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s-brant · 7 months ago

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Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them.

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her.

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now.

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could.

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first.

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes.

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if you don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

#fanfiction #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #no editing other than grammarly cause idgaf #art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader #challengers #listened to white mustang by lana the whole time 😩#and uncle ace cause duh

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 month ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 20

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18 || PART 19

Chrissy is willing to admit that when Steve doesn’t call her after his date, she panics. If her mom wasn’t such a light sleeper, she would’ve snuck out to check up on him. But instead, she wallows, dozing on the couch, not even able to call Jeff to bitch because what if Steve chooses that moment to call?

So, she can admit, when he finally calls a few minutes after seven in the morning, she’s a little short with him.

“Finally, Steven,” she hisses into the phone, keeping her voice quiet so as not to alert her mother to their conversation. “I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he rushes out, sounding contrite. “We sort of fell asleep.”

Chrissy gasps, a smile slowly spreading on her face as the implications set in. “You guys slept together?” she demands gleefully.

“We didn’t have sex!” he shouts, and she’s glad, for the first time, that his parents are so absent from his everyday life. “We just fell asleep!”

She’s still smiling, twirling the phone cord round and round her fingers. “Does that mean it went well?” she wheedles.

She doesn’t think that Eddie would suddenly realize he’s straight and renege on the date, not really, but Steve had, and she can’t get the terrified tone of his voice out of her head.

“Well—” he drawls, leaving her on tenterhooks for a few seconds more. “He took me to see some shitty horror movie.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, full-on grinning now. “What a stereotypical move.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he replies so wryly that she can almost see the way his eyes must be rolling. “Except he barely talked to me the whole time and didn’t even try to hold my hand.”

“No!”

“And then he took me into the woods like some sort of serial killer, and then tried to kiss me so abruptly that my lip split a little.”

“No!” she shrieks with laughter before catching herself and slapping a palm over her own mouth as Steve’s own amused chuckle filters through the phone line. “And you still spent the night?”

“He was nervous!” Steve defended. “And besides, the second kiss was much better.”

“Your boy’s a fast learner, huh?”

Steve hums, and she wishes he was here with her, so she could see the dopey grin that must be on his face as he says, “yeah,” with a dreamy sigh. “He took me stargazing.”

Chrissy coos, can’t help it, not when this whole thing’s been building for so long now. Not when there’s been an edge of fear to everything Steve’s said for months. He deserves something nice for once.

“And you’re going out again?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, and a knot of fear she’s had tucked beneath her sternum loosens.

He sounds excited, happy, hopeful. If Eddie does anything to jeopardize this, Chrissy will be digging a very deep hole and tossing him into it. She’s got a shovel, and the muscle strength built up from years of cheer—she’ll manage just fine.

So, when Eddie walks up to her in the cafeteria in some sort of fucked up parallel to that first time and bends at the waist in a showy bow, hand outstretched as he asks, “a word, madam?” she’s ready to kill him.

But, when she glances at Steve at her side, his ears are red, and he’s smiling up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. And when she looks back toward Eddie she catches the tail-end of a wink that has Steve sputtering.

Even Jason doesn’t protest from the other side of the table where he’s quietly seething.

So, she takes his hand and follows him out of the cafeteria.

Eddie doesn’t seem to know where he’s going, as he walks through the halls, peering into nooks and crannies until he finds a corner he deems suitably vacant enough. He flops down, legs outstretched in front of him, uncaring of the dirt caking the floor.

He pats the spot next to him, smiling up at her, so she slides down the wall and crouches beside him, unwilling to let her bare legs touch the floor.

Eddie leans away from the wall and wrestles his jacket off before placing it on the floor in front of Chrissy. Gratefully, she sits atop it, crossing her legs to keep them safe. She turns her body so she’s facing Eddie dead on, and he follows her lead.

When he doesn’t say anything, she breaks the silence with a quiet, “I hope you know that if you hurt my friend, I’ll kill you.”

“I have no doubt, Lady Cunningham,” Eddie replies, drawing an X across his heart with his finger. “But, I’m not here to talk about Steve.”

“Then—what?”

He’s grimacing now, no longer meeting her eyes as he fiddles with his rings, one of his fingers bizarrely missing its usual adornment. “We’re friends, right?” he asks hesitantly, like he’s choosing each word with deliberate care.

“Of course,” she replies, eyes trained on the little furrow between his brows. He’s picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans, further fraying the edges. “Why would you ask that?”

He sighs, slumping into himself in a way that makes him look small. “I’m glad I’m here, okay?” he asks, not waiting for her to answer before he continues. “Steve’s great, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But, you still lied to me—"

"We never lied to you," she cuts in, and he waves his hand in assent.

"Yeah, yeah, but you all like, conspired behind my back, and that feels…”

“Shitty,” she continues for him when he seems to lose his words.

“Yeah! Shitty, it feels shitty that you were all talking about me behind my back all so you could keep this from me."

Chrissy sighs. She’d known they’d have to talk about it eventually–clear all this stale air so they could move on–but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. But, he’s right; no matter their intentions, they’d all made a mess of things. She’d known that even as she’d been in the thick of it.

So, she starts where these things should always start, and looks him dead in the eye as she says, “I’m sorry.”

He finally looks up, seeming almost surprised. “Just like that?”

“Yes, Eddie, just like that,” she replies, maintaining eye contact even as her gut squirms. “We were just trying to protect each other, but that doesn’t mean it was the right choice.”

His eyes are wide, still shocked, and she wonders, something uncomfortably close to pity bubbling up within her, if he’s not used to receiving apologies at all.

“Both of you?” he asks.

Chrissy averts her gaze, mouth twisting up. “You know how Steve said Jason has been kind of stalkery?” she asks, watching Eddie nod out of the corner of her eye before she continues. “Well, it was worse before. He kept coming to my house and cornering me at school, and I just wanted to move on.”

It was more than that, though. She still remembers the way fear crept down her spine as cold sweat when she’d opened her door to Jason smiling at her like they’d never broken up, the way her throat had closed up when he’d scooted far too close to her side at the lunch table.

The way he kept cornering her in the hallway when no one was around to witness it.

“So, when I found Steve trying to write that first letter, I struck a deal,” she continues. She feels bad about that, even now, even still. “He’d be my boyfriend, and I’d help him with the letters.”

She finally turns back to Eddie, braced for, what? Condemnation? But he’s squinting at her like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to crack as he says, “you totally would have helped him anyway,” with so much conviction that it warms her.

“Oh, definitely.”

He’s still looking at her, but he’s smiling at her, eyes warmer than she’s ever seen them.

“Alright, I forgive you,” Eddie says, like it’s easy.

It’s too easy.

“Just because we had reasons doesn’t mean it was fair to you,” she replies, steel in her voice as she squares her shoulders and looks at him dead on. “It doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt,” she finishes, reaching out to pat his knee.

He doesn’t jerk away, just looks at her hand on his knee with a peculiar smile on his face. “You know there was a time when you touching me like that would’ve sent me into a tizzy,” he says, still looking down at her hand.

“And now?”

“Nothing,” he replies, shrugging. “It was never you, Chrissy Cunnigham.”

“You either, Eddie Munson,” she replies, matching his smile as she smacks his hand once before withdrawing. “Now is that it, or was there something else you needed?”

He looks away, cheeks darkening to a blotchy red, she’s almost worried he’ll faint. “I, uh, well, the jacket?”

She thinks of Eddie’s jacket beneath her first, but that’s not where he’s looking. His eyes are planted firmly on the sleeve of Steve’s letterman with a sort of longing that’s almost funny in its intensity.

She doesn’t ask any follow up questions—if he wants the jacket, he can have the jacket. After all, it’s Steve’s no matter how attached to it she’s become, and Steve had looked up at him with the sappiest look she’s ever seen on his face.

She’d do more than give up his letterman to keep him happy.

Still, it feels strange when she pulls it off her back. A shiver runs through her–she feels almost naked without its familiar weight.

Since that first day in the library, it’s been her shield against Jason’s pushy advances, and her reminder that, no matter what happens, she’d still have Steve.

But, Jason’s backed off, and everywhere she turns, she sees her people: Steve, yes, but Jeff, and Eddie, and the Hellfire boys–even Robin. Her life’s full to bursting in a way that it’s never been before.

Chrissy will miss it, but she doesn’t need it anymore. Besides, she knows where Steve keeps his spare key, and she’s not above stealing something else from his closet.

“Jeff’s going to be sad,” she says, patting the bundled fabric in her arms like it’s a favored family pet, feeling strangely choked up. “He really liked it.”

Eddie grimaces down at it and asks, “do I need to get this thing dry cleaned?”

Chrissy throws her head back and laughs. “No, but if you would’ve waited a few more days, you might have.”

He makes a gagging noise, but when she holds it out for him, he readily takes it, even if he doesn’t put it on. She wonders if it’s fear of homophobes or the thought of her and Jeff’s bodily fluids that stops him. She’s polite enough not to ask, even as Eddie says, “Wait, is it you wearing it or him that Jeff likes?”

She opens her mouth to reply, ready to offer up a vague “both,” but Eddie holds up his hand and cuts her off, talking quickly like he’s afraid of what she might say. “Wait, don’t tell me. I really, really don’t need to know.”

Chrissy springs to her feet and picks Eddie’s own leather jacket up off the floor and sliding it on. It’s even baggier than Steve’s was on her, clearly designed for layering. “I’m borrowing this,” she says, turning her back on him and making her way toward her next class just as the warning bell rings. “It’s cold today.”

“Don’t do any weird sex things with it!” Eddie calls.

She laughs again, making a point to neither confirm nor deny her intentions no matter what he yells after her retreating back.

When Jeff slides into her passenger seat after school, he quirks a brow at her new look, and asks, “that Eddie’s?” as he buckles his seatbelt.

“He wanted Steve’s,” she says, reaching out to pat his knee consolingly.

“I’m going to miss that jacket,” Jeff sighs, looking genuinely forlorn for a second before he gets a particular gleam in his eye that Chrissy’s becoming increasingly familiar with. “You know—”

“Eddie requested that we don’t ‘do any weird sex things’ with his jacket,” she cuts in, putting her car in reverse and slowly backing out of the spot.

Jeff groans like he’d been shot, and throws his head back into the headrest. She reaches out to dig her fingernails into his knee, just this side of too-hard so his groan shifts into a hiss.

“I know, baby,” she says, smiling sweetly at him as they pull away from the school. “But, I’ll get your mind off it in no time.”

Jeff gulps, and doesn’t utter another complaint for the rest of the night.

***

Robin watches Chrissy follow Eddie out of the cafeteria. Even after the door closes behind them, she keeps staring, wanting desperately to know what they’re talking about. This might have all started because of her crush on Chrissy, but Robin’s nosy at heart, so even as the flames of her crush burn down to embers, she wants to know.

Steve had called her on Saturday, spilling all the details of what sounded like a truly horrible date as if it was some sort of fairy tale while Robin cackled in his ear. But he’d sounded buoyant with exhilaration, and all Robin had been able to think about was that he’s like her and he’s happy.

Maybe there’s hope for her, too.

Robin’s broken out of her reverie by a shoulder bumping into hers. “Should we help him?” Vickie whispers, and it takes Robin a minute to snap her eyes away from her vibrant green eyes to follow her gaze over to Steve.

All the losers he’s still pretending to be friends are jeering at him, Tommy H. going so far as to slip into Chrissy’s vacant seat so he can jostle Steve around with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face while Steve picks halfheartedly at his lunch.

Robin’s out of her seat before she can even think about it, palms slapping noisily on the table as she calls. “Harrington!” Steve perks up, metaphorical tail wagging as he meets her eyes from across the room. “Come help me win a bet!”

He’s up and out of his seat in a matter of seconds, leaving the remains of his lunch abandoned on his table as he trots over, slipping into the empty seat across from her while all the other band kids look at him like he’s got the plague.

“What’s the bet?” he asks, looking far more relaxed already than he had while surrounded by his supposed friends.

Robin kicks him under the table as she replies, “the bet was whether you’d come when you’re called.”

“Oh, hardy har har,” he mocks, kicking her right back until she links both her feet around his ankle and yanks him so he damn near falls off his seat.

“Poor little puppy,” she coos, reaching across the table to pat his head while he bats her hand away.

Vickie’s laughing from beside her; it rings through Robin’s ears like church bells. She gets stuck, staring at the pink of her cheeks, the red of her hair, the mirth in her emerald green eyes, hand still outstretched toward Steve’s hair.

He kicks her again, and she snatches her hand back, grateful for the intervention until she catches sight of the knowing look Steve’s shooting her. In retaliation, she grabs one of her carrot sticks and tries to shove it down his throat.

“Not a word, Harrington, or we’re through,” she hisses, finally succeeding in shoving the carrot into his mouth.

“You guys are so funny,” Vickie says, still laughing.

Steve smiles, carrot sticking out of his mouth like it’s a cigar until he bites into it with a snap, seeming oddly satisfied.

Chrissy and Eddie don’t come back, and by the time lunch is over, the rest of the band kids have finally stopped sitting there like scared lemmings, waiting for King Steve Harrington to attack. She’s sure they’ll soon learn what Robin already knows: the king is dead, long live the king.

She loves him so much, it’s almost stupid.

“So, Steve Harrington, huh?” Vickie asks, inexplicably walking out of the cafeteria with her even though Robin knows for a fact her class is on the opposite side of the school.

