#do your best and learn your lessons then move on

[thatstoomanysausages]

My favourite activity to indulge in recently in non-stop binging The Crane Wives' songs, especially the new album, and tallying how many times I can somehow link the lyrics to Desert Duo.

At this point it might be a talent of delusion, and I am winning.

Here is a list of lyrics in the newest album that I am particularly delusional about (it's long. It's 2am)

(btw it's every single new song. I am tired as fuck)

Scars:

"All the love, all the kindness, all your best-laid plans/Couldn't stop me from becoming the way that I am" (3rd Life reference referring to Scar inevitable turning red despite all of Grian's plans to keep him alive and safe)

"A fatal fault at the start/Tell me it's inevitable that I'd end up with scars" (3rd Life, when Scar is quickly killed in the beginning by Grian)

"Nothing could have been done/Is that right?" (3rd Life. Conversation between Grian and Scar after the creeper prank)

"Nothing could have been done" (3rd Life. After Scars falls to red)

"Nothing could have been done/Is that right?" (3rd Life. After Grian kills Scar with his own bare hands)

"End up with scars from falling/Down, down" (3rd Life, Grian's final death via suicide)

"We were always meant to fall apart" (Not even one specific series. Every single one of them actually.)

Bitter Medicine:

"Are you ashamed of me, or did you buy what I'm selling?" (3rd Life reference about Scar's scamming nature and Grian's disappointment that hides the fact that he's charmed by Scar. Every. Single. Time.)

"Made my bed but I'll sleep anywhere, anywhere" (Wild Life reference. I think we all know. Pillows smelling like waffles? Yeah.)

Higher Ground:

"I gave up the truth and now I can't take it back" (3rd Life. Grian telling Scar that he was the one that brought the creeper over. Or. Double Life Grian if he ever told Scar about his Secret Soulmate. OR. Wild Life, Grian telling Scar literally anything about the wildcard)

"I didn't wanna hurt anyone" (Oh.)

"The corvids are calling/Warning the forest a predator is approaching/Am I in danger, or am I the threat" (Grian is often characterised as a corvid if not a parrot. Basically any scenario in Wild Life where Grian is warning Scar about the wildcards despite the fact that he is at fault of making them happen)

Predator:

"What were you thinking?/Shouldn't you know better?/You opened a door for an apex predator" (Any scenario in which Scar welcomes Grian into his home and doesn't think twice about the danger the other could be harbouring. His trust for Grian is unimaginable)

"I keep forgetting the lessons I've learned/So I keep getting hurt" (Before Scar won, he never remembered what had happened with Grian, so he went back to him for safety multiple times, teamed with him, didn't mind his company, not knowing the dangers that Grian represents just by existing)

"Your heart is a nasty place/I'm afraid to say no to you" (...Yeah)

"Keep your lies and your denial/I am fighting for survival/My heart is a changing shape/What if I said no to you?" (DOUBLE LIFE DESERT DUO TAKE ME HOME. The 'changing shape' line implying that their soulmates could change their soulbound partners if they really wanted to, and could adapt to being with another if they desired it)

"You took advantage of another anxious people-pleaser" (I can't keep doing this. Honestly, depending on your point of view, this could go either way for them in varying seasons, they're doomed in every universe)

"I keep forgetting that you wont learn/So I keep getting hurt" (And now it switches to Grian on this paralleling line. He forgets about Scar's undying loyalty and falls into the trap of his safety every time, only to come out hurting him or not protecting him like he swore to in 3rd Life. This line goes so hard)

Say It:

"Say it/If it's over, say it/So I can move forward/Please don't leave me in the dark/Praying for a wayward spark" (This whole chorus screams them. They won't communicate. They never officially separate from one another, always somehow intertwined, but neither will finalise their allyship. I need therapy)

"I'm haunted by your tenderness" (3rd Life Grian traumatised by the half-hearted hits Scar was giving because he was letting Grian win, he never wanted to fight, he felt Grian deserved to win because he had done so so much for him. He was completely smitten)

"And if we meet as strangers again/Would you refuse to meet my eyes?" (Grian internally questioning Scar after he killed him in the 3rd Life finale, harbouring more guilt than he can comprehend, literally)

"You know I'm loyal to a fault" (Scar and Grian interchangeably in 3rd Life...)

"I will sit here waiting/Waiting for the axe to fall" (Scar submitting his life to Grian after they are left the last two alive. And also, if you're insane for Treebark, there is a glaringly obvious implication of Martyn feeling incredible guilt after axing Ren down to red, even if he asked him to.)

Mad Dog:

"Keep looking for the end of the tunnel/Never seems to get any closer" (The two waiting as winners for the games to end and alongside it, their suffering as well. They will never be free from circling around each other, over and over and over again)

"We both know the ship is gonna sink/But I keep reaching for the shore/Never seems to get any closer" (They both keep reaching towards each other, knowing that they will never truly be able to be together, especially after the first time where they did, and it ended horribly for them)

Arcturus Beaming:

"My sanctuary to worship the pain" (References the panda sanctuary that Scar built to help the soulmates heal their bonds, only to never complete its purpose with the two that needed it the most, ironically including the one that built it)

"And I am tired of forming a cliff face/Inside of my chest now" (Grian remembering jumping off of Monopoly Mountain and the weight that it now burdens his heart with. This line is diabolical with the right context)

"I'm grieving all that I gave" (Both of them grieving the sacrifices they made for one another, their sacrifices only making their relationship more strained overtime)

"A mirror image of us here, but they're pointing up at our sun and/Asking themselves/What exists beyond, beyond, beyond, beyond?" (Other versions of themselves in different life series looking at their 3rd Life selves and wondering what it was like to be so tightly allied)

"But there's still time, it's not too late/Nothing will change until I change" (Grian's attempt at teaming with Scar in Limited Life, savouring the time he had with him before killing him. He will never change their bond, he is always destined to kill him one way or another)

Time Will Change You:

"Planting hearts in a grave/Pray they grow after it rains" (Grian burying all his allies, hoping that as he digs their graves, he can heal their broken bonds, the cracks only caused by himself. This can unfortunately apply to a lot of Grian's allies, but Grian and Scar's relationship tries to heal itself each season)

"Someday/Time will change you/You'll leave behind what doesn't move" (Someday Scar will remember and he'll leave Grian behind once he realises that Grian was never able to move on, and that his heart is still stuck neck deep in the sand where both their bodies laid at the end of 3rd Life)

"Give me a chance to get this right/I'm learning how to let go" (They're learning, but they'll always fail, no matter how many chances)

Black Hole Fantasy:

"There's a black hole in the living room floor/I keep trying to ignore, but it's growing" (Their need to team and interact is overwhelming, and the longer they ignore one another, the larger their need will get)

"If love is just a chemical reaction/Is there a pill to take? Something to quell this ache?/ Is this the real thing or a distraction/Is it worth the risk?/My life would detonate" (Mmmmmm I'm losing it here)

"I'm on my way to your house, I can't wait anymore" (Yeah.)

