#I know the colours aren't right

[artfullyimprobable]

Extremely tired msp Gothboy from memory. This babygirl changed my brain chemistry irreversably when I was 9.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I won't let you go again.

(Timeskip follow up for the MDZS Homestuck AU)

[sysig]

I have an idea for the requesttober, could you make Scriabin like an endermen? I feel that Scriabin would be an endermen if he were in Minecraft's world

Day 11 - No eye contact >:(

[deanpinterester]

REWATCHED NIMONA. SOLID 9/10

[strawberrycamel]

rewatching fairy tail and i had to do a double take because HELLO DEMI BOY ERZA???

[songofwizardry]

fun fact: there is an episode of Tom Scott's language files where he mentions this exact thing, and he even touches on the using of epithets common in slash fic! I got very excited the first time I watched it.

(be warned, however, that if you watch this you may be struck with a bit of shock at how quickly the landscape around AI and particularly how we talk about it has changed.)

One of the hardest parts of writing gay anything is that they (often) use the same pronouns. Balancing names and pronouns so that I'm not overusing either of them is maybe THE hardest part of writing for me, because if you use 'he' too many times in a row you'll lose track of who's doing what, but too many names is repetitive and awkward to read!

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[the-end-is-kigh]

I can't see candy corn without thinking of Mr Urdd

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ sending them suggestive pictures while they're at work

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fukuzawa, Fyodor, Sigma

content: nsfw, female reader, spanking, sexting, oral sxx, masturbation, semi public

It's not unusual for DAZAI to tap away on his phone during work hours, so no one — except for Kunikida, who still hasn't given up on glaring — pays it any mind when his smirk widens at his screen. What remains a secret, however, is that he's not looking at some funny tweet but instead at your tits, the blue lace of your bra making for a pleasant contrast in colour.

He's awfully smug about the whole ordeal, really; also, who is he not to play along? He definitely sends you not only some appreciative words back, but also a picture of his own, featuring either his hands — he does know that you're quite fond of his fingers, after all —, his face — because you can never complain about that! —, or his by now half-hard dick, pressing against his trousers, even though taking soft nudes borders on workplace indecency. Oh, and your pictures are definitely saved and stored away on his phone for later usage.

[new message from Dazai] “someone's needy, harassing me during work hours! just kidding bella!! you're so cute xx stunning too! how am i supposed to listen to kunikida any longer when you're so so pretty? :( ill call out sick, be there in 20 x”

CHŪYA really doesn't expect to see anything but a picture of a dog you saw outside or of a particularly pretty flower when he spares a brief glance at his phone during a Port Mafia meeting. It's already disrespectful, though he doesn't plan on anyone noticing the miniscule action — that is, until he all but chokes on his coffee at the photo of you, legs spread wide, two fingers deep inside of yourself, wearing not only his favourite lingerie set, but also one of his ties.

He tries hard to ignore the way everyone stares at him when he, all too abruptly, excuses himself to the bathroom, his face bright red. In the safety of a stall, he really can't do anything but shove his trousers to his knees, one hand immediately closing around his dick while he types your number into his phone with his free one — and while he might snap at you, oh so flustered, he's also so damn turned on that he can barely focus on anything but the sound of your voice and your photo.

“Fucking Hell, babe—, God, with how Mori was looking at me, I bet he knew what was up. Fuck—, send me another one, please, I'm so damn close, ah—”

Business meetings aren't RANPO'S favourite way to spend time. They're awfully boring, making him huff and sigh when he has to sit through them — though this one gets a lot more interesting the moment he clicks on a text message from you. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of your panties, pure lace and hiding not even the slightest bit just how wet you are, thighs glistening, though that's about all the physical reaction he's going to show. The fact that his dick strains against his trousers is no one's business.

He is, however, quick to text you back, amusement dripping from his messages, and if Fukuzawa wasn't already watching him with sharp eyes, he'd sneak away to the bathroom to call you. For now, you'll just have to do with sexting — this meeting is going to go on for a while, especially if he won't soon start contributing, and he's unfortunately got better things to do.

[new message from Ranpo] “having fun without me? youre so mean. at least send me more pics im dyin g here... maybw bend over or— ooo i know, we bought that toy a while ago, right? why don't you use that one for me, doll....”

FUKUZAWA sucks in a sharp breath the second his eyes fall onto your form clad in nothing but one of his yukatas, and even though he attempts to remain calm, he's already blushing, arousal churning low in his stomach. Really, he was just trying to take a miniscule break from all the paperwork he's facing — besides, the cat ringtone signaling your message did sound rather urgent! —, though now he's not certain whether he can focus on it again.

He ends up typing “This is most inappropriate.” in response, though he never sends it, instead replacing it with a “You look stunning.”, only to never send that one either. In the end, he just quits work a little earlier that day and hurries home faster than he'd ever want to admit, cheeks still flushed with arousal when he joins you in bed, immediately slotting himself between your pretty thighs, long fingers spreading your folds apart and into your cunt to prepare you — only to realise you've long done that yourself. How convenient. He might reprimand you a little afterwards, though both of you realise it's not to be taken seriously. When he's honest with himself, he rather liked that photo — and he'll definitely keep it.

“That was awfully inappropriate. Darling, you know I enjoy getting to hear from you during the day, and yet — what? I didn't mind you wearing my clothing in the slightest. I was worried about someone from the Agency seeing the picture. In fact, wear my clothes again whenever you feel like it. Please do. You looked quite irresistible.”

It's almost unfair just how seemingly unbothered FYODOR is. When checking his phone during a Decay of Angels meeting, aware that you know not to contact him except for important reasons, he merely glances at the photo lewdly depicting your raised skirt and the curve of your behind before putting it back into his pocket. Really, it's downright adorable that you're attempting to tease him — you should know better by now, darling.

While he doesn't bother with a response, he certainly makes sure to pay attention to you when he returns home. And, oh, the next time you want to toy with him, he sure hopes you remember this very moment, of you bent across his lap, his hand coming down ever so often on your butt, on the soft skin of your upper thighs, making you cry out with every slap. The marks, at least, will serve as a nice reminder, especially when you keep forgetting to thank him for every hit.

“There we go, dear. Ah, ah — don't cry now. This is what you wanted, is it not? My undivided attention — and you certainly have it, now. Which number were we on again? Tell me, darling, or we will have to start over, I'm afraid.”

The second SIGMA spares a quick glance at his phone, only to stumble upon a rather revealing picture you just sent him — and, God, 'rather revealing' is an understatement when he's able to see just how wet you are, thighs spread for the camera —, his face heats up significantly, earning him some odd looks from the other men he's currently in a meeting with. In a desperate attempt to regain professionalism, he clears his throat, trying to simply continue, but it's as if every thought has been erased from his mind and was replaced by you.

When getting home that evening, he's calmed down considerably, cheeks still warm with the memory of you being this bold, though his sudden calmness might just change when you expect him in that exact same position, legs wide apart, the smile on your face teasing — and who is he not to end up on his knees in front of you, tongue flattening against your cunt while both of you let out breathy moans? In the end, he's all but begging you to return the favour.

“Ah, God, I'm close. At least finish me off, please—, you were really cruel today, dear. Make it up to me? Please? Oh, fuck—”

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[messrsrarchives]

i have nothing to say that hasn't already been said in regards to the Uk Supreme Court hearing, nor do i have the mental capacity right now, so you get rhis long draft from february for now instead:

there is no feminism without trans rights. there is no feminism if you are pointing towards trans women and assessing whether they are "womanly enough". there is no feminism if you are pointing towards trans women and saying they can't get periods. "they can't birth a child, how are they women!?". there is no feminism if you turn around to trans men and ask if they've considered their future fertility. if you reduce their worth and their livelihood to their ability to bear a child. there is no feminism if you come after hrt because you can say it's trans healthcare all you want... until they come for your hrt. for your birth control, for your plan b, for your viagra, for YOUR hrt. there is no feminism if you insist on restricting trans healthcare. "no no, they need more time to think about it!" anyway, i'll wait 6 months for a doctors appointment only to be told i must be due on. have you considered it's anxiety??? there is no feminism if you insist on verifying people's sex. hi, hello, sorry! mandatory genital check! yes, we have security stationed outside the women's restrooms! don't worry about it, i'm sure that viral video of a cis woman being hounded by cis men pretending to be security guards is fake, it mustttt be a trans thing. yeah. no, it isn't bad that this trans person got misgendered and hatecrimed and assaulted. look at them, they aren't even trying. if they wanted to not be attacked, they would've worn the right thing. it's what they were wearing, right?

there is no feminism when the arguments against trans people are just misogyny repacked

what makes a woman a woman? no no, wait. you're 18! have you thought about your reproductive future? what if you change your mind and want kids ohhh you're gonna regret that. yes yes, these puberty blockers that both cis and trans people on? those are harmful because we shouldn't be messing with children's hormones but we're only going to ban them for trans people. yeah, i'm sure they work differently for cis kids! don't worry about it, the blockers know when a person is trans and then it starts attacking their body because that is absolutely how science works!

if jkr was a feminist she would talk about women's rights without a trans person coming into the equation.

she would talk about the fact that violence against women has been declared a national emergency in the uk, and she wouldn't follow it up with trans bathroom debates. that 70k donation to stop trans women being legally recognised as women? maybe that could have been spent elsewhere in the legal system. perhaps in ensuring that rapists and abusers actually get convicted of their crimes and that the 1 in 2 women who are victims of this do not shake their head with an empty sigh when they're asked if they would like to press charges. she wouldn't have come online with 14m followers and debated the validity of imane khelif's success, wouldn't have argued that a woman of colour was trans because she don't fit her western ideals of what a woman should look like, because feminism isn't feminism if it isn't intersectional. she wouldn't have handed johnny fucking depp millions upon millions. she wouldn't have given marilyn manson fucking flowers. if jkr were a feminist she would have spoken up about farage and his proposed restrictions to abortion. reform are leading the uk polls right now, this is becoming more of a threat but no no, silence.

if jkr was a feminist, she wouldn't be Supporting Donald Trump. she wouldn't be publicly praising him for his work against transgender athletes in america when he has over double the amount of sexual assault "allegations" than there even ARE trans athletes at college level in america.

there is no feminism without trans rights, and you need to take the wool off of your eyes if you think that you as a cis woman are safe from this. because you're not.

when we start bringing arguments about reproductive capabilities back? when we start arguing about how much "effort" a woman puts in, how much makeup she wears. when we start reducing womanhood back down to aesthetics and reproductive value?

you aren't safe.

and if you aren't standing with trans people right now, if you aren't standing for intersectionality right now?

then you aren't a feminist either.

[bunny-jpeg]

team principal

max verstappen - team principal au

cw: smut/pwp, driver!reader, team principal!max, age gap (20/45), power dynamic, (slight) bratty behavior, groping, driver's room sex, oral sex (max receives)

as requested by anon: Driver!reader asking team principal max verstappen for a custom line of all pink and feminine merch because the orange just “washes her out” so he does. And he goes ALL out, bright pink Verstappen Racing flare leggings, and baby tee’s with the MV logo plastered on the chest bc what she wants she gets.

like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! <3

being part of verstappen racing meant wearing their logo. it had been the logo that max verstappen himself raced with. the 'm' and the 'v' were known prior to the establishment of the f1 team. every team had their logo from ferrari's stallion to red bull's, well, bulls. even teams like hamilton motorsports had their logo.

the problem with max verstappen's merch wasn't the logo, it was how god awful ugly it was. you had a selection of some of the ugliest merch on the planet. why was it all orange?

you had been convinced that your team principal, your boss, only saw the world through orange hues. that was everything was a shade of orange so awful that it would make mclaren blush!

"this is ugly. this is ugly. this is somehow worse! this looks like a halloween collection rather than actual merch. mister verstappen you make more money than anyone i know, hire someone with design sense!" you shook the shirts in your hand.

you knew that almost every driver on the grid couldn't talk to their boss like that. but it was an poorly kept secret that max verstappen had a soft spot for you. he also fucked you two ways to sunday on a weekly, if not daily basis.

max chuckled and leaned back a little in his office chair, "brand integrity is important, schat. a recognizable brand is important to its value."

you made a face, "well, your brand looks like spirit halloween threw up all over the place." then put the items down forcefully. you put your hands on your hips, "and shouldn't brands take risks? try something new? all of you use the same colours, cuts and styles. it's boring!"

max asked, "then what do you have in mind? since you know so much about a brand. i've been doing this since i was seventeen. almost thirty years, schat. longer than you've known how to walk let alone drive." he raised his eyebrows, "since you know so much, dazzle me with your proposal."

max would let his precious driver bark like a yapping dog. but he knew how to keep you quiet. he watched you cower for a moment, realizing that you took it a step too far. max smiled with his face rested against his fist.

you swallowed, "maybe something a little more... feminine.. pink. something cute." you leaned forward at his desk a little, the shirt you wore was his and was a little big on you. your movements revealed the start of a hickey he left on your shoulder the night prior, "mister verstappen, you have the first female driver in a long time. we... could lean into that a little. make it cute!"

max leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on his desk, "cute? verstappen racing is supposed to imposing. strength on the track, and you want pink." he chuckled a little, "the alternate logo besides the initials is a lion. lions aren't cute."

you looked at him, "what about that lion stuffed animal you got me? that's cute. i sleep with it every night." you then pouted a little, a look that always made max weak. you shrugged your shoulders a little as you had your hands behind your back. you swayed a little and suggested, "plus, i could model it as well."

max may have known how to shut you up, but you knew how to make the older man weak in the knees. he sighed and kept his gaze on you, his expression a little softer, "fine. we'll see what we can do, schat. maybe you're right about needing to do something a little different. but i hope you know, whatever item we end up with. you have to show off for me."

your pout dropped and was replaced with a smile. you leaned over the desk to be closer to him and kissed him on the mouth. you held his face and smiled against the kiss. when you eventually pulled away, max watched your turn around to skip out of his office. you said to him as you looked over your shoulder, "thank you, mister verstappen."