“I mean, yeah?” Robin replies, feeling her face heat from the inside out. “He’s just like, not what I was thinking at all, and maybe the best friend I’ve ever had, which is crazy—it’s crazy, because it’s Steve Harrington, right?” Her hands, she realizes with horror, are miming an explosion above her head while her mouth makes a weird, crackling explosion sound. “Who would’ve guessed?”

When she finally gets her mouth flapping under control, Vickie’s smiling at her, walking close enough that the sleeve of her sweater brushes against Robin’s bare arm.

“I don’t know, I always thought he seemed nice.”

Robin’s nodding along like one of those bobble head hula girls that boys are always putting in their cars, even though Steve Harrington isn’t nice. He’s an unmitigated bitch with a sacrificial streak a mile wide, but he’s not nice.

“He’s like a stray that I let into my house one time, and then my mom fed him, so now he keeps following me home,” her mouth says.

Vickie’s mouth laughs in return, so maybe it’s not all that bad.

Robin’s mind replays the angelic sound as she walks into her class, waving goodbye to Vickie as the other girl rushes away in a mad dash to make it on time to her next class.

God, Steve’s going to be such a bitch about this.

***

After Eddie’s talk with Chrissy, things shift.

Steve doesn’t sit with the jocks at all anymore. He and Chrissy, still joined at the hip like they really are dating, shift back and forth between the band geeks and the hellfire tables at lunch on Tuesday, prompting hushed whispers to filter through the entire cafeteria.

For his part, all Gareth says is, “does this mean you two’s weird feud over Chrissy is finally over?”

Jeff snorts chocolate milk out of his nose while Eddie laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bench entirely, only staying upright because Steve props him up.

“What?” Gareth demands, tearing into his chicken strips with a viciousness that betrays his ire.

“They’ll tell you when you’re older,” Doug replies despite having no idea himself.

Eddie loves his friends so fucking much.

By Wednesday, a clearly fed up Robin frog-marches the pair of them to the Hellfire table and plops down beside them.

“Munson, I can’t do this split custody thing anymore,” she says, making the red-head that’d followed her over giggle. “They’re too much of a handful.”

“Or maybe even two handfuls,” Steve replies, across the table at her like he’s not playing the most overt game of footsie right below it.

“Don’t be gross, dingus,” she scoffs, and Eddie’s mind goes galloping off with thoughts he shouldn’t be having in a room full of teenagers just waiting to push someone a few more rungs down the ladder.

“Are you guys coming back to Hellfire?” Gareth asks, clearly unable to stand not knowing what’s going on a second longer.

Steve looks at Eddie, brown eyes devastating beneath his lashes. “I’d like to.”

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to grovel at Steve’s feet to get him to come, to get him to keep looking at him like that, but then Robin cuts in with a sly, “you know this means you’ll have to come to Steve’s basketball games,” and he slams his mouth shut.

Steve grins, all seduction dropping off his face as he reaches across the table to give Robin a high five like they’re already on the fucking court. She slaps his palm hard enough that the sound of skin on skin damn-near shatters the sound barrier.

“We can sit together,” Jeff says, but he’s not even looking at Eddie, eyes trained on Chrissy’s blushing face. “It’ll be fun.”

Eddie groans and lets gravity overtake him, dropping his head to the table so suddenly that it would have hurt if Steve hadn’t put his palm over the spot just in time. Eddie turns his face so he can glare up at the other boy, but Steve looks so hopeful and excited that he has to look away again, burying his face into Steve’s palm.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he drawls, lips brushing against Steve’s hand with each word.

“What the hell is happening?” Gareth demands.

Much to his dismay, no one replies.

Things slide back to normal after that—Chrissy and Steve showing up to band practice and hellfire and lunch like nothing had ever come between them. But, it’s better now because Steve knocks their feet together beneath tables, and lets his hands settle on knees and stares just a little too long at Eddie’s lips.

It’s driving him crazy; he wants to reach out and touch, reach out and take.

But that’s not something that’s allowed. Boys are born in their own, invisible bubbles to keep them from touching other boys. Eddie doesn’t know how he never noticed it before, but he wants to shatter it like glass, let it cut up his feet if it means he can brush his lips against Steve’s.

There are all these rules left unwritten, but flung at their feet like slurs: don’t stand too close, don’t look too long, don’t dare to touch.

He wants to, though, thinks maybe in the confines of Gareth’s garage and behind the closed doors of the drama room he could, and it would be safe.

But they live in Hawkins, Indiana, and he’d like to live long enough to get the hell out of here.

So he lets their feet tangle beneath tables and doesn’t lean across them to have a taste, no matter how often Steve licks his lips.

Friday can’t come soon enough.

***

Robin’s been twitchy for days by the time she pulls Steve into their bathroom stall. He follows her dutifully, only laughing a little as she pulls a towel out of her backpack and lays it down before sitting on the floor.

“You plan this, Birdie?” he asks, settling across from her, the towel beneath them insulating him from the cold that’s seeping up from the floor.

Robin’s face turns a blotchy red like a blood vessel burst and dispersed beneath her skin. “Boobies,” she blurts, staring at him with beseeching eyes before she slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Steve nods, his attempt at sage wisdom undercut by the way he has to bite his lip to stop from laughing at her. “Boobies, yes,” he chokes out. “I’ve, uh, heard of them.”

That’s all it takes for Robin to kick out at him. When her foot gets dangerously close to his crotch, Steve grabs her ankle and cradles her foot in his lap, rubbing the bone.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she whines, still trying to kick him.

“Okay, okay!” he cries out, chuckling as he holds onto her leg for dear life. “Sorry, just—what’s this about boobies?”

“Stop saying boobies!”

Steve uses his free hand to lock up his mouth and toss the invisible key into the toilet, smiling as the blush on Robin’s cheeks creeps up her nose and onto her forehead until she resembles an especially square tomato.

“Vickie—”

And Steve can’t help it, he really, really can’t. “Has nice boobies?” he cuts in, already grabbing at both her legs to stop her jackrabbiting feet from finally landing a blow to his balls.

“I hate you!” Robin shrieks, but even she’s laughing now as she writhes atop the towel, scrunching it as she earth-worm-inches closer to him so she can slap at his ribs while he’s defenseless. “Steve Harrington, you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

She tries to say it with conviction, but Steve’s hands have crept beneath her crew socks, and his fingers are tickling against the inside arch of her foot, so her words come out more as shaky exhalations of laughter. He wiggles his fingers as she squirms away, kicking out with such reckless abandon that one of her feet breaks free and kicks him far too high on his inner thigh for comfort.

“Get your boy cooties off me!” she demands, and he does, pulling his hands out of her socks as she backs away until she’s leaning against the opposite side of the wall again, pouting at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, feeling lighter than air. “Now tell me about Vickie’s girl cooties.”

Robin smiles bashfully, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. “Vickie doesn’t have cooties,” Robin replies, gaze distant. She looks wistful, enamored, hopeful. “She walked me to class the other day, even though I know it made her late.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, helpless to do anything but to smile back.

“Yeah,” she replies. “And maybe it’ll be like Chrissy again, you know? But you and Eddie…” Robin kicks out at him again, nudging her foot into his and then leaving it there, their soles pressed together. “Maybe there’s more of us out there than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, absolutely in love with brave, hopeful, honest Robin, here in this stall, in this moment. “Maybe there are.”

They smile at each other, two queer kids in the bathroom together, seeing themselves in each other, again, and again, and again. Steve hopes they’ll always be like this, here, on the bathroom floor, finding hope in each other’s smiles. He has Chrissy, and Jeff, and Eddie now, too. But, Robin will always be the first person who looked at him and made him feel seen.

“We should get married,” he says, not thinking about it before it comes out of his mouth and hangs in the air between them, making Robin’s eyes bug out of her skull. “Just think about it! Eddie and I can’t get married, and neither can you and Vickie—”

“You’ve literally gone out with the guy once, and we don’t even know if Vickie likes girls yet—”

“—but we could totally just marry each other instead!”

The silence of the bathroom rings once Steve’s declaration is out there. Robin swallows, throat bobbing, eyes wide enough that Steve can see the little red veins near the back. Suddenly, Steve wonders if he’s stepped over some line he didn’t even know was there.

Before he can spiral too far, Robin launches herself across the space between them, knees bracketing Steve’s hips as she leans over and bites his shoulder, hard.

“Ow, Robin!”

“You’re insane, Dingus, you know that?” she asks, moving away from his shoulder to plant a kind of wet kiss against his forehead. “I’m sixteen, and you’re proposing in the boy’s bathroom.”

She rubs her hand against his head, likely fucking his hair up beyond repair, but he doesn’t even care because she kisses him again, this time on the top of his head.

“I meant like, later?” Steve says shyly.

He’s always fallen hard and fast, knows that about himself. It’s a fundamental law of the universe: gravity makes things fall down, the earth’s always spinning on an axis, and Steve Harrington puts his whole heart into people who don’t always give it back.

But Robin’s on his lap, kissing his head, and leaking what’s either snot or tears into his hair. “Alright,” she warbles, sounding embarrassingly soggy. “When I get a girlfriend, we can just be permanent beards for each other.”

Steve puts his arms around her and hugs her tight, mashing his face awkwardly into her neck as she laughs. “Grow old in separate bedrooms,” he replies.

“Gotta keep our cooties separate,” she says, like she’s not currently dripping on him on the floor of the boy’s grimy bathroom.

He just squeezes her tighter and gives her a little shake, like a dog with its favorite toy. “Tell me about Vickie,” he demands, but it sounds a whole lot like I love you when it comes from his mouth.

“Okay,” she replies, and it sounds a lot like I love you, too.

PART 21

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #me in a steddie fic: but what if robin and steve get married #also shoutout to gareth for now being the oblivious one

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mooishbeam · 1 year ago

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『♡』 Losing Game

♡ featuring: ajax x f!reader

♡ summary: simmering feelings boil over as you're confronted by the man you hate the most; tartaglia, your boss. wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, degradation, humiliation, creampie, squirting, light choking, sadism, throat-fucking, cum play, fingering, overstimulation, brat taming, mind break, pet names (doll, baby)

notes: hiii, the positive response from the last one motivated me to get this done just in time for Fontaine. kinda long this time so sorry abt that. ajax my beloved <3 art by sonomi_rap5 on twitter comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Working for the fatui wasn’t easy in the slightest, especially when you aren’t on harbinger status. You were sent on long, grueling tasks only to be met with loose interpretations of gratitude and sometimes silence from the higher-ups, in which most wouldn’t even glance in your direction. Pleasant beginnings became a sour afterthought, and your perception of the fatui changed drastically. Your grievances, however, weren’t helped by your quick-witted snappy attitude and competitiveness; Presumably why you ended up under the division of Tartaglia. You assumed a binding contract from the capricious redhead wouldn’t mean much, but that was quickly proven false.

You'd rather climb every mountain in Snezhnaya than spend a minute talking to that airhead. He was instructed to keep a watchful eye on you during missions despite the competence you demonstrated. It was insulting. Anything he did you could do better. It’d been proven multiple times from the petty challenges you created. How much water you could drink, how long you can stay up. You won every time. How could you not hate him? His feigned ignorance and careless flirtations were enough to drive you mad. “Please, call me Ajax” he’d say, winking. The simpering smile he gave you after every comeback shot daggers in your pride. What made you particularly furious was the incessant drum of your heart whenever he was near you. The warm autumn morning that was his hair. The cool still waves his eyes sent to your core. You couldn’t fall for him, or else he’d have one up on you. You had to be stronger than that. You quelled your stress in a tattered journal gifted years ago.

“Hey, comrade!” His bubbly tone makes knots in your stomach, and you choose to stay silent. You’re hoping this mission will go without a hitch, as long as he doesn’t get in your way. Ajax lets out a teasing whistle.

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” As you’re collecting the items needed for the deal, he rocks back and forth on his heels directly in front of you, absent-mindedly watching.

You whip your head to face him, “You can’t see I’m doing something right now?”

“Oh, I see what you’re doing. But this isn’t entertaining.”

“Unlike you, your majesty, I have no choice but to be perfect. I apologize if that’s not exciting enough for you.” You retort with sarcastic curtsy.

“Haha! You’re always a pleasure to be around, (Y/N). My faithful, kind-hearted companion.” he said with a taunting wink. You're beyond flustered, haphazardly stuffing the remains in your bag and lugging it over your shoulder.

“Let's go.” You say lazily. He follows closely, arms crossed behind his head. “Calling me like a dog, how romantic.”

“If you don’t want to be called like a dog stop acting like one.”

“You could at least give me a treat if I'm gonna be your dog.” He looks at you, making his best impression of puppy-eyes. You bite back a few choice words, and glare at him instead. He isn’t fazed by this and flashes a beguiling smile that makes your ears warm. Glancing at the weight you’re shouldering, he comments, “You sure you don’t need any help with that?”

“No. The last person I need help from is you.”

You and Ajax regroup in an alleyway deep in Fontaine’s bustling city. You are assigned to retrieve a rare gem for one of Pantalone’s elaborate schemes, and you quickly prepare yourself for this interaction. Ajax studies you, leaning against one of the walls.

“Can’t you be a little nicer to your superior? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in a lot of trouble half the time. You’re welcome.” You scoff. “I don’t know why you’re here in the first place, I have no problem doing this on my own.”

“I’m sure. Don’t mind me, Ms. Independent.” A sly smirk crawled up his face. “Fucking asshole” you mumble under your breath. “I didn’t catch that. Can you repeat it?”