"My knuckles hesitate an inch away from the door/What happens when it opens?" (They've spent so much time apart and away from one another that they feel fear that the moment they reconnect, it won't be the same as it was in the desert)

"And on the other side is another life/A version of me with a spark in her eyes that I don't have" (Looking back to 3rd Life when everything was simpler and happier)

"You pull me in your arms and I feel your heart pounding/I take a step back to catch my breath/And we look at each other and double over/And laugh, and laugh, and laugh" (Yeah. Just yeah. This whole verse makes me sob)

Red Clay:

(Already I want to make a link to 'red' and Scar's existence in 3rd Life being very red)

"Blistering sun, my sweat soaking my clothing" (THE DESERT???)

"We don't have to do this the hard way" (We don't have to battle to the death bare handed. We don't have to.)

River Rushing:

"I know I can't grow with a hand around my throat/Hold yourself steady/Whenever you're ready" (Reference to their fight to the death in 3rd Life)

This entire song is just a narration of their fight honestly and it makes me violent.

[littleslaywrites]

pas de deux- variations | spencer reid x bau!reader 

pt 3 of pas de deux - based on request by @kakamixoxo

summary: while teaching the ballet class your substituting for, spencer comes in to “help”

word count: 1.5k

cw: f!reader, fluff

Having finally put together your lesson plans, you were on your way to teach the ballet class you’d agreed to substitute for. You had left work an hour early for the fifth day, Hotch not minding giving you the time off since you were consistent otherwise. 

Driving to the studio for the past few days, you felt oddly nervous. You faced criminals every day but were anxious over some baby ballerinas. You remember being in your first years of ballet, how you looked up to your teachers and the older girls in the studio. The girls were energetic, but eager to learn. You felt yourself saddened by the fact that today would be your last day filling in. It sounded cliche, but you were going to miss the feeling of teaching the next generation of dancers. 

After changing and setting up in the studio, you open the door to let the kids pile in. Whispered conversations between each other and shouts of “good afternoon, Miss y/n” fill the room. 

A few minutes into class, you hear the door opening, Spencer’s tall frame juxtaposed against the girls at the barre. 

“It seems like we have a special guest joining us today in class,” you say. Spencer walks over to an empty space behind you. 

“I came to help,” he says. You raise an eyebrow, recalling your attempt to teach him. Nevertheless, you decide to go along with it, introducing him as “Mr. Spencer” and allowing him to stand behind you at the barre in the middle of the floor. 

“Now we’ll move on to rond de jambe,” you say. The girls have learned the combination by now, so you review it very briefly before reaching for the remote to turn the music on. Spencer watches the moves, remembering the steps but having no idea how to execute them correctly. 

Seeing everyone else grab the barre and straighten their posture, Spencer follows suit. He suddenly realizes he’s the tallest in the class, feeling a little awkward. When the music begins, he follows along to what you’re doing, until he has to turn to the other side. When he’s no longer facing you, he begins to hear giggles from the students at his creative interpretation of technique. He can tell they’re trying to be polite, not wanting to make fun of a guest. 

The music ends, and you try to move on without giving in to the laughter, knowing once you do, you won’t be able to stop. “Okay, frappé is next.” You model the steps, taking extra care to show how you go from flex to point with the ball of your foot hitting the floor, thinking of Spencer watching behind you. You can imagine the way he was staring, absorbing the information. 

Unfortunately for him, even the best memory could not make up for his lack of knowledge. Even before you turned, you could tell he was taking creative liberties from the sound of his stomps. When you face him, you see the way he’s executing the step, almost tap-dancing. You can’t hold yourself from laughing at the picture, and the girls join in. At one point, he even managed to literally trip over his own feet. Giggling through the rest of the combination, you watch as he turns to look back at you, smiling when he meets your eyes. 

“If you couldn’t tell, I haven’t ever taken a ballet class before,” Spencer shrugs after the music stops. This makes the class laugh even harder. “Miss y/n gave me a quick lesson last week,” he defends himself. “Watch—“ he says, trying to do a pirouette. His foot only makes it up to his ankle and the turn goes about 90° before he falters.  

“I don’t think Mr. Spencer is dressed right for class,” one of your students says. You study his outfit: sweater, dress pants, mismatched socks (he took his shoes off at the door), and a tie. 

“I regret to inform you that she may be correct,” you say after looking him up and down. “You know, most people wouldn’t be allowed to attend class with that kind of dress code violation.”

The girls all shake their heads and shout out their opposition to that idea. “I guess we’ll let him stay,” you sigh. “You should be grateful for your backup, Mr. Spencer. Let’s hope you're better at battements.”

It goes without saying that Spencer was not better at battements. He watched your kicks reach the tip of your nose, thinking it couldn’t be that difficult from how easy you made it look. Intently, he prepared to kick, but his foot only made it about a foot and a half off the floor. This causes the room to break back into laughter, especially considering the focus that was visible on his face. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spencer, but I’m beginning to think a career in ballet may not be for you,” you say. 

“The reason we can kick higher is because we’re shorter,” a student pipes up, making you raise your eyebrows. 

“I’m sure that’s it,” you reply sarcastically, sending the giggling girls outside to their five minute water break before center. 

“It’s really a good thing you’re smart, because your talent does not lie within anything physical,” you tease him. 

“Nothing physical?” he teases back.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you snort at his innuendo. “But really, if you weren’t so cute doing ballet, it would be painful to watch.”

“You make it look easy.” You blush at his compliment, going to get your own water. He smiles at you, restraining himself from pulling you into a kiss, not wanting to embarrass you in front of your students. 

“I guess I better get back to work,” he says. 

“You’re going back?”

“I took a half hour break from my paperwork,” he admits. “I couldn’t resist seeing you dance.”

You thought your smiler couldn't get any wider, but his comment somehow does. He smiles back, savoring the joy he brings you. He loved seeing you in the studio because of how happy you were when you were dancing, even if it was a simple warm up at the barre. Similarly, his goal was always to bring the same smile to your face with his words. Every time he made you blush or giggle, he’d swear it was the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever beheld, more than any painting in a museum or poem he could read. 

Spencer always made you feel spoiled. His pilgrimage to the studio was just one example of the lengths he’d go for you. You’d scold him, but you knew it was just as much for himself as it was for you. Besides, whenever he’d sense you were going to tell him not to go out of his way to please you, he’d look at you with those eyes that he knew would make you weak in the knees (and the heart).

Ever the gentleman, he checks to make sure the girls are distracted before giving you a quick kiss goodbye. “You're a fantastic teacher,” he says before slipping out the door. “Even for a difficult student like me.” 

“Is Mr. Spencer leaving?” one of the girls asks as they all come in from their break. 

Returning your water to its place by the stereo, you say “Mr. Spencer needs to get back to work.”

“But he’s so funny!” one girl protests. 

“Maybe I can come visit another time,” he says, “once I get some more practice in. Then maybe I can be as good as you all are.”