-

max verstappen had seen enough in his over forty years on this planet. he had seen many beautiful women over the years, but when he walked into your driver's room and saw you in the newest verstappen merch, he almost fell on his ass. he had seen the line of merch before it got into your hands, but to see you in them was another story.

you were in a pink skirt from home that was almost the exact colour of the baby pink of the baby tee that you were wearing. laid out on the couch of the room was the rest of the merch. the flare leggings, the bucket hat, the baseball cap, a form fitting tank top and even an oversized button up.

all in sickening baby pink.

so much for verstappen being predators on the track. not when you were sickeningly beautiful in the clothing. max held onto the door to the room for a moment to compose himself before he stepped in and shut the door loudly behind him.

"oh!" you perked up as you turned away from the mirror to look at your boss. you smiled at him, "hello, sir." seeing the logo of the team across your tits made his eyes go wide.

"hi." he said as he swallowed, "did they give you the wrong size?" he stepped forward and reached out for you, "and where did you get this skirt?"

you smiled, "oh! this is supposed to be my right size. that's just how the tee are!" he could see your curves and a bit of your stomach. you then added, "and the skirt is from home. i bought it for a matching outfit thing." you swayed your hips from side to side.

this was supposed to be your outfit for media day. something to show off the brand. max scratched the back of his neck and stepped forward. he placed his hands on your hips and gazed at you.

"you're not going out like this. no, no. there has to be something else to wear." he approved all of the items. he saw them from concept to final product. and now you were in the driver's room looking like a whore.

"what about it?" you pouted.

he pulled at the bottom of your shirt and you yelped as it was taken over your head. he made a small disappointed noise as he tossed the shirt to the side. he licked his lips at the sight of your breasts. this was beyond any code violation. if you two got caught. but it was better than you walking around the media section in that shirt.

"you look like you're selling sex rather than the brand! you look like a whore." he said as he held onto your hips. he could feel the leap in his chest at the sight of your breasts on full display for him. only for him.

"doesn't sex sell, mister verstappen?" you said as you pouted a little and you were pulled up against him. your hands on the front of his button up, with his logo on it. you spread your hand across his chest, he noticed that your nails were painted the same pretty pink as the merch. you held onto him as he took you by the ass to press up against him.

"not this kind of sex. this is an invitation for you to cause problems. what if that skirt flips up? what if your nipples poke through the shirt. what is the press got the wrong idea and thought you were a slut." he explained. he spoke like you were a bratty girl who needed to be scolded. to be taught the right way.

you pouted further, "i'm not a slut."

max pushed up your pink tennis skirt over your ass and grabbed handfuls of your ass. it made you yelp and max closed in the space between your lips. before he kissed he said, "i know you're not. but, when you dress like this, you look like one." then kissed you deeply.

his strong hands groped your ass as you felt his cock up against your middle. you shuddered at the feeling of it. you knew that max was quite big. you squirmed a little against him and kissed him deeper.

when he pulled away, he got you down on the couch roughly. you bounced a little and looked up at him. you stuck your chest out a little more and max looked down at you as he rubbed his cock through his slacks. for one of the top racers in the world, you sure looked beautiful below him.

"mister verstappen." you said before you were met with his cock in your face. you didn't say much else but rather wrapped your lips around his cock and let him hold the back of your head. you placed your hands on his strong thighs for support as you took his cock as deep as you could take it.

max shuddered at the feeling of you. you felt like a dream in his grasp. a beauty beyond all others. despite the age gap and the power dynamics, max knew that he could make you top of the grid. you'd be winning championships that would make other drivers jealous.

as you sucked his cock, max saw your future. world champion of formula one. pretty trophies in your apartment in monaco. he already had you in a multi-year contract and no clause to get out of it. first wear the verstappen racing logo then have the verstappen last name. only fitting for a champion after all.

a strong driver needs a strong last name. and as you looked up at him with that soft gaze of yours he panted a little heavier. all dolled up for him, in his merch. you were right about the need for cuter clothes, that orange washed you out. you looked cuter in the soft pinks.

"you look good like this." he said as he tapped your nose and you made a playful noise. too precious, too beautiful for him. he loved the sight of you seated with his cock in your mouth.

you continued to suck him off and max got both hands in your hair. he pressed you up against him a little tighter and let your throat clench around his cock. he remembered the first time you sputtered and coughed when he came in your mouth. but now you took it all like the champion he knew you were.

"you're going to do so well for the press." he said, "answer all their questions. be a good girl. you know you will be. just like you are now, taking me so beautifully." he patted your cheek lovingly before he pulled you further onto his cock once more.

he watched you shudder against him as you tried to take his entire length. you could almost feel his pubic hair against your nose as you whined against him. you whined a little bit from the back of your throat and continued to suck him off. you brought him pleasure that made the team principal see stars.

he cupped your face in those large hands for a moment, "you like that don't you? having me in your throat, you're so beautiful. i don't know if anyone told you about the bidding war to get you on my team." your eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, "had to play dirty."

you whimpered in response. you didn't know about the bidding war for you a year earlier. you knew that you had a few offers when you ended up in formula one.

those blue eyes looked down at you and max licked his lips. you could feel his gaze on you as he continued to rock up into your throat. he panted a little, he could feel his shirt cling to his toned back from the sweat. "not easy to get under hamilton's skin. but i got him to back off, the same with red bull. i only wanted the best and i got it. now she's sucking my cock and wearing my logo."

you whined a little bit and it was music to max's ears. you were his prize. your teammate was good too, but max didn't hear church bells when he was around. you were max's pet project, that he just simply happened to fuck often.

he'd make you a champion. team principals played favourites all the time, and max in a way was no better than them. at least max got something else out of it. those pretty soft lips around his cock. he held onto you tightly as he continued to thrust into your mouth.

you clung to him as you could feel the ache in your throat. you kept your eyes closed and you were wet between the thighs. max briefly got more aggressive with his thrusts before he finished in your mouth. you whimpered and swallowed it eagerly.

the salty taste in your mouth was familiar and you opened your eyes to look at your boss. when you pulled your mouth off of his cock. you kissed the tip and smiled at him a little.

if max had more time, he'd be making a full mess of you. but the press would want to see the star of the track soon enough. he rubbed his cock up against your lips and nose before he said, "i want you to wear the merch next time i fuck you. you're mine, got it?"

you nodded softly and said, "yes, mister verstappen. always."

when you did the interview, you still wore the outfit. despite protests from your boss. you were all smiles for the camera, but max lingered close by. just in case someone got the wrong idea. as if max's name and logo weren't plastered across your pretty tits. but, it did get the older man thinking as he watched from a short distance.

max's mind wandered to other ways to have you wear his logo. he wondered if collars and chokers were still popular with young women. he wondered if he could get you in something with a tag with his name on it. maybe it wouldn't be sold as merch for the public, but he wouldn't mind if his star driver wore it. <3

[biscuitdolly]

˚₊‧ ꒰ა traits and habits that your future self will thank you for .ᐟ 🫧🎀🧁

📧 -> my first long post in a while 🫶 I've had my ups and downs recently but for the most part life has been pretty good.

O1 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ don't overshare.

you don't have to be nonchalant and mysterious, but take a moment to consider your words before you speak. (e.g. "will i regret telling this person this piece of information in the future?")

O2 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ learn how to listen + let people talk.

It's crucial to make others feel heard, even when you might not share their viewpoint. Never cut someone off on purpose whilst they're speaking, it can really hurt someones feelings. if you accidentally cut someone off, always apologize and let them finish speaking once you've said your point.

O3 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ learn how to say no.

i know it's hard not to be a people-pleaser, but learning to say no to things that don't align with you is so important. It can help you avoid uncomfortable, awkward, and even risky situations. Setting boundaries is hard but being taken advantage of is harder.

O4 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ nourish yourself.

Make it a habit to eat meals regularly. Reduce your sugar intake. Embrace healthier food choices. Establish a skincare routine. Treat yourself to a shower after a long day. Stay hydrated. These simple changes can be easily integrated into your daily routine and will significantly enhance your life for the better.

O5 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ process over outcome.

sure, while it's great to imagine our ideal life, simply visualizing it won't automatically lead us to success. It can certainly boost our motivation, but relying solely on wishful thinking won't take us to our desired destination. enjoy the process of achieving your goal rather than just focusing on the end result.

O6 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ focus on yourself.

this is super cliche, i know. but it truly has a significant impact. Picture this -> you're sitting for a math exam, and you glance over at your desk partner's work, only to see completely different answers. You've always admired this person, so you quickly assume your answers must be wrong and decide to change them to match theirs. When the results come back, you discover that your original answers were spot on, but now you've failed because you chose to follow someone else instead of trusting your gut. Just because others are taking a different path doesn't mean it's the right one for you, or that the other person is necessarily "correct". It's important to remember that comparing ourselves to others can lead to unnecessary stress and self-doubt. Stay true to yourself and your own journey!

O7 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ become knowledgeable.

during school, we all learn about basics like maths and english. Exploring fascinating subjects like philosophy, geography, and astronomy can really broaden your horizons. You can also research topics that relate to your interests, such as anatomy, colour theory, fashion history, etc.

O8 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ stop with the shit talking.

talking ill about others is possibly the most unattractive thing you could possibly do. Afterall, what goes around comes around, and it will come to bite you back.

O9 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ kindness is key.

smile at strangers, say hi to people you know in the halls. engage in light conversations and share compliments with those around you. Being recognized as "the friendly one" can lead to countless opportunities for friendships and relationships. Step out of your comfort zone a bit! Just a simple smile can brighten someone's day, often in ways you might not even notice.

1O 𝜗𝜚 𓈒 ݁ ₊ i can't relate to desperation ♪

he doesn't want you? that's fine, move on. certain things just aren't meant to be, so don't push it. if someone doesn't like you, there's nothing you can do about it. why waste your time on some dumb guy?

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 1)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!Batfam

Headless chickens. Bruce Wayne and his children were running around like headless chickens over the gala. So annoying.

"Steph, you'd better not have taken my good corsage!" Barbara yelled. You sighed and retreated to your workspace. Just a little more of this racket and you could work on your new cloak in peace. It was a wonderful silvery colour, and all it needed was the interior fabric for comfort and warmth and the matching exterior feathers for aesthetic. You felt so fun and so mysterious just looking at it.

What should the inner lining be, though? Velvet? Cotton? Silk? Absent-mindedly, you grabbed some silver thread and wandered around with it, weighing up your options.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" Damian scolded, knocking into you. It hurt, but you couldn't tell whether or not it was on purpose or not. "Why are you even here? You aren't preparing for anything."

He was right; you weren't. No gala invitations came in the mail for you, after all. You were always left out, for some reason.

"I wanted to stretch my legs," you said, cheerily.

"Well, you'll have to wait until we're gone. You won't get in the way like that, and we see you less." His lip curled up into a smirk.

"OK. I'll just wait until you're all gone. I'll go back to my room until then." You rushed back to your bedroom, eyes burning with tears.

Why was it never you?

You'd never been invited to a charity dinner once since joining the Wayne family. Was it because of your parentage? You had been the result of a hookup between your mother, a high-end tailor, and the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne himself. Maybe your origin was considered embarrassing for Gotham high society. You were nothing like Damian, who boasted of Al Ghul and Wayne ancestry, or Tim Drake, teenage CEO. You were ordinary.

And for a Wayne, ordinary was embarrassing.

You listened to Alfred drive off with them the same way you always did. Alfred would be back soon, but the rest of the family would be gone until morning.

All the better to work on your cloak.

You got out your sewing machine and worked away, opting to go with the velvet. Your dress would be a matching silver colour, and down to the ankles. Shoes would have to have thick soles so that the hems of your cloak and dress wouldn't touch the floor.

"There have to be some books about fashion around here," you mutter, as you pull books out of the shelves by the spine, dislodging them and putting them back when you had determined that this tome would be of no use to you. As you went for a book about a timeline of high fashion, sheafs of paper fell out and landed next to your feet.

You debated whether or not to look at them. Nobody was in the house, so nobody would know that you had done it so long as you put them back where you had found them. Curiously, you picked one up at random and read it.

It had your name on it. You picked up another. That one had your name on it, too. They all did, actually. What really differed were the events highlighted.

Winter Gala. Charity Ball. Annual Dinner.