“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” After a few moments of silence, Ajax grips his chest in feigned agony. “Ouch. I’m gutted!”

Just as you're about to leave, he snatches your wrist, now only mere inches away from your face. His hand gently brushes away the strays of hair on your forehead. “There you go, doll. Gotta be perfect for your debut.” A whirlwind of emotions strangles your ability to think clearly, you pull your wrist away and start speed walking, attempting to gather yourself before you get to the jewelry store.

You enter the empty store and are immediately confronted by the jeweler.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Do you have an appointment?” You proclaim your business and appointment under a fake identity, posturing yourself as wealthy. “May I see identification please.” Of course, you say. As you’re looking through your purse you notice something: there’s no identification here. Surely you weren’t that negligent over something so simple. You rummaged through the other compartments, trying to stay calm in front of an increasingly concerned jeweler. But it’s not there. How is this possible. Your nerves are heightened and the anxiety of failing the mission starts to creep in. “I made an appointment with Lottie; she’ll be able to provide reference. I believe I left my passport at home.” The jeweler seems slightly disappointed. “Unfortunately, ma’am, I am not allowed to present any gems without identification.” Your heart beats faster. “Well, sir, I’m very busy and I’m afraid this is my only chance to close on this item. You wouldn’t want to push away a well-paying customer.”

“I have no choice in the matter. If you have no proof of identification, I must ask you to leave.” Should I take it by force? You thought, thinking about the next possible option. As you’re about to handle the rest physically, the door swings open. Ajax comes up to you, placing his arm around your waist.

“My love, were you able to get the gem we were discussing?” You’re annoyed, but you improvise and look at him as if he’s the love of your life. “Not yet, dear.” Suddenly, he places a plush kiss on your lips. You’re stunned and speechless, filled with anger and wanting.

The jeweler interjects. “And are you the husband? Would you happen to have any identification.”

“Yes, sir.” Ajax pulls out a passport and fake birth certificate unbeknownst to you and begins to close the deal. The rest of the meeting you sit speechless.

“Thank you for your patronage.” are the last words you hear as you leave the store, Ajax guiding you with his hand. You’re silent the whole way back to your room.

You turn your bag upside down and begin looking for the mismatched documents. All while Ajax stares at you expectingly. You ignore his presence.

“So... how about a ‘you’re welcome?’”

“For what.”

He lets out a mocking laugh. “For what? I don’t know, maybe saving your ass back there? You froze, and you were unprepared, Ms. Independent.”

“I wouldn’t have forgotten it if it wasn’t for the obnoxious bullshit you did this morning.”

“That’s dishonest, I wasn’t even talking!” he pretends to be hurt. “Admit that you need me.”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” His light-hearted inflection vexes you and makes it hard for you to focus as you read through the mountains of pages in your folder.

While your head is down, Ajax comes across the tattered notebook just peeking out from under the bed. Storing the months—no years—of feelings you had regarding the fatui. Regarding him. Some time passes and you finally raise your head, met with the horrifying reveal of him skimming through the journal, mischief coating the deep void in his eyes. You spring up and reach for the book but he’s faster, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head.

“This is really good stuff... really good.” You shout profanities over and over, anything to get his attention away from the book. But he continues to read as if you’re not there. When he’s done reading, he lets you go, and you instantly try to swing at him. Before you can land a hit, he grabs you by the throat and stares into your soul, almost as if he’s trying to swallow your being.

“You’ve been acting like a little fucking brat all over a crush? Not very big girl of you.”

“I know you think you’re beyond charming, but I promise you don’t have that effect on me.”

“Really? Let’s play a game then.” He knew you’d accept just to beat him at anything.

“If you don’t cum by the end of this journal, I’ll apologize for everything. I’ll do whatever you want. But if I win-” he steps closer to you, “You have to do everything I say.”

You almost burst out laughing. Such an easy challenge, how hard could it be?

You're panting, trying your hardest to focus on the words that seemed to melt off the page. Your back lays comfortably against his chest, with his legs keeping yours spread.

“Next page, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your words are lenient and breathy. Your underwear is still on, but Ajax’s fingers are covered in your slick, playing with the erect nub just enough to make you fuzzy. “You look like you’re tapping out.”

“This? This is nothing” You respond meekly, continuing the reading.

“I can’t help but have fe-elings for himph.”

“There’s some nice things about me in here, why aren’t you always like this?” He says, circling and dipping into your gushy folds, smearing the glossy mess all over your vulva. You try so hard to read the letters, squirming from his touch. The sensation pulsing from your clit to your brain made you incoherent; the more you move, the more he moves. The contents of the journal are humiliating, detailing your romantic and sexual attraction towards Ajax, and your attempts to stifle these feelings. He was getting a kick out of seeing your flustered face stammer over his appearance. He plays with the precum glazing his fingers, widening them to watch the trail it left. Only two more pages left.

“I-I-” You couldn’t get through the first sentence on the last page. Your thighs are trembling, and your pussy began to twitch. “Uh, s-shit. Ajax, wai-.” He trails his fingers over your clit spelling his name, then pushes two inside, fighting back an amused grin. “You’re almost done” Teasing in your ear. You bite back the moans threatening to escape; at the very least you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. He watches you fall apart, shaking more aggressively before your body gives in and you cum on his fingers.

“Uh oh, that’s unfortunate.” You try your best to catch your breath, but he rides out your orgasm, making you subconsciously grind yourself into his palm. Then you’re struck with the reality of losing. He licks his fingers clean, eyes rolling back from the taste. “So fucking good, does being a bitch make you taste better?” You were too embarrassed from the loss to retort. “You won.”

“I did.” He lifts you off the bed and onto the floor, your legs still recovering. He hikes your shirt up, trailing kisses up your stomach until he gets to your nipples. He flicks and sucks one while kneading the other one, occasionally biting the slightly bruising flesh. “Not gonna moan for me, huh baby?”

“Not in the slightest.” You rasped. He smiles and blows cool air on your tits, sending a rippling feeling down your back. “That’s okay, you’ll give in.”

Ajax unbuttons his pants, and they drop in front of you. Unsheathing his thick throbbing length, drooling with desire. His balls are full and heavy, and as you look up at him his eyes are clouded with lust. The pretty freckles that dotted his arms and chest are much more visible now, and so are his battle scars. He breathed in deep, "take care of this for me, yeah?” You wanted to say no and say fuck this; but there was another side that wanted him desperately, that needed this.

You force your jaw open to accommodate his size and push yourself halfway on his girth, feeling his cockhead hit the back of your throat. Once you feel like you got it in, you slobber all over his cock, dampening his balls and begin to bob your head. You stroke with one hand and massage his sack with the other, leading to a breathy whimper from him. “Ah fuck, feels good. Suck it slow, slut.” You begin to move faster while cupping his balls, obscene noises leaving your sopping mouth. You have tears running down your sweating face trying to keep up with the vigorous movement of your tongue. You feel him throb a few times, his moans and grunting getting progressively louder.

“Need more” is all he says, putting one of his legs on the bed and grabbing both sides of your head. Before you can register what’s happening. Ajax pushes your head onto his cock until your nose reaches his pubes. He lets out a breathy sigh and starts throat fucking you with an animalistic grip. The gagging and spit noises echo off the walls, along with his continuous whimpering. You wanted to hate him, but your blood was buzzing, and your panties were drenched. “Shut up and take it” followed by broken fuck’s and yes’s. He threw his head back, hair slicked and torso gleaming with sweat, “look at me.” You reluctantly look up, addicted to his passionate expression. “I want you looking at me when I cum.” You grip his thighs, and he twitches a few times before spurting white, thick cum down your throat. He pulls out slightly to drag his semen over your lips and then taps it on your face, holding you in place.

“What are you doing? Clean me up.” he husked. You clean him up without complaint and lick your lips, forced to maintain eye contact with him the entire way.

In one swoop, Ajax picks you up and throws you on the bed, eager to get your underwear off. “You proved your point, stop being an ass" you slurred out. The room was intoxicating, all you could smell and feel was him. He takes your panties off, spreading your pussy to watch the slippery puddle dribble down your thighs. He shoves your panties in your mouth, “Fucking liar, I know you like it. Can’t taste how wet you are?” He aligns himself with your aching hole, keeping your arch steady with you bent over. Shoving his cock in, moaning from the feeling of your body perfectly molding for him. Ajax starts moving at a rapid pace quickly, his big slender hands tightly gripping your ass. The sound of wet sticky skin slapping together and the squelching from your core made you shudder. It was all too much; you have been teetering on an orgasm since you went down on him, and the way his balls thump your clit make you quiver.

“Whiny brat. Just needed to be fucked good to shut up, yeah?” he groaned through his words. Tears were coming down your eyes now, you can’t tell if he’s edging you by accident or on purpose. But right now, you’d do anything. He turns your head to face him, gazing at your tear-stricken face. “Aww, you cryin’ for me?” He stops to kiss and lick your tears, delighted by your tenderness. Taking the panties out your mouth, he brings your body flush with his and continues to pump inside with you looking at him.

“So sweet all of a sudden, where’d that attitude go?” The morals you had for moaning went missing and mewls and soft whimpers began to leave you. “Let it out, baby.” You’re suddenly babbling please’s begging for him to let you have it. “Pathetic, can’t even get off on your own. You need me that bad?” You nod repeatedly, dangerously close to your release. He had a dark look in his eyes and a sinful smirk. “Yeah? Okay, you’ve been so good.” He reaches down and starts to rub your clit ceaselessly, kissing your cheek. Your whimpers become loud shaky moans and he finally lets you have it, shockwaves going through your body as you’re dissolved into pleasure. You pulsate through the explosion, jello-brain and boneless as your cum leaks down his thighs. Just as he pulls out and flips you over. You’re dizzy and drunk off him, legs shaking indefinitely from the intensity. Then he puts it back in. “You can take one more, yeah baby?” Your overstimulated and violent shaking wasn’t enough for him to stop. He wanted you ruined. He keeps going, grabbing your face to kiss you deeply, tongues intertwining with each other. He feeds you deep strokes, tip prodding your spot every time and watching as your tits bounce. You throw your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You have no thoughts, only his name rings in your head. You can feel the coil inside you winding up, pleasure beyond the searing pain of your swollen pussy. He looks down at you and smiles.

“Look at me." You can’t hear anything at this point, not even the sound of your own voice. So, it’s a pleasant surprise when your voice carries his name, “Ajax, Ajax”, chanting as if he’s your god. “Fuck. Gonna cum. Let it out. baby” he says grinning. You’re clamping him so tight and throbbing until you ultimately shatter with him, releasing a stream of squirt onto him and the sheets. He bucks into you, letting out thick spurts, panting heavily as he watches you in disarray. You instinctively hold on to his arms, trembling uncontrollably as you try to search for breath and ride it out. You’re completely hysterical and sobbing from the emotion it ripped into you. You were in shambles and Ajax couldn’t help but smile out of happiness for what he caused. “I’m so sorry.” you say repeatedly, eyes shut and lined with tears. He got closer to wrap you in his arms, and you cling to him for stability. “It’s okay, I’m here for you.”

You didn’t want to talk about it when you woke up. You were hoping he’d be gone, and therefore wouldn’t have to deal with the humiliation. But there he was, watching you sleep just as the sun rose. His ginger hair danced with golden flecks of light, and he looked at you like you were the only person on Teyvat.

“Creep.”

“Good morning to you too, baby~.”

#childe tartaglia ajax #ajax x reader #genshin ajax #genshin smut #childe smut #tartaglia smut #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #ajax smut

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oceantornadoo · 7 months ago

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bloody perfect

this is so insane i am so sorry

ao3 link

roommate!simon riley x f!reader with a blood/period kink, dubcon, slightly mean!simon, blood as a symbol for love and devotion (two and a half steps away from cannibalism)

—

the door to your apartment opened in a blurred flash, keys jangling from the door. you snapped shut the book you had been reading, jumping to stand at attention, like some poor imitation of a soldier. like your roommate.

“hi, simon. nice to have you back.” you squeaked out, forcing your shoulders to relax. simon had his back to you, gloved hands fiddling with the lock. his boots looked dirty, streaks of dirt staining the floor. your gaze lifted up to the back of him, looking impossibly bigger than before he left for deployment. he somehow filled out his jeans more, thighs and ass hugging them in all the right places. even his black sweatshirt seemed strained against his shoulders, fabric fighting the breadth of his wingspan. your eyes landed on his head, hair messy from taking off his balaclava. you felt yourself step forward once, twice, almost in a trance. it had been so long.

“can feel ya starin’, love. miss me?” simon turned around, his smirk mean around the edges. you were hit with the full force of his gaze, new scratches on his face, a bandage on his arm. “you-you’re hurt.” he gazed down at the bandage, as if just realizing it was there. “‘s nothin’. didn’t answer my question.” you gulped audibly, almost comically. the air was sticky sweet with your nervousness and his cockiness, getting thicker by the minute as he kicked off his boots and made his way towards you. you didn’t understand it, this sudden change in your dynamic. you’d been cordial roommates, sharing a few meals and a movie or two. it was nice to have the apartment to yourself (that’s what you told yourself on cold nights), nice to have the rent taken care of with an absent roommate. but something had changed. some hunger had festered, sickly growth set behind simon’s eyes. he met you in two steps, taunting you with his height as he forced you to crane your neck towards him. it was his nearness that threw you off, made you say some insane thing.

