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[imma-hex-girl]

[scorpiorising1206]

[nnoodlezz]

""you have a wife?!"

thunderbolts*bucky barnes x black!reader

★ ;— Yelena spots a ring on Bucky’s finger, sparking team-wide curiosity. an obsession trying to figure out what it could possibly mean—marriage? engagement?. after a much speculation, a gone wrong mission leads them to his home—where they meet you.

“have you noticed he has a ring on?” whispered Yelena, her eyes narrowing as she leaned closer to Ava, nodding subtly towards Bucky. her gaze was locked on the thin band of silver wrapped neatly around the third finger of his flesh hand. it shimmered slightly under the overhead light as he flipped through mission files.

Ava followed her line of sight, eyebrows raising in realization. “wow… yeah. i didn’t even notice that before.”

“what you think it is?” Ava asked, lowering her voice and shifting to get a better angle. Yelena hummed thoughtfully, squinting harder like staring would unlock the answer. “he couldn’t possibly be married,” she muttered, her thick Russian accent curling around each word like suspicion in motion. Ava tilted her head, arms crossing. “i mean... right? he’s Bucky. the Bucky. Winter Soldier. he barely talks to anyone.” “exactly,” Yelena whispered, as if confirming a crime.

while the two girls speculated, Bucky remained at the table, focused on the spread of intel in front of him, blissfully unaware—or perhaps willfully ignoring their curious stares. up until Bob walked in. he entered holding another folder, only to freeze mid-step when he caught Yelena and Ava staring hard at Bucky’s hand. “uh... why’re you guys staring at Bucky?” he asked innocently, blinking at them. Bucky paused, looking up slowly. his eyes flicked to the two women and their obvious expressions. they didn’t even look away in time. busted.

Bob, still confused, opened his mouth again, but before he could say another word, a sharp smack landed on the back of his head. he winced and turned around with a grumble. “Bob!” Yelena whisper-yelled, glaring daggers. he blinked at her with wide, hurt puppy eyes. “what did i do?!” Bucky let out a deep, tired grunt, pushed away from the table, and walked out of the room without a word.

great.

from that day on, it became a mission of its own, figuring out what the ring meant. was he married? was he engaged? was it symbolic? something from his past? something passed down? their curiosity spiraled.

what began with just Yelena and Ava soon roped in Walker, who asked why they kept looking at Bucky’s hand during briefings. then Alexei, who never turned down an excuse to theorize. and eventually, Bob—who, despite being clueless, became obsessed too. now the whole team was in on it. they whispered theories during training. they watched Bucky like hawks during meetings. they stared at his hand like it held the meaning of life. and the worst part? Bucky knew.

he always knew.

every time he stepped into a room, he could feel their eyes on him. every time he spoke, there was a strange silence. every time he sat down, it was like they were all waiting for something to slip. they weren’t subtle. not even close. they were being weird. not themselves. and eventually… they started losing hope. no cracks. no hints. no answers.

until one night after a brutal, chaotic mission that had left them stranded and scrambling—they ended up in front of a door. a very nice door. too nice. the hallway was clean, with gentle golden lights casting warm glows on smooth walls. the carpet beneath their boots was plush. the air smelled faintly of lavender and lemon cleaner. everything about it screamed comfort. safety.

not something off-grid. they exchanged confused glances. “you sure this is the place?” Walker asked, glancing down the hall again. “Bucky’s key,” Bob muttered, motioning to the door. “so… yeah.”

Bucky sighed like he was preparing for battle, pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. the second the door swung open, the smell hit them. real food. rich and warm and comforting. garlic, butter, maybe herbs—bread. it hit like a tidal wave after weeks of stale rations and fast meals on the move.

their stomachs growled so loud, someone actually cursed under their breath. they all stumbled inside, shoving each other slightly, stepping over boots and shoulders as they entered. you heard them before you saw them—the sudden shuffle of boots, the heavy thuds of tired bodies moving. you placed the spoon down in the pot, turning off the burner, and made your way to the hallway entrance, confusion tugging at your features.

was that… Bucky?

you stepped into view and froze. bucky stood there. but behind him… five others. all dirty, exhausted, eyes half-lidded and limbs heavy, like they’d just crawled out of a war zone.