Your innards twisted. You really had been invited to these events, same as everyone else. Someone in the house had repeatedly and systematically hidden your letter of invitation so you wouldn't accompany them. It was your family's doing that had left you weeping bitter tears in a home that hated you.

Those heartless bitches would pay.

Part 1 <- You are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie

[rainydayathogwarts]

always the prefects bathroom - harry potter

summary: despite harry potter's presence in the prefects bathroom, you aren't stopped from taking a soothing bath wc: 1016 cw: making out, like super brief handjob it doesn't really count

You hadn’t expected the prefects’ bathroom to be occupied, hence the reason you were standing with a bag over your shoulder with your showering necessities. However, at the sight of Harry Potter in the giant, soapy tub with his head laid back on the cold tiles, you were immediately whining “Oh, come on!” Harry was instantly jumping up with a surprised noise, both hands immediately flying to make himself somewhat decent. Not that you could see his dick past all the bathtub’s soap, nor that you were looking.

“Who showers in here naked?” You immediately judged, gesturing to the vast bathroom “Everyone knows that Moaning Myrtle is the biggest perv.” You scoffed nonetheless, rolling your eyes and making your way out of the bathroom. “No, wait!” Your footsteps halted, and you curiously looked back towards the boy who lived. “Um, you can join. I won’t try anything weird.”

You watched wearily as he dragged his boxers into the tub, his movements telling you that he was putting them back on. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered, Bbut you weren’t about to waste an opportunity for a luxurious bath, even if it meant sharing it with Harry Potter. So you quickly stripped your clothes off, and Harry shamelessly drank in the sight of you in a bikini as you stepped into the tub.

Why did he think people showered in here naked?

The tub was big enough for you and Harry to sit on opposite sides with plenty of space between you, given how spacious the circular tub was, but you took a seat surprisingly close to Harry, watching his face for a moment before taking your book out of your bag and humming in satisfaction at the water’s warmth.

Harry cleared his throat before looking away from you and busied himself by staring at the stained glass windows of the bathroom. He couldn't help looking back at you though, watching as you flicked onto the neck page of your book, your soapy arms glistening as the sunlight hit you from the right angle, creating a rainbow of colours over your skin. “It’s a little difficult to focus when you’re staring so hard.” You put your book away to return Harry’s stare, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Sorry, I’m not quite used to sharing a bath with someone.” You hummed, raising an eyebrow at the bespectacled boy. “I’m sorry, is this too sexual for you?” Harry is quickly blushing at your comment, shaking his head at you and gulping thickly. You laughed, swimming closer to him in the bath’s shallow waters. “You’ve got soap on your glasses, by the way.” You stated, sitting back on your knees in front of him, which gave you more height in the tub.

Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn downwards to where your chest was barely peeking out of the water, the curve of your breasts in your bikini top catching his eyes. “Mhm, maybe Moaning Myrtle isn’t the only pervert around here.” Harry gasped at the comment, watching as you pulled your hair into a makeshift bun at the back of your head before letting it go again. How could you say something like that while looking so unbothered? “I didn’t mean to!” Harry cried, abruptly looking away from you. Your laughter had his head snapping in your direction instantly though, as you muttered. “Well, I don’t mind it so much when it’s a handsome man like yourself.”

Harry didn’t know what overtook him. Was it the fact that the pretty prefect everyone thirsted after was flirting with him? Was it the fact that you were giving him the tiniest bit of attention? Was it the fact that you were half naked in a bathtub with him? Well, whatever it was, it had him launching forward to press his lips against yours. He froze for a second, his earlier words ringing in his own head.

‘I won’t try anything weird.’ But did it really matter when you were pulling him closer to you and deepening the kiss?

The boy groaned, hands naturally settling on your hips and dragging you towards him until you were planted on his lap. You moaned softly into the kiss, hips dragging against Harry’s. He gasped, parting his lips to greet your tongue in his mouth. His tongue glided against yours harshly, fighting for a dominance you instantly acquired by snaking your hand into Harry’s hair and tugging softly.

Harry was instantly growing hard underneath you, but who could blame him when there was so little separating his cock from your greedy cunt, grinding down on him so desperately. “Please.” Harry muttered into the kiss. You giggled, hand trailing down to grasp the elastic band of his boxers before finally moving past, your fingers wrapping around his hard cock to tug on it once, twice.

But before you could pull your bikini bottoms down, the door rattled again as someone entered the bathroom. “It’s always the fucking prefects bathroom.” The person groaned, causing you to shoot away from the gryffindor boy in front of you, water splashing loudly around you. You cleared your throat, even as the person walked out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with Harry again.

Despite everything, you abruptly stood up, wrapping your towel around you as Harry stared at you with his jaw slack. “You know, I don’t sleep around with people I’m not dating.” But Harry almost let out a laugh at how incredulous that sounded when you were only seconds away from sinking onto his cock. Harry stood up, walking towards you and pulling your towel off your skin, leaving you in your bikini again. You gasped sharply as Harry tugged you back into the bath, letting out a squeal as the water crashed around you and Harry trapped you between his body and the edge of the bath tub.

“Okay,” he started, “So let’s say this is our third date, and tomorrow I’ll take you for a forth.” The boy didn’t hide his grin when you desperately pulled him back in for another kiss.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

[iplayghoul]

let the light in

xx: cowboys! eren & onyankopon x reader . .

9.9k words — life on a ranch, porn with plot, tension, feelings, eventual sex, fucking in.. mud & rain, reader is referred to as 'she', 'girlie' etc, use of 'daddy', lots of spit & being dirty, reader is a country bumpkin, light arguing, thumb in ass, pussy spanking, spitroasting, cunnilingus, crying, some squirting & creaming, lots of shortened words & punctuation (country dialect duhh), not proof read sorry, awkward moments.

notes: been writin dis since december 2023... enjoy u guys :] rbgs appreciated

“hiya mrs. brown!”

worn out boots of marble cake pink and brown swirls, graze the dirtied gravel near the elderly woman's cottage as you slip from the horse. mary-lou, you affectionately call her, dusting her pinked moist nose with a pat before hobbling onto the stone path. over the horizon, the pastel orange and yellows of the sun threaten to melt into your skin, kissing it golden as the morning begins and so do your deliveries. 

golden-blonde, french curl braids woven into your roots fall past your lower back ending in thick, loose curls, some held together by bows and others hair clips. they bounced with every step. mrs. brown was the first on your list of deliveries today. on cool mornings like this when spring teases its approach, you often bake little treats for the other villagers. apple tarts, blueberry jellies, cherry pies with freshly picked fruits, warm buttery honey-milk breads and healthy breakfast muffins: all made with ingredients grown at home! but, we'll explore the garden later.

calling this a village was a bit of a stretch, realistically, a happy delusion at most. acres of farm property was shared by each of the residents whose homes were nearby, despite the farm areas creating distances of land behind them. tok, tok, tok! the haste below mary-lou's hooves pulled you back to your task as you rearranged the goodies and stepped onto the wooden plank. mrs. brown sat atop her rocking chair, crocheting a blanket you'd commissioned. a chuckle, “ [  ] , dearest, always in y’head, aren't yuh?” mrs. brown softly muttered, deep brown skin crumpled besides her lips, short pastel curls tickling her ears. hands busied with the neapolitan coloured yarn. her countryside twang was a pleasant aerated tone, reminding you of your own parents. 

you huff and offer a smile. “mrs. brown I've—”, “must I remind you, dearest, eleonora,” the playfulness in her voice offers it a quiver. “and let me guess . . . cherry pie?” thin, quivering lips stretch to a smile, your plump ones mimic hers as you nod with a sweetened expression. “yes, eleonora, I know how much y’love cherry pies n’–”, “and my grandson does too, y'know!” you stop to stare at her as she wears nothing but a smug look on her face, her head bobbing side to side with a ‘you know damn well’ manner. 

eleonora lived mostly alone. when her daughter married, giving her a sole grandson they'd moved to the city. luckily for her, and you, her grandson moved back on his own to the country. he fixed cars, motorcycles, tractors– you name it, he's got it covered. she said his name was onyankopon or, ony’. to be honest, you spied around one time to catch a glimpse of him. back when you first moved in and eleonora became immediately smitten with the idea of you and her grandson as potential lovers, you snuck around where ony's ranch was, peaking at who the man could be. you barely saw him really, the small flash of him you saw all greasy with engine oil was so far away! but infatuation always grew in you from a small bud, slowly growing before flower petals started spilling out your throat.

“are ya’ stoppin by him too, darlin’?” she pries further, “I ‘dunno els’ . . . y'know I haven't actually met ‘em right?”, “oh I know dear,'' she breathes, “ he's strong, he's tall, he surely is handy ‘round the house and- and he's not ‘onna dem toxic masculine things i hear ‘bout on the Internet! I think he's had a boyfrien’ b'fore, that must count!” she relieves your hands of the heavy treats while speaking, “eleonora . . .”, “c'mon darlin’, you've got t'get married someday, n’ imma’ be the flower gal!” 

all you can do is shake your head and accept the sweet kiss to the cheek she offers you before trotting back to your horse. mary-lou grew rather impatient! settling her brown and white spotted body to the ground awaiting your return. to be completely honest, you craved love. the partying, sex and relationships of college got old and moving here right after left you high and dry with the weight of ‘unlovable’ bearing down on your shoulders. the lack of men your age was . . . a troublesome dilemma but who were you to complain? you hiked yourself back onto mary-lou and continued your journey to the next cottage home. 

looking over the blueberry skies and whipped cream clouds kept you in grandiose delusions of a love so pure and sweet, like powdered sugar that you could indulge in, maybe one day.

♡

“down girl, down!” 

The rough, deep voice shakes the silence near the upcoming ranch. after your deliveries, you'd end up with a few apple-cherry tarts remaining, sometimes the neighbours are vacationing in the city, or insist you keep some! by this time, the sun shone fully now, its warmth tingling your skin. “awe, shucks, man!” another voice caused your brows to furrow, peering up ahead at the ranch . . . the one in which eleonora's grandson resided. from what you could see without the sun in your eyes, two men of tall statures– roughhousing with gorgeous horses. the one in the cowboy's hat was doing a terrible job of trying to calm one of them. their manes were a beautiful silky white, shining healthily under the sun as they lifted their front legs to the air before trotting around the . . . shirtless men again. mother would scold you now if she could see you openly ogling at the two, you push that thought to the back of your mind.

mary-lou slows on your command beside their ranch gate, huffing and happily shaking out her mane as she watches the other horses play. something possesses you to hop off with the remaining tarts, awkwardly shuffling to the fence– your pink-brown boots were worn mismatched to your strapless white lace top and similar mini-skirt. “uh . . . howdy there fellas!” both men turned to your direction, blocking their eyes from the sun and beginning to stroll over.

the closer view made your breath catch in your throat. the one on the left, you assume is el's grandson, his skin was a dark mahogany brown, he glistened slightly with sweat in the sun, deeply defined muscles prelude veins below his belly button then covered by bright blue jeans and black cowboy boots to match his hat.

he had a handsome face. 

thick two-toned lips spread to reveal a bright smile, a few teeth plated with gold caps as he teased the man to his right. this man had dark, black, shining curls that rested atop his shoulders, two eyebrow slits decorated with piercings, matching ones on his . . . pretty lips. his skin was a dusted tan, sunkissed tone and he wore black jeans atop his brown boots. You couldn't miss the tattoos that crept up the side of his abdominals, you were curious.

“how c'n we help ya’, miss?” the left spoke up and your cheeks felt hot, it's been a while since you heard that pet name, you chalked it up to the blazing sun. “well, uh, you're eleonora's grandson, right?” you nibble on your nails nervously, he nods, “I just . . . thought it’d be nice to give y'all these extra treats i baked.” pushing the basket in their direction and allowing the dark haired one to peep under the cloth, he had a mischievous look to him and he elbowed the other in the ribs with a slick smile, “wass ya’ name, pretty? ‘m eren, dis is ony’,” he pointed between them, “ n’ y’made these y’self, ma’?” eren pulls out a tart, staring down at you through long eyelashes, “oh! uh I‘m [  ], n’ yes! I did n' I grew all'em fruits m'self too!” you bounce on the heels of your boots, nervously.

ony’ stays mostly quiet you've noticed, taking in your outfit as well, his eyes raking over you. eren warmly feeds him a bite of the tart as their horses trot over to mingle with mary-lou. “how long ya’ been livin’ ‘round here, sugar?” ony’ speaks up soft and mellow, grabbing himself his own tart to taste. eren reaches out to pet mary-lou. “i guess it’s been a about a year now! y’see i moved out ‘round here after college.” you nibbled your shiney bottom lip, “what ‘bout y’all? your grandma talks ‘bout you all the time, but, i ain’t really seen you round here?” you turn to eren who makes a kissy face at mary-lou before turning to you. “i mostly tend to the farm ma’, as y’can tell, ‘m better with the animals than ony’ here.” he flashes you a smile and props his arms against the fence biting his lip and lowering closer to your eye level. ony’ playfully smacks his arm, flashing a gorgeous smile with his gold teeth sparkling in the sun, “shut up, man.”

you look away quickly, catching yourself staring at his lips, he certainly doesn't miss it. you totally push the basket towards eren’s arms, “y’c’n have the basket y’know i always weave more, i’ve gotta get goin, now,” you rush, “wait– take m’ number, pretty,” eren offers before reciting it a couple times so you’ve got it down. “n’ which onna’ these ranches ‘s yours, mama?”, you're mounting mary-lou once more, “it's not too far! it's the ranch with the blue fence n’ the pond out front!” 