“i missed you.”

his eyes flashed, clearly not expecting your submissiveness. practically a bitch in heat, rolling over to show him your tummy. he could almost smell the desperation coming off you in waves, the need for intimacy, the need for him to darken your doorstep. he could almost smell something else.

simon lowered his face to that juncture of skin between your jaw and collarbone, nosing at it gently. “missed ya too, dove.” you hummed as he nosed further, like some battered K9 who never retired, practically foaming at the mouth. he slipped his gloves into his back pockets, silent as a ghost. “‘aven’t gone on any dates, hav’ ya?” you shook your head vehemently, almost knocking into his own with the force of your eagerness. “thas’ a good girl." he rewarded you with skin on skin contact, calloused hands brushing up and down your jaw. you practically moaned at the contact, your body sorely missing the touch of a man. he maneuvered you back to the couch, laying you down with controlled restraint.

“y’ve been lonely.” you opened your mouth to answer but he cut you off, one large paw covering the bottom half of your face. simon tutted, practically clicking his tongue like a scolding teacher. “wasn’t a question.” words escaped you, jaw opening and shutting with no sound. you settled for a nod, pretending you had some semblance of control over simon’s actions. his gaze trailed down your body, eyes stopping for a second at your heaving chest, noting the pebbled nipples behind your sleep shirt. you moved to take it off, hands shaking, but that same hand shot from your mouth to your hand, gripping it hard. “not tonight.” your brows knitted together. did he not do foreplay? you had been without sex for far too long to entertain that idea. just as you were about to voice this particular concern, he squeezed your wrist hard, resisting from twisting the delicate bones beneath him. “shut it. stop askin’ shit. y’re not in charge ‘ere.”

“now this.” his hands moved to toy with the hem of your pajama shorts. “can smell ‘er loud and clear.” he brushed a hand over your lower stomach, pressing into your flesh with a groan. you let out a small moan, practically a mewl, as the heat of his touch battled the simmering cramps you’d had all day. “simon.” you bit back a gasp. “simon, it hurts.” so frail under him, practically begging for ghost to come home and take care of you. he shushed you with a kiss to your stomach, lips brushing the fabric of your pajamas. he tore off your shorts with practiced restraint, the hands of a trained killer dragging down each inch like each one was its own mission. each glimpse of your segment of skin was the target, weapons trained on the underwear it revealed to him. ghost let out a groan, the sound rumbling through him to you, his body practically molded to yours. his thumbs found your hipbones, small circles repeating their path.

“simon, you’ll mess up the couch.” he grunted. “need a bigger one, anyway. shut y’r pretty trap, dove.” you followed orders immediately. he dove in nose-first to the seam of your underwear, trailing down slowly. “‘s sweet.” all saccharine under him, the beast within beating at his ribcage, screaming to be let out. ghost was a shark in the water, dangerous at the first smell of blood. the need to claim, to conquer, make use of the fertile body under him. to eat. to feast.

in one fell swoop he was tugging down your underwear, yanking off the offending piece of fabric and flinging it to the floor. you hissed as your skin met the cool air, unused to being so exposed in your vulnerable state. “there she is. come ‘ere.” there was no experimental lick, no hesitation at the sight of blood. ghost went from one battlefield to another, preferring bloodshed over the silence of domesticity.

he started at your outer lips, practically cleaning you up, movements made for his taste and not your pleasure. blood coated his tongue, mixed with your seeping wetness. one final lick and he moved to your hole, winking at him, welcoming him home. his hands pressed your back upwards, crooked nose set against your clit. “bloody perfect.” he chuckled at his own joke, chuckled at how your body was already shaking under him. he tongue-fucked you expertly, sloppily eating you up. the blood mixed with cum made a pretty pink on his pale skin, fingers digging into your back as he pulled you impossibly closer. the tension in your core was getting harder to ignore with every lick, every time he said here she is and some welcome home, dove. he moved the bottom of his palm to press down on your clit, rubbing his nose in it, and you were coming, core clenching around nothing as your body emitted the loudest sounds. “ther we go, com’ on.” whispers of encouragement to your cunt, thick fingers joining in to coax another orgasm. one turned into two, your slippery pussy welcoming him in desperately. all whiny under his touch, squirming as he banded the other arm to hold down your stomach.

“nowhere ta fly, dove.” that didn’t stop you from trying, hips bucking into the air as he added a third finger. you were unbelievably full, stretched out like his personal fucktoy. he changed the angle, reaching deeper with calm strokes as he found the spot to make you crazy, gummy walls touching his rough calluses. he beckoned inside you, like he was telling you to come here, and you did, cunt clamping around his fingers.

“simon, simon it’s too much i-“ he shook his head, making that beckoning motion again. you spasmed even more, months of tension releasing under him. “there we go, she jus’ needed sum attention, yeah? not working with your own fingers, hm?” you nodded your head, agreeing with him passionately. “gonna split ya with my cock soon, see ya all fucked out.” your lips formed a small “o”, the crassness leaving his mouth like it needed to be washed with soap. “‘s get you to a shower, dove. go’on.” you scrambled out of his arms, clothes forgotten on the floor as you flew for the safety of your bathroom. he knew his dove too well, knew you needed some option to fly away and recoup before going farther. he’d spent all of deployment thinking about you, tugging his cock in shared showers and metal-framed cots. simon cleaned off his fingers one by one, savoring the metallic taste as he fixed the mess you made. he’d order a new couch tomorrow, something that could fit more than two, five being ideal. he’d fuck you on his cock tomorrow, once you’d knocked all of those thoughts around your head enough to pass out in his arms. but for now, he’d settle for the pink stain on his chin and your taste on his lips.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #ghost call of duty #tornadothoughts #simon riley smut #ghost imagine #ghost smut #ghost riley #dark!simon riley #mean!simon riley #ghost headcanons #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x f reader

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blue-jisungs · 11 months ago

Text

making up with them after a fight ♡

author's note. minho’s one is so relatable to me i hate it sm :(( like idk sometimes i don’t wanna be touched but i have struggles wording it out and im afraid ill hurt someone w my reaction… <\\3 sigh… yeah, can u tell it’s self indulgent?

warnings. yn falls asleep in a bathtub,, pls dont do that!!!, cursing, lmk if i missed anything

this is a continuation to fighting with them!!

┆彡 CHAN [ 찬 ]

you woke up in your and chris’ bed, which made your stomach turn. he must have brought you here.

suddenly sitting up, you noticed your boyfriend is absent. did he leave…?

jumping out of the bed you rushed to living room and were relieved to see him in the kitchen.

however, guilt washed over you upon seeing him so… lifeless, hurt.

“hi” you whispered, clutching your shirt. chan looked at you and smiled softly, nodding his head.

“morning. there’s some coffee for you, breakfast will be done in a few minutes” he hummed and returned his gaze to the pan.

“chan, listen… i’m sorry i snapped at you yesterday. yes, i was tired but…” you hesitated, voice cracking “that’s not an excuse, really”

“i’m just worried, y/n” he said and his features softened.

“i know, i know” you hung your head low, afraid that tears will escape any second “it’s just… work has been shit lately and it’s draining me emotionally and physically… and i just…”

“hey, hey. it’s okay. i understand it. that’s why i’m here, right? to help you. but to help you, i need to know first” chan walked up to you, wrapping his arms around you. this warm, secure hug made you feel at ease “but i won’t be able to know if we don’t talk”

“i know… i’m so, so sorry. for snapping and for acting like an asshole… i’m sorry channie” you cried, pouring your heart out.

“i forgive you, y/n. i already did. let’s just treat this as a lesson, okay?” chan soothed you gently “let it out, baby. i’m here”

┆彡 MINHO [ 민호 ]

you and minho became distant. you began touching and kissing him less, head overflowing with worries each time when physical contact involved. eventually, you stopped. you just greeted him in the morning or after work.

and minho hated this.

he knew it was his fault because he snapped you. and if he didn’t do anything about it, your relationship might be on a thread... if it wasn't already.

so one day, when you woke up… you felt a soft kiss being pressed to your arm. you smiled gently to yourself, trying to remain calm. what is he scheming…?

"y/nnie… i’m sorry"

you turned around, frowning. lino’s eyes softened but there was a glint of sadness in them.

"i snapped at you when i had a bad day already. and… it was one of those days when i just don’t want to be touched, even by you. it- it sounds so idiotic but i promise you, it’s not your fault…" minho started and you bit your lip. your hands ached to cup his face and– "i can see you’re thinking about it. it’s fine, i’m fine. no, actually i’m not. i missed your touch and kisses so so much. and i feel like an idiot because i’ve brought it on me but above all…”

he hesitated and tapped your finger. you nodded, granting him permission to hold you. in an instant, he shuffled closer and wrapped his arms tightly around you.

"i’m sorry i made you feel like that. i can’t even imagine how you must have felt, thinking if ill snap at you today too… im so… fucking… sorry… " minho’s voice broke off and you felt his body shiver.

"it’s okay, min. i forgive you, don’t feel guilty. just tell me next time, okay? i understand that on some days you’re feeling like you don’t want to be touched, i respect that" you hummed into his skin, drawing shapes "just tell me"

"i will" minho smiled softly, heart warming because of your words, kindness, and touch.

┆彡 CHANGBIN [ 창빈 ]

with a shaking hand you dialed changbin’s number, looking at the droplets falling in front of you. he picked up instantly.

"hello, baby?" he asked, concern in his voice. you took a deep breath, trying to control your breaking voice slightly at least.

"you… um, you were right…" you mumbled, sniffling.

silence fell and you were expecting an 'i told you so' or 'see?' but none of that happened.

"i’m sorry, pretty. i swear, next time i see them somewhere i’ll talk to them. i’ll pick you up, hm?" changbin asked and even though you knew he didn’t see, you nodded. your heart felt light that you didn’t fight again.

"i… um, i’m sorry. for being so defensive about them but… i was in the wrong…" a soft sigh left your lips and you heard a loud 'yah!' causing you to move your phone away for a bit.

"don’t apologize. i’m the one who should say sorry, truly. i just didn’t want you to get hurt again but… i took it to far, i said some messed up shit. sorry" chanbin’s voice was gentle and then suddenly you heard a honk. eyes widening, you saw his car "also i may or may not have already been waiting here…"

"dumbass” you scoffed, wiping your tears and going to his car with a smile.

┆彡 HYUNJIN [ 현진 ]

hyunjin entered the house, frowning upon the silence. your shoes were on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink, some miscellaneous items scattered around the living room.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer.

you weren’t in the bedroom either. hyunjin, growing anxious, opened the bathroom door.

he saw you sleeping in the tub, head almost barely above the water.

"yah, dumbass!" he yelped and dragged you a bit up, safe enough but still in the water. your eyes opened lazily, gaze unfocused.

"huh?" you blinked at him and saw genuine worry on his face.

"you fell asleep in the tub, y/n. i got so scared" he sighed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. he noticed your eye bags and it hit him like a truck: sure, dancing is his profession and he gets tired. but you, as a cleaning lady move as much as him and have to deal with other - usually assholes - people. you must be exhausted, even more than him.

then his gaze shifted to various scratches and bruises on your arms. you noticed it and smiled softly.

"it’s nothing, you know how clumsy i am. today i knocked over a broom and it hit my arm… it was kinda funny actually" you grinned but only saw sadness behind his eyes "hyune?"

"i… the thing i said the other day… i don’t mean it. i don’t think you’re just a cleaning lady, i shouldn’t say anything like this. and, it’s a bit stupid, but i realized just now… that at the end of the day, you’re probably as tired as me" he mumbled, voice small. you nodded, grabbing his hand.

"i won’t lie, what you said hurt me. but… i get it, you were tired and i got on your nerves–" you started.

"but i shouldn’t have bursted like that. let me take care of you now, hm? do you want me to wash your hair?" hyunjin asked, a cute smile finally blooming on his lips. you nodded energetically, causing him to giggle and place a tender kiss atop your head before proceeding to wash your hair.

┆彡 JISUNG [ 지성 ]

when he left the party, glad to finally be out… someone grabbed his arm. he turned around and saw beomgyu.

"what?" jisung grunted, looking at the stranger.

"dude, i don’t know what’s your problem but me and y/n were literally talking about you" beomgyu said, letting go of his arm "besides, i’m taken"

jisung wanted to snarl 'so what?' but the sudden reality hit him: he threw a tantrum like a spoiled brat and almost went home without you. beomgyu scanned his face suspiciously, seeing the gears turn in jisung’s head.

"y/n loves you, i can see it in the way her face lits up when she speaks about you" beomgyu said and shrugged, adding before leaving "thought i’d just let you know"

jisung went back, looking for you. it turned out you stayed outside, gazing into the sky.

"um, hi" he mumbled, sitting down next to you. you didn’t reply "i’m… sorry"

"that was fast" you teased, bitterness shining through your voice.

"beomgyu walked up to me. i acted like an idiot, i know. i was just… jealous, i guess" jisung murmured almost incoherently, shy about his feelings. you turned around and sent him a sky smirk.

"you were what?"

jisung rolled his eyes playfully.

"i was jealous, are you happy?" he repeated louder.

"it’s fine. just… don’t yell at me. and let me finish, for god’s sake. if you listened what i had to say, you’d know that we were discussing which guitar i should buy you as a gift" you explained and saw his eyes widen. you couldn’t possibly stay mad any longer at this boba-eyed quokka.

┆彡 FELIX [ 필릭스 ]

there was a doorbell echoing through the living room and you sent your friend a puzzled look. she shrugged and went to open the door.

