Lastly work the lotion into his claves. Slow and steady pushing the tight muscles until they loosen and Robby goes limp. Showing you just how much he trust you, how pliant you can make him under your small, warm, hands. "Bed?" You ask, "Yes, angel." You nod, and stand up.

You lead into the bedroom, and sit him on the edge of his side of the bed. You leave him there long enough to grab a pair of boxers, and t-shirt of his from the closet. You come back dressed in your own clothes. You make quick work to drag the shirt over his shoulder and stomach while Robby drags the boxers up his legs and snap them around his hips.

Robby falls into the mattress with a soft, and quiet grunt, his eyes falling closed with every passing second. You slip in behind him, and breath him in for the first time all night long. He's so loose in your grip. You brush Robbys wet hair back, and press a kiss to his temple. "Sleep now baby." You murmur gently. Robby doesn't last a minute before his breathing goes deep, and even.

The Next Morning

Robby wakes up when the cast of the morning sun falls over his tired, and worn face. The first thing that Robby takes in is how theres a warmth in his bone that he hasn't felt in years. There's a softness agasint his skin, and he smells like your lotion you apply after a deep needed shower, or bath. The smell clings to his skin and he prays that it will still be there when he goes back to work in a few days.

For a while Robby doesn't dare move in the bed, just breath deeply in and deeply back out. In pieces his memory floats back to him. The way you let him crumble into his lap when he walked in through the door. The softness in your voice as you dragged him off to the bathroom. The candles, and lavender, and the bath. The quiet as you massaged his aching muscles, and gave him the time.

For the first time in a long time his muscles don't feel like they are actively betraying him. He takes another deep breath in and blinks slowly. You're still asleep, and tucked into his side. Your hair is a little messy, but your face is relaxed as you dream. Something in his heart cracks, and he knows what he's doing to do.

You had taken care of him. Really truly taken care of him, not because it was something you were forced to do not because Robby had asked (Not that he'd ever ask) but because you wanted to take care of him. He lets himself lay in the feeling for a few moments more, staring down at your beautiful sleeping face. He can feel that burn in the back of his throat the one that says (if you don't stop looking at her, you're gonna cry). He can't help the words that come out of his mouth in a whisper "I should do somethin' for you Angel."

Robby slips from the bed, with an ease he hasn't felt in years. Carefully, and quietly hoping not to wake you up he pads from the bedroom to the kitchen. He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. Robby still feels loose, and heavy mostly from the sleep he's gotten. Yet the thought of you still asleep under the warm sheets has Robby standing tall, and moving a little quicker.

A thought passes his mind, and has him reeling as he stands in the kitchen. 'What do you even get, or do for someone who just did something for you out of the kindness of their heart.' Looks around the kitchen and his eyes land on the fridge. Robby opens it and realizes that you two might need to go on a grocery trip.

Staring into fridge feels like a eon. Nothing really seems to jump out at him, nothing speaks to him as he moves condiments, and leftovers around in the fridge. That is until he lands on the fruit in the plastic containers. "Okay" He mutters to himself as he pulls the fruit from the fridge and rolls his shoulders. "Pancakes, and fruit. I can handle that." He says to himself.

Robby is a great doctor, an amazing chief attending. Robby can handle the most horrible cases that roll through his ER, but he can not handle making pancakes. The first pancake is burnt, and too thin. The second is thick and breaks when he goes to flip it on the pan. The third one sticks to the pan, all because he forgot to spray the pan down.

"Fuckin' Jesus." He whispers as he tries again. He goes to flip the pancake and it doesn't flip instead it folds in on itself. Robby has a staring competition with the pancake for a minute, before contemplating throwing the entire pan out the window and uber eating something to the apartment door.

Robby takes a deep breath in and then out again. He tries once more, and this time it doesn't seem like a huge fail. The pancake is a little burnt around the edges, but the middle is cooked through and he flips it with ease. He's exhales like he's back in the ER again. Robby removes it from the pan and put it on a plate before mutter to himself. "Okay, so only have three more… it will be fine."

He gets through the next three pancakes with out too many frail ups, and then he's off to grabbing a cutting board and slicing the fruit with an intense concentration. His tongue is pressed out to the side of his cheek, his brows are furrowed like he's working the hardest surgery of his life. Not cutting strawberries. Robby just wants it to look nice for you, because you deserve nice. Hell you deserve then nice, but for right now this is all Robby can manage.