They wave goodbye as he slips out the door, quickly distracted by the new combination you teach them. 

Coming home that night, you find Spencer is already on the couch. 

“How were the rest of your classes?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

Setting your bag down, you meet him at the couch and sit down. “Pretty good, less entertaining without you as a student.”

He smiles, placing his hand on your thigh. “I went to the bookstore after work.”

“Shocker.”

“I found a history of ballet. Did you know that ballet was originally a display of athleticism?”

“No wonder you’re so bad at it,” you say, causing you both to chuckle at your mean comment. Despite your teasing, his interest in what you love will always warm your heart. 

He closes the book, pulling you closer into a hug. “It’s too bad your time subbing is over.” He traces his thumb along your thigh. “I’ll miss seeing you practice your lessons.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead. Eyes closing, you feel comfort in his presence. Your mind begins to wander, comparing the comfort of his arms to the feeling you get when you’re dancing. 

“What are you smiling about?” he questions. 

“You.” 

He pulls you up into a kiss. He’s glad you share your life and your art with him. Letting you rest your head on his chest, he feels you fall asleep. He knows you’ll be annoyed that you fell asleep on the couch, but he can’t bring himself to wake you. He picks the book back up, only pausing his reading to look down at the way you smile in your sleep.

[gintamajustaway]

The fandom has gotten really dark since you left.. certain shippers are really aggressive about their ships to the point of bullying. I kno you’ve dealt with stuff like that in the past and you handled it all so well I remember reading some anon asks.. any tips n’tricks?

OOF, WHELP -- not sure I'll be much help given that I have no idea what state the fandom is in. All I can really say is that you're going to find aggressive shippers no matter what fandom you're in. My method to dealing with people like that was to just block them and add them to my blacklist. The only times I ever engaged with them was if they came at me directly (which rarely happened -- the more aggressive they are, the more cowardly they were when it came to confrontation) or if they put a callout post about me directly in the main fandom tag. I always clapped back at those people just because like lol if you've got a problem with my fics or my decision to delete them all, okay cool, I don't care, but doing stuff like putting a long-winded complaint post in the main tag is so childish and stupid.

The best advice I think I can give for this is to just not care LOL I sure as hell never did and still don't. Never will! Shipping is supposed to be fun and the people who actively try and take that fun away from others are struggling with issues outside of fandom, but shipping is their outlet so that's where their aggression manifests. Happy people don't care about drama over fictional characters, so go be a happy person! Utilize that block option and live your best life!

[rigelmejo]

Something that always annoys me is the idea only 1 language learning method works. Which is not true. While it may be possible that, for a particular individual, only a few out of many study methods may work well enough for That Individual to make progress and stay motivated... that doesn't mean all the other study methods won't work for anyone else out there, or that those few methods will work for every other given person.

Obviously if you've been studying a while, then you already figured out what kinds of things work for you and don't. If you're a beginner, just wading into studying?

I would suggest you simply look for study methods that: 1. Teach you new things regularly, 2. Review and practice things you've learned, 3. Include studying things you need for your particular goals (for example if your goal is to read X book then the study materials at some point should involve reading practice and some words the book contains, if your goal is to talk about Y then the study materials should include some information about pronunciation and words you'll need to be able to say).

As you can imagine, a TON of study materials will meet these requirements. And you can study a given skill in a LOT of ways.

(Reading is my focus lol so just for reading, a beginner might: do vocabulary study with lists or conversations with native speakers or watching shows and looking words up or listening to dialogues with a transcript like in a textbook or graded readers or a picture book with word labels in the target language or a video game with labelled objects in target language, all of those things as long as your vocabulary is improving or reading practice is happening would help you make progress). So to improve reading skill as a beginner: you could study with a textbook, a podcast with transcript, a classroom or tutor with words written down in target language (like TPRS), a video game, a TV show and a translate app on your phone, a friend you talk with (who either writes words down or you look up words you hear with a translate app), a friend you text with, srs flashcards like anki (provided there's text) etc. As long as there's new words, and/or you're practicing reading, the study method may work. If it works will come down to if you can stay motivated doing it regularly, and make sure you regularly learn some new things and review/practice things you've already studied.

So consider those things when you see people selling a study method as a product (especially when it's costing you money). Consider if it teaches you NEW things, and are those new things related to your goals, and how MUCH new stuff will it teach you before you finish it? Consider if it provides review or practice, or if you can use it's materials to review on your own making up your own method, or if you'll need to do separate review/practice.

So examples:

LingQ. Can it teach you many new words? Yes, thousands, since you can import any texts you want when you get done with their provided material (I have no idea how much their beginner material covers though in terms of words... I would hope 1000-3000 words but that can be researched). Is your goal reading? It's suited to reading, so you will practice and review often with it. Cost? I think it was $12 a month when I last had it, and the price may have increased. Is it worth it? Depends on a learner's needs. I found it was wasting my money, so I chose to use free tools like Pleco and Readibu apps - since those apps are suited for Chinese learners and have better translations, Pleco has better paid graded reader material if I was going to spend money, and both Pleco and Readibu let me import texts so I can learn thousands of new words just like LingQ but free. Now that I'm not a beginner, I often use Microsoft Edge to read chinese... since I can still click-translate words easily (all my web browsers have that tool free), and Edge's TTS voice is helpful for pronunciation and sounds quite good. I read webnovels online so Edge works well. But it's translations aren't as good as Pleco or Readibu, so if I still needed translations more I would use them. So... is LingQ a good study method? Its certainly a study method marketed to buy. Well... the method is suited to improving reading skill, at least. It costs money, which is a negative, but it does offer a lot. However: everything it does regarding reading can be done free with other apps or sites or web browsers on their own. So if paying money motivates you to read... sure. LingQ does have a few word tracking features a learner may find worth the money, keeping in mind the actual read-to-learn method can be done free without lingq. (Also... while LingQ is a valid option for improving reading, if the learners goal is speaking then it would be important to think of what study activities the learner will do OUTSIDE of LingQ to improve speaking... because I've seen how LingQ is marketed as "how to learn a language" but it's only focused on some skills. It has vocabulary and grammar in some sense, since you'll read a lot and encounter new words and structures. But it doesnt have speaking or writing practice at least last time I was on it. Those activities would need to be worked on, on your own).

You can do that kind of cost/benefit contemplating with any study method material you see being sold. Amother example: there's a beginner Mandarin course called Mandarin Blueprint. It teaches like 800 words. Thats all. It may be worthwhile for a beginner... who still needs to learn 800 common words. But if you already know a few hundred words, the benefit of the course is less, you'll need to find a new material to teach you more new stuff soon. And the price was like a few hundred for the course... which for me personally was too much to spend, when I had already learned 800 hanzi from a book that cost me 12 dollars and 2000 words from a free user made memrise deck. The course claimed to get a person speaking, competent, but anyone not a beginner would say speaking basically with 800 words is nowhere near the level of working in Chinese or just doing a lot of daily life stuff, or reading/listening to media. (Although for the motivated beginner if you're learning 800 words on your own like I was, its definitely close to the point of jumping to learn more words and start reading kids and teenager books, and watching easier shows if you're willing to look new words up). So to me... Mandarin Blueprint felt like overselling some basic beginner materials. (Again when I know several other things that teach beginner stuff either more in depth so HSK test prep classes, and college courses, or that teach beginner stuff to the same depth as Mandarin Blueprint but free).