"oh… y/n, it’s felix" she turned around and sent you a pitiful look. you just sighed, nodding. she let him in, scanning him head to toe threateningly, and left to her bedroom to give you some privacy.

"how did you know i’m here?" you asked, eyes avoiding his.

"(friend name) added a picture to the story that you’re here… so… um… i grabbed those and flew"

finally looking up, you noticed the bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. felix handed you them and sat down next to you on the couch, hesitantly tapping his fingers on his thigh. he wanted to hold your hand but wasn’t sure if you wanted to right now.

"i’m a bad boyfriend, aren’t i? even seungmin knew you were fired" he sighed with a sad smile "i’m so sorry. there’s nothing that could… be an excuse"

you took his hand in yours, humming in thought.

"will you work on it? i missed you. i know work is busy but at least talk to me, eat breakfasts with me… if we don’t work it out, i’m afraid–" your voice broke, not even wanting to say those words.

felix hugged you tightly, holding you as close as possible.

"i know. i will work on it, i promise. i’ll try to clear my schedule and we can go on a trip to jeju maybe?" he mumbled into your shoulder.

he just got a last chance and he wasn’t going to blow it.

┆彡 SEUNGMIN [ 승민 ]

returning home after three days, you entered the house only to see seungmin sleeping on the couch. the place was neatly cleaned, not even a single dirty spot in sight.

"oh, you’re back" seungmin murmured drowsily, leaning on his elbows "how was the stay?"

"good. why are you sleeping in the couch?" you asked, walking up to the fridge to put in the food your mom gave you. to your surprise, it was full with fresh groceries.

"i… uh, couldn’t really sleep well without you. i also have a thought about what i said and… listen, y/n, i’m sorry" he said "i really like your parents, i really do. i was just tired and… i don’t know what it’s like, that’s true. i didn’t consider your and their feelings… and i just hope your parents don’t hate me now because i’ll cry"

"i think they love you more than me at this point, my mom kept asking about you" you smiled softly, relieved to hear that you made wrong assumptions.

"just tell me a bit earlier if we’re going next time, okay?" he asked and you nodded with a happy grin "besides, it was lonely here without you"

┆彡 JEONGIN [ 정인 ]

"dude, what the fuck?" changbin asked, standing frozen. jeongin frowned "you were supposed to text eunjeong only to get the info about the cake, nothing more!"

that was true – they wanted to make you a surprise party because you passed your exams and eunjeong works in one of the best bakeries in the town, so they figured it’d be the best to text her.

"i got distracted… i didn’t know y/n would make such a fuss out of it" jeongin grunted and opened his phone to see your location on 'my friends'. he bit his lip, sudden realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. if he found out you were texting your ex… he wouldn’t be pleased about it either.

"what are you waiting for? go after her! and don’t spoil the surprise, too!" changbin pushed him out of the dorm.

in no time jeongin caught up with you, grabbing your hand. you turned around, wet stains on your cheeks. he felt a sharp sting in his heart upon realizing it’s his fault.

"listen… i didn’t mean any of that. but i need you to trust me" jeongin said, squeezing your hand. you hesitated.

"why? i trust you i just… don’t trust her" you mumbled, wiping your cheek.

"i know, i’m sorry. you’ll see soon, okay? can you forgive me? i love you so much, i just didn’t think it would hurt you that way" he added shyly. nodding softly, you tightened your lips into a line.

"okay…" you hummed.

hopefully the cake will be delicious enough to regain at least a piece of your trust.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @litepowee ,, @ocean-minho ,, @lessthanpast ,, @s-e-s-a-I-e-n-e ,, @fire-08 ,, @eternalgyu ,, @haecien

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caitified · 3 months ago

Text

friends?

paige bueckers x reader

warnings: none ( slow burn sorry )

i lost the request, but i hope you like it if you see it!

you and paige had always been close—best friends from the start, teammates at UConn, and a dynamic duo on and off the court. but if anyone were to ask the people around you, they’d say there was more than friendship going on. from the constant flirting to the way you couldn’t go more than five minutes without touching each other, it was obvious.

obvious to everyone except you and Paige.

“hey, p, you look tired. want me to carry your bag for you?” you teased as you slung an arm around paige’s shoulder after practice, offering her your usual playful smile.

paige rolled her eyes, but her lips curved into that smile you loved. “oh, so chivalrous,” she teased back, leaning into your side as you both walked toward the locker room. “where would I be without you?”

“probably carrying all your stuff like a peasant,” you joked, shifting the weight of your own bag as you gently bumped your shoulder into hers. it was natural by now, the way you always found some reason to touch each other. even if it was just the brush of your hand against her arm or your knee pressed against hers during team meetings, there was always something.

paige reached out, her fingers lightly tracing over your forearm, a gesture she did often, like it was second nature. “guess I’m lucky to have my personal knight in shining armor.”

you grinned, giving her a mock bow. “at your service, m’lady.”

she laughed, a sound that made your chest warm. as you both walked into the locker room, azzi and a few other teammates exchanged knowing looks. it wasn’t exactly subtle, the way you and paige acted around each other, and you’d lost count of how many times people had made comments about it.

“seriously, when are you two just gonna admit it?” azzi asked, smirking as she watched you and paige settle down on the benches.

"admit what?” paige asked, completely oblivious as she pulled off her shoes, her leg casually brushing against yours in the small space.

azzi gave you both a look. “that you’re basically already dating.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as paige shot her a playful glare. “please, we’re best friends. right?” she asked, glancing at you, her tone light but with that familiar flicker of something behind her eyes.

“yeah, just best friends,” you echoed, though the words felt a little strange as they left your mouth. you always told yourselves that, but the more you thought about it, the more you started wondering. could there be more?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

later that evening, you and paige were hanging out at her apartment, sprawled out on the couch after a movie night with the team. most of the others had gone home, but as usual, you’d stuck around with paige, the two of you too comfortable together to call it a night just yet.

paige was lying with her head on your lap, her fingers absently toying with the hem of your hoodie as she talked about the game earlier. you listened, your hand gently playing with her hair as she spoke, the familiar closeness between you making everything feel natural.

“you were on fire today,” you said softly, your hand brushing through her blonde hair as she looked up at you, smiling.

“only ‘cause you set me up with that perfect assist,” paige replied, her eyes locking onto yours, her gaze lingering a little longer than usual.

there was a brief pause, and for a moment, you both just looked at each other. the playful banter, the constant flirting, the pet names—it had always been a part of your friendship. but now, it felt different. more intense, like the tension had been building for longer than either of you had realized.

“you know, you’re really good to me,” paige said quietly, her voice softer now, more serious. “i don’t think i ever tell you that enough.”

your heart skipped a beat at her words, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “i'm just doing what any best friend would do,” you said, your voice sounding more hesitant than you meant it to.

paige’s fingers brushed against your hand, her touch sending a shiver up your spine. “i don’t think most best friends flirt like it’s their job, though.”

you laughed lightly, but there was an edge to it, the kind that came when you were starting to realize something important. “well, it’s just how we are, right? it’s always been like this.”

“yeah…” paige’s voice trailed off, and she sat up slightly, her face inches from yours now, her blue eyes searching yours for something. “but don’t you ever wonder if there’s… more?”

the air between you felt thick with unspoken feelings, and suddenly, all the teasing, the touches, the pet names—it all clicked. you weren’t just friends. you never had been.

you swallowed, your heart racing as you leaned in a little closer. “i guess… i’ve wondered,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

paige smiled then, a soft, genuine smile that made your chest tighten. “good,” she said, her hand finding yours. “because i think i’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

the words hung in the air, and before you could even fully process them, you leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen for years. paige kissed you back immediately, her hands finding their way to the back of your neck as she pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

when you finally pulled away, breathless, paige rested her forehead against yours, her smile still lingering. “so… we’re really not just best friends anymore, huh?”

you laughed softly, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “nope. definitely not just best friends.”

send me more requests! happy reading.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers imagine #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wbb imagine #wbb x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

They Were Never You

Summary: Spencer finds family and maybe more while at university.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, light angst

Warnings/Includes: Spencer and reader are 12-18 in this, teenage angst, teenage hormones, absent parents, Spencer's mom, arguing, bad relationships, reader is a cheerleader, use of Y/N, reader only has a mom

Word count: 5.4k

a/n: spencer baby i want you to be happy you don't need any more sadness in your storyline !!

main masterlist

Starting college at the tender age of 12 was undeniably daunting for Spencer Reid. The vast campus, the mature students, and the intense coursework all contributed to a whirlwind of emotions that he had to navigate. Fortunately, he found some solace in knowing that his assigned advisor was not only understanding but also one of the leading professors in his field. It was a slight disappointment, though, that he wouldn’t attend her lectures until he reached his upper-division courses.

One afternoon, Spencer had a scheduled meeting with his advisor, Jan, late in the day. He nervously approached her office, his small frame barely reaching the little window as he knocked softly.

“Hi, Spencer! Please come in and sit down,” Jan greeted warmly, her smile putting him at ease.

“Hello,” he replied quietly, his eyes flickering over to a girl sitting in the corner of the room.

“I’m sorry, this is my daughter, Y/N. She hangs out with me after school gets out. I hope you don’t mind that she sits in on our meeting,” Jan explained, noticing Spencer’s curiosity.

“No—uh, no, that’s fine,” Spencer stammered, taking a seat opposite Jan.

A few minutes into their meeting, Jan’s phone buzzed insistently. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed. “I’m terribly sorry, Spencer, but I have to take this call. It’s quite important. I’ll be back shortly,” she apologized, stepping out of the room.

Left alone, Spencer fidgeted with his hands, feeling the awkward silence stretch. You, always the social one, saw an opportunity to break the ice.

“So, Spencer, how old are you?” you asked, your curiosity piqued by the boy who seemed out of place among the usual college crowd.

“12,” he replied, barely meeting your gaze.

“Me too! How come you’re in college?” you continued, genuinely interested.

“I’m really smart,” Spencer said simply, his voice tinged with pride and modesty.

“Hmm, okay… what’s 10395 divided by 15?” you asked, testing him with random numbers that popped into your head.

“693,” he answered without hesitation.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t even know if that’s right, but I totally believe you,” you said, your tone filled with genuine awe.

Spencer giggled shyly at your response, the stuffy air in the room easing slightly. For the first time since he started college, he felt a bit of normalcy, sharing a simple, innocent moment with someone his own age.

—

Spencer found himself looking forward to the times he could schedule late appointments with Jan, his advisor. It wasn't for any particular reason, of course. He definitely needed to see her later in the day to fit into his very busy schedule, and it was absolutely necessary for him to meet with her multiple times per term.

As the months went by, these late afternoon meetings became a regular occurrence. Spencer would knock on Jan's office door, a little less nervous each time, and he always found you there, sitting in the corner, waiting for your mom to finish work.

One particular afternoon, Spencer arrived for another scheduled meeting. He knocked and entered the office, greeted by Jan's familiar, warm smile.

“Hi, Spencer! Come on in. How’s your day going?” she asked, motioning for him to take a seat.

“Hello, Dr. Jan. It’s been good, thank you,” Spencer replied, glancing over at you in the corner.

As the meeting progressed, Spencer couldn't help but steal glances in your direction. You would often be engrossed in a book or working on some homework, but you always looked up and gave him a friendly smile whenever you caught him looking.

After discussing his coursework and upcoming projects, Jan excused herself once again. She apologized as she stepped out, leaving you and Spencer alone in the office.

“So, Spencer, what are you learning about today?” you asked, your eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Quantum mechanics,” Spencer replied, his voice gaining a bit of excitement. “It’s really fascinating.”

“Wow, that sounds complicated. Can you explain it to me?” you asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

Spencer’s eyes lit up. “Well, it’s about understanding the behavior of particles at the smallest scales. It’s like… imagine if you could see the tiniest building blocks of everything around us and how they move and interact with each other.”

You nodded, trying to grasp the concept. “That sounds really cool. Do you think I could understand it if I tried to learn?”

“Of course!” Spencer exclaimed, his enthusiasm growing. “You’re smart, Y/N. You can understand anything if you put your mind to it.”

You beamed at his encouragement. “Thanks, Spencer. Maybe one day you can teach me more about it.”

“I’d like that,” he said, feeling a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.

When Jan returned, she found the two of you deep in conversation, a smile playing on her lips as she observed the budding friendship. Spencer left the office that day with a lighter heart, looking forward to the next late afternoon appointment, not just for the academic guidance, but for the chance to see you again.

—

As summer approached, Spencer found himself facing an unexpected dilemma. He had always assumed he would return home when college was out, but a recent revelation about his mother’s living situation in a care facility left him with nowhere to go. The thought of spending the summer alone and without a place to stay weighed heavily on his mind.

During one of his scheduled meetings with Jan, a meeting he had purposely chosen when he knew you wouldn’t be there, Spencer decided to bring up the issue. He entered the office, his usual composed demeanor slightly marred by worry.

“Hello, Spencer,” Jan greeted him warmly as usual. “What’s on your mind today?”

“Hi, Dr. Jan,” he began hesitantly, his fingers nervously tapping on the armrest of his chair. “I, um, have a problem. I don’t have anywhere to go for the summer.”

Jan’s expression softened with concern. “What do you mean, Spencer?”

“My mom... she’s living in a care facility, and there’s no other family I can stay with,” Spencer explained, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jan’s heart broke for the young boy sitting before her. Despite his remarkable intelligence and maturity, he was still just a child in need of care and support. She thought for a moment, weighing her options, and then made a decision.