Robby goes rummaging through the closet, and finds a tray. He's quick to arrange everything on the tray and makes sure it looks perfect, but something is missing from the setup. Robby puts the tray down on the table and goes into the bathroom, grabbing your bottle of lotion you had just used on him last night. The bathroom still smells amazing and it calms him slightly.

Robby sets the bottle on the tray. He stares for a minute to long and his confidence starts to fade. He shakes his head and looks up towards you bedroom. "You're gonna do this Micheal. Now get your ass in gear." He mutters himself under his breath and carries the tray towards the bedroom.

He pauses in the doorway.

You're sitting up now, mostly awake but still under the sheets and blanket. Blinking at him with sleep in your eyes still. Robby swallows hard so much that it hurts his adam's apple. "Mornin', angel." You smile up at him. It a soft and small one that melts him. Hits in right in his chest and ribs. His body is moving all on it's own now.

Robby steps into the room with the tray still in hands. The weight pushing him forward. "I… um… I tired to make pancakes. I also was… I wanted to return." Robby stands uncomfortable at the edge of the bed. He shifts the tray in his hand. Holding the bottle of lotion. "I wanna… I was gonna give you a massage like you did for me last night." He rambles.

You have to hide the grin that is blooming over your features, and it causes Robby to fluster. "I just thought I could return the favor." He musters. You shift on the bed, and the sheets fall as you come up to the edge of the bed. You press your hand into his chest, and his chest goes tight and his heart beats quickly against your palm.

"Oh Robby, you didn't have to do all this." He nods, "I know" He lowers himself and the tray to the bed, robby voice goes soft and seems to wear at the edges. "I wanted to, that's all that matters to me." He can't met his wives gaze right now, because he's close to crying and Robby doesn't want to do that right now. This is no time for a breakdown.

When you press a kiss into his cheek, Robby goes still, and then melts into the bed quicker then he did when his feet had touched the hot bath water. He watches from the corner of his eye has you devour the food.

You have settled back into the bed, but this time your back is exposed and bare for him to something equivalent to giving you a massage. 'okay, just breath. It's not that hard. People do this for their wives all the time.' Robby stares down at the lotion bottle in his hand it's so much smaller in his hands then it was in yours last night. 'she made it look so fuckin' effortless, she just touched me and it was like she knew exactly what she was doing. She got every knot.'

Robbys inner monologue won't shut up, but he wants his wife to be happy, and comfortable. He shakes the bottle in his hand and reads the label. 'god she's got so many lotions, why are they're so many different lotion, and why is this one sparkly? This isn't what she used on me last night.' "Well shit." Robby lets slip. 'What's wrong Robby?" You ask from your position on the bed. "I grabbed the wrong one." he admits. "That's okay baby. Use it anyways." You tell him sweetly.

Robby squeezes some into his palm and looks down at your back then back at his palm again. 'what is even pampering? This just feels messy, and gross.' He wants to do right by you, but something is his stomach twists and rolls over, its not nerves, or fear. Just something softer and kinder. It feels all to big for his chest.

Even though Robby and you have been married for a few years now, Robby is still secretive about the idea of you taking care of him, of you doing the heavy lifting. He doesn't like to let you seem him breaking down. Last night was the first time that you had seen him like that. 'how the hell can she look at me like that? No judgement behind her eyes, just kindness. After seeing my have an internal breakdown. I've never allowed to just take care of me like that.'

Robby sits down behind his wife, his hands hovering over her soft shoulder blades. it's not like he hasn't touched you before, but that's different. Everything about this is different. 'For fucks sake, touch her. Gently, also this isn't like your arresting somebody. Holy fuck stop shaking.' When Robby starts to rub you shoulders, his hands slip from the slipperiness of the lotion agasint your skin. You giggle as his fingers move to quickly.

Robby seems to short-circuit, and then he's rebooting. 'Don't panic you goof, she's just ticklish and it's not because you're horrible at this.' Robby adjusts, slows his hands down, and starts again after a deep exhale. Your head dips forward a little and your back relaxes into his touch. 'see this is working, but maybe this is just her being nice to me, she's always so nice to me.'

Robby kneads deeper into your muscles, and the sigh you let is an unguarded one that sounds like you're melting into the fabric of the bed. It warms his spine and makes Robby continue. 'see I can take care of her too. Not as good her, cause my wives hands are magic… but I can try.' You whisper his name and it's filled with sleep and tenderness.