“my love?” you called softly, voice laced with both surprise and concern. everyone stopped. dead silence. Bucky’s face shifted instantly—like his whole body relaxed at the sound of your voice. “my love?” Yelena whispered back in shock, eyes darting between you and Bucky, trying to connect the dots. Bucky walked over without hesitation and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like you were his entire safe place.

“are these your friends?” you asked quietly, eyes scanning the ragtag group behind him. “something like that,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your head. you looked back at them. five pairs of stunned, wide eyes stared at you. Yelena squinted again. “i’m sorry but… who are you?” you offered a small, polite smile. Bucky groaned like this moment had been inevitable. “this is y/n,” he said, voice dry. “my wife.”

a beat.

“YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” they all shouted, the sound echoing down the hallway. you laughed at the look on Bucky’s face. he looked mildly insulted. “so that’s what the ring is...” Bob mumbled like the final puzzle piece had been placed. “why is this so shocking?” Bucky asked, exasperated. “because you’re so... secretive. you barely talk about your past, let alone your personal life,” Yelena pointed out bluntly. “and being married? like… actually married?” Walker added. you turned to Bucky, brow raised. “you haven’t told them about me?" he gave you a tired look. “i was going to…eventually.”

“uh huh,” you muttered, then turned back to them with a brighter smile. “well, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I just finished up dinner so I hope you’re all hungry!.”

they were.

they didn’t mean to eat like animals, but after what they’d been through and the smell in your home—it was impossible to resist. plates clattered, forks scraped, and the table buzzed with half-shocked, half-hungry chatter.

you moved around the kitchen with ease, bringing more rolls, refilling dishes, handing out drinks like this was all completely normal. “i’m still not over the fact that you’re married,” Helena muttered, biting into a piece of bread. the rest nodded. “out of everyone, you were the last one i expected,” Walker said. “i love it!,” alexei declared, raising his cup. “the Winter Soldier... domesticated!” Bucky groaned again. “this was a bad idea...” Bob cleared his throat, then asked, “so...uh how did you two meet?”

you glanced at Bucky, who was already avoiding eye contact. “would you like to tell them or should i?” you teased. his fingers pinched your side under the table, making you giggle. “we met a few years ago,” you started. “during a mission with sam. super soldiers on the run, high tension, lots of disagreements.”

“she almost shot me,” bucky grumbled taking a sip of his drink. “i had valid reasons,” you said matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes. “but even after the mission, we stayed in touch. and... over time, we grew closer.”

your voice softened as you remembered it. “i thought he’d give me a sweet confession,” you said. “instead, he got drunk on ten shots and blurted it out.” the table exploded into laughter. “he was so shy! but deep down, he’s a big softie,” you whispered with a smile. “can we not?” bucky grumbled hearing the rest of the team laugh, imaging the Bucky Barnes getting shy.

as the night wore on, everyone cleaned up and collapsed into your living room—washed, fed, and finally relaxed. in the kitchen, you and Bucky stood side by side, finishing the dishes. his arms now finding your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“y’know they’re good people,” you said quietly. “yeah,” he replied, his voice already growing sleepy. “i’m glad you found a team, makes me more comfortable you’re not alone.” you whispered, feeling his metal hand squeeze your side in reassurance, lips brushing the back of your neck. “I missed you,” he murmured. you turned, amused. “you saw me yesterday?.”

“still.” he was getting clingy. he always got clingy when he was this tired.“well, i missed you too, my love,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “c’mon. let’s go to bed, you’re getting all clingy~”

he pinched you again.

[hispanicnothispeace]

[dark-fics-4-you]

Crying in the Country Club | ch. I

older!Rafe Cameron x dark!Reader

Warnings: age gap crush; large age gap; accidental flashing; obsessive thoughts; some sexist comments from Reader towards Rafe’s wife; flirting with an older, married man

The Carolina summer heat hung heavy in the air and you had long tuned out the monotonous buzz of the cicadas.

Charlie asked you a question and you answered with a shrug of your shoulders, moving the water around you as you swam in laps around the pool.

Much to your disappointment, Mr. Cameron hadn’t been out to check up on the two at all today.

Usually he would step out of the house and tell some stupid joke that would make you laugh so hard you’d double over, secretly hoping that your best friends’ dad would sneak a peak of your cleavage as your pressed your tits together and giggled stupidly.