♡

the days after that remained uneventful, with no deliveries of any kind, you preferred to remain on the ranch tending to the animals and house work. you'd never texted eren, only saved his number and stalked his contact profile . . . and opened his chat section many-a-times without saying anything. taking a liking to someone new is hard. you don't forget the many times a partner toyed with you, assuming innocence and naivity of you based soley off your appearance, then doing whatever they'd wanted behind your back. you were past that now, hopefully at least; the concrete walls you used to block others out wasn't something you'd liked to be reminded of.

padding out the back door, the coldness of the stone path chills beneath your bare feet. your toes painted with the cutest design within your artistic range, accompanied by the musical arrangement of your anklet. you pick up a dirtied bucket with the many things you'd needed to complete your chores for the morning, taking a long look at the expanse of the ranch. 

a deep breath of clean air, healthy green fields relieve your eyes of their stress; partly cloudy skies was the forecast! weather for hanging outside, the cumulus clouds indicated it to be the perfect day for fishing too! the pond was still, the little lambs were just waking up in their pen, the gardenias were blooming; the white dexter cattle mulled around, seemingly bored behind the fence. just as you begin to walk by with the bucket of feed, the cows behind let out soft, deep ‘mooooo’s’: a ‘good morning!’ greeting in their own way. each receiving gentle pets to their fur.

your mental list of duties was shorter today: pet the cattle, inspect the lambs & brush their fur, throw feed for the chickens & clean their coupes, feed the dogs, feed the fish.

you couldn't help but wear your best little dress to do the tasks today, a simple white thing that cupped your breasts just right. “oh, how are ya’ buttercup!” you squealed in delight as the silky white wolf dog rushed up to lick your feet, his opposite onyx counterpart, bentley offered a short bark to show her delight, sitting peacefully and obediently. she'd recently fallen pregnant with pups, confusing as you'd given both animals the proper precautionary procedures! while filling their food bowls, you couldn't help but be reminded of eren and ony’. your toes dug into the grass a bit, excited at the idea of . . . sharing your home with someone else again. both men seemed pleasant, highly attractive, but feelings always confused you. perhaps they were only being decent human beings to you, nothing more.

to be honest, you hadn't had the best history with relationships. it's part of– it's one of the main reasons you'd decided to move out to the countryside. casual sex was fine, yeah, whatever, you enjoyed it. however, when it comes to your relationships, you refuse to believe you attract shitty people. from making fun of how excited your are by things, to the way you dressed, wore your makeup, your hair, how you cry— the whole works had been used against you. there was only so much of it you could handle. moving away meant . . . fresh start, new people, new experiences. and most importantly, a place where everyone did as they pleased. as much as people think gossip goes around in small villages, the country area was mostly pleasant. neighbours traded crops for items, enjoyed each other's company and minded their own business.

sitting beside the pond, bentley and buttercup eagerly cuddled up at your side; the joy this life brought you was comparable to hot chocolate at the end of a winter day. now you think about how long its been since you could cuddle someone on a cold day. it probably hasn't been since your mother was alive. now was a good time to visit eleonora.

♡

a raspberry lemon loaf warmed your hands as the weather began to cool. the trudge to eleonora's ranch was tranquil, pleasant animals, butterflies and chirping birds kept you occupied for most of it. that is, until your boots dragged to a stop in the dirt, noticing a familiar face in el's front yard. 

onyankopon's hair was short, brushed into smooth waves atop his head and faded on the sides, revealed by the lack of cowboy hat. he was shirtless, once again, knee deep in the dirt of his grandmother's yard where he dug the soil for new plants. you swallow, nibbling a plump lip that made your mouth spring from the strawberry flavoured gloss. a colder breeze blew up under your thighs, blowing your simple little dress slightly; furrowing your brows with concern as you peered at the beautiful bright sky, you force yourself to walk up to the gate and begin to unlatch it. 

eren's grassy green eyes meet you first, his hands busily feeding a plump cherry into his mouth. pretty pink lips sucked them in, unwelcoming to the juicy red droplets that escaped the cherry. he licks his lips to pull them in. you take a deep breath and focus on not dropping the raspberry lemon loaf. “h-hiya everybody!” you greet, noticing eleonora seated in her usual spot on the rocking chair of her porch while observing the two men. 

you hold the loaf somewhat close to you and swallow hard, walking along the stone path of which both men were at either side of. ony’ in the dirt and eren manspreading on the front steps. you held eyes with the ground. “howdy ony’, eren, nice to see you two ‘gain,” you say in a pleasant mumble as you make way up the stairs to eleonora. “brought you this raspberry lemon loaf els’!” you look at her smiling slightly, caught off guard by that signature smug look she held. what insane thoughts about your love life could she be brewing now? the silence from the two men was noticeable too, you were sure they'd turn to look at you as you presented the treat for el’, “my, my! well doesn't this just look lovely!” she claps clammy hands clad in flower themed rings and laughs jolly. “ony’, son, could you get us some tissues n’ forks? oh- n’ eren darlin’ why don't you bring out the pitcher ‘f lemonade with s'm glasses.” the two men stand as she calls upon them, uttering out their deep ‘yes ma'am's’ as they towered above you in walking by. your eyes trailed them slightly before turning back to eleonora who never (not once) misses your silent pining.

ony’ wore his jeans low on his waist, the band of his boxers showed off its maker's name. eren, on the other hand, wore a white wife-beater below unbuckled blue overalls, leaving them hanging over at his waist. “so, have ya’ found y'self a boyfren’, honey?” eleanora asks somewhat loudly as the two men shuffle around the kitchen bearby and your eye widen. “now what kinda’ question is that els’?” you sputtered, “you know I haven't got one.” eleonora giggles like a school girl. you take a cool seat onto the steps. eren and ony’ share small smiles as they return with lemonade and dishes. ony’ takes a seat in a chair opposite eleonora, elevated above you whilst eren makes himself comfortable back in his spot across from you on the steps. raspberry lemon loaf is shared around with the cool glasses of not-too-sweet lemonade to wash it down, eating brought silence besides low groans from the two men who seemed to enjoy your baking. their groans were not sensual, but pressing your thighs together was still a must as a reaction to the unexpected sounds of pleasure. fuck, you felt like a creep. eleonora complimented your skills, asking, “[  ] , did ya’ grow these in the box gardens y'made?” you nod and swallow quickly, all attention to you as eren mumbles ‘box garden?'. ``yea els’, the box gardens ar’ doin’ great, but I've got some extra wood around I think I'mma try to make a few more like the boxes I bought from the market!” eleonora smiles as if she were expecting to hear you randomly bring up your recycling duties. 

“ony’, can't you n’ eren build those boxes f’[  ]? I strongly believe lil’ ol’ her shouldn't handle all dat’ wood . . .” you internally blush deeply at the innuendo and take the final bite of your slice of the loaf. eren speaks up, “y'sure right on we can, els’ . . . y'okay wit’ us helpin’ y'out ma?” he takes a quick glance up at ony, locking eyes with him who also lets his stare above you burn into your scalp. “s– sure, I don't mind!” you mutter out lightly and eleonora gives a jolly clap, “well ain't that just darlin’! the day's young, y'all can get started right now!” you have to hold your breath to avoid your last sip of lemonade going down your larynx. the two men mentioned how they're not busy the rest of the day and wouldn't mind before you can even collect yourself. somehow, coming over to eleonora always results in you being roped into another scheme of hers.

and just like that, you found yourself on a quiet . . . and awkward walk back to your ranch with the two young men following closely behind you. anxiety bubbled in your stomach, clamping your lips shut to avoid letting the insecure feeling from escaping your lips. the nerves were getting to you with every second that passed by. “s-so, uh– wassup wit y'all ‘round here?” they both walk up to match your pace. “oh, well, ony here prefers to do all the technical shit like– fixin’ cars n’ all'at.” eren shoves his palms into the pockets of his overalls, walking up ahead where he could look back at the two of you while talking, he maintains glances with onyankopon that you just don't seem to understand. “I prefer to stay on the ranch n’ watch the animals– y'got any besides that horsie?” 

“oh– yea i've got m’ horse, mary-lou, two wolfies: bentley n’ buttercup.” a sweet smile stretches on your face, tummy warming a bit. “oh! and I've got names f'all my fish in the pond, my little lambs– oh they're just the cutest! a–and my fluffy cows! they're lovely,” you clasp your hands in excitement, eyes following your footsteps, sputtering happily over the animals. “gosh, n’ I'm tryin’ out a little butterfly area in my front garden, but m’ not the best at it, can’t tame butterflies y’know— they pee on ya’ too! that's fuckin’ crazy,” you reveal with a giggle. as you look up to ask the two a question, you can't help but blush, embarrassingly at that. eren and ony stared at you with pleasant smiles, deeply dimpled too. “oh my, m’ sorry for my ramblin’ how rude of me–”,”no. no, keep talkin’ pretty.” ony's deep voice encourages you and you peer curiously at him: trying to figure him out. he turns away from you licking his lips and spares eren a look before he starts walking again. it urges you both to continue onto the ranch as well, eren shakes his head with a chuckle; he thinks he’s got a handful on his hands. 

“y’got a boyfren’ ‘round here, [  ] ?” eren brushes hair over his shoulders, asking the question calmly whilst maintaining a look up the path, ony’s arm brushed yours as he walked close by. “well– no, what about you?” you melt your lips together before stuttering out,”wait, not– i mean, girlfriend . . . well– i don’t care–!” ony barks out a laugh while eren turns around to give you a bright smile, all three of you burst into giggles. “nah, no girlfren’ or boyfren’, ma’.” ony speaks up gently, “but, uh– me n’ E’ might be lookin’ for a third to make us official, i dunno.” your eyes widen but ony gives a nonchalant shrug, handsome face glowing with a smug smile like he didn't just drop #thebomb on you. it reminded you of his grandmother, you look to eren who’s looking back at you and onyankopon with just a slight grin and your breath catches in your throat. “oh! there’s the ranch just up ahead,” you blurt out and skip past eren, scurrying over to unlatch the gate to your front garden as the two followed you in.

now your heart felt like it could melt. like– like a huge strawberry ready to burst! what did ony’ mean by that?  oh, how you felt like a dizzy little dove. luckily the dogs rushed up to you, excitable and ready to meet the new visitors who they eagerly sniffed. ony’ and eren were happy to roughhouse on sight laughing with the dogs and complimenting the patch of primula's you were trying to grow, the pretty pinki-ish flowers were just beautiful. you lead them through your home, overly conscious about each step you took while they surely eyed every nook and cranny of your decor. “um- y'guys need anything? I've got some snacks . . .”, “nah, we're good,” eren mumbled, sounding obviously distracted by their nosey observations of your living space. you hear the tone of your dryer going off just as you unlatch the netted back door that served as another layer next to the already opened wooden one. 

“holy shit,” ony’ whispered, your organization of the backyard was impeccable. clean and solid fencing around the cows, plants on the left with storage on the other. you left the two to walk out into the cold breeze that passed by as they observe the surroundings and the pile of wood waiting for them; all while you quickly rushed to the laundry room nearby to dislodge your clothing and stuff them into a basket. you hurry back out to join them.

“so, here's one of the other boxes i made,” you gesture to the dirty box filled with planted Spanish thyme, “i know it looks kinda wonky but, hopefully you guys can do better,” you offer an awkward laugh and sit on the back steps, legs crossed. 

eren and onyankopon share a look, then grab some planks bringing them more into your line of view with some of the tools nearby and sitting in the grass. even in your own home, you felt a little out of place. in silence, eren and ony’ shared alot of chemistry you didn't understand. despite this, what ony’ said on the way here never left your mind. “y'guys got alot ‘f experience . . . relationship-wise?” you scratch behind your ear. they worked separately lining up wood and nailing them into place, muscles working diligently. “mm, yea. ‘guess y'can say that ma',” eren glances at ony who hums low and offers you a small smile.

“it's jus’ that– ‘m thinkin’ ‘bout watchu said earlier . . .” you blink, fumbling, “unless that was like a joke ‘r somethin’—”

“i wasn't joking.” onyankopon confirms calmly, his jaw tight. you allow the silence to continue for a few beats, eyes flickering back and forth between the two and your hands petting the dogs that came to lay beside you. “we don't expect ya’ to jus’ trust us like that, missy,” eren offers gently, shoving his curls into a small bun and you nibble your bottom lip. 

ony's brows furrow and he's hammering the last few nails into his box before he speaks up. “how c'n we get to know you ma’? me n’ E’ been . . . chillin’ for over a year. since college, actually, n’ we been watchin’ y'too. w’dont expect you to feel the way we do in 10 minutes or even in a day. let us get t'know you.” you squint a little.