Robby's heart breaks just a little, "I love you, angel" He mutters under his breath, you smile and Robby can tell from the way your ears shift ever so slightly. "I love you too, Robby." Robby leans forward gentle, and presses a few careful kisses to your shoulder, and head.

"Are you comfortable, angel?" He asks, you hum and lean into his large hands as they work your back muscles. 'Fuck I'd do anything for you, anything. Even pancakes…' He shakes his head and grimaces at the three fucked up pancakes sitting in the trash can burnt, and disgusting in the trash.

'Maybe not pancakes, but literally anything else I'd do for you. All of it, all for you.'

Posted on: 12/6/25

[feedybot]

Softest massage

The first time she came in, she barely filled the table.

Tense shoulders. Narrow waist. The kind of body that disappears when it exhales. I remember thinking she didn’t eat enough - not as judgment, just observation.

There was a bowl of sweets on the counter even then. There always is. Clients like it. Something comforting. Chocolate squares, wrapped caramels, the kind of things people take one of and pretend they didn’t want more.

She took two.

The second session was a week later. Same polite smile. Same clothes, technically - though the fabric behaved differently. A little more tension around the hips. Nothing dramatic. Just… more present.

“You can help yourself,” I told her, nodding at the bowl as she lingered by it.

She laughed, embarrassed. “I already did last time.”

“So?” I said. “You’re allowed to enjoy things.”

She took three that time.

By the third session, I was sure it wasn’t my imagination.

Her body had weight to it now. Not just physically - visually. When she laid down, the table answered her differently. A deeper give. A creak. My hands noticed immediately; they always do. Massage teaches you to read bodies like text. And hers had gained a few extra lines.

I didn’t pretend not to see it.

“You’ve been indulging,” I said casually, working oil into her lower back.

She froze. Just for a second.

“I—what?”

“Relax,” I added. “I mean it as a compliment. You feel… well taken care of.”

She didn’t argue. That was the interesting part. The sweets became routine after that. She stopped asking. Just took them while I prepped the room, sometimes before, sometimes after, both. Always lingering. Always a little hesitant, like she expected me to stop her.

I never did. Of course I never did.

Instead, I started commenting, got bolder.

“Your body’s changing,” I said one afternoon, my thumbs pressing into her hips. “Filling out.”

She laughed nervously. “Is that bad?”

“For massage? No. Makes my job easier.” I hedged.

The next week, she came back heavier.

Not just softer - rounder. Thighs fuller. Waist less certain. When she turned over, her stomach didn’t flatten the way it used to; it settled. I let my hands pause long enough for her to notice.

“You’ve been busy,” I said.

“With work,” she offered.

“With eating,” I corrected, calmly.

She didn’t protest. She never does. That’s what keeps her coming back.

Now, she arrives early. She eats before the session starts. She eats after. Sometimes she brings her own things, sets them beside the bowl like offerings. I don’t comment on quantities anymore - just outcomes.

*

She’s different every time - heavier, slower to move, more deliberate about how she lowers herself onto the table. She exhales like it takes effort now. I let that silence sit before I speak.

“You know you’re not subtle,” I say, matter-of-fact.

She stiffens. “About…?”

“About coming back bigger every week.”

No smile. No softness in my voice. Just observation. God how do I love to tease her. I don’t stop working. My hands keep moving, steady and professional, thumbs sinking into flesh that wasn’t there when we started this routine. I don’t need to exaggerate. Her body does that for me.

“I try not to think about it,” she mutters.

“That’s obvious,” I reply. “If you thought about it, you’d stop.”

She doesn’t.

That’s the thing.

There’s always candy on the counter. And there’s always pastry on the little plate by the sink now.

One afternoon, as she reaches for the bowl again, I finally say it.

“I notice you come in fuller. You leave heavier. Next time, you bring it back with you.”

“That’s not how bodies work,” she says weakly. I merely laugh.

She eats openly now—unwrapping sweets while I wash my hands, licking sugar from her thumb without embarrassment.

I comment as I go.

“Your thighs spread more when you lie down.”

“Your waist doesn’t pull in when you inhale anymore.”

“You’re getting used to taking up space.”

Each time, she goes quieter. Heavier. Warmer.

Once, as I work over her hips, I say, “You know you could stop coming.”

She shakes her head immediately. Too fast.

“I didn’t think so,” I add. “You don’t come here to be fixed.”

She swallows. “Then why do I come?”

I press my palm flat, firm, undeniable.