The best, and sometimes only, reason that you hung out with Charlie so much was purely to spend time with and get closer to her father.

Rafe Cameron.

Father of your best friend. Best friend of your father. And the man that you obsessed over the most in the world.

Calling your feelings for Rafe Cameron a “crush,” felt childish, juvenile, which were the last ways you’d ever want him to see you.

No, your feelings towards the older man were much more akin to passion. Love. Dedication. And at times, absolute obsession.

For as long as you could remember Mr. Cameron being in your life, you could remember having intense feelings for him.

He had spent so much time around you when you were a kid, the Cameron household felt like your second home, and Rafe had almost felt like a second father in a strange way back then.

Growing up, Rafe had always babysat you until you were old enough to be on your own anytime your parents were unavailable, as you lived pretty close to the Cameron residence.

When you were in middle school you realized that you found Mr. Cameron incredibly attractive, a fact that once you told Charlie years ago, and when she fake threw up and laughed it off, you didn’t bring up again.

Even the fact that Mr. Cameron was happily married had never deterred your affections for him at all.

Hatred, enmity, and loathing were not strong enough words to accurately convey how you felt about Rebecca Cameron.

Charlie’s mother, and more importantly, Rafe’s wife, was an annoying, timid woman. You had had many years to hypothesize about their relationship and why Rafe stayed with that woman and for the life of you, you could never figure it out.

They probably were still together for Charlie’s sake, although now that you were both college aged, you didn’t see why Rafe didn’t just hurry up and divorce her already.

You were right there in front of him! What could possibly be holding him back?

As your thoughts ricocheted down more anxious rabbit holes in your mind, you were interrupted by the shrill sound of Charlie’s voice.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, and I think I’ll be done swimming after that. Are you cool with getting out soon?”

“Yeah, just lemme stay a lil longer.”

Charlie nodded and left you alone, thankfully.

You were still upset that Rafe hadn’t made an appearance. Here you were, showing yourself off wearing one of your skimpiest bikinis, and he was nowhere to be found.

Was he ignoring you? Was he trying to piss you off?

Maybe it was all just an elaborate ploy of faking disinterest to throw Mrs. Cameron off the trail?

Or maybe he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.

That thought made you want to rip out your hair and claw out your eyes with your fingernails.

Of course, it was probably all that witch, Rebecca Cameron’s fault.

She disliked you, that much you knew, but you were Charlie’s best friend, so there wasn’t much she could do to stop you from visiting.

You suspected, and hoped, that her disapproval of you also stemmed from the fact that you were a young, attractive, single woman.

All of the things she wasn’t.

Maybe she suspected Rafe might leave her for a younger woman. Honestly, if you were her, you would have been scared of that too.

Your eyes fell to the diving board and you realized you hadn’t used it at all today. Feeling pent up with anxious energy, you figured it couldn’t hurt to do a dive or two.

You climbed onto the board, testing the springiness with a few bounces before diving in to the cool water.

When your head broke the surface, you were surprised to hear clapping, and you opened your eyes to see Mr. Cameron standing at the edge of the pool watching you.

“Nice dive, Y/N? Have you been working on your form?” His deep voice brought butterflies to your stomach and you grinned at him and swam a bit closer.

He had noticed that your dive had improved? Did that mean he had been watching you more closely than you thought?

Plastering your sweetest smile across your lips, you giggled, twirling a piece of your hair in your finger as you answered, “I have, I’m glad you noticed!”

Finally reaching a place you could stand, you planted your feet on the floor of the pool and straightened up.

When Rafe’s eyes widened and his cheeks brightened before glancing away after a beat, you looked down to realize that your bikini top had become unfastened and your bare chest was exposed.

Feigning embarrassment, but secretly feeling thrilled, you let out an “oops!” before taking your time adjusting the material and trying to tie the top.

“Shit,” you huffed as you faked being unable to tie it, and you climbed out of the pool and turned your back to Rafe.

“Um, could you help me?” You asked in a sweet voice, playing dumb and innocent in front of him.

The older man hesitated for a moment before nervously chuckling and reaching for the straps.

When his large hands brushed against your dewy skin, you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud, and you were thankful he couldn’t see your face.

When he was done, you turned around, glancing up at the much taller man cheerily.