Some study materials aren't going to act like they teach everything. I've seen chinese courses just for learning to speak tones better and general pronunciation - probably worthwhile if your goal is to improve speaking and a teacher could help improve the issues your having. But a learner needs to be aware for that course that they'll need to study vocabulary on their own, its JUST a pronunciation improvement course.

[dr-gaytorius]

i understand that the experience of feeling like a prey animal is very common on this website but i just am not very sure what you all mean. you're an apex predator? your body is a weapon. you can kill the vast majority of living creatures with you bare hands. what are you afraid of? i hope one day you realize how easy it is to make people blush

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Parental groups r weird, but I got the feeling like ppl r again violently trying to accomplish their own goals using children, to show off the school or their high morals u know. That’s may sound alien, but if I’m still a teen, and I actually want to discover the world myself, derive my own views and opinions, can I like go without those lessons of gender studies etc. Like I don’t want teachers/relatives and random people telling me what to do and what to think, I want to have a right to choose my own courses and be free with that. Bannings r stupid, but it’s even dumber to be fed forcibly with something I’m not ready to consume or waste time on. Does this go only in one direction?

I mean I'm definitely one who thinks there are happy mediums in every conflict, but most sides take the stance of "my way or the highway", so it's hard to really satisfy anyone without completely alienating the other.

I think it's important to at least approach the ideas of gender studies, sexualities, etc with developing teenagers because that's when they really start to discover themselves. Some kids struggle with labeling new feelings or confusion they might experience, so it would help to give them a stepping stone, which they can then decide to pursue further with elective courses if they feel it resonates with them or just out of curiosity. And, even if none of those ideals apply to them, it's still good that they acknowledge such things exist and normalize it.

They don't have to be full blown core classes from grade 6 to 12 about the entire history of transgender identity, just a semester similar to health class that kids can later on select electives on if they want to continue exploring those topics, or never touch again. You can throw in the story of the Stonewall Riots during the civil rights lesson without turning it into propaganda as to why you, a 16 year old, must now label yourself as transgender. You can finally acknowledge the contributions women have made in the STEAM field that had been ignored or miscredited to men. You can read the letters or love poems of famous authors and say they were written to their same sex partner and leave it at that.

It's not about forcing kids to be one way or another, it's about exposing them to different ways of thinking and normalizing the outcomes.

[iwudbutnah]

This so true 💯

Some people only come into your life to show you what love is not.

[woundedheartwithin]

I think people look at me wearing all black with band tees and sneakers and 14mm tunnels in my ears and think I don’t know shit about horses. And like… I’ve had my gelding for a decade. I’ve ridden him basically everywhere in every situation you can imagine. Yeah, I’m a core kid, but I’m also a certified horse girl, and I have the back problems to prove it lmao

[knaveofmogadore]

Hang..

[coolcoelacanth]

I'm keeping myself up being sad about people again

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[dwaekkicidal]

Lessons

˚ʚfwb!Bang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Just a regular session of your best friend helping you learn Korean <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, nicknames; ‘honey and good girl,’ pvssy slaps, playful ass&thigh spanking, Chris calls himself Daddy once lol, rough sex, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: max and I spoke about this a few weeks ago and it was soo hot so I wanted to write something for it,,, but then I lost motivation for it for a while😭 anyways hope u enjoy <3

OH and thank you for 700 followers!! (im late so now so ~25 away from 800) :''') I have something planned for if/when I hit 1k hehe, Love u guys :>

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After you had moved to Korea, you made it your sole goal to be completely fluent in Korean as soon as possible. You knew the basics and some vocabulary that got you through day-to-day encounters, but holding an actual conversation past introductions was rather difficult. So, this is how you found yourself in your current situation. Your best friend and fuck buddy of 2 years giving you weekly Korean lessons.

And this? This was a normal thing between you both. Sitting in his lap practicing while he sits there explaining things and kneading your thighs mindlessly. It was a normal occurrence! The only difference is you usually wore sweats or some sort of bottom that would cover your legs more. Today was one of the hotter days of the week, so you disregarded the extras and opted to only wear one of his shirts, nothing else.

His hands rubbed eagerly up and down your thighs, squeezing the flesh like he does with soft pillows. Again, it was normal, but today he seemed to be restless with his movements. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he mindlessly squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh rather roughly while he translated a word you couldn’t figure out. “What is up with you today? You’re more touchy-feely than usual.”

“Sorry haha. Had a long day so I’m fidgety.. And you know I can’t resist you in nothing but my shirt.” You only hummed in response. You believed what he said, but you also knew that he wasn’t stupid and that the apology was not for his roughness as much as it was for how riled up he knew you were getting. He was never actually sorry about being physically affectionate with you, but you both knew how you tended to get very horny when his hands were on you so desperately.

“Mmmm.. Let me play with you a little while you read, okay?” You shake your head and push your study items away, pulling a laugh from him when you mumbled out ‘Fuck that, I need you.’

“None of that hahaha. Focus on the reading, honey.” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaning down and biting into your neck. You groaned and leaned back into him, grinding against him in an attempt to make him fold in your favor. He let the first few grinds pass as he left hickeys along your neck, but the second your hands cupped him through his shorts he grabbed your hips to still your movements.

“Hey.“ The commanding tone in his voice caught you off guard and had your hands immediately stop in their tracks. “Stop that. You’re going to finish reading this text and then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

“It’s not that serious, Chris. It's just a few paragraphs, we can do it after or just skip out this week.. Plus it’s your fault I’m this horny anyways.” The attitude in your voice makes him narrow his eyes, and then he grabs your chin and angles you to look back at him.

“Watch your tone. And I’m not gonna tell you again,” His hand grabbed both of yours and placed them on the table before moving to spread your legs open for him. Then, he finishes his sentence and enunciates each word with a harsh smack to your bare cunt. “Finish. Reading. The. Article.” The last one comes off harder than the others and it pulls a squeal from you, making your hands shoot down and wrap around his wrist while your legs slam shut against his hand. He grabs from your inner knee and hooks your legs over his, keeping you spread for him, and he pulls your book closer again.

You can feel the teasing smile on his face after he places a kiss on your cheek and then speaks against it. “You only have one article left, honey. The quicker you read it, the quicker I can bend you over and fuck you into the table~” You can’t help but whine and nod. Once you look down at the material again, Chris’ hands that were previously rubbing your inner thigh move back to rub along your wet folds. 