“So someone will tell you the truth,” I say. “And won’t apologize for it.”

When she leaves, she always looks a little stunned. A little exposed.

*

It starts with her coming twice a week.

She doesn’t say why. She doesn’t have to. Her body says it for her the moment she steps into the room—breathing a little heavier, coat left unbuttoned longer than necessary, movements careful in a way that tells me she’s already aware of herself before I say a word.

The sweets don’t last the day anymore.

She doesn’t pace herself now. She stands by the counter and eats while we talk, eyes unfocused, like the decision was made long before she arrived. I watch her do it. Watch her throw one candy after another into her waiting mouth. Watch how she can’t help to rest her hand on her protruding belly. It looks so small sitting on the big straining ball.

“You’re not even pretending this is incidental anymore,” I say.

She exhales a laugh that doesn’t carry. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“No,” I correct, calm. “You know exactly how. You just don’t want to.”

On the table, she feels different every session. Not just heavier - less contained. Her body spreads, yields, stays where my hands put it. There’s a kind of inevitability to it now, like momentum has taken over and she’s stopped fighting the direction.

I stop softening my language entirely.

“You gained again,” I say, not as an observation but a statement of fact.

“I can tell,” she murmurs.

“Of course you can,” I reply. “You live in it.”

That’s when it starts affecting her outside this room.

She mentions clothes she no longer wears. Chairs she avoids. Mirrors she rushes past. She talks while I work, voice flat, as if listing symptoms she’s already accepted as chronic.

“I keep thinking this week will be different,” she says once.

“And is it?”

She shakes her head.

I don’t reassure her. I don’t interrupt the spiral with kindness. I give it shape.

“Then stop lying to yourself,” I say. “You’re not ‘slipping.’ You’re choosing this. Every day.”

Her breath stutters. I feel it under my hands.

“I don’t even enjoy it anymore,” she admits.

“That’s not true,” I say. “You enjoy what it does. You enjoy being seen. Measured. Commented on.”

She’s quiet after that. Too quiet.

The next time she comes in, she’s noticeably bigger. Enough that I raise an eyebrow when she steps out of her shoes.

“Well,” I say. “You’ve been busy.”

She doesn’t deflect this time. She nods.

*

She leaves for a holiday and I don’t get to see her for three weeks. The routine feels off without her. All my other clients… too bony.

The first time she steps into my office again I can’t get my eyes off her. Her shirt is fighting for its life and leggings had to supplement for pants. I can see why.

Her eyes are not on me. They are lured to the snack bow in the corner. And it’s as if she can’t - doesn’t want to - hold herself back anymore. She is upon the sweets immediately.

My hands are almost shaking when she finally waddles to the table. As she lays down all I can focus on is the dome in front of me. This heaving massive belly which cannot be ignored. And my job is to touch it. To ease its existence.

I get my hands on her. Knead the belly slowly at first. Jiggle it, feel it, pat it. I don’t think any of us is breathing.

,,This is what happens when you go on vacation now? Have you left the buffet at any point?” I can’t help the smirk which stretches across my face.

,,I don’t know what you are talking about.” is her breathless answer. She is as affected as I am. Goosebumps all over her arms.

,,Look at all of you. How you have grown. How this obscene belly gets all the attention…” she reddens as I continue to play with her. Good thing I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day.

*

Next time I see her the changes are again noticeable. Hips wider, thighs so deliciously round and soft. Arms barely contain by her sleeves. And belly defying laws of gravity. Proudly on display, peeking from underneath the too small shirt. She looks so round.

Maybe today will finally be the day we’ve been both eagerly anticipating. Maybe the table will finally give out.

[jcollinswrites]

I just feel bad for how tired/touchstarved/overtaxed are our ROs are to varying degrees (Ahmose maybe the exception, that cutie patootie). If the MC were to offer them a massage, how willing would they be to accept one (or more than one)?

Narmer would feel strange about it at first. He has some issues with skin to skin contact, which comes from his complex traumas from the battlefield and his childhood. He would definitely be quite tense at first. Maybe the second time too, but then he would get used to it :)

Qenna probably wouldn’t accept, unless the demon is in a good mood.

Zaia would tell you that spirits don’t have muscles. And then they would call MC a moron (affectionately).

Tabiry would jump right into it. She has sore muscles all the time and she goes to get massages quite often. One of the perks of the job :) She would love to get MC’s hands on her though. She will return the favor every time too.