“Spencer,” she said gently, leaning forward. “I can’t bear the thought of you being alone this summer. Would you consider staying with Y/N and me? We have plenty of room, and I’d love for you to spend the summer with us.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t want to be a burden, Dr. Jan.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden at all,” Jan assured him with a kind smile. “In fact, I think Y/N would be thrilled to have you around. You two get along so well, and it would be nice for you to have some company your age.”

Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him. The idea of spending the summer with you and Jan, rather than facing the unknown alone, was a comforting one. “Thank you, Dr. Jan. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s settled then,” Jan said, her smile widening. “We’ll make sure you have a wonderful summer, Spencer. I’ll take care of all the arrangements. You just focus on finishing your term.”

As Spencer left the office that day, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt a sense of belonging and gratitude that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The prospect of spending the summer with you and Jan filled him with an unexpected sense of excitement and hope.

—

Spencer Reid’s summer with you and your mother, Jan, was transformative. The days started with shared breakfasts, where laughter and stories flowed freely. Spencer, ever the scholar, enjoyed the frequent library visits. You would tag along, your nose often buried in a novel, while Spencer delved into more complex topics. These trips were not just about books but about bonding over shared interests and knowledge.

Afternoons often saw the three of you venturing outdoors. Whether it was picnics in the park, hiking up hills, or friendly competitions in various activities, the time spent in nature fostered a sense of friendship and fun.

Evenings were reserved for deep conversations. Whether it was discussing a book, sharing personal stories, or stargazing in the backyard, these moments brought you and Spencer closer together. Spencer often found himself opening up about his past and his fears, finding comfort in the understanding and support from you.

Cooking together became another highlight of the summer. Jan would teach you and Spencer her favorite recipes, turning the kitchen into a hub of activity and laughter. You and Spencer would often compete to see who could make the best dish, with Jan serving as the delighted judge.

Through late-night talks, you and Spencer grew particularly close. You introduced him to music, movies, and other pop culture he had missed out on, while he helped you with your schoolwork, making complex subjects more approachable and even fun.

As the summer ended, Spencer left with a lighter heart, feeling a sense of belonging and gratitude. The bond you all had formed carried through the next year. Despite his busy college schedule, Spencer made time to help you with your schoolwork, exchanging notes, emails, and occasional visits to keep your friendship strong.

When the next summer arrived, Spencer once again stayed with you and Jan. The days were much the same, filled with learning, adventures, and deep conversations. This time, there was an added focus on preparing you for high school.

Spencer tutored you in advanced subjects, making sure you felt confident and ready for the challenges ahead. Jan and Spencer both helped you develop important life skills, from time management to effective study habits. Spencer also provided emotional support, sharing his own experiences and reassuring you about the transition to high school.

—

"It's so nice that you get to live in a dorm," you complained to Spencer, lying back on your bed and staring at the ceiling.

"Huh? Why?" Spencer asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

"Because you get to be alone. I would kill to constantly be alone," you replied, tone drenched in teenage angst.

"It, um, it's not that great," Spencer said, glancing at you.

"But like, you don't have someone constantly sticking their nose in your business and making you do chores and homework," you continued, a hint of frustration in your voice.

"It's nice your mom cares about you so much," Spencer replied softly.

"Oh, Spence, I'm sorry. I—I didn't mean to be inconsiderate," you said, sitting up and looking at him with genuine remorse.

"No, it's okay. I just don't really like being alone," Spencer admitted, his eyes meeting yours.

"You have me?" you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

"I know," Spencer smiled back at you, feeling a warmth in his chest.

The two of you were hanging out in your bedroom, no longer having to stay with your mom after school now that you were the ripe age of 15 years old. You and Spencer spent a lot of time together, having become best friends over the years. Little did you know, Spencer had developed a huge crush on you.

"Did I tell you that Taylor asked me to prom?" you suddenly announced, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Prom? You're a freshman. Who's Taylor?" Spencer asked, feeling a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest.

"They're a junior on the football team. They're really popular," you said, your excitement evident.

"Oh," Spencer muttered, trying to hide his disappointment.

"I thought you'd be excited for me… this is huge!" you exclaimed, leaning closer to him.

Spencer forced a smile, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah, it's, um, great. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Spence," you said, your smile brightening as you reached over to give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

Spencer's heart ached with unspoken feelings, but he didn’t feel happy for you, his best friend, but he’s become pretty good at hiding his emotions. As you continued to talk about prom and your plans, Spencer listened intently, offering his support and trying his best to mask the growing crush he harbored for you.

—

Spencer sat in the backseat, nervously clutching the seatbelt as you practiced driving with your mom in the passenger seat.

"Okay, ease into the gas," your mom instructed calmly.

"Got it," you replied, trying to focus on the road ahead.

Spencer couldn't help but chime in, "You're doing great, Y/N."

"Thanks, Spence," you said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror with a smile.

"Remember to check your mirrors before changing lanes," your mom added, her tone patient.

You nodded, following her advice. "How do you stay so calm back there, Spencer?"

"I'm used to being in high-stress situations," he said with a small chuckle. "This is nothing compared to some of my classes."

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. "Glad to know my driving isn't as terrifying as quantum mechanics."

Spencer smiled, "Not even close."

—

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, concern evident in his voice as he saw you crying on your bed.

“Taylordumpedme!” you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“What? I can’t understand what you’re saying. Take a deep breath,” Spencer urged gently, trying to calm you down.

You took a shaky breath and repeated, “Taylor dumped me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Spencer said, his heart aching for you.

“Now I can’t go to prom! This is so humiliating! Everyone knows! I told the entire cheer team I was going, now practice is going to be so awkward,” you wailed, burying your face in your hands.

Spencer moved closer, hesitating for a moment before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You don’t need Taylor to go to prom. You can still go when you’re a junior.”

You looked up at him, eyes red and puffy. “But that’s so far away, and it won’t be the same. I was so excited, and now it’s all ruined.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another date,” Spencer said gently, trying to reassure you.

“Spencer! They were my soulmate!” you cried out, fresh tears streaming down your face.

Spencer’s heart ached seeing you so upset. “I know it feels that way now, but you’re amazing, Y/N. If they didn’t see that, then they weren’t worth your time.”

“You don’t understand,” you sniffled. “Everyone was looking forward to seeing us together. I was looking forward to it.”

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “You’re right, I might not fully understand how you feel, but I do know that you’re stronger than you think. And I’ll be right here with you, no matter what.”

You sighed, wiping your tears. “Thanks, Spencer. You always know what to say.”

He gave you a small, supportive smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

“I love you, Spence,” you said, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

“I—I love you too,” Spencer replied, his voice a bit shaky. More than you know, he thought silently, his heart pounding in his chest.

As you clung to him, finding comfort in his presence, Spencer closed his eyes, savoring the moment despite the circumstances. He wished he could tell you everything, how his feelings for you had grown far beyond friendship. But for now, he held you close, hoping his embrace could convey the depth of his affection.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a soft smile. “Thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Spencer brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling a bit of the weight lift from your heart. With Spencer by your side, you knew you could face anything, even a heartbreak as painful as this one.

—

Spencer got his license before you, which meant he became your unofficial chauffeur using the car your mom saved for you. Whether it was taking you to the movies, dinner, the mall, salon appointments, or wherever else you needed to go, Spencer was always there, ready to help. He was basically your boyfriend in every way that mattered, and yet, you were still dating a string of different people.

Being an objectively attractive, nice, and smart cheerleader, you had no shortage of admirers. People were practically banging down your door to date you. Whenever one person would dump you, Spencer was always there to comfort you. You’d lean on him, cry on his shoulder, and he’d offer kind words and hugs. And then, just days later, you’d have a new partner, and the cycle would begin again.

Spencer watched it all with a mixture of heartache and resignation. He knew you were dealing with your own issues, much like he was. Both of you shared similar experiences with distant or absent fathers, but while Spencer’s response had been to seek stability and comfort in his studies, yours had been to never allow yourself to be single.

One evening, after yet another breakup, Spencer drove you home from the mall. The car was filled with the sound of your quiet sniffles and the hum of the engine. He glanced over at you, his heart aching for you once again.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

You shrugged, wiping away a tear. “I’ll be fine. I just don’t understand why it keeps happening.”

Spencer wanted to tell you that you deserved better, that these fleeting relationships weren’t enough for someone as amazing as you. But he held back, afraid of crossing a line. “You know I’m here for you, right? Always.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “I know, Spence. You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As he pulled up to your house, you reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for everything. Really.”

Spencer squeezed back, wishing he could do more. “Anytime. You know where to find me.”

You leaned over and gave him a quick hug before getting out of the car. As you walked up to your front door, Spencer sat there for a moment, watching you. He sighed, knowing that no matter how many people you dated, he’d always be there, waiting in the wings, ready to catch you when you fell.

But deep down, he couldn’t help but hope that one day, you’d see him as more than just a friend. One day, maybe, you’d realize that the person who had always been there for you, who had always loved you, was right in front of you all along. He turned on You Belong With Me and drove back to the dorms. (let's pretend this song had already come out)

—

Towards the end of the year, you excitedly announced to Spencer that you were in "a serious relationship this time, Spence." He wanted to believe you, but given your track record of fleeting romances, he couldn't help but harbor some doubts. However, as the relationship lasted a whole month, he began to think maybe this time was different.

Since you turned 16, you no longer needed Spencer to drive you around, but now your new partner, Avery, had taken over that role. Spencer couldn't help but feel replaced. You were always too busy to hang out, spending all your free time with Avery. It left Spencer feeling a pang of loneliness and jealousy he couldn't quite shake.

In June, Jan threw Spencer a graduation party to celebrate him finishing his undergraduate degree. It was a big milestone, and Spencer was looking forward to celebrating with the people he cared about. You showed up with Avery, who you had now been with for two months, and it felt like a punch to the gut for Spencer when you spent the entire party with them.

When you finally introduced Avery to Spencer, he couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment. Avery was polite, but Spencer's responses were curt and distant.

"Avery, this is Spencer. My best friend," you said, smiling brightly.

"Nice to meet you, Spencer. Y/N's told me a lot about you," Avery said, extending a hand.

Spencer didn’t take their hand, just ignored it until Avery awkwardly put it back down. "Nice to meet you too," he said, his tone lacking enthusiasm.

The tension was palpable, and you quickly picked up on it. After Avery walked away to get a drink, you turned to Spencer with a frown. "What's your problem, Spencer?"

Spencer, not Spence. "I don't have a problem," Spencer replied, avoiding your gaze.

"Clearly, you do," you said, crossing your arms. "You've been ignoring me all night, and you were so rude to Avery."

Spencer sighed, trying to keep his emotions in check. "It's just... I feel like you've forgotten about me. You're always with Avery now. We never hang out anymore."

You softened slightly, realizing the impact your new relationship had on Spencer. "Spence, I didn't mean to make you feel that way. Avery's important to me, but so are you."

"It doesn't feel like it," he muttered, looking away.

"That's not fair," you snapped, frustration bubbling up. "You know how much you mean to me, Spencer."

"Do I? Because it sure feels like I've been replaced," he shot back, his voice tinged with bitterness.

You stared at him, hurt and anger mixing in your eyes. "That's not true. I'm sorry if it seems that way, but I care about you both. Can't you just be happy for me?"

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to quell the storm of emotions inside him. "I want to be happy for you, Y/N. I really do. But it's hard when I feel like I'm losing my best friend."

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. "You're not losing me, Spence. I promise. I'll make more time for us. Just... try to get to know Avery. They make me happy."

Spencer nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I'll try."

You gave him a small, hopeful smile. "Thank you."

The party continued, but the argument lingered in the back of both your minds. It was a reminder that even the closest friendships could be tested by change. But you were determined to find a balance, to prove to Spencer that no matter what, he would always be an important part of your life.

—

It was Spencer's last night before he would move away to a different state, preparing to settle in during the summer before starting his master's program. You had promised to hang out, making plans for one final evening together. However, as Spencer rode up to your house on his bike and saw Avery's car parked in the driveway, it was clear that you had forgotten.

Feeling an overwhelming surge of emotions, with rage at the forefront of his teenage hormones, Spencer sped off, pedaling furiously down the streets. He couldn't believe you had chosen Avery over him on the one night that mattered most.

Back at his packed up door, Spencer's mind raced with thoughts of betrayal and heartbreak. He sat down at his computer, the anger and hurt boiling over into his fingertips as he began to type. Words flowed out, raw and unfiltered, forming an emotional email that laid bare everything he had been holding inside.

Subject: Goodbye

Y/N,

I can't believe you forgot about tonight. Our last night together before I leave, and you chose to be with Avery instead. I don't even know where to start. This hurts more than I can put into words, but I'm going to try.

I’ve been your best friend for years. I've been there through every breakup, every tear, every moment you needed someone. I thought tonight would be different. I thought you would be there for me, just this once, when it really mattered.

Seeing Avery's car in your driveway tonight felt like a slap in the face. It's like I've been replaced, and maybe I have. I always tried to be supportive of your relationships, even when it hurt to watch you with someone else. But this time, it's different. This time, it's unbearable.

I've been hiding my feelings for you for so long, afraid that telling you would ruin everything. But now, I feel like I've got nothing left to lose. I love you, Y/N. More than just a friend, more than anything. It's been torture watching you date all these people, knowing that none of them could ever love you like I do.