“Thanks, Mr. Cameron!”

Rafe sheepishly chuckled, looking embarrassed, “no problem, Y/N.”

The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, and you tried to guess what could possibly be going through his mind.

You wondered if he was hard right now.

“Well, um… dinner is almost ready. Charlie and Rebecca are already inside.”

At the mention of his wife, you frowned, but you jokingly played it off like you had just wanted to keep swimming and you were relieved when Rafe laughed with you.

You briefly wondered if he would mention the incident to Rebecca. Even though he only got a short glance, you hoped Rafe had compared your body to his wife’s, just for a split second.

Stepping inside the impressive Cameron house, the scent of garlic and tomatoes wafted from the kitchen and you realized that swimming had worked up more of an appetite than you had thought.

After taking a quick shower (during which you left the door unlocked hoping Rafe would accidentally stumble in), you dried off and changed into a tight, flattering top and a short skirt that you had caught Rafe staring at you when you wore it last.

Walking into the dining room, you could feel his eyes on you in your revealing outfit and you took your spot beside your best friend and across from Rafe.

When you reached for the bottle of red wine to pour yourself a glass, Mrs. Cameron loudly cleared her throat, glancing over at her husband with a raised eyebrow.

“What Becca? The girls can have a little wine with dinner, we let them all the time.” Rafe chuckled, referring to the many occasions when the Cameron’s had hosted extravagant dinner parties with 5 courses and liberally flowing alcohol.

Rafe winked at you and you grinned, silently ecstatic that he had shut his wife down for you.

She grumbled as you poured the glass, and you made sure that you added slightly more than may have usually been appropriate just to piss her off a little more.

Mrs. Cameron’s cooking was very good, but that was about where your praises for her ended.

She was incredibly high strung, and was frequently prone to have fits that required intensive professional treatment in the past, a fact that the Cameron’s usually preferred to keep under wraps.

On top of her volatile mood swings, you just found her to be incredibly annoying.

And you weren’t the only one.

Charlie seemed to pity and tolerate her mom more than anything else, and even your beloved Rafe seemed to get frustrated with her at times, much to your excitement.

You just had to put up with her if you wanted to be close to him.

As Mrs. Cameron droned on about reality tv shows and other trash, you glanced over to Rafe to see that even he wasn’t paying attention. The older man shot you a knowing smile when he noticed you, subtly rolling his eyes as Rebecca blabbed on.

You stifled a giggle, clenching your thighs together beneath the table and hidden from view when you felt a sudden wetness growing between your legs from his attention.

Charlie was, like usual, completely oblivious and checked out, scrolling on her phone at the table and giving her mom one word answers to every question she asked her.

The meal was delicious and you tolerated Mrs. Cameron’s lame questions about how your dad was doing, or your plans for the next semester and what classes you were going to take.

Conversations about college only made you feel depressed. Maybe it was because it was another reminder that you were growing up when you were scared to. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that acknowledging that you were still in college made you feel like more of a kid around Rafe and Rebecca.

On the other hand, sometimes you wondered if talking about it ever made Rebecca feel threatened. Did she fear her husband chasing after sorority girls and leaving her for the newest model?

You hoped that she did.

When dinner ended, Rafe stood and grabbed Charlie and Rebecca’s plates, reaching for yours as well and you shook your head.

“I want to help with the dishes tonight,” you confidently told him, hoping that Mrs. Cameron would feel bad for not stepping up before you could.

You frequently volunteered to do chores around the house when you came over, which Rafe always told you wasn’t expected or required of you, but you knew that seeing you step up in the household might make him realize all of the ways his wife was slacking.

Not to mention, it just meant more alone time with him.

The older man smiled at you, and when he thanked you you swore you felt your heart skip a beat.

In the kitchen, you claimed responsibility for scrubbing the plates before handing them off to Rafe to put in the dishwasher.

“Charlie told me that you two went on a double date last week, is that right?”

“Ha! She told you about that? Did she also tell you it ended with me dumping a milkshake on my date’s head?” You shook your head as you laughed, grabbing a sudsy fork from the sink and passing it to Mr. Cameron.

“She mentioned something like that,” he chuckled as he placed it in the dishwasher. “He must have pissed you off pretty bad, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, thinking back to the disastrous date. Charlie had meant well when she invited you out with her and her current fling, but she just didn’t understand your taste in men, and the dumb as rocks frat boy she had brought along for you had lasted all of two minutes before he began annoying you.