“y'serious?” your chest feels a little hot and you're praying to the gods you don't fuck this up. “c's i don't intend on gettin played wit’ ‘specially not out here, y’hear me?” and you don't mean to raise your voice a little, the sounds just flow out. “hey, hey now,” eren pushes his finished work aside and stands, tugging his overalls up, hands resting on his hips. “we don't got no bad intentions, sugar, chill wit’ us,” and you blink up at him, unmoved.

“m'kay, let's just say i decided to ‘chill’ wit’ y'guys,” you stand up, fold your arms and start, “what exactly are we g'nna do, hm?” you look back and forth between them, not missing the way your buttercup whines on the steps where she lay, evidently fed up with all the chatter. “y'got 3 seconds n’ don't say sex. one,” 

“who said anythin’ ‘bout sex?” ony’ joins you two as he puts the tools down, “two,” “yea, y'better shut that shit up. let's bake sumn together, show us around y'day, hang wit’ us at our ranch, talk about shit. fuck y’mean sex?” you stubbornly stay silent and stare. eren’s jaw bone pokes out with the way he clenches it. “we're not lookin’ for sex. if we wanted sex from you we coulda seduced you a long time ago, sugar,” he shrugs with a smile and you lick your lips, sighing. “okay, ‘m sorry. I’–I'm such a bad host,” you mutter out, “y'all want anything to eat? or some water.” you hear a low ‘okay’ from ony’ so you shuffle away to the kitchen to grab some bottles for them.

you tried to focus on the coldness of the bottles on the way back as a way to cool your temperament. “i moved out here wit’ intention ‘f startin’ fresh n’ shit.” you start, tossing them bottles before plopping yourself beside buttercup who nuzzled her cold nose into your thigh. the two men were sitting once again, evidently having spoken to each other in your absence.

your voice was shaky as you took a deep breath, garnering the courage to speak up for how you felt, “i'm tired of gettin’ dogged out, n’ played wit’ n’ allat bullshit.” you pout.

“‘m not exactly sure how gettin’ involved wit’ two handsom’ fellas is gonna help me figure out to– to i dunno, regulate m’ emotions.” you frown and shove some braids back behind your ear, “s’ like i damn near avoided it– i moved back t’the country damnit.” a sigh, “i cant just figure out how to adore n’ love– people again or if i'mma be able t'dish it out as much as before.”

“you get what i mean?” your ramble ceased as you finally look up from your focus on your knees and look back and forth between ony and eren. ony chuckles softly while eren offers you a smile and speaks up.

“we'll take it slow, you'n gotta ‘love’ anybody yet, mama,” ony nods at his words, “gotta build a friendship wit'chu first, we not playin’ ‘round.” 

♡

a week or so passes in which life goes by as normal. you spend your days busying yourself with gardening and grooming your animals, baking treats and new concoctions. the only exception is eren and onyankopon have somehow easily squeezed themselves into your life.

on your deliveries you hear, “howdy, ma',” they chase across their lawn and hop across the fence to drag you inside and sit you down in the warm house where the two eagerly pester you to try the . . . ‘shrimp alfredo’ they whipped up. 

thus, the two would end up in your kitchen, breathing over your hair whilst you instructed them on the proper technique. “naw, i don’ told E to do all'at,” onyankopon protests. so too do they pester mary-lou and your dogs, roughhousing and giving them baths much to their dismay.

through many experiences you learn, onyankopon isn't particularly fond of being tickled, or of wearing shirts. he stays shirtless almost all twenty-four hours of the day and you can only avert your eyes. eren is obsessed with overalls and has an array of them: gray ones, distressed ones, short ones, and he never buckles them properly.. on the ranch, the two gorgeous white haired horses were named armin and reiner, two friends they shared from college. sparkling like diamonds as you're given the opportunity to ride them each around the boys’ ranch in the golden sun. you'd also learned that the two were sexually . . . fluid, they'd called it. vaguely, they'd mentioned their sex lives and based on what they said you couldn't help but assume they were talking about each other. who else was there out here except you?

“yeeehaw! can't catch up, can'ya’?” eren howls and shouts as he trots across the ranch on his horse, ony lagging behind in the chase. here you sat on a wooden little bench near the steps of ony' and eren's ranch; clad in a simple white cropped tank and blue jeans with a chunky belt, your cream coloured cowboy hat sit pretty atop your head. a pretty calico cat licked at your bare feet and nudged you for pets. 

at this point, you felt yourself slipping. it was obvious by now you'd grown to enjoy each other's company and serious conversations were imminent.

what were we, how will the dynamics work, what would they expect from you? just then you felt a tap to your forehead.

“heya, girlie,” eren squats down before you to grab your attention, “watchu, thinkin’ ‘bout,” ony’ mumbled, toying with a toothpick between his teeth. 

you smack glossy lips together, “jus’. . . ‘bout us three y'know? how- like, where do we go fr'm here huh?” your eyes flutter, cheeks warming. you feel the silence actually, eren and ony’ are doing that stupid thing where they talk to each other with their eyes. 

butterflies flap their wings about, joyous as ever. it makes you smile a little, as you're beginning to grow nervous. “let's talk inside ma’,” onyankopon suggests, stepping past you into the house where eren follows. 

“me n’ ‘ren c'n take care ‘f each other n’ you, know that?” 

you all shuffle onto the dark gray couch in the living space. ony’ and eren's ranch had a deep modern aesthetic. dark oak accents adorned both the outside and inside, complimented by gray and brown shades of furniture. 

“i know that . . . ,” you pout, 

“so wassup,” eren stares you down, the emerald swirl of his eyes warmed your belly yet you couldn't maintain eye contact with him for long, eren just had that kind of stare without realizing it himself.

“‘m g'nna be frank, ion wanna impose on nothin’ y'folks got . . . n’ my past relationships ain't been the best.” you huff and continue, “‘m jus’ puttin’ that out there. i feel like we've been talkin’ for a while n' I'm fond of y'all.” 

“i jus’ don't wanna be the one to mess things up,” you finish in a whisper. 

onyankopon hums low and eren plays with his lip ring, “n’ das’ all, girlie?” he asks and pursed his lips, dimple deepening at that. you give a nod and a small ‘yup’ while intertwining your hands onto your knees that were pressed together. “y’ talk to us, we talk to you, got that? if it's an issue y'got: don't hesitate to let us know,” ony’ iterates.

eren makes a noise of agreement, “y’communicate everythin’ wit us, sugar, we're serious,” and you nod slowly. “‘kay . . . i get that,” your eyes feel a little wet with emotion, ones you're not too sure of yourself.

you were happy to hear them affirming their commitment yet still anxious for the future. regardless, you couldn't help but lurch forward, you grab the back of eren's neck to press a sweet strawberry jelly flavoured kiss to his cheek, leaving a baby pink glossy print on his cheek along with a loud ‘mwah’ as you smiled. similarly, you crawl over his lap to do the same to ony’ who only bit back a grin, gold capped teeth glistening in the light much like the glossed smudge on his face.

♡

inevitably came the days you'd call the ‘honeymoon’ phase in a relationship, except it lasted what felt like forever.

these days you preferred to be cuddled up in your bedroom, legs being warmed by a black, gray and white blanket you were committed to crocheting. with a couple dark, gloomy days where the usual creamy clouds frowned down on you, the animals often retreated to their pens and little beds of hay to seek warmed from stormy weather. buttercup and bently invaded each others personal space in their dog beds down at the living room, you smile a little at the thought.

“yeen gotta be like that, ony’,” you hear eren groan in a mischievous pout as the two men exit your bathroom smelling of your bath soap. onyankopon mumbles something of ‘’s a stupid idea’. you giggle under your breath, hands hard at work weaving and looping the thick yarn for the blanket. 

“ [  ] , watchu’ think, sugar?” eren plops himself onto the bed, “hm?” still fixated on your progress, ony’ huffs from his seat on the ottoman, lotioning his chest and arms then turning back to rub some excess onto eren's foot. “i told ony’, let's take the horses f’ a ride, ma’, he talkin’ bout ‘oh it's rainy’, i think it'll be chill,” he smiles big and winks expecting something of an applause for his great idea of fun.

“ion mind whateva’ y'guys wanna do, jus’ once we shower ‘gain after, ‘fore we get sick,” you shake your head at the thought. ony’ smacks his teeth, “c'mon, don't support him.” 

“what, playin’ in the rain is fun, baby!” you chuckle, eren simply props his head on his palm, enthralled by your meticulous work. regardless, he nods mindlessly in agreement at the discussion.

just like that, cowboy hats and boots were thrown on and you head down to the stables to round up the horses. ony’ and eren raced each other down to them before you could even get a word in. the thought reminded you of buttercup and bently who currently settled and slept with one's head atop the other.

the fresh rain smell hits your nostrils quickly, smelling of the humidity off the grass and pitch of the street. you could audibly hear the wind bristling about the bushes as it cooled your skin. all you wore was a thin white tank top, jeans along with your classic pink-brown boots to match your hat. eren and ony’ warmed up the horses, encouraging mary-lou to shake out her mane and trot a little. onyankopon was seated by reiner, rubbing at his legs to warm him a bit and doing the same to armin. of course, you stare unabashedly, his muscles (unclothed) bulged with each motion, waistline visible amid his jeans.

you stare so much so, that you don't even notice eren come up to your side to press a wet kiss to your neck, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives your ear a kiss too, “starin’ at my man, girlie?” he laughs boyishly and you swat him, “dat’s m’ man too, freak,” he gasps falsely at the insult and you speed off to grab the harness for mary-lou; ony’ pretends he didn't hear the bickering and mounts his horse.

“s’ not rainin’ all too much now, see?” eren comments, scooping his hair back into a low bun under his hat. the three of you clicked and clocked through the damp grass and onto the street, letting the drizzle of rain moisten your skin with each speckle. you gnaw at your bottom lip, lost in thought as you trail behind the two men. at the same time, another cold gust would brush past you three, drying your skin again. yet, as you flinch when a particularly large droplet mands on your cheek, the rain picks up again and you smile.

sometimes moments like these felt so good, connecting with nature and taking in the beauty of the weather. it didn't stop you from being distracted, eren's white wife-beater was getting soaked. the tattoos creeping up his side peaked through the material and stared right back at you. you bitr back a groan and cover your warming face with your palms, wiping it clean of rain, while eren and onyankopon fall back on their horses. the peaceful silence with nothing but the ‘tock’ of the horses’  hooves kept your mind wandering. 

now drenched, you could only imagine peeling off these clothes, a strap of your flimsy little tank top blew off your shoulder, and you felt the material sticking to the bulge of your breasts nestled in your black bra that now stood out ten times as much. god, you felt like a fuckin’ pervert. you couldn't even bring yourself to look down at your own chest, feeling scandalized enough. something about thinking of yourself in . . . near erotic situations such as this made your clit thump like a sweet little rabbit's nose.

nonetheless, you ignore it and allow the rocking atop mary-lou as she walks to distract you. onyankopon rides his horse nearer to yours and eren does the same, you gasp under your breath when ony’ nudges you. “wassup,” he murmured, “nothin’ ‘m jus’ distracted.” you comment plainly and eren huffs out a laugh beside you. 

all you do is stare down at mary-lou and pet her mane, the pulse between your legs pushed to the back of your mind. “y'so bad at lyin’, know that?” eren laughs, you blush and groan, “no ‘m not, shut up,” 

“chill, chill,” ony’ whispers, in his stupid, sexy, amazing, deep voice and you let out a big shuddering breath. as you're riding you feel ony's wet bicep brushing against yours. this had to be the end of you.

ony’ reaches an arm behind you, stretching to meanly pinch eren's shoulder. you're not sure what that meant but you didn't care to know. “where we ridin’ to?” you ask, rubbing glossy lips together. “mm, let's jus’ head to me n’ ony's ranch,” 

“kay,” you settle with that, sweet n’ soft.

“wanna race, jaeger?” ony’ slips in lowly, pulling ahead and looking back at you two with his. . . stupid handsome smile, “h- hey now, let's not–” and you're interrupted by shouts, “let's go!” eren pulls off.

you groan softly, hiking up mary-lou’s harness a bit as you begin to gallop behind the two men. the raindrops stung against your skin and you whined trying to catch up to the two and your breaths harsh. with each hard breath you let out you couldn't help but let it bubble up into laughter, you just felt so good. 

you felt giddy, blinking away raindrops that attacked at your eyes and racing past the two men, who yelled and called out to you, “yo, ma’ we gon' catch up,” ony's cowboy hat flies back behind his head, held up by the string beneath his string as he pulls the white horse forward chasing after you.

the three of you speed past grunge fencings and rosey bushes all bowing their heads now from the deluge. your tank top was completely soaked, and you imagine so was eren's when you pulled in the gates of their ranch and headed around back where you could free mary-lou to run around in the fenced horse enclosure.

you sit on the ground and linger near the side of the house by some plants, boots kicking about scattered hay and picking up sticky mud. eren and ony’ pull in the same time, wet chests heaving and eyeing you as they quickly hop off and lead their horses to the enclosure. “you win, watchu want?” eren huffs out, swinging his hat off and tossing it to the side, letting the rain seep into his curls. “hm?” you moan while rain kisses you, “i get a prize?” 

he nods and slumping down against the wall next to you and propping his arm on a plant. you take the time to stare at his pecs . . . light brown nipples peaking through at you. eren catches you staring, it forces you to look away quick and brush a wet braid out of your face just as ony’ arrives.