Ahmose sometimes gets massages too but they are ticklish, especially if it’s the MC doing it, so they would probably laugh and squirm the whole time.

[aventurineswife]

Aven his s/o, giving a massage to each other... 👀

“Ooh, You set my soul alight”

Summary: In Aventurine's luxurious suite, you share a sensual evening filled with massages and playful tension. As you take turns asking provocative questions, the atmosphere becomes charged with intimacy, leading to a passionate kiss that blurs the lines between relaxation and desire.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Suggestive, Romance, Intimacy, Massages, Playful Banter, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Suggestive content, mild adult themes(idk tbh-), potential for heated moments, implied intimacy.

A/N: YOUR HONOR, THOSE EYES LOOKED AT ME FIRST!

The air was thick with warmth and the soft glow of candlelight, casting flickering shadows on the plush, velvet walls of Aventurine's suite. The intoxicating scent of sandalwood filled the room, mingling with the faint aroma of essential oils, setting the mood for a night of relaxation and intimacy.

You glanced at Aventurine as he lounged on a plush chaise, his eyes sparkling with mischief, framed by the golden rims of his glasses. His sandy-blond hair fell effortlessly over his forehead, enhancing the allure of his enigmatic smile. Dressed in his dark green, gold-accented dress shirt, the spade-shaped window at his chest hinted at the tantalizing skin beneath.

"You know, love," he drawled, his voice a low, seductive purr, "I do appreciate a good wager. But I think you might have me at a disadvantage tonight."

You chuckled, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you poured fragrant oil into your palms. "Oh? And what's the wager?"

He leaned back, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. "If I allow you to give me a massage, I'll have to return the favor. But I'm not sure if I can resist... losing myself in the moment."

"Isn't that the point?" you teased, your fingers gliding over his shoulders as he shifted to sit up, exposing more of that tempting skin.

You started with gentle kneading, your fingers finding the tense muscles in his neck. He sighed, leaning into your touch, his body responding to your ministrations. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation.

"Careful," you replied, a teasing lilt in your tone, "too much praise might get you in trouble."

He chuckled softly, his laughter echoing in the cozy space. "Trouble is my middle name. Just ask anyone in the IPC." His eyes gleamed with a hint of playful challenge.

You worked your way down his back, your fingers expertly navigating the intricate pathways of his muscles. The tension began to melt away beneath your touch, but as your hands brushed against his sides, the atmosphere shifted. Aventurine's breath hitched, a flicker of desire flashing in his eyes.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "there are ways to make this a bit more... exciting."

"Oh? Do tell." you replied, your heart racing as you leaned closer, your breath ghosting over his skin.

With a mischievous glint, he turned to face you fully, his fingers brushing against your arm. "What if we added a bit of risk? A game of sorts?" His gaze locked onto yours, and you could feel the tension building between you, thick as the fragrant air.

"Alright, I'm listening." you said, intrigued.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "For every knot you release, you get to ask me a question. But for every question I answer, I get to return the favor... in ways you might not expect."

You felt your pulse quicken, excitement coursing through you. "Deal."

With the agreement sealed, you continued your ministrations, each stroke more deliberate, each moment laced with promise. As you worked on the knots in his shoulders, you asked your first question, "What's the biggest risk you've ever taken?"

Aventurine smirked, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, that's easy. Winning my position in the IPC by betting against my own sanity." His laughter rang out, rich and inviting, sending shivers down your spine.

With each question and answer, the boundary between relaxation and desire blurred further. He responded with stories of close calls and narrow escapes, his charm intoxicating as you leaned in closer, your fingers trailing down his spine.

In turn, he began to explore your body, his touch becoming more daring, his fingers sliding over your arms and shoulders with a teasing caress. "Your turn," he prompted, a devilish smile gracing his lips. "What's your greatest fantasy?"

You felt your cheeks flush, heat radiating through your body. "Well, I've always imagined a night like this," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, "with you."

"Is that so?" he asked, leaning closer, his lips brushing against your ear, igniting a spark of electricity that coursed through you. "Then let's make that fantasy a reality."

With newfound determination, you moved to straddle his lap, your fingers tangling in his hair as you leaned in to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was electrifying, a fusion of heat and hunger as he responded with fervor, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer as if he could never get enough.

You broke the kiss, breathless, and looked into his eyes, which sparkled with mischief and desire. "I think we've reached a new level of intimacy."

"Indeed," he replied, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "And I'm all in for whatever happens next."