Then for what feels like the next hour, but was really just 20 long minutes, you slur out the words in front of you as best as you can. Chris’ left hand swapped between drawing circles into your clit and pinching your nipple, while his right hand shoved fingers against your walls. And every couple of minutes he would swap between kissing your neck to sucking hickeys into your collarbone. However, you weren’t allowed to cum and any time you mispronounced something or took too long to read a word, a stern slap was sent against your clit. As long as you continued to read well, he would pump 3 of his fingers in and out of you.

By the time you’re halfway through the material, your mind is foggy and you’re almost drooling on yourself from the constant edging. By the time you’re on the last sentence, your legs are shaking and you're slumped against him letting out quiet moans. Your neck and collarbone were so red from his incessant suckling, and you were desperate to get this over with. And then, when you finally finished, he stopped all movements to place a soft, congratulatory slap on your thigh and massaged your hips.

“Good girl… Now was that so hard?” With that, he hurriedly clears the desk before helping you stand and then standing himself. The chair you both rested on was kicked backwards and your whole world spun as he suddenly pinned you to the desk. You whined as his hand held a tight grip in your hair and pushed your face into the table. His free hand playfully squeezed and slapped at your ass a few times before you heard his shorts and boxers hit the floor.

You sighed out his name as he teased his tip through your folds, silently pleading with him to hurry it up. “Shhhhhh… ‘Atta girl. You did so well, baby. Now let me take care of you, yeah?”

He finally sunk in and nothing but low, whiny moans left your lips as you clenched around him. His free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it in appreciation while he slowly sunk every inch he had to offer. Once he bottomed out he gave you only a little bit of time before his thrusts started, albeit slowly at first but quickly ramping up due to his own impatience. It doesn’t take long for him to change to an unforgiving and rougher pace, his hand still holding your head against the table.

“Fff-fuck.. Christopherrr-”

“Yeah yeah, baby. Daddy’s got you. ‘M nice and deep, just how you like it right?” You missed the way he smirked when you let out a desperate ‘Uh-huh’ in response, but you could feel the way it encouraged him when his hips slammed against yours with more eagerness. He keeps this pace up for a while until he feels you tighten around him, and then he changes to slow, deep thrusts that make your eyes roll into your skull. 

The hand in your hair slides on top of yours on the desk, intertwining your fingers, and he leans forward to place his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Mmmm keep squeezing me, Honey. Fffuck, juuust like that..”

When you’re tipping over the edge, he places a kiss on your sweaty skin and moans against it. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, okay?” You want to nod, but everything hits you at once so you can only cry out against your desk.

As your orgasm starts to fade into overstimulation, he fixes his posture and focuses on his hip movements. A squeaky moan falls from your lips as he suddenly bottoms out and the hold on your hip tightens. He threw his head back and bit his bottom lip as he came, attempting to muffle his whiney moans. He rides out his orgasm by sometimes pulling out and snapping his hips harshly against yours.

“Fuck… If that’s how we end the studying session from now on, I might consider this payment.” He jokes.

You let out a breathy laugh and he starts to pull out slowly, pushing you into the table as he did so. You take the moment to catch your breath when you realize he’s gone quiet and there’s the light feeling of breath on your thighs. Your head snaps back and you realize he was kneeling in order to watch his cum slide down your folds.

“Hey!” you whine and place a hand on his forehead, pushing his face away only for him to resist, so you use your feet to push him harder. He laughs at your embarrassment and stands up, pulling you to sit up as well and lifting the shirt off of you. He uses it to wipe you down before throwing it into your hamper and grabbing one of his spare shirts from your dresser. He steals a kiss before covering you in the shirt, then drags you to the living room to watch a tv show together.

You two spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching tv and relaxing in each other’s warmth. It’s no surprise when soft snores are heard and you look down to see his sleeping face squished into your chest. You huff out a laugh before you snuggle him closer. Then, your eyes get heavy until they inevitably close, and you fall asleep too.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

[peachylynnie]

sick

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: in which sylus sneaks into your apartment and finds you sick. yet, you're not resting. why?

contains: sylus x mc!reader (they're not dating but sylus is pining and reader is confused), reader is implied to be in college, slightly obsessive sylus, mentions of violence and sickness, suggestive themes, cussing, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick yesterday. what better way to rest than to write about sylus? do NOT copy or steal my work. sylus WOULD NOT endorse plagiarism :)

you don't want to admit it. you really don't. but you're sick. there's no denying that with how short of breath you are, how nauseous you feel, and the goddamn soreness in the back of your throat that didn't go away with the first sip of water.

"shit…" you mumble as you sluggishly move to empty the dishwasher as your roommate asked. it's bad enough that you were sick, but you were also stressed out of your mind. midterms have been kicking your ass this semester. big assignments have been piling up on your already heavy shoulders. in essence, this was a burnout month, and all that lack of sleep and unparalleled stress had finally caught up to you. in the form of a cold, that is.

"of all the times," you grumble as you struggle to stack the dishes in the cabinet. "why now…" indeed, this was a terrible time to get sick. how were you to complete all your tasks while feeling absolutely miserable? you glance at the microwave clock in desperation. 10:00 PM, it read. although you meant to sigh a breath of relief, you let out a painful cough. maybe you could finish an assignment or two by midnight. that way, you can focus on studying tomorrow, you thought to yourself.

you sniff as you return to the dishwasher to unload the rest of the dishes. as much as you were happy for your roommate leaving for the weekend to finally see her family, you couldn't help but feel resentful. why were you here struggling to do the dishes while she got to have fun? shaking your head at your bitter thoughts, you bend down, trying to grab the utensils from the dishwasher. keyword: trying.

the sudden pair of strong arms that wrapped around you prevented you from doing so. normally, you would've swiftly elbowed the person behind you and turned around to land a hard blow that would have them seeing stars. instead, you exhale shakily. you recognize the mysterious backhugger's scent. the scent of sweet wine and sharp citrus. sylus.

how the hell did he get in? you don’t remember giving him a spare key when you told him your address. you look behind you, angling your head to meet his garnet eyes. "i did not give you my address just so you can sneak in like this," you say, trying your best not to sound like you're dying.

unfortunately, the nasal tone of your voice does not go unnoticed by sylus. instead of offering his usual quips, sylus furrows his brows and unclasps his right arm from your waist. you try not to flinch at the chill of his slender fingers touching your forehead. he frowns. "you're sick."

you immediately avert your gaze. "i'm not sick," you mutter as you try to bend down once more to grab the stupid utensils from the dishwasher. sylus doesn't let go. this time, he spins you around with his left arm, making sure that he can see you properly.