“yall chillin’?” 

“yea . . . mama's chillin’ alright,” eren smiles up at ony who lays in the grass beside you. “she baskin’ in her– win,” eren laments, reaching forward to tickle you and you bark out laughter lurching at him. his fingers pet your ribcage and you grab eren's shoulders, “what the– fuck! eren!” you squeal and wrangle with him. ony’ sits in the wet dirt beside you guys with his hands resting behind his head, basking in the rain and ignoring the shoves and pushes nudging him.

“i swear t’ god ‘ren, you– ack!” eren flips you on your back and you land hard with your head on ony's thigh while he wrangles your hands above your head. digging your feet in the ground for leverage couldn't help with the mud slipping beneath you. onyankopon only hums in amusement, watching you stop struggling beneath eren, your chests bouncing with gasps of air.

“you . . . y'know that's not fair, eren,” “i know what's not fair, sugar?” he stares you down, grip on your wrists tight with his chest pressing against yours. the swell of your breasts popped out of your tank top, glistening and sticky when it touched his skin. “mmm, you want somethin’?” he sucks his lip rings into his mouth teasing you, eyes wide and glossed over, throat drying. you lick your lips and slip from his grasp, sitting up and leaning your back onto ony's chest. just as you make that decision you swallow hard feeling his wet chest through your thin top. you wipe some wetness off your forehead evidently applying some mud that was on your arm to the spot.

you catch your breath, rubbing dirtied arms onto your shirt to clean them as best you could. you felt filthy but god, your fat little cunt ached laying in the dirt. 

“onyan'” you call out to the man behind you with your eyes trained on eren who simply sits back smiling impishly at you, “yea, sugar?” 

“wan’ m’ prize,” it comes out in a whine.

“yeah? ‘n what's that gon’ be,” he murmurs low in your ear, eren still hears him. you let out a ‘hmph!’ deep in your throat. then, you drag dirty hands against your tank top before peeling it off you and above your head, tossing it into some grass elsewhere.

crawling on your knees, ass arching in ony's direction, you gesture to eren with a finger, “come here, c'mon,” and you grab the back of his neck, kissing up his sweaty wet throat licking and sucking up anything your mouth touched. you press your lips to eren's, cold wet metal between you two when you let his tongue into your mouth, sucking it up when your lips lock hot.

eren groans into your mouth, hand gripping at your ass concealed by your jeans and he falls back into the mud. you reveled in the slick sound of your lips separating from each other, tuning out how soaked your jeans were getting in the rain. the ambient pelting sound on the rooftops only edged you on further, sitting in eren's lap.

“fuck, you're nasty,” eren mumbles against your lips when you pull away for a second, fingers toggling with the buttons on his jeans. he resists a big smile, elbows resting in the muddied dirt to hold himself up while you roughly tug his jeans down a bit. just enough room for you to reach his dick.

“see how she treatin’ me, ony'?” eren wipes rain off his nose, locking heavy-lidded eyes with onyankopon then down at you, “she roughin’ me up ‘cause she won,” he grumbles and you pull his cock out.

eren flinches when his dick is exposed to the rain, tan-brown tip oozing pre mixed with droplets. your knees dug into the mud beneath you, ass arching up. you stare shamelessly at eren's dick, letting the saliva build up about your tongue while you press a few kisses to the tip. his breath shudders above you, leaning his head back for the rain to fall on his face. “c'mon, pretty, do watchu want,” you grip him tight, feeling like your palm could memorize the girth and veins that popped out. then, tugging him up slightly, you slot your mouth in the gap between the bottom of his dick to his balls. sucking on the skin, you let you built up salivation drip down his balls, slurping the heavy sack onto your tongue.

you suck eren's balls into your mouth, swirling your tongue around mounds and his mouth drops open revealing his tongue ring. he grins, giving you a loud shameless groan, he was certainly showing off for ony’ who sit behind you watching. “suck it like dat, yea,” eren mumbles to you, licking the rainwater off his lips. he lets you have your way a bit more, focused on your features: the way the rain made your eyelashes clump together, the droplets sliding down your nose, to the spitty goop around your mouth all over his balls.

“c'mon, c'mon,” he pulls your mouth off him with a hand gripping the base of your hair, licking the splittle off your chin then kissing it into your mouth and swallowing your whines. “y' fuckin’ nasty, jaeger,” onyankopon mutters lowly behind you and eren bites back a smile. “filthy ass, take that shit off,” you up off your knees, flopping back on your ass where you fiddle with the buttons on your jeans. 

your cheeks burned, both eren and ony's eyes grilled into you and everywhere you touched got streaks of mud in it after having your hands dig into the sopping ground. on your arms, your boobs, eren's shirt. slowly, you shucked your jeans down, slipping them past your ankles along with your boots. your panties were stuck up your ass when you sit in some wet patches of dirty hay, tossing the jeans aside realizing you wore significantly less than the other two men with rain beating all over you.

eren and ony’ share a look then eren's the first to lurch forward gripping your legs with his muddied hands, pushing you back to lay in the dirt and kissing about the clear parts of your belly. he nips at the swell of your breasts in your bra, sucking and kissing wherever he saw fit. “er– eren,” he's prying your legs apart, pushing them ‘till your knees were besides your ears. “eren, stop–,” then he's plucking your panties out your ass and sliding them up your thighs, he stretches the thin little things beyond repair to sling them off your ankles. “what the fuck,” you whisper, eren's fucking unreachable n’ you're both staring at your fat puffy cunt. he takes a second to look to the side at ony’ before returning his attention to your pussy, sprinkles of water sliding down, yet the blubber of slick collected between your lips was noticeable.

the pretty thing was so fat your hardened clit could barely peak through. eren dips his tongue deep, digging at your hole then dragging his tongue through your folds illiciting a low gasp. the cold metal bar in his tongue nudged at your clit. he curled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, giving it a few flicks before spitting and licking another strop up your cunt. “feels– fuckin’ good, eren, oh,” you whimper, his gentle motions paired with the ambient beating of rain against your skin had you on a high. he shakes his head side in your cunt, arousal making sticky strings beside his cheeks as his nose nudges the fat of your pussy. “holy shit,” you press your head into the soft ground beneath you, eyelids fluttering shut when eren suckles softly on your clit. you hum and moan, licking your lips and feeling your head spin, “‘ren . . . oh my god,” he slurps noisily suctioning his mouth over your pussy, sucking hard over and over and over again relishing in the throb of your clit against his tongue.

“he knows, baby,” ony’ murmurs and your mouth drops open with a loud moan, his voice just did something for you. you felt the muscles in your legs twitch, itching to close them with each swipe of eren's tongue and swirling pleasure in your tummy. your hands dig into the dirt behind you, legs quivering.

“tastes fuckin’ good don't it?” he's mumbling and eren's groans into your pussy sends shockwaves against your clit, he nods vigorously. “ohh– shit,” you sit up on your elbows digging in the mud, hair soaked and heavy and your legs only spread wider; your eyes trained on eren's tongue making sloppy circles around the fat mound in your pussy.

eager, you slip your hands into eren's wet curls, stuffing his face into your cunt, “eren, eren– yea-ah!” his groans rumble in his throat and here came the fucking waterworks. your climax comes hard along with several slick kisses to your clit, beads of sweat and rain slipping down between a furrowed brow and a guttural moan ripping from your throat.

eren's mouth releases its latch onto you, your legs flopping into puddles of dirt beneath you. “prepped her f'you,” eren licks his lips and looks to onyankopon who sits there with a fat bulge beneath his jeans although unbuttoned.

“mm yeah?,” you both shuffle over to the wet patch of hay ony’ sat in, slightly less soaked albeit equally as muddy.

onyankopon gestures to eren with two fingers as he lifts himself up, brushing water from his face and allowing eren to take a seat against the wall. your eyes flicker between them, sitting with your butt resting on the heels of your feet feeling exposed. it doesn't help that eren reaches behind you to unhook your bra, your cheeks feel hot. nevertheless, you slip them off your arms.

onyankopon shucks down his jeans just below his ass,  “ [  ], come right here,” walking on your knees you shuffle forward to ony’ who puts a hand above the swell of your ass, pressing his bare chest to yours. ony's gaze is something serious, he bends his neck and clasps his lips to yours. it's slow, methodical and hot. onyankopon breathes deep and groans into your mouth. your body goes limp a little: drooping in his grasp and relaxing against his body as his tongue gently guided yours against his own. “mhm, okay . . . okay,” he presses a few kisses to your lips with a squeeze around your throat as he weans you off his mouth.

“turn ‘round,”

you whine, “w'nna look at'chu,” 

ony's unmoved, he swallows, “look at ‘ren, baby,” and he guides you as you turn in the slippery mud to arch your ass up to him, his palm glides down the small of your back deepening that arch while your head rests on your folded arms before you. the position makes it hard for you to focus properly on eren, you peep at him through your eyelashes.

your cunt is sticky, swollen lips bound together by the white film of your arousal after the orgasm eren gave you, and you feel ony's hands kneading your ass. he spreads them, watching your pussy lightly spread open with it. you hear his belt buckle jingle slightly as his hands continue to massage your back right along with the downpour. ony’ grips his cock in his hands, tugging the thick thing lightly a couple times. he catches eren staring as he pumps it harshly before pressing the fat tip against you. 

“fuuuck,” ony’ slaps his cockhead at your entrance letting it get coated by your arousal before slipping the first inch in slowly and already you're speechless. “holy– shit,” your cunt stretched to accommodate the girth and ony’ grips the curve of your back for leverage, letting out a guttural groan while slowly inching into you. 

he sits in it for a moment, allowing you just a moment to familiarize yourself with the fat pipe he just lay in you; then, he's pulling out slowly and pushing in again and you whine. “what the fuck,” you feel ony’ lean his weight over you, and you gasp as he starts smacking his hips to your ass.

paired with the wetness of the rain, his hips leave a stinging slap against you and you're faltering with your tits mushed against the mud. eren left your pussy sloppy, your cunt whipping up loads of cream slick around ony's cock and your mouth is just ajar. jaw tightening with shallow, whiny moans cascading past your lips, ‘ah's and ‘oh's are all the men hear. “mm, ony’,” you try to murmur, body giving way fully to the mud beneath and ony's grip on your tightens,”watchu’ want, hm',” he grumbles.

oh how he knows nothing of the way your clit throbs everytime his heavy balls slap against your cunt.

“wan'— wan’ it deeper, please,” and you gasp hard when ony’s hand comes up to your ass, digging his thumb into the curled rim of your butt before bringing a foot to the ground for leverage; his ankle beside your ear, you eagerly grab onto it. “got fuckin’ good manners, don't she?” he grunts out, and the other man nods. 

onyankopon gives you two warning strokes, pressing his cock to the hilt and curling his thumb inside your ass and you feel overwhelmed. then, you gasp in a loud sob  as ony’ starts drilling his cock deeper into you, his hips smack you hard and his weight presses you everytime he drives his cock in. “fuck, fuck–,” you're squealing, hands draw digs into the mud as you can't help but writhe against the mud. “feel good?” you all but whine in response, “feel fuckin' good?” “ye- yes!” you mewl out. ony’s muscles contract and you can see it in his leg, intent on keeping you from sliding away from him under the soaked muddy slop.

the noises are . . . obscene. pornographic bursts of air shooting out amidst the stirring up of your melting cunt and your cheeks burn with embarrassment along with fresh tears streaming but you're breathless. “so fuckin’ loud,” ony’ mumurs,  his lips curling into a smile when he hears the noises you make.

“m’– fuck, m’ sorry,” you weep and your walls squeeze ony’ tight. you feel a glob of slick collect at the tippy top of your cunt, the fat bulge of your clit and stickily drip down onto the ground with each rock of your bodies. “takin’ m'shit fuckin’ good, sugar,” onyankopon drawls low and you sob.

you hear him whistle above you and with  a quickness eren's pants come into view. he sits, legs spread with his groin in line with your face against the ground. he scoots forward enough so he can lift your head and replace the mud beneath your nose with the musk of his balls. “‘ren, ‘ren, ren,” you're chanting, itching for your orgasm approaching with each quick and sloppy drag of cock in you. “m” right here, girlie,” ony's pummeling you from behind and your drooly mouth now has eren's pretty tanned cock slapping against it. “holy– fuck, hng- shit,” you mutter out before you're latching your lips onto eren's tip, inviting him into your mouth. he controls it, gripping your braids and rocking your head onto his dick.

“c'mon, c'mon, takin’ that shit s'fuckin’ good,” eren praises when he starts to snap his hips into your mouth, matching ony's strokes. he strokes your soaked hair gently, juxtaposing the nasty aggression each rock of his hips brought. you gagged, muffled, globs of spit streaking down your chin as you relaxed your throat for eren's dick. in the same way, you're making a mess on ony's cock, coating his length in hot creamy release that trickled down your own cunt. “she's fuckin’ creamin' on it, E',” and you moan when eren laughs cruelly above you, “cream on y’fuckin’ cock, ma’,” he grunts.

each drag of cock against the ridges of your cunt, the slosh of your mouth had you moaning in a frenzy. “was’ ya’ problem, huh?” eren groans out, and onyankopon knows exactly what your problem is.