I don't know what I'm expecting by sending this. Maybe nothing. Maybe just to let you know how much you've hurt me. Maybe to let you know that I’m leaving with a broken heart. I don't know if we'll ever be the same after this, and maybe that's for the best. But you deserve to know the truth, even if it changes nothing.

Goodbye, Y/N. I hope Avery is worth it.

Spencer

He hit send before he could think twice, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. As he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, Spencer wondered if he had just ruined everything or if, somehow, things might finally change for the better. Either way, there was no turning back now.

—

You didn't see Spencer's email until the next morning. As your eyes scanned the words, your heart dropped to your stomach. He loved you? Avery had been at your house the previous night to break up with you, not to spend time together. Panic set in as you called Spencer over and over, but he never answered. You hadn't even realized what day it was.

Knowing Spencer's plane didn't leave until the evening, you threw on some shoes over your pajamas and ran out of the house, your hair still messy from sleep. You drove as fast as you could to Spencer's dorm. When you got there, you used the trick Spencer had taught you to sneak past the security-locked doors and ran up the stairs to his floor.

You banged repeatedly on his door, your heart pounding in your chest. Finally, the door opened, and there stood Spencer, looking surprised and confused.

“What? Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice tinged with irritation.

“I’m so sorry I forgot about last night,” you said breathlessly.

“You saw my email?” Spencer's face hardened, a mix of vulnerability and anger in his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m so, so sorry, Spencer. I’m the worst friend in the world. Avery was only over to dump me anyway,” you explained, tears starting to form in your eyes.

Spencer stared at you, his emotions warring on his face. “So you only remembered me because Avery dumped you?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“No! It’s not like that, Spencer. I was planning to spend the night with you, but I got caught up in everything and lost track of time. You’re so important to me,” you said, stepping closer.

He looked away, his jaw clenched. “It doesn’t change the fact that I was an afterthought, Y/N. You’ve been so wrapped up in your relationships that you’ve forgotten about the one constant in your life.”

You reached out, touching his arm gently. “You’re right. I have been a terrible friend. But I don’t want to lose you, Spencer. You mean the world to me. Can we talk? Please?”

Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “Okay. Let’s talk,” he said, stepping aside to let you into his dorm room.

As you entered, you felt a surge of relief and fear. This conversation could change everything, and you hoped with all your heart that it would be for the better.

You stepped into Spencer's dorm room, the door closing behind you with a soft click. The room was filled with packed boxes and the sense of imminent departure. You both sat on the edge of his bed, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Spencer, I’m really sorry,” you began, your voice trembling. “I’ve been so caught up in my own world that I haven’t been a good friend to you. I never realized how much I was hurting you.”

Spencer looked at you, his eyes full of pain. “Y/N, I’ve always been there for you. Every time you got hurt, every time you needed someone. And I was happy to do it because I love you. But seeing you with all those people, knowing I was just your fallback, it hurt. A lot.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “I know. And I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like that. I care about you so much, Spencer. You’re my best friend.”

“Best friend,” Spencer repeated, his voice hollow. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “No, Spencer, you’re more than that. You mean everything to me.”

Spencer’s expression softened slightly, and he moved closer. “Do you really mean that?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of your words. “Yes, I do.”

Without warning, Spencer leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and hesitant against yours. For a moment, you froze, taken aback by the sudden intimacy. Then you pulled back, your heart racing.

“Spencer, I—” you started, but he cut you off.

“You don’t see me like that, do you?” he asked, his voice cracking. “You don’t love me the way I love you.”

“Spencer… that was my first kiss,” you said softly.

“What?” Spencer's eyes widened in surprise.

“Mhm,” you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips.

“But you’ve had so many partners!” he exclaimed, trying to make sense of it.

“I never kissed them,” you admitted, your smile growing.

“Why?” Spencer asked, bewildered.

“They were never you,” you replied, your eyes locking with his, filled with sincerity and emotion.

Spencer stared at you, his mind racing to comprehend what you had just revealed. "But why me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, filled with hope and disbelief.

"Because, Spencer," you began, taking a step closer to him. "No one else ever made me feel the way you do. You were always there for me, always caring, always understanding. I guess I was selfish… and scared to ruin what we had, so I kept my distance in that way. But now I realize how much I’ve hurt you, and missed out on by not telling you sooner."

Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as he processed your words. "I thought I was just your fallback, the one you turned to when things went wrong with others."

"You were never just a fallback," you insisted, your voice firm. "You’ve always been so much more than that. I was just too afraid to admit it, even to myself."

“So what do we do now?” Spencer asked, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

“Well, you’re leaving…” you began, your voice tinged with sadness.

“I know,” he said, looking down.

“But… we have email, and phones, and we can write letters!” you said, your tone growing more hopeful.

“You’d be willing to do long distance, for me?” Spencer asked, his eyes big and full of love.

“I’d do anything for you, Spencer,” you replied sincerely, taking his hand in yours.

“I’m so glad Avery dumped you,” Spencer said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“That’s so rude,” you laughed, feeling the weight of past hurt lifting, “but I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Spencer replied, his eyes shining with emotion.

—

Two years later, you graduated high school and Spencer was well into his PhD programs. You had stayed true to your commitment to each other, maintaining a long-distance relationship through countless emails, phone calls, and handwritten letters that kept your bond strong. The distance had only made your connection deeper, and your love grew with each passing day.

When you got a job in the city where Spencer was studying, you moved in together, transforming your shared space into a home filled with warmth, laughter, and countless books. Still in love, still best friends, you navigated the challenges of life together.

Your late-night study sessions turned into heartfelt conversations, your shared meals became cherished moments, and your weekends were filled with adventures and quiet times alike. As you sat together on the couch, wrapped up in each other, you both knew that this was just the beginning of your long life together.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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ashtxrie · 10 months ago

Text

incognito mode (heeseung)

PAIR. classmate!heeseung x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, implied strangers to lovers WORD COUNT. 1.0k WARNINGS. none! IN WHICH: heeseung receives drawings from an anonymous admirer who decides to not be so anonymous anymore...

heeseung finds the first drawing when he opens his locker, a yellow post-it note among his books and papers. he doesn’t think much of it, not until he pulls out his textbook and it flutters to the ground, landing near his feet.

there’s something on the back, so he bends to pick it up and freezes. there’s a raccoon staring at a hamster opening up his locker, a small speech bubble above the raccoon.

i wish you’d notice me...

heeseung smiles despite himself, tucking the note back into his locker.

he finds the second drawing when he’s standing in line for coffee and rummages in his pocket for spare change. he finds two five-dollar bills, and absent-mindedly hands them to the woman with an outstretched palm, who then hands him his drink.

heeseung is more interested in the slip of paper he feels tucked and folded in his pocket, and he quickly thinks back through his entire day and realizes he has no idea how someone’s managed to put it there.

he pulls it out as he takes a sip of his coffee, hissing as it burns his tongue.

the drawing’s cute, it’s a raccoon staring at the same hamster with hearts in their eyes.

heeseung looks at it for a few moments, then folds it back up, sticking it back in his pocket. he doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he catches sight of his reflection in the windows, and thinks he looks uncharacteristically happy.

the third drawing he finds is during class when he flips his textbook open, frowning as he notices something tucked in one of the chapters in the back of the book. he flips forward, eyes widening as he sees another post-it note.

it’s the same raccoon, staring at the hamster curiously. there’s another thought bubble hovering over the raccoon.

do you like the drawings? i wish you’d talk to me.

heeseung smiles and holds the drawing closer, turning it around to see if there’s any trace of the artist. there isn’t, and heeseung frowns.

how am I supposed to talk to you if I have no idea who you are?

the fourth drawing is tucked into his palm as he’s passing through classes, and heeseung whirls around, eyes wide.

“wait,” he calls, but he doesn’t know who he’s talking to, doesn’t know who to look for.

he’s met with blank faces of people walking past him, and his face falls.

he was so close. so close to figuring out who it was.

he moves to stand somewhere near the edge of the hallway, unfolding the paper. he stares at it for a while, folding and unfolding the paper.

the drawing’s split into two halves. on one side the raccoon presents the hamster with the drawing, beaming. on the other half, the one heeseung has been staring at for minutes, is of the raccoon hiding behind a wall and watching the hamster opening the paper.

heeseung sighs, then sticks his hands in his pocket and walks outside.

the next week, heeseung seems uncharacteristically quiet, and he looks at the first drawing he’s taped to the door of his locker.

he doesn’t know why he’s kept it there, but somehow it makes him feel a little less lonely. he supposes it’s because he hasn’t gotten a drawing in a while.

he frowns as someone bumps into him, and heeseung drops his books. he grumbles and reaches to pick everything up, frowning as he searches for the drawing he’d been holding in his hands.

his eyes widen and he swallows. he didn’t lose it, did he?

someone clears their throat and heeseung looks up, curious to see the person who’d bumped into him holding his last book and the drawing in their other hand. “here,” you say, “i'm sorry.”

heeseung blinks, then breathes out in relief. “thanks.”

you smile warmly, then point to the drawing that heeseung is nearly cradling. “did you draw that?” there seemed to be a knowing lilt in your voice, but the boy in front of you doesn't quite catch it.

heeseung looks up again. “oh, this?” he shrugs. “no, i’ve just been finding them everywhere.”

you laugh. “do you like them, at least?”

heeseung smiles, and part of him is wondering why the hell he’s talking so naturally to someone he’s barely even met. but he does. “yeah. although i’m offended that i’m a hamster.” he grins. “i think i’m more of a deer, at least.”

you laugh again, and heeseung thinks he could talk to you forever. “a deer,” you shake your head, eyes curved to crescents. “okay.”

heeseung stands up again. “i’m heeseung, by the way.”

you smile, and heeseung thinks your eyes are rather pretty. “[name]. i’m [name].”

when heeseung sees the fifth drawing, he loses his shit. he opens up his locker and sees another drawing folded so small that heeseung doesn’t see it until it falls out. he picks it up, his eyes widening.

the raccoon is laughing as the hamster puts deer antlers on its head as a headband.

you’re still a hamster, it says in the text bubble above the raccoon.

heeseung walks out of school late, and pauses as he sees you lingering by the bus stop, standing up to stare at the vending machine.

heeseung can feel his breath in his throat, feels the drawing clenched between his fingers, and he marches toward you.

you turn at the last second, eyes warm. there’s a moment of surprise as you see heeseung, and he thinks you nearly look scared.

but heeseung pulls you toward him and wraps his arms around you. he hears your small gasp of surprise, before you hug him back tighter. so he figured it out, huh? took long enough.

"it was you?" he says, softly. tentatively, as if afraid he was wrong.

you hum and smile at him. "you found me."

"and for the record, you'll always be a hamster to me. you were the sad hamster personified when the teacher said you couldn't eat your instant ramen in class last week."

"i-- hey! ... whatever. at least i look cute in your drawings."

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen blurbs #enhypen fic #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #heeseung fic #ashtxrie #— ash writes!

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masonmtxo · 4 months ago

Text

Change Your Ticket

Summary: Mason leaves for preseason in LA. Contains smut 18+.

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: this has been in my drafts forever and despite coming back to it multiple times I still can’t make it flow the way I want so sorry if it’s a mess! As always, feedback is welcomed 🩷

•••

Mason had been quiet all day, his loud laugh and terrible jokes had been noticeably absent as the evening drew in closer.

He had refused to leave your side for the most part of the day, following you around the house like a lost puppy, tucking his head into your neck and wrapping you in his arms from behind at every opportunity. Conversation had been kept to a minimum in your usually lively household, other than to answer you in as few words as possible when you spoke to him. All that had left his mouth had been soft ‘I love you’s and ‘I’m going to miss you’s, whispered into your ear so gently you nearly didn’t catch them.

“C’mon Mase, you need to get packed,” you murmured when the lock screen of your phone showed the time was nearing 8pm, gently scratching his scalp as he laid on your chest, snuggled as close to you as he physically could be, legs tangled together as a film neither of you had been paying much attention to played in the background.

He shook his head, burrowing into you further as you let out a sigh. He had a tendency to be clingy and loving the night before going away, it was a regular occurrence over the years of your relationship, but never to this extreme. He was touchy and cuddly at the best of times, but tonight it was as if he physically couldn't bear to not be touching you.

“What’s got into you baby?” You soothed, “talk to me.” Sitting up slightly, forcing him to lift his head from the safety of your chest, you cupped your hand around his cheek, catching the gaze of his brown eyes.

He shrugged, trying to duck away from you, but you held firm, “I don't want to go.”

You frowned softly, sensing his anxieties about going to America tomorrow for pre season were more than just to do with the flight itself and something else was bothering him. Although he traveled often for matches, he never looked forward to flying, especially without you to keep him company, but after coming back from training earlier in the week to excitedly announce Rasmus had been assigned to sit next to him, he had seemed a lot more relaxed. “Yes you do Mase, you’ve been so excited to get back playing,” your voice was encouraging, attempting to relight the sparkle in his sad expression, “and you’ve worked so hard this summer to get your fitness back to where you wanted it to be.”

He turned away from you, eyebrows furrowed and pout so pronounced you almost wanted to giggle, but you refrained, continuing to stroke over his hair as you waited for him to speak, knowing it relaxed him.

“I wanted you to come,” his voice was almost a whisper when he finally spoke, red flushing over his cheeks letting you know he was embarrassed to admit that had been tormenting him all day.