You just couldn’t stomach his crude humor and childish personality.

“He asked me what my favorite position was within 10 minutes of meeting me.” You dryly replied and Rafe raised his eyebrows in surprise before loudly laughing.

“Then he tried to guess my bra size like 5 times. And he was wrong. Every time!” You rolled your eyes as you giggled and Rafe laughed even harder.

You might have imagined it, but you thought you saw his eyes quickly glance down at your chest when you said “bra size,” and you desperately hoped that he was remembering seeing your tits after your top fell off.

Grabbing another plate, you handed it to him with a sigh, “I’m just so tired of dating guys my age. They’re all immature idiots.”

Rafe chuckled, “you’ll find the right one. Just got to keep trying.”

His words annoyed you. You had already found “the right one” and that was him. When he turned away to put the dish away you admired the way his muscles flexed and strained his shirt sleeve.

You felt like Mr. Cameron wasn’t listening to you at all. Maybe you needed to be a little more obvious. Perhaps he was holding himself back bc he was unsure of what your reaction would be.

“Well,” you began boldly, handing him another plate and holding your eye contact this time. “I think he might be closer than I realize. I just need to stop going out with guys my age.”

His fingers brushed yours as you passed him some silverware and you felt a thrill race up your spine. Did he do that on purpose?

Feeling cocky, you grabbed the last plate from the sink and when you passed it to him, you let your other hand fall to his bicep and you looked up at him through your lashes.

“I mean, what I really need is someone much older,” you stepped even closer to him, so near that your chests were almost touching, and you gave his bicep a little squeeze.

“Y/N…” Rafe stammered, looking into your eyes for several moments. You couldn’t breathe, so physically close to the man that you could practically hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest.

The sound of Rebecca’s voice drawing close and then the creak of the kitchen door made him flinch away from you, and you watched the plate slip out of his hand in slow motion, falling to the floor before shattering into pieces.

“Fuck-!” Rafe cursed and you quickly stepped backwards to avoid stepping on the broken shards with your bare feet.

“Rafe? What’s going on?” Rebecca asked, eyes widening when she heard and saw the dish break on the floor.

“Nothing. You just scared me, Becca,” he laughed, glancing around at the broken glass, although he was more unbothered than you due to his shoes.

“Oh sorry. Um, are you two almost finished up here? Charlie wants to watch a movie together, for the first time in weeks,” she excitedly added and you laughed inwardly at that. Of course she would be thrilled at the idea of her uninterested daughter actually wanting to do an activity with her for once.

You were sure she had only agreed to it to stop her mom’s nagging for a little bit.

“Yeah,” Rafe cleared his throat. “Just let me clean up this plate and I’ll be right in.”

Carefully watching your step to avoid the shards, you followed Mrs. Cameron as she walked out the kitchen, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back when she had left your sight.

Rafe was leaning against the counter and frowning at the floor, seemingly lost in thought, but when he lifted his head before you exited and your gaze briefly connected, your cheeks flushed with heat from the hungry look in his piercing blue eyes.

[rafesthroatbaby]

wife who ? call me homewrecker cause here I come bitchhh 😌 lol jk but ughhh teasing older daddy rafe sounds like a fun thing to do 😏 loving this series so far 🔥

[luvz-me]

being at the last year of your sports medicine university course abroad in america was like a dream come true. but in all honesty you just wanted it to be over and quick. the prospect of having to intern at a random clinic for three months wasn't appealing at all. you made sure to send your cv to different physiotherapy clinics, gyms, sports clubs but still no answer.

watching all your colleagues start earlier than you was discouraging until one afternoon, after watching 2 boring movies a guy at a club told you to watch last night you got a call.

someone with a very poised voice starts talking almost immediately, "good afternoon, i'm speaking on behalf of the sports clinic and i was wondering if you'd be available for an interview tomorrow morning regarding your internship application?"

you almost envied the way there wasn't any hint of nervousness in their voice. it was almost immediate the way you accepted the offer, in all honesty you just wanted to get it over with.

you started your internship there after almost a week until one day, by the evening you witnessed something you never thought you would. tashi fucking duncan walking in the clinic right as you were about to leave. you felt your stomach turn, not in the bad way, but in the - what the fuck, did i hit my head somewhere and wake up in an alternate universe? - way. your anxiety making you want to throw up seeing one of the people you wrote countless essays about stand before you.