“mama's bout to fuckin’ nut, huh?” he can feel the extra squeeze around his cock and rolls his neck to let some rain coat his face and distract him from his own ache. they listen to how you squeal around eren's cock, hands grabbing at his jeans and ony’ pumps his thumb into your ass consistency. 

“mmm, fuck,” onyankopon hums, angling himself so the curve of his cock digs at you just right, and he smiles: satisfied when you start to squirm and fuss beneath him. eren pulls you off and you sob, coughing a little to clear your larynx. you whimper as eren all but ruts against your face. “keep her right fuckin’ there,” ony’ groans and you grasp onto eren's jeans, cunt twitching with each movement yet eren forces your shoulders back to keep your body where ony’ wants you: daggering his cock into you with a forcefull quickness that eren's rutting mimics. 

“ohmygod, oh!” you blubber out, chanting ‘shit, shit, shit's

“gon’ leave you fuckin’ gapin’, quit playin’,” and you weep.

your hips twitch and you feel the knot in your stomach stiffening, “wan’ you're cum, want y'all's c–cum, fuckkk,” wail into eren's skin and take his cock back into your mouth just as your cunt spurts and your ears feel clogged from the rush of blood to your abdomen. “take it, take it, take that cum, baby,” eren groans. you felt light-headed, stars twinkling at you around the edges of your vision as your eyes rolled and soon you were forced to blink away the brain fog to swallow the thick loads eren gushes into your mouth. 

he whines, unabashedly and onyankopon gives you a couple more strokes before his cock is digging into you to bury his surge of cum into you with a hiss.

eren falls back, letting you catch your breath and stroking rain away from your face. ony’ pulls out quick before you start to get sore, giving your cunt a few wet slaps before eren's pulling your limp aching body onto him to give you some relief. “gotchu’, gotchu’.” he consoles.

“c'mon, E,” ony’ rushes, “huh?”

“gotta’ get out the fuckin’ rain,” he puffs out a laugh before he's lifting you off eren. they both try not to slip in the mud, hurrying off into the ranch for long hot showers.

[jordiemeow]

Two guys for every girl. Once you boys get started you’ll be at it for hours. Come on boys, I know you’re not damn cowards.

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

summary: vying for one of the bridesmaids at their best friend's wedding gets a little out of hand, but they're tennis players. they aren't above some friendly competition.

warnings: smut, threesome, a trip to paris, throat fucking, drunk sex, tbh i'm lazy just generally 18+

Acting as bridesmaid for a girl you grew out of in college wasn’t really how you planned to spend your summer. Attending dress fittings, rehearsal dinners, bachelorette parties… but hey, free booze is free booze. And Megan’s fiancé Adam (soon-to-be husband) splashed out to pay for all the matching dresses. You reassure yourself you would have felt bad turning her down when she asked you to be a part of her bridal party.

Sure, you hadn’t talked as much over the last few years… but you were inseparable, once upon a time. She clearly hasn’t changed, considering the several breakdowns about table placements and flower arrangements you’ve witnessed over the last few weeks. And you doubt you’ll be best friends after this, but it’s nice to rekindle with someone who was a major part of your life, even if it’s not permanent.

The ceremony itself is beautiful. A beautiful stone chapel, austere lines evoking the early Christian churches of Rome; warm lights bathing the princess gown-sporting bride in an amber glow, stained glass windows glinting behind the wedding party as they read out their “I do’s.” The only modern element of the ridiculously elaborate wedding (yeah, Adam has to be fucking loaded) is the absence of any organ to reflect Megan’s aversion of them. But really, the harp just makes them seem that much more pretentious.

It’s the type of wedding children dream of. But there’s two people who clearly couldn’t give two shits about the white roses or the music being played as your friend walks down the aisle: the groomsmen. One blonde and one brunette, the latter of which is clearly bored of this entire thing, tuning out what the priest has to say and letting his eyes wander.

“Patrick, pay attention,” Art hisses under his breath from where he’s standing behind Patrick, and in clear view of his friend’s lack of interest in the upcoming vows. Considering the congregation makes up of several hundred people (who are definitely just here for the reception and Instagram stories), it’s embarrassing for him to be associated with a disinterested fool.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Patrick mutters back, with a low whistle that makes Art wince. “Just not to Adam and his gold-digging bride.”

Despite initially feeling the need to jump to their friend’s defence and insist he was perfectly capable of finding a wife—Megan was lovely, as far as Art was concerned—that train of thought vanishes as soon as he follows Patrick’s gaze to the opposite side of the altar. Standing behind the bride and her maid of honour, one of the most beautiful women he’s ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon… you.

He’s not sure how you manage to pull off the bridesmaid dress that the rest of the poor ladies seem to be drowning in, but god, you look gorgeous. A vision in pastel pink, even with that hideously large flower embellishment clinging to your left shoulder. Maybe Patrick had been right about Megan being a bitch for the last two years; nobody who loves their friends willingly puts you in something like that. And yet, against all odds, he’s ready to drop to his knees and worship you right here on the chancel. A true angel, illuminated by the mural of Mother Mary shining through the window. How anyone is paying attention to the bride when you’re standing right there clutching your bouquet of flowers is beyond him.

Patrick’s thoughts are far less pure, of course. Daydreaming about the sound your dress would make when he tears a slit up the back to see what colour your panties are. Fisting his hand in your hair and pulling those ringlets out of your pretty little flower pins, because why would you need those to hold it up when he has a perfectly good hand right here? Bent over the altar, crying out his name like he was your god, and not the Christian deity Father John was currently droning on about watching over Megan and Adam’s nuptials.

Both of them are half-hard in their slacks by the time they hear the priest rejoice, "You may now kiss the bride." Neither of them mention the way they adjust themselves in sync while stepping down to congratulate their friends and take wedding photographs.

Art gets to stand beside you in the pictures. He tries to make small talk about the happy couple, but his throat feels like it's closing up and he already knows he's going to look flushed in the picture album by the end of this. He swears he almost passes out from embarrassment when you regard him with a pitiful look as he stammers over his words trying to tell you he thinks your hair looks lovely.

If the looks Patrick keeps sending his way are any indication, he's royally screwed this up. And that little smirk he flashes as you rush off to gush at the viewfinder suggests he is absolutely going to pay for that fumble later.

He does.

—

"Dibs," Patrick announces, nursing a champagne flute and eyeing you from the opposite side of the reception venue.

Another intricately decorated hall with a local, well-known DJ Adam has connections with. Neither of them would care about the music if it weren't for the fact you looked so fucking good swaying your hips and grinding against another woman to Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls. They don't have girlfriends, but yeah, if they did... they'd wish she was hot like you.

"I talked to her first," comes Art's instant protest. He's already downed three glasses by now to quell his nerves, but it's only serving to make him more antsy. At least he probably won't remember any of this come morning.

"Yeah, and look where that got you," he snorts in return, mimicking the pity grimace you had given when Art restarted his sentence for the fifth time. That deflates Art's sails somewhat, and he mutters something about his friend being a dick under his breath.

"Fine. Go talk to her, then. I'll just sit here all by myself and wallow in my own self pity at a celebration of love. Knowing I am forever doomed to be alone."

Patrick shoots him a flat look for that, and Art visibly deflates. Yeah, that was a little dramatic, but he's tipsy and moping about how socially inept he is when it comes to pretty women at weddings. Give him a break.

"Nah, she'll talk to me first. We've been making eyes at each other for thirty minutes. I don't have to do anything."

"So... you aren't going to go talk to her?"

Given Art perks up a little at that, Patrick should probably be a little more sceptical. But he just shakes his head, sipping from his champagne and watching you laugh and excuse yourself from twirling around the floor with that other bridesmaid.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool…” Art hums in reply. Patrick doesn't even get the chance to reply before he's shooting off across the venue to catch you by the refreshments table.

Oh, that's how he's playing this. But Patrick said he wasn't going to talk to you, so it's his fault, really. That's how Art justifies it to himself as he dodges and weaves through dancing couples, tripping over his feet a few times in a bid to get to you.

"Does dibs mean fucking nothing to you?" Patrick hisses as he catches up to Art, just as the pair reach you.

"Hey," Art slurs, a lopsided smile on his face as he pointedly ignores his friend's complaint. "You look... really beautiful. I know I told you that earlier, but you're like... an angel."

Smooth, Donaldson. That's Patrick's queue to swoop in and save him from embarrassment, while hopefully pulling you in the process. He's not above knocking his friend down a few pegs if he really has to, though.

"We've never seen you before," Patrick says, giving you a quick once over that's far more appraising than it ought to be. It's hard not to blush and match the pretty pink alcohol-induced flush on Art's cheeks. "Friends with Megan long?"

"Uh... yeah," you reply, a little sheepish, plucking a h'ordeuvre from the table as you glance between the pair of them. Art isn't sure if you're wary or just amused. "We go way back."

"Really?" Art says, blinking. "Adam's never mentioned you before. Which is weird because he never shuts his—"

"So she's been keeping you a secret from us, then?" Patrick cuts in. God, his best friend gets so mouthy when he's tipsy. He's more of a lightweight than his fucking grandma. At least Nana can tolerate a few eggnogs without running her mouth.

"We just have conflicting schedules," you smile. "Not teenagers anymore, you know?"

You don't mention the fact you've hardly had contact with Megan since her twentieth birthday, where she deemed your gift lacklustre and cut you out of her social circle over the following weeks. Maybe that attitude is why she had been so desperate to have you as a bridesmaid in the first place—nobody else would stick around to deal with bridezilla.

"What about you and Adam?" You add a moment later, when both men giving little hums of acknowledgement. You pretend not to notice the way Art downs the last of his champagne as liquid courage before he gives his answer.

"Well, Adam's been our—"

"My friend since I was a kid," Patrick interjects again. Art sends him a look of inebriated betrayal, but the brunette is too busy eyeing up your cleavage as he talks to take much notice of it. "Our parents work together. Art's a groomsman because he's an extension of me. Fire and Ice, right, bud?"

A little nudge to Art's side, who looks thoroughly dejected at the depiction of his relationship with Adam. And the fact he's just come off as Patrick's little sidekick. So fucking unfair.

"... Right," he mutters.

"Fire and Ice? What's that?" You offer, in the hopes it'll brighten his spirits. It seems to work.

"We're tennis players. That's our nickname. A little childish, but we've been called that since we were kids."

"So you've known each other a long time?"

"Since we were twelve. Bunkmates at tennis camp," Patrick chips in helpfully, crooked grin permanently plastered on his face as he eyes you intently.

Well, they certainly have the build for it. Not that their suits leave much on display, but you can still see the way Art's muscles strain a little against the sleeves—his suit clearly isn't as tailored as Patrick's—and the way Patrick's ditched his bowtie to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt to give you a peek of his chest hair. And if the way he keeps reaching for h'ordeuvres to give him a peek of your ass every time he leans around you is any indication, that view is definitely intentional.

"So... which one's Fire, and which one's Ice?" You ask, glancing between the pair with a tilted head. Art seems eager to reply with a genuine reply, because he's just tipsy enough to actually be comfortable with you now, but Patrick speaks up before he can open his mouth.

"Why don't you find out?"

And, despite your better judgement, you intend to take him up on that. Spending the next hour at the reception taking candid photos and alternating between dancing with the pair of them; two gorgeous men on your arm, each equally as eager for your attention as the other. Suddenly, the last few months of Megan's temper tantrums feel worth it.

Not to mention you never expected Art to be able to breakdance. Five champagnes in and he's tearing up that floor, a far cry from the man who blushed crimson when the photographer asked him to place his hand on the small of your back after the ceremony.

—

When you all get a little too tipsy, they offer to walk you back to your hotel. You're all staying in the same one, anyways. It's no hassle. No point in sticking 'round here. Party would be boring without you. You can't remember which one of them told you that, but it was flattering nonetheless. Adam placed all of the bridesmaid's on the same floor, insisting it was the least he could do, but Patrick... well, apparently he has a presidential suite, so how could you possibly deny him when he offers to show you? That's the only reason you're going up to their room. Couldn't be anything else.

You trail in after them, heels hanging from your hand as you take in the sight. You're pretty sure this place is bigger than your entire apartment. Hell, the complimentary wine and gift basket on the table probably cost more than one month's rent for you.

"You look like a kid in a candy store," Patrick remarks, lips quirked up into a little smirk as he watches you ogle the sight. Both of them shrug off their jackets and abandon them on two armchairs, leaving you another sight to ogle.

"This place is... nice," you manage, eyes trained on the way Art is removing his cufflinks and rolling his shirt up to his elbows, muttering something about it being way too hot in here before collapsing into one of the arm chairs.