"you're burning up, sweetie." sylus says as flips the hand on your forehead for good measure. "you're sick and you know it."

you roll your eyes, squirming to get out of his grip. you did not want sylus to see you like this. a sick, miserable mess incapable of doing something as simple as emptying the dishwasher. you had an image to uphold after all. being vulnerable with someone like him could mean getting hurt again. last time you were vulnerable with someone… well, let's say you learned your lesson.

weakly, you push at sylus' arm around your waist with your small hands. you try not to think about how minuscule they looked next to sylus' deliciously veiny forearms. great, you're sick, and your mind decides to lust after sylus' arms. you shiver at your thoughts and attempt to push sylus' grip away once more. normally, escaping sylus' hold would be a reasonable task for you. after all, your sparring sessions with him prepared you to get out of sticky situations. but you were sick and exhausted out of your mind. all you could manage was a feeble squirm.

sylus' gaze moves from his hand on your forehead to your eyes. your half-lidded baggy eyes. his frown deepens. you looked extremely fatigued. your face was noticeably pale, and your intake of breath was short. not to mention, sylus could see the slight wince of pain whenever you tried to swallow your saliva. sylus sighs as he removes his hand on your forehead and replaces it with his own. you were neglecting yourself again.

under normal circumstances, you would've shied away from sylus' physical advancements. his hand on the small of your back? an immediate flinch and glare, signaling him to stop. a tap on the crown of your head? a swift jerk of your neck and avoidance of eye contact. instead—again, you blame it on your exhaustion—you tiredly close your eyes, relishing in sylus' cool forehead against your heated one. no resistance to be shown.

you don't see it, but sylus' sharp eyes soften at the sight of you accepting his touch. even with the eye bags and ghastly skin, you looked ethereal. like an angel sent from heaven to save him from his own solitary hell. as much as he wants to savor this moment of you finally giving into his touch, sylus knows what he must do. you're unwell and unrested. you need to be in bed immediately.

"you should be in bed, sweetie." sylus murmurs as he pulls away from your forehead. you try not to sulk at the loss of the soothing chill of his skin. though, not without feeling conflicted because why you would even sulk about him? for god's sake, he was a criminal. he's taken countless lives. not to mention, he choked you upon meeting you, called you a disappointment, and tried to alter you after three straight days of relentless attempts at a forced resonation… just thinking about him drives you nuts and being driven nuts is the last thing you want right now.

"i'm fine, sylus." it was your turn to pull away, trying to put as much distance between you two as his firm grip around your waist would allow. "besides, nothing a little old tea can't fix."

with that, you turn to face the dishwasher and reach for the utensils for the umpteenth time of the night. sylus sighs and pinches his nose bridge with his free hand. as much as he admired your stubbornness, he could not help but resent it at times like these. times when you were in desperate need of a break. before you can grab the utensils, you feel yourself get lifted off the ground effortlessly.

sylus' arm on your waist had moved to your shoulder, and his other arm was hooked under your thighs. he had you in bridal style in less than a second. your eyes widen, realizing the sudden change in positions. "what are you doing?!" you cough painfully. "put me down!"

you do your best to escape sylus' new grip on you by kicking your legs and squirming uncontrollably, but it was hopeless. you were weakened due to your sickness, and sylus was determined to make sure you looked only at him instead of the goddamn dishwasher. one more look at it, and he swears he's gonna break it with his evol.

quickly and confidently, sylus exits the kitchen with you in his arms and arrives at what he guesses is your shared bedroom with your roommate. he tries not to get distracted by the fact that this is his first time in your room. god, the entire space smelled so much like you, he wanted to become one with it and watch you forever and ever. dismissing his intrusive thoughts, sylus gently places you down on your bed and starts to cover you in your blanket.

"wait, sylus," you start, trying to get up. "i have to empty the dishwasher. i have homework, too." sylus tuts as he shakes his head, his messy silver locks following suit. although he doesn't respond, sylus continues to spread out your blanket. you furrow your eyebrows at his strange behavior. "sylus…" you whine. you actually whined. something you never thought you would do, especially in front of sylus. you could feel his intense gaze prick at you like little needles. you avoid his gaze, hoping to hide your flustered state.

adorable. that's what you are. incredibly adorable to the point sylus wants to grab your chin and force you to look at him as he coaxes more and more of your pretty whines out of you.

trying to fight his indecent thoughts, sylus locks eyes with you, a firm yet pleading look on his face. "you need to rest, sweetie," he leans in to adjust your pillow. "you won't get anything done in this state." you try to protest again, but sylus beats you to it. "rest. i'll take care of everything."

well, fuck. how can you say no when sylus, in all of his gorgeous glory, is centimeters from your face, telling you that he will take care of everything and asking you to do the one thing you've been longing to do for a very long time? besides, you felt sleepy ever since sylus took you in his arms. just this once. just this once, you'll allow yourself to be vulnerable with him. so that you can rest, of course. totally not because sylus had a way of comforting you so sweetly and breaking your defensive walls so charmingly.

your labored breathing slows as you cautiously nod. "fine," you yawn. "the utensils go in the very left drawer of the island while the pots and pans go in the stove oven, and…" you can feel sleep beckoning for you as you continue to list instructions. sylus can't help the grin that appears on his face as he watches your cute blinks grow in intervals.

"noted, sweetie." he caresses a stray hair strand out of your face. "i'll make sure everything is back where they belong." like you to him. though, he doesn't say that part out loud. maybe another day. when you are no longer wary of him and are willing to acknowledge his very obvious affection for you. deep in his fantasy, sylus almost misses your cute snores. he chuckles, taking this chance to admire you now that you've fallen asleep.

you truly were an angel. the way your eyebrows furrowed here and there in your sleep. the way your plump lips parted at times. the way your button nose twitched sporadically. oh, sylus loved it all. he could watch you sleep forever. but he had a better task at hand: to take care of you. he assured you that he would take care of everything. and sylus is a man of his words. carefully to not wake you, sylus cups your face with his right hand. closing his eyes, he places a delicate kiss on your forehead.

"rest well, sweetie. i'll see you soon."

[canihaveacalmtime]

Imagine yourself as the neglected youngest prince/princess of a powerful empire, after being deemed for harming the king's favorite child, you were sent to the underground dungeon to have you learn your lesson but that lesson which suppose to only long for 2 weeks turned into 2 years of torture for you.

So when the truth was revealed that it was a duke's family that was behind the attack of the king's favorite child, they remembered about you and realized that it's been two years since they last seen you, it just hits them hard the moment they knew that you were still in the dungeons.

When they arrived at your cell, they were devastated to see how brutally beaten up you are and you look like you haven't had any food for weeks, even months. Quickly, the king order that you be treated immediately and called the royal doctor.

As you lay limp on the bed in your new bedroom, the doctor said that your condition now is even worse than any othet patient the doctor has ever treated, worse than the knights who came back from war even and you are 10, only 10 years old. Your family can only pray for your recovery now while drowning themselves in guilt and regret.

One early morning, when your sister, the king's favorite child yeah, came to check on you and she almost cried when she saw you sitting on the bed, looking outside the window. You're awake and moving, so she immediately go and tell the others.

After that was the beginning days of all the family members to try and attempt to get your attention and fight each other over for who will be the one to pamper and take care of you. You on the other hand just doesn't budge from what they've been doing, it's like you are just a living body without a living soul.