"i'm looking to book a sports physician. medium term for art donaldson, need them to be able to come in-house monday through friday." you heard her say to the receptionist, blunt yet always polite. one of your idols standing just a few meters away from you made you weak at the knees. you were aware the clinic was well frequented but you never thought she'd be in your sight ever.

you looked at your nails, pondering if you should start biting them, regaining a bad habit just because you found yourself in a situation you couldn't control sounds very much like you but tashi probably would think that's gross so you stop.

a client you had been assigned to arrives and you curse yourself out for not being able to keep listening to the conversation anymore. the day never ended. each glance you took at the clock just seemed like you were stopped in time. sighing while helping the elder woman stretch her upper body and muttering some words of praise, explaining to her that she'd have to keep coming for at least one more week so the pain could dissipate. you flashed her a smile as she got up and said goodbye, thanking you endlessly for helping her ease the pain.

your supervisor had been watching you. giving some criticism on this session with the client. as you were about to leave she pulled you aside and informed you that starting tomorrow you'd be going to tashi duncans house.

everything inside was pristine, you were even scared to even lean against the furniture in fear you'd somehow break it. tashi had given you a quick house tour, her heels clacking on the hardwood floors as she warmed you up to her, occasionally telling jokes about herself and saying you reminded her of herself. when she was in college. you didn't really know what that meant but you decided to take it as a compliment, nervously fidgeting your fingers. art was nowhere to be seen up until you reached the gym area.

standing there, broad shoulders scrolling through his phone, distracted and flashing a smile towards his wife once she clears her throat and wraps an arm around his shoulder. introducing you to each other and leaving promptly, saying she had a meeting with her pr team and that she'd be back at 8 pm.

you swallow dry. standing there awkwardly with your backpack on your shoulders.

"so.. umm were gonna start with wall angels maybe. tashi told me thats your problem area right now" you blurted out, trying to sound as professional as possible "just. place your arms against the wall in a 90 degree angle and slowly straighten them"

art follows suit, standing against the wall awkwardly moving his arms up and down before asking "how old are you?" breaking the silence

"i'm 21" you mutter in surprise analysing his form and his toned shoulders, and arms.. and muscles. eyes narrowing trying to remind yourself that this is not one of your hookups, this is art fucking donaldson and you're here for an internship. at his house. in his fancy home gym. hes not yours to admire. "why?"

"ah.. just wanted to know" art shrugs, looking at you intently. he gets up suddenly, yet his movements are deliberate. you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, your pulse quicken as i looked at the man before me. "can you show me how to do it properly?" his voice drops to a lower tone and all you can do for a few seconds is flutter your lashes at him

"but this is pretty easy already, i don't know how to ex-"

"i said, i want you to show me" art cuts you off, his gaze literally burning through your skull

art mirrors your movements, his eyes never leaving yours. you hope he doesn't notice the slight tremble in your hands.

"like this?" he asks, his voice even softer now, almost a whisper.

you nod, your breath hitching. "yes, just like that. make sure to keep your back flat against the wall."

he follows your instructions, his body inching closer. you can feel the heat emanating from him, a stark contrast to the cool, clinical setting of the gym. there's a tension in the air, a charged silence that makes your heart race.

"you're good at this," he murmurs, his eyes darkening with an emotion you can't quite place

your cheeks flush, the compliment catching you off guard. "i appreciate that, mr. donaldson."

he moves closer, his body now just inches from yours. you can feel the magnetism between you, a pull that's impossible to ignore. his hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. the gesture is tender, almost too intimate for your professional setting. "it's art, yeah? call me art, i don't want to feel like an old fart" he grins

"i should… i should check your shoulder alignment," you stammer, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. "you're a bit tight here," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "let me help you."

you guide him through a series of stretches, your hands lingering a bit longer than necessary on his shoulders, his back. the room feels smaller, the air thicker with each passing moment.

the session was over. finally. you gathered your things and slid your backpack over your shoulders. art's gaze is still on you and it's impossible not to feel it "are you in a hurry to leave?"