You almost make a remark about how it'd be considerably more tolerable if he just took the shirt off entirely, but Patrick beats you to that idea. Peeling off his own shirt and grinning to himself like a fucking idiot when he catches a glimpse of you admiring the way the muscles in his back flex as he moves. He even gives an exaggerated stretch and a groan to really seal the deal.

You have to take a seat and squeeze your thighs together after that.

"Nice is an understatement, babe," he replies. Babe? He's ballsy. Art is just drunk enough not to mask the exaggerated roll of his eyes he gives at Patrick's choice of words.

The three of you pop open that expensive bottle of wine and pass it around for another thirty minutes (with Patrick gradually giving Art less and less time to hog the bottle the drunker he gets), chatting about Adam and his stupid wife Megan and their stupid wedding. About tennis, and your own career, and who you think is going to win the Olympics this year or whether there are really aliens in the ocean. The kind of stupid shit drunk people discuss just because the conversation is as seemingly bottomless as the wine bottle you're drinking. You somehow manage to persevere throughout it all without staring at Patrick's chest too much.

"Well, I should probably go," you say, standing up (just a little wobbly on your feet) and offering a grateful smile to the pair of them. "Definitely going to be nursing a hangover in the morning."

"Wait—" They both protest in sync, sitting up.

You tilt your head at them, questioning.

"Aren't you going to sleep with one of us?"

Well, that's tactful, Zweig. Art reaches over to smack him up the back of the head, sending you a wordless apology in the form of a wide-eyed look, like a dog that's about to be scolded. But you take it in your stride, laughing as you pick up your heels.

"I don't want to pick between you. Seems mean," you reply. And you don't think you even could choose.

"You don't have to pick between either of us," Art says hastily. Even Patrick seems to be surprised by that. They've joked about sharing girls for years, ever since the Kat Zimmerman incident, but he never thought Art would be the one to actually suggest it. He averts his eyes when Patrick is searching for a towel after the shower, for Christ's sake.

But Patrick recovers quickly.

"Yeah," he chips in. "Don't you wanna find out which one of us is which?"

That gives you pause. Right. Fire and Ice. And judging by the victorious look they share at your silence, all of you are aware of the decision you've subconsciously made.

Your clothes don't take long to disappear. A tangle of limbs backing up into the master bedroom (Patrick's), hair pins discarded in a bid to yank your head back and mouth along the expanse of your neck, both men in just boxers before long. Touching each other in ways that are far from platonic but they'll both blame on alcohol and wanting to get the three of you undressed as quickly as possible.

"This is really ugly. I'm sorry," Art tells you candidly, as you straddle him on the bed. His fingers are tracing the large pink rose pinned to the shoulder of your dress, and you bark out a surprised laugh. The pair of you are giggling like idiots between kisses, insulting Megan's taste in bridalwear before there's a loud tearing sound, and suddenly you can feel the humid air hitting the back of your thighs.

That's Patrick. Doing the things he's fantasised about since he first saw you at the altar and ripping up the back of your dress to reveal your underwear. God, they're even better than he expected.

"Patrick, what the fuck—" Art starts, but his friend makes a kissing sound through his teeth.

"What? She said Adam paid for it. It's fine," Patrick mutters. "Besides, it was so fucking worth it. You should see the view back here, man."

His fingers trail over the dampness of your panties, the lacy white just as pure as Megan's wedding dress. If he wasn't already hard in his boxers (he has been since you entered their hotel room), he certainly is now. Pushing the fabric of your dress further out of the way and leaning in to lick a stripe over your panties, a low groan slipping past his lips at how soaked they are just from kissing. You would be embarrassed but... double the men, double the wetness, right?

Your hips jerk involuntarily at the sensation, a pair of matching moans escaping you and Art as it grinds you down against his clothed erection.

"I don't think Megan would be very happy you wore white on her wedding day," Patrick says, smiling against your clothed cunt as you push back against him.

"Fuck Megan," you reply breathlessly.

"No, fuck you," he shoots back. And he very well intends to. Both of them do, actually, given the way Art is whining and arching his back off the mattress in an uncoordinated attempt to get any friction against you. He's pretty sure he might cum untouched just from the sheer anticipation of it all.

Your panties go next, lost to the heap of the rest of your clothes on the floor. It doesn't take long for strong, calloused hands to rest on your ass, spreading you open so he can tongue-fuck your pussy. Mumbling something unintelligibly about how you taste even better than the wedding cake while your whines synchronise with Art in between sharing lips and spit. Stubble grazing your face and your ass, all three of your mouths too busy for any more wisecracks.

At one point, Art tries to snake his hand in between you and rub your clit, but the front of your dress is still in the way. He still makes the effort to roll his fingers against it over the fabric of your dress, and the sound you make in reply tells him he's at least contributing somewhat to the mess Patrick is making of you. He's content enough to just lick into your mouth greedily and swallow the keening sounds you're making.

"Cumming—" is all you manage to gasp out between kisses before you're clenching around nothing, and Patrick is lapping dutifully at your release. All three of you are groaning like the orgasm is shared between you. It's only when you're bordering on overstimulation and letting out pathetic little whimpers that Art realises he's still circling your clit on autopilot, and his hand falls back to grip the sheets.

"God, she's so fucking pretty when she cums," he moans, and you'd be offended by the fact he's talking about you like you're not here if you weren't so blissed out. "You should have seen her face, Pat."

"I'll see the next one," Patrick says.

Next one? Both a promise and a statement. Just hearing that has you whimpering as Art eases you off of him. Both of them help you out of your dress, a little more gently this time, and you have to ignore the comment Patrick makes about no bra, just for me? You don't have it in you to explain built-in cups and the power of pasties to a man right now. You just want to get fucked. It's only then, when you're all spread out and wanting on the bed, that you realise the wet patches in their matching black boxers (cute, you think) are just as vivid as the one that no doubt stains your lost panties.

"Jesus, you're big." You didn't mean to say that out loud, but you're in too deep to be ashamed about any of the events transpiring right now.

"Which one?" They both ask. The question goes unanswered when you start palming them both through their boxers, a chorus of moans elicited from the pair of them. (You all know the answer, anyways.) Hands grabbing at whoever they can touch, whether it's you or each other, until Patrick has the sense to yank down Art's boxers.

The protest dies on Art's tongue when he sees the way Patrick is eyeing his cock, flushed red tip glinting under the harsh hotel lights with the amount of pre-cum smeared across it. There's a moment where you all think he's going to touch him, wrap a hand around his closest friend's pretty pink dick and jerk him off, but then he simply shrugs off his own underwear. You aren't sure which one of you is more disappointed.

Everything is a haze from then onwards. You can vaguely hear them discussing positions as you kiss at Art's neck, red lipstick mottling his pale skin until it's hard to tell which stains are makeup and which are hickeys.

"We can't ask her to do anal, man. We hardly know her."

"Why not? I bet she'd like it. Fucked in both at once."

"Because that's... it's violating!"

"Oh, right. Because whatever else we're about to do won't be. Real innocent, vanilla sex with three drunk people in our fucking hotel room."

Fucking hotel room. The double-meaning of Patrick's own words makes him snort. The only reason they stop whispering back and forth is because you pull away, settling on all fours. Back arched in a silent invitation, pretty little ass stuck up in the air and arms braced against the silk sheets. They glance at each other, before scrambling to follow, with Art shoving Patrick aside to press himself behind you.

"Why do you get her pussy?" Patrick protests, sitting up and fixing his best friend with an indignant look.

"You said you wanted to see her face when she cums!"

Fuck. He did say that. Stupid logic. Well, it's not as if your throat would be unpleasant; he wonders if your mouth will be as welcoming to his cock as it was his tongue.

"C'mon," you whine, pressing back against Art's throbbing arousal. "Can one of you just do something?"

"D'you want me to use a condom? 'Cause my wallet is in my jacket in the next room—" Art starts, but you're already reaching back to guide his tip between your slick folds. Well, that's an answer if he's ever witnessed one.

Patrick is too busy getting situated in front of your face to make a comment about filthy girls taking it raw. Art's almost disappointed—he'd never be brave enough to make the comment himself. One large palm cupping your face, tilting your head up while the other slaps his cock against your lips. Whatever gloss they'd kissed off was replaced in a new sheen, one that makes him give a soft hum of approval.

"You look pretty," he tells you, and your thanks dies on your tongue when Art pushes into you. Easing himself in inch by inch, until you're practically drooling onto Patrick's tip. "God, what a fucking sight." For a moment, his eyes are on the way Art's face contorts in pleasure at the tight warmth surrounding him. It's even hotter than the way he looked when they used to jerk off in the same room at night.

"Open wide," he instructs, eyes flitting down to you. Smiling down at you with that shit-eating little grin and talking to you like you're at the dentist, not getting spit roasted after your friend's wedding. "Big girls take it all, right?"

You oblige, though—how could you not, when your senses are clouded by Art drilling into you from behind? A few more slaps of his cock against your tongue, and he's pushing himself in, too. His breath catches in his throat as the warm wetness of your mouth envelopes him—yeah, definitely just as welcoming.

You can hardly tell who's moaning at this point. There's something almost beautiful in the synchrony, the way your hands and bodies move against each other. Clutching at Patrick's hips, while he fists your hair, admiring the way the ringlets spill through his fingers like a waterfall as he pushes you down further; gagging at the intrusion in your throat while Art whimpers behind you like this is his first time getting pussy. Each of you are in your own individual heaven, while simultaneously in ecstasy together.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that—"

"Oh, Pat, she's so tight—"

A hand slaps against your ass, and you can't tell who it belongs to. Patrick seems like the most likely culprit, given how sweet Art had been earlier, but with the way he's ramming into you like a jackhammer leaves you doubtful. It doesn't really matter, though—they both know you enjoyed it, given the way you garble out a moan around Patrick's dick. You don't know if you're praying for mercy or for more.

He lets you come up for air occasionally, telling you how pretty you look taking Art's cock. Such a good girl, before you're being degraded for letting him fuck your throat like a slut. There's no time for arguments before his tip is at the back of your throat again, the sound of your gag reflex going off hardly audible over the sound of moaning, wet slapping and skin hitting skin.

You think you know now. Fire and Ice.

Art reaches around to rub your clit at some point, slurring, "want you to cum first. You deserve it. So fucking good for us."

Patrick makes a sound of disagreement, tightening his grip in your hair as his hips begin to stutter. Not because you aren't being good for them—you're so fucking perfect—but because he wants to be able to see and hear you properly when you cum. He doesn't have the vocal capabilities to voice that aloud right now, though, so he just continues to thrust eagerly past your swollen lips until his climax hits him. You'd be worried about the obscene slew of noises coming from Patrick's hotel room if it weren't a presidential fucking suite. God, why does that make this so much hotter?

He groans out your name—or maybe it was Art's?—as he releases, holding your head in place to ensure it's all aimed down your throat. The salty taste isn't foreign to you, but you still grimace. Patrick takes it as an expression of pleasure, though, withdrawing from your mouth and leaning down to press his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

"You can cum," he murmurs. You weren't asking for permission, but you nod anyways. Art's grunts of exertion are the loudest sound in the room, the occasional whine slipping past his lips when your cunt squeezes harder around him. Slick fingers circling your clit until he feels you convulsing around him.

You mewl with pleasure, bowing your head forward, your arms and legs threatening to give way from your arched position. But Patrick catches your chin and tilts it upwards, watching the way your eyes roll back as Art fucks you through your orgasm and your spit-slick lips part around his name. “Art, fuck, yeah—“ It's only after Art announces his own climax with a low moan and collapses on top of you that Patrick is kind enough to wipe the drool coating your chin away.

It's all a bit of a blur after that. Shared kisses between the three of you in the darkness when the light has been switched off—sometimes between Art and Patrick, though neither of them have any intentions of acknowledging it. Gentle caresses against sweaty skin as you lay tangled in Patrick's queen-sized bed, praises whispered aimlessly into the quiet of the humid night.

—

You're gone by the time they wake up. A walk of shame back to your own hotel room in a shirt borrowed from one of their suitcases (you don't know which), mourning the loss of that ugly dress you wanted to sell on eBay afterwards to cover dinner for the month. Neither of them speak of the events that occurred the night before until after breakfast has been ordered and Art has taken several pills for his hangover, eating room service on the same chairs you all sat on last night, their jackets still strewn across the back of them.

"I think that was better than either of us getting laid alone," Art comments, poking at his egg with his fork. Both of them are littered with hickeys, but Art bears the worst of it. He's pretty sure most of the marks came from cuddling with Patrick in bed afterwards, but he’s too afraid to mention it. Not a can of worms he wants to open right now.

"Yeah?" Patrick prompts, with a knowing little smile. Even tired and hungover, Art has enough wits about him to know that something is up. He narrows his eyes, dropping his cutlery onto his plate and sitting up straighter.

"What?" He demands.

"Nothing."

Art leans forward. "There's obviously something, Pat."

"Just... when have I ever not approached a girl I wanted?"

It takes a moment for Art to really process what that means. Last night was a pleasurable, drunken haze, but he does remember Patrick's words in the reception hall. It makes sense now—that bullshit about Patrick waiting for you to approach him.

... Manipulative little bastard. That doesn't stop Art from replying with:

"Fuck you, man." A pause. "... But I think we should do that again some time."