As the candles flickered and the night deepened, you both surrendered to the intoxicating thrill of risk, knowing that this evening would forever change the stakes of your hearts.

TRYING NOT TO SCREAM SO I DON'T WAKE MY PARENTS UP BUT HOLY SHIT!! 🤭 I'M KINDA-

This was written while I was half asleep so ahem

[elementalmoments]

For @foolhearts - Lando is in pain. Oscar gives him a massage. Gen at this stage, non-au. Likely more to come, but the muse was with me.

"I'll give you a massage myself if it'll stop your whingeing," Oscar said, looking up from the ground next to the couch. He was sat on the ground in the first place because Lando had insisted that he needed to stretch out for his back, which was apparently seizing up from the approximately forty-five minutes they'd spent in the back of the hire car. Lando had started talking about his back ten minutes into the car ride and hadn't stopped, even though Oscar had obligingly given him the entire couch.

Lando perked up, eyes hopeful. "Would you?" he asked. "It doesn't have to be much, really. Or it doesn't feel like all that much when Jon does it, but it helps."

"Jon's a trained physio," Oscar grumbled, but he pushed himself up to his knees and turned to assess the problem. It would be an awkward angle to try and reach across Lando's back from his position, but if he stood up the low couch would feel rather far away.

"Budge over a bit?" Oscar said, bumping Lando's hip with his knee.

Lando scooted closer to the back of the couch, and Oscar climbed onto the couch to straddle him.

Lando stiffened. "What are you doing?" he asked. His voice sounded strange, probably muffled somewhat by the pillow his face was smushed against.

"Giving you a massage," Oscar said, matter-of-factly. He placed his hands on the small of Lando's back, over his t-shirt, and waited to feel his teammate inhale.

"Jon doesn't usually sit on me," Lando said. Oscar's cheeks burned.

"Jon has a massage table," Oscar retorted, grateful Lando couldn't see his face. "I can stop if you like."

"Nope," Lando said, popping the p. "This is great."

Oscar didn't point out that he hadn't even done anything yet, except for press his hands to Lando's back and hold them there. Lando's body was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was amazing, Oscar thought. He'd never realized Lando had an off button, but his teammate was quiet, breathing steadily. Oscar felt the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath swelled through his chest and abdomen and belly and then emptied out in reverse. Experimentally, Oscar moved his hands.

Lando let out a quiet noise of pleasure. It startled Oscar, and his hands skipped in their movement, bunching fabric. Lando made a contented sound and snuggled down deeper against his pillow. Oscar did just that for a couple minutes, slid his hands back and forth against Lando’s lower back like he was comforting a toddler after a nightmare. The friction built against his hands, and he realized Lando must be able to feel it, too, so he tugged Lando’s t-shirt up until his tanned lower back was exposed. Oscar nearly chuckled when he saw how pale his hands looked up against Lando’s skin. If he ever turned that color he’d need to go in for a cancer screening. 

When Oscar touched Lando’s bare skin, he led with his fingertips, ten individual points of contact. He walked them up along Lando’s spine and back down to the place where his back dipped, and then over towards his hips and back in. 

“Sorry I bang on about it all the time,” Lando said, into the quiet that had grown between them. “It’s pathetic. Not even thirty and,” he shrugged, the motion tugging the skin under Oscar’s hands. “Fucking miserable.” 

“Is it bad a lot?” Oscar asked. He knew Lando had some back stuff, it came up when they were talking about car design, came up now and again in feedback on the weekend. He’d never paid it all that much mind. The car never really bothered his back. 

“Ever since 22,” Lando said. “I had issues before, but that season,” he shook his head. “Awful. It’s never been right since.” 

“So what?” Oscar asked. “All the time?” 

Lando nodded, moaned softly as Oscar smoothed his palms from his spine outwards. 

Oscar felt a stab of guilt. He’d have been less of a judgemental prick in his own mind if he’d realized. He looked down at Lando’s back. The skin had reddened under his touch, some combination of heat and friction. He reckoned it would probably have been better with lotion. He’d remember that for next time. 

“Any better?” Oscar asked, swinging his leg back over Lando’s body and returning to his spot on the floor. 

“Incredible,” Lando mumbled into his pillow. He turned his head so he was looking towards the room instead of the back of the couch. “Thank you, Oscar,” he said. “That was really nice.”

Oscar stared down at his phone, unsure of what to do with the bursting sparks of pride in his chest. “Anytime,” he said. And he was pretty sure he meant it.