Everyday, you have to hear them apologize to you, tell you sweet things and comfort you, try their best to lessen the wounds on your body and you're becoming sick of those things. You only want to know why they are wasting their time on you while they can just left you back in the maid headquarters where your old room is then left to rot in there, won't it be better?

So as a protest, you did the unthinkable, you tried to unalive yourself by jumping off of the balcony and let's just say they were not happy about that one bit.

At first, you just did it once so they make sure the maids will always have their eyes on you to prevent you from doing such things again until your second attempt comes with you tried to stab yourself with a piece of glass then another, then another and another. They were getting really tired of what you were doing and finally settled down to an agreement.

Make sure to don't be too panic when you wake up the next day to see your hands cuffed and the chain on your leg connect to the bed frame. Even when you tried to refuse to eat, they will just force feed you without making you hurt. Eventually, you snapped and broke down one day just screaming and crying at them, saying that why don't they just kill you already, you are so tired of everything and the pain never fade.

Your mother holds and kiss your face, making you not notice the syringe has been plugged into your neck as you slowly losing consciousness, the only thing you hear before blacking out was-

"You shall never leave our side, sweetheart. Even if the lengths we are going to keep you here is overdose, we just have no option left if you don't cooperate. Sleep tight, we love you."

[strcwbrryklss]

Could u do a fic similar to ur mustang fic, but the storyline being she moves next to him and her brother and him get close cos her mum begins to become friends with his mum so she has to come over a lot and ends up being obsessed with him

୨୧﹕ privacy .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; au!nicholas chavez x fem!reader contains ; 80s alternate universe , brother’s best friend , tension. a/n ; 1980s alternate universe where nicholas is a rich kid. summary ; after y/n’s family moves house, her neighbour (and brother’s best friend) catches her eye.

THERE’S SOMETHING SO attractive about a man who is forbidden. maybe it’s the fantasy of it: the yearning for something that is just out of reach. it’s almost as if you’re looking at him through a glass wall, but all you can do is look.

y/n laid on her bed in front of her window, looking into the house next door. coincidentally, nicholas’ bedroom window was opposite her’s. she wasn’t sure he realised yet, but she sure did, and the lack of curtains on his end didn’t help.

she’d glance outside her window for a moment sometimes and be met with the sight of him and a girl, a different one every time. and it’s not that y/n was nosey, but what type of jerk brings a new girl home every other day?

whatever, it was none of her business. her fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of hair as her mind wandered. suddenly, the shrill ring of the house phone cut through the peaceful haze of her afternoon. she groaned, tossing the magazine aside, and reluctantly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It was always a race to answer the phone before someone else picked up or, worse, before the answering machine clicked on. downstairs, she heard it ring again, and she bolted for the hallway.

her feet hit the marble steps, carefully rushing down them in order to not slip (trust me, she’s learned her lesson) as she took them two at a time, and she reached for the phone just as it rang a third time. the long, coiled cord dangled like a snake as she brought the heavy receiver to her ear.

“hello?” she sighed.

“hey, y/n, it's me,” her brother's voice crackled through the line.

the girl rolled her eyes. he had been out all day, probably hanging out with his basketball friends from down the street. “what do you want?”

“i, uh... i left my watch at the chavez'.”

“okay?” she leaned against the doorframe, already regretting picking up the call.

“in the bathroom,” he added sheepishly. “i kinda need you to go get it for me.”

y/n rolled her eyes. “you want me to go to the neighbors' house and ask them for your stupid watch?”

“please?” he sounded desperate. “mom’s gonna freak if she finds out i lost it again. it’s the one grandma got me, remember?”

y/n sighed dramatically, twisting the cord around her fingers. she hated doing her brother’s errands. “why don't you go get it?”

“i'm, uh, not really around right now.”

“not around?” she scowled, though she knew he couldn't see it. “what, are you in another dimension or something?”

“i'm at the arcade,” her brother admitted. “and i can’t leave right now i’m with someone”

y/n gasped jokingly before mocking him, “you’ve got a girlfriend, you’ve got a girlfri-”

“shut up” he responded.

“why don’t you ask nick?” she moved on.

“if i call their phone his mom might pick up and i’ll have to explain and then she might tell-” he rambled before being cut off by the annoyed groan of his sister.

she could practically hear the grin on his face, knowing he'd dodged responsibility again. she thought about arguing but decided it wasn't worth the effort. “fine,” she huffed. “but you owe me.”

“alright, thanks bye!” her brother said quickly, relief flooding his voice before quickly hanging up on her.

with that, she made her way across the manicured lawns toward nick’s place. his family’s house, a massive mediterranean-style mansion, was just a short walk away. she’d been over a few times for pool parties and get-togethers, but it was always when his parents were throwing some lavish event. now, though, it was quiet, and she wasn’t sure if anyone was even home.

the front door was open slightly, and y/n knocked, stepping into the cool air-conditioned hallway when there was no answer.

“nicholas?” she called out, but was greeted by silence, except for the distant hum of music playing from somewhere upstairs.

the girl figured he must be in his room or something, so she headed up the grand staircase, walking down the hallway towards the bathroom her brother had mentioned. the marble floors were cool beneath her feet, and the whole house had that expensive, freshly cleaned smell that only rich homes seemed to have. don’t get me wrong, y/n was rich, but not this rich.

as she reached the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, steam seeping out into the hallway. before she could knock, the door opened, and there stood nick, freshly out of the shower, a towel hanging loosely around his waist, his skin still glistening with water droplets.

y/n froze.

his eyes widened, clearly just as surprised to see her. his hair was damp, hanging messily over his forehead, and the sight of him standing there, looking every bit like a golden god, left y/n momentarily speechless.

“y/n?” he said, his voice smooth but amused. “what are you doing here?”

she swallowed, trying to find her voice. “um, my brother… he left his watch here earlier. i came to get it.”

nick chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, his towel shifting dangerously low on his hips, revealing his very noticeable v-line. “ah, the infamous watch.” he nodded back toward the counter inside the bathroom. “it’s right there.”

she glanced past him and spotted the watch sitting next to the sink. but her eyes didn’t stay on the watch for long, not with nicholas standing right in front of her like that, all muscles and damp skin. she could feel her cheeks heating up, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“thanks,” she mumbled, stepping forward to grab it, but not before catching the faint scent of his aftershave. it was intoxicating.

just as she reached for the watch, he shifted, his arm brushing against hers. she couldn’t help but look up, meeting his eyes, which were gleaming with that signature smirk of his.

“you know,” he said, his voice low, “you didn’t have to come all the way over here for that. i could’ve brought it over later.”

her heart was racing now, and she tried to play it cool. “i didn’t want to bother you”

nick raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “bother me? y/n, you’re never a bother, you’re my best friend’s sister after all.” his gaze lingered on her for a moment, the air between them thick with tension.

she quickly snatched the watch off the counter, stepping back. “well, i’ve got it now, so I’ll just…go.”

the boy chuckled, taking a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “you don’t have to rush off. why don’t you hang out for a bit? i was about to make some food, and i could use some company.”

she hesitated, the idea of staying here, alone with nick, both thrilling and terrifying. the way he was looking at her — like she was the only thing in the room that mattered — made it hard to think straight.