"umm, no i just. no im not in a hurry" you smile "just don't want to bother you anymore" your breath catches in your throat

"i was hoping we could talk a bit more. get to know each other better." he smirks. what the fuck "tashi told me some things about you but i think one on one conversation is far better" grabbing your hand and guiding you to a small resting area at the gym engaging in some superficial conversation about you while tracing circles in the back of your hand. you can't help but sigh. his hands becoming more and more pervasive, touching your thighs, reaching up up up until he's close to your crotch. a slight whine escapes your mouth. you're not focusing on the conversation at all.

"art, this is not-"

"tashi doesn't have to know" he replies knowing tashi knows damn well. hell, she even planned this for him. it wasn't her intention to scout a pretty little physiotherapist like you at first. but you were at the right place, at the right time. the moment she took a glance at you she knew she had to have you. it was a plus art needed help with his shoulders. his hands roaming on the waistband of your tight leggings, your mouth parting with a sigh. sigh that he takes as opportunity to crash his lips against yours. your eyes narrow at first and for a second you try to pull back but you don't really want to.

his fingers edging closer to your panties, the tightness of the leggings increasing the skin on skin contact. "aw you look so pretty with your lips parted. you wanna take my fingers in you don't you huh?" now hovering over you, caressing you over your top "fucking corrupt that little head of yours"

you can't help but let out a moan that sends him over the edge. sliding your leggings down caressing you over your panties. before pushing two fingers inside your mouth for you to suck. "you want this don't you baby?"

"mhm" you nod trying your hardest not to bite him when he uses his opposite hand to caress your sensitive nub. furrowing your eyebrows trying your hardest not to grab his arm. his calloused fingers leaving your plump mouth suddenly and making a 'pop' sound "but tashi might" cut off by the pads of his fingers circling your clit

"tashi doesn't mind" his voice hungry "im just helping you out yeah? we're just getting acquainted" one of his fingers teases your entrance slowly entering earning a sharp wince from you. the unfamiliar feeling slowly turning into pleasure as he slid it in and out "open your eyes f'me, let me see those pretty eyes"

you bite your lip staring at his face as he does such a lewd thing to you, and you let him. knowing he has a wife. somehow this made it even more arousing. whats wrong with you? "gonna add one more finger, fuck you're so tight around me, so good. i bet that clit would feel so good around my tongue" small tears cornering around your eyes. the soft noises leaving your lips only encouraging him to keep going.

"feels good huh baby?" he coos, his face edging closer and closer to your clit as your hips rise, only to stop once you're about to cum. abruptly sliding your panties back up along with your leggings.

this earns him a well deserved mewl. edging you like this. stopping when you were just so so close was just so mean of him. looking up at him just to see him lick your juices off his fingers, feeding them to you. "suck" he commands "don't be mad, i just need to make sure you come back for more sessions" fixing your hair and picking up your backpack from where you left it on the gym floor

[auckie]

[formika9]

💗🥰

[iholdwhatican]

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross. 

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore. 

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin. 

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all. 

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work. 

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it. 

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right? 

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband. 

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five. 

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted. 

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage? 

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.” 

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.” 

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same. 

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.” 

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?” 

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning. 

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated. 

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed? 

God, you needed a cigarette. 

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot. 

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into. 

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.” 

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him. 

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart. 

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air. 

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you? 

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment. 

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.” 

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.” 

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area. 

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why. 

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually. 

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.” 

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend? 

You needed another drink. Or ten. 

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to. 

“More than anything else in this world.” 

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed. 

It made something flip in your stomach. 

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.” 

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.” 

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men. 

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like. 

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone. 

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation. 

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.” 

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive. 

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?” 

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.” 

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.” 

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.” 

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. 

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it. 

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands. 

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was. 

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-” 

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.” 

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-” 

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that. 

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?” 

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look. 

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait. 

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire. 

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.” 

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind. 

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.” 

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.” 

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?” 

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-” 

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his. 

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it. 

You really, really fucking liked this. 

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff. 

It was unbelievably hot. 

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you. 

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband. 

[thememedaddy]

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[caats]

[d897gyhaujfkedw7r9euwijkjfkdl]

Whatever anyway look at these puppies

[only-cat-memes]

[caats]

[only-cat-memes]

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