“i don’t know,” she said, biting her lip.

he grinned, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “come on, y/n. stay.”

it wasn’t really a question.

and before she could talk herself out of it, she nodded.

[coryosbaby]

Life Lessons

Synopsis: helping your best friend fuck your girl can’t be that weird, right?

♡ Content warning . Threesome, pnv, anal (f recieving), degradation, sub! Reader, switch! Coriolanus, dom! Sejanus, creampie, multiple orgasms

Notes: a lil switch! Bisexual! Coryo moment?! Maybe.

Sejanus is his best friend.

Coriolanus’ thoughts run wild with these words, and he thinks consistently and wonders incredibly why his best friend has allowed him to do this— or why Coriolanus himself agrees to this in the first place. Your thighs lay open, skirt and underwear discarded on the bedroom floor, as Coriolanus sits between them. Your cunt is achy and swollen, begging for a cock to fill it while Sejanus lays underneath you. His dick sits throbbing inside your ass as he waits for Coriolanus to slide himself into your wet heat. He waits patiently and coos into your ear as you squirm on him.

“I know,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Give him some time, baby, okay? Coryo’s new to this, he’s learning.”

Yes, ladies and gentleman, you heard that right: Coriolanus Snow, the handsome, perfect, golden boy of the capital, is a virgin. And now, he’s letting his best friend’s girl pop his cherry.

And sure, his ego is deflating right now as he strokes his cock and watches Sejanus’ experience. He’ll get that ego back up, though, once he learns. He’ll make sure he outdoes Sejanus in every aspect— he’ll show him, alright.

He growls at that comment, perceived as a snide remark to the blonde even though Sejanus didn’t mean it that way. His cockhead drips with precum and he rubs over it with his thumb as he presses himself against your entrance.

“Shut up, Sejanus,” he grunts. “Know what I’m doing..”

And obviously, he doesn’t. His cock clumsily slips against your hole, making you whine and clench in an attempt to suck his cockhead into you. His chest heaves and he lets out a frustrated sound. But not before his brows furrow and he’s saying, “What are you doing?” to Sejanus as the other boy tries to reach out and touch his cock over your shoulder. He pulls his body out of reaching distance, and Sejanus rolls his eyes and attempts to grab him again. Coriolanus slaps his hand away, confusion glazing his features. Calmer now, Sejanus holds out his hand and his eyes grow soft as Coriolanus’ face flushes with embarrassment.

“Cmon,” Sejanus says. “Trust me, Coryo.”

And he does. He trusts him so much that he can’t have room to trust anyone else. So hesitantly, shyly, he grabs Sejanus’ fingers after a moment, and settles them around the base of his cock. He moves his hips forward as Sejanus easily finds your hole without even having to look. He presses the tip of Coryo’s cock into you, and his mouth falls open at the new sensation. You look up at him with doe eyes, and although your true love is Sejanus, you’re happy that you can help Coryo take what he needs.

“Fuck..” Coriolanus grunts, shaky, pressing himself further and further into you. “Is it always this…tight?”

Sejanus chuckles, lifting his hips as if remembering the feeling of your cunt.

“Always. Especially with her. She’s always grippin’ my cock like a fuckin’ vice.” And then after a moment, a small grunt sounds from him as he grips your ass cheeks in his hands. “Even back here.. still has such a tight little hole.”

Coriolanus groans, his hips rocking into you. His balls press against your skin, and he’s all the way inside now. But it feels so good, he doesn’t want to blow his load in the next five seconds, so he goes as slow as possible. You mewl against Sejanus as he begins to move, his cock pummeling your tight little asshole while Coryo begins to speed up his thrusts in your weepy cunt. He can’t help it, now. Your pussy feels too good.

Sejanus watches as Coryo grabs your thighs desperately with his hands, and smiles.

“That’s it. Fuck her just like that.”

And god, Coryo knows it’s fucked up but Sejanus’ approval just makes him even more desperate. He grunts as he watches your cunt swallow him whole.

“Coryo,” you cry out to him. “Please, hard. Wan’ it hard in my pussy, give it to me..”

Coryo becomes confident, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“Yeah?” He whispers. He begins to pummel you, skin slapping skin, shoving his nose right into your neck, and he doesn’t care if he isn’t giving Sejanus room to move. All he’s thinking about is how good your walls feel wrapped around him. “Greedy bitch wants another guy’s cock in her tight little pussy?”

You moan, nodding your head yes, and sejanus’ hands wrap around your neck suddenly. His cock twitches in you, the sight of his girl getting fucked by his best friend turning him on a lot more than he cares to admit.

“Kiss him,” he breathes. “Kiss him, baby, let me see.”

And of course you obey, your lips colliding with Coriolanus’ desperately, your tongue scraping the roof of his mouth as throaty moans sound from him. His cock kicks, once, twice, and he’s cumming and it’s the greatest sensation he’s ever experienced in his life as he fills you up rope after rope with warm, sticky cum.

Looking down as his orgasm slows, he looks at your blissed out face, the sudden orgasm providing him satisfaction but not quite enough.

No, this isn’t enough at all. He needs to fuck you more, he needs to use you over and over until he trains himself to fuck you long and hard. He growls, grabbing your thighs and pushing your legs over your head as his sensitive cock moves inside you again. From this angle he can see Sejanus’ cock too, slowly but surely rutting into your ass.

“Slut,” Coriolanus spits. “Fucking slut. Look at you, you just love being fucked like a useless little bitch, don’t you?”

You cry out, the sensations too much but you know you still need to cum. And luckily, there your sweet boy is— Sejanus, his fingers reaching around to hastily rub at your clit. Coriolanus grunts, pushing his fingers away and replacing them with his own.

He rubs them in fast circles, and your pussy pulls taut as you orgasm all over his thick length. Coriolanus grins, proud of himself as he sees you fall apart.

“That’s it,” he says. “Good girl. Cum on my cock.”

Your tongue lolls out, and the man spits onto it as he pounds you, fast thrusts soon giving way to slower ones as his hips stutter and he creams inside you for a second time. He relaxes against your wrecked body, sighing out as he pulls out and his cum spills out of your raw fucked hole.

His eyes connect to Sejanus’, and the boy seems proud but also angry. Coriolanus gets the message to move out of the way, and with strong arms Sejanus lifts up your body and slams you down onto the mattress. His cock moves desperately, chasing the high he’s been craving, and he grabs your wrists and pulls them behind your back as he fucks you from behind.

All the while, his jaw is clenched and he’s looking at Coriolanus with a fire in his hazel eyes. He has a bone to pick with him later for taking his girl’s orgasm as his own.

And as he watches the blonde’s cock get hard against his stomach for a third time, he knows exactly how he’s going to solve it.