Your heart ached at his admission, you knew he was gutted that you wouldn’t be flying out with his family to watch his preseason matches due to last minute work commitments, but you hadn’t realised it had upset him so much. “Oh baby,” you sighed, finally letting him tuck himself back away in the crook of your neck, “I wanted to be there so bad too. But Lew will be there! And your mum and dad are flying out for the Arsenal game!”

It went without saying he would miss you, and he was disappointed you were going to miss his games, but you hadn't anticipated the lack of your presence in the stands was enough to have him feeling so troubled. You knew your encouragement had fallen on deaf ears when he shook his head again, taking a deep breath and rolling off of your body to his feet.

“Come help?” His voice was soft, shrouded in sadness. Holding out a hand he carefully pulled you up, refusing to let go as he guided you upstairs to your room.

•••

You had packed his case in near enough silence, you doing most of the work, holding up items of clothing to mostly be met with an unbothered shrug. Luckily most of what he would be wearing was training kits supplied by the club, so after packing him enough comfies, underwear and a few nicer outfits for any days off or team dinners, you zipped up his case.

Mason gave you a sweet kiss in thanks before mumbling he was going to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. His head was hung low making your heart break at the obvious sadness radiating off of him.

You sat from a moment, racking your brain for anything you could put in his case to make him smile once he arrived in LA. Mason always left a worn jumper or tshirt of his on the bed whenever he went away, knowing that it would make you smile when you found it before bed the first night he was away. It was something thoughtful that you very much appreciated, this time wanting to do the same for him hoping to give him comfort the way he always did for you.

Checking the door to the bathroom was definitely shut, you quickly darted to your side of the bed as an idea popped into your head, grabbing the small teddy he had won you at an arcade on your third date. You’d made the mistake of letting Mason name it, thinking he would come up with something cute, but his imaginative reply of “Ted,” had your eyes rolling. But from the day Ted had come home, he had stayed beside your side of the bed, first in your flat and now in your shared house, only ever moving from his spot when he traveled anywhere with you, becoming somewhat of a sentimental comfort blanket that reminded you of your boyfriend.

Opening up his case, keeping your eyes firmly on the bathroom door as you did so, you tucked Ted under Mason’s favorite hoodie, knowing it would be the first item he reached for upon arriving at the hotel in California. You zipped it back up and propped it up by the door ready for Mason to grab in the morning.

You got yourself ready for bed as well, nipping into the bathroom once a boxer-clad Mason came shuffling out, wrapping you in a quick side hug as he passed.

He was already in bed when you returned to the room, laying on his back staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes falling to you as he felt the bed dip beside him. You laid next to him, smiling knowingly as he shuffled towards you, carefully flopping his body on top of yours, head placed over your chest so he could hear your steady heartbeat. It wasn't often you cuddled like this, most of the time it was you being babied and loved on by Mason, but tonight he was the one in need of comfort and proximity to calm his anxieties. Hooking one leg around his, you pressed him as tightly into your body as you could, the weight of him on top of you brought you as much comfort as it did him.

“I rang the dog trainers earlier, they’re gonna drop Ace off tomorrow late morning,” he whispered into your skin, running the tip of his nose against your neck as he snuggled impossibly further into your body.

You tilted your head to try and catch his eye but he didn't look up, gently scratching the back of his head in silent acknowledgment. You knew part of his worries about going away were not just just about not getting to see you, but also to do with leaving you, having not been left for such a long period on your own since the move up to Manchester. With no family and only a small group of friends in the area, within weeks of moving up North, Mason had begun looking into protection dogs, Ace coming into your lives not long after. Your pup still had some training to go, but for the most part knew his job, his close bond to you both and natural instincts as well as his training so far had you feeling safe in his presence. So you weren't surprised that Mason had organized for Ace to come home from training board a week early to keep you company and ease Mason’s mind that you wouldn't be in the house alone and unprotected.

“Get some sleep Masey,” you cooed, fingers now tracing patterns along the expanse of his muscled back to try and soothe him, “love you.”

“I love you too.”

•••

When you awoke that morning the first thing you noticed was your proximity to the edge of the bed, opening your eyes to see the corner of your bedside table directly in front of your face having shifted onto your side in the night. Your boyfriend's body was still flush against you, looking over your shoulder to see the back of his head on your pillow beside you. You couldn't help but chuckle to yourself, sitting up carefully to look at the other side of your super king bed, Mason’s side untouched as even in his unconscious state he had opted to stay as close to you as he physically could be.

Reaching for your phone, you checked the time, 7:08am flashing on the screen. Your alarm was set for half past to give yourselves enough time to get up and ready before you needed to drop Mason at Carrington for 9. You carefully laid back down on your side facing him, wrapping your arm around his body, wanting to enjoy the last few minutes with him in your arms before there was an ocean between you.

Mason didn’t wake until your alarm sounded, groaning as he instinctively pulled your arm further around his chest making you giggle, “Mase I need my hand to turn the alarm off.”

He huffed, releasing his grip to let you quickly reach behind you and silence your phone.

“Morning,” his voice when he first woke up always had you melting into a puddle, the raspiness so sexy to you it made you shiver as you cuddled into his back, feather like kisses being pressed over his spine and shoulder blades, making sure to pay special attention to the smattering of moles and freckles dotted along his soft skin.

You were going to miss this feeling, waking up next to him, seeing his sleepy eyes and rumpled hair, knowing you were the only person in the world lucky enough to wake up beside this man. The little crease between his eyebrows that stayed imprinted for several hours from squishing his face too deep into his pillow, his soft pink lips that always seemed extra pouty in the mornings, the smell of his skin so distinctly him you wasn't sure you would ever wake up feeling so peaceful than mornings when you were beside him.

An overwhelming feeling of sadness washed over you as you finally convinced yourself to pull away from his warmth, sitting up and swinging your legs round the edge of the bed to stand. Stroking his exposed bicep, you leant back over the bed to kiss his forehead, “c’mon baby, you've gotta get up,” you murmured, “go jump in the shower and I’ll get started on breakfast.”

He hummed in response, his eyes slowly blinking open as you stood straight, making your way to the door to head down to the kitchen.

“Baby, wait,” you heard Mason speak through a yawn, turning back to see him shuffling himself out of bed, “come shower with me?”

Tilting your head to the side with a smirk, it didn't take more than a moment of consideration before you were nodding in confirmation that you would join him, not letting the sensible side of brain talk you out of it. You followed him into your ensuite, admiring the full expanse of his toned back and boxer clad bum as he walked.

You undressed in silence, letting him lead you into the shower once he deemed it warm enough, instantly falling into his embrace under the cascading water. Showering with Mason never got old, it was something you both loved to do, the intimacy of holding each other's naked bodies and washing each other down in a comfortable silence. You took it in turns, both taking time to gently caress and massage each other as a guise for washing each other down, both desperate to be as close as possible in the little time you had left.

Stepping out the shower, Mason wrapped you in a towel before sliding one around his own waist, his arms coming round you to cuddle into your damp body from behind, lips instantly finding their way back to your neck. You couldn't help but admire your intertwined bodies in the mirror, loving the way he caged you against him as you felt him begin to suck on the spot below your ear that he knew made you weak at the knees.

“Mase,” you moaned lowly, hand coming up to grip on his forearm in an attempt to get his attention, “we don’t have time baby, I need to go make breakfast.”

Mason grunted in response, his attack on your neck getting more heated by the second, “we’re skipping breakfast today,” his words were pointed, leaving no room for debate.

You let him shuffle you forward until your hips made contact with the bathroom counter, the towels he had wrapped around you both minutes before dropped to the floor in his haste. His actions were forceful, but as careful as ever as he manhandled you into the position he desired, hoisting your leg up to rest beside the sink, pushing your upper body forward so your flushed face was inches away from the mirror.

He wasted no time, gripping his shaft and pressing his tip against your hole, a sharp push of his hip splitting you open as he buried himself inside you. A gasp fell involuntarily from your lips at the sudden intrusion, the lack of foreplay or preparation making a twinge of pain shoot up your spine, your body tensing.

“Sorry baby,” Mason whispered, stilling his hips at your body's response, a sweet kiss being pressed to your cheek apologetically, “let me know when.”

It didn't take more than a few seconds for the pain to subside as your walls relaxed around him, your body used to accommodating his size, “you can move Mase.”

You both moaned in unison as Mason began to shift inside you, pulling back to the tip and then pushing to the hilt repeatedly. Long, hard strokes hitting you in all the right places.

Low moans were falling from your mouth at every movement of his hips, gripping the counter in front of you to stabilize yourself as his forceful thrusts made your legs tremble. You couldn't help but admire the way you looked in the reflection, naked body entrapped by Mason’s larger frame, skin flushed partly from the warmth of the shower and partly from the heat generated from the press of your bodies. You were frustrated that you couldn't see his face in the reflection, hidden in your neck as he sucked and nipped at your sensitive skin but you let it go, the feeling of his lips too good to put a stop to.

The feeling of being full of him had you pushing your hips back into his rhythmically. Mason gripping onto your thigh for leverage as he worked himself in and out, hard and fast, bottoming out on each deep press. Your eyes fluttered shut, the sounds echoing around the room borderline pornographic.

"Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me," Mason grunted in your ear, pulling your slumping body flush against his chest.

Your eyes flew open to meet his in the reflection, frantically reaching behind your body and grabbing at his shoulder with a gasp as he rutted into you, deep and desperate strokes that had you whimpering uncontrollably.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you felt his warm hand encasing your left hips, his right hand still firmly gripping your elevated thigh. Mason’s dark eyes were focused on yours, refusing to break contact, his warm breath spreading over your back as he grunted in exertion.

Despite his request, you couldn't stop your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you reached down to run your fingers over your clit, attempting to carry on rocking your hips back against his cock in sync with his thrusts but your movements were messy. Mason’s eyes dropped from your breasts in the reflection of the mirror to watch your hand planted between your thighs. His brows furrowed before his hand on your hip grasped your forearm to pull you away, replacing your hand with his.

The added sensation of his rough fingertips against your sensitive bundle had you whimpering in seconds, you high hitting you like a tidal wave your entire body began to pulse and tremble as you moaned out his name like a prayer.

“Good girl,” his voice was low, the praise making your exhausted body twitch in pleasure.

Mason didn't let up, rutting into you as you came, lips pressing wet kisses along any bit of skin he could reach. You could tell he was struggling to hold it together with the way breathy pants were expelling from his parted lips. His quiet whimpers and thrusts that were growing increasingly uncoordinated a tell tale sign he was close. The movement in his hips was shallowing, barely pulling back more than a few inches before pushing back to the hilt, no longer having to prioritise your orgasm, as he always did, and simply aiming for his own.

Coming back round from your bliss, you pulled his hand away from your over sensitive clit, threading your fingers through his and squeezing in encouragement, “go on baby, that's it.”

He released inside of you with a grunt a few moments later, his chest heaving as he pressed as far into you as he could, pushing you hips into the worktop so hard you had no doubt a bruise would appear in the next few days.

Mason was silent for a moment, the only sound echoing in the room, his heavy breathing as he attempted to slow his pounding heart rate. He took a shaky breath, slowly lifting the pressure where you were joined, allowing space to lean back from the hard edge, but not yet pulling out from your warmth.

His head was spinning, breathing ragged and body aching from the intensity of what you had just done, feeling a tinge of guilt as he remember the yelp you let out when he first fucked himself into you without any preparation.

“Sorry,” he breathed, “fuck…”

Mason pulled himself out of you carefully, kissing you on the head as you winced before turning you around and pulling you into his chest for a much needed cuddle. His thumb stroked your back absentmindedly as you held each other close, enjoying the final few minutes before you would inevitably have to part.

“You okay baby?” you soothed, fingers scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “are you?”

You simply nodded, not wanting to break the serenity of your embrace but feeling antsy at the thought of him being late the further away you got from your high.

Mason could read you like a book though and pulled away, placing his hands on your hips and gracing you with the first proper smile on his face in the past 24 hours, “now I’ve reminded you of what you’ll be missing, I think it may be time to get dressed.”

You shook your head with a grin, happy to see that the dark cloud that had been surrounding him had started to lift. He was smiling, and that's all that mattered to you.

He left you to clean yourself up with a quick kiss and a promise he would run downstairs and make you a coffee to take with you in the car to make up for the lack of breakfast.

He appeared at the door as you were pulling up your panties, giving your bum a cheeky squeeze, “coffee is made and waiting for you at the front door angel.”

You thanked him, heart swelling at the way he always went out of his way to look after you. Acts of service were your biggest love language and for Mason, it was second nature. The sadness of him going away started to swell in the pit of your stomach as it dawned on you it would only be a matter of hours before he was on a plane and you’d be alone for the first time in a long time.

You shook your head and willed your watering eyes to stop, determined to get him to Carrington in time and to see him off before you let the emotions take over.

Getting dressed into comfy tracksuits as quickly as you could after checking your phone to see you were 10 minutes late leaving, Mason grabbed his suitcase and followed you down the stairs and out the door in haste, picking up your coffee as you departed.

Hopping into the passenger side, you couldn't help but feel the tears prickle again, but you kept a brave face for Mason’s sake, “got your phone? Wallet? Headphones? Passport?”

“Yes, yes, yes, anddddd,” he furrowed his brows, turning to grab his travel bag from the back seat and rifling through the front pocket, “yes!”

He waved the passport at you before tucking it back into his bag ready to hand over to the team's handler upon arrival at Carrington.

The drive to the training ground was only short, but the journey flew by in the blink of an eye, your hand in Mason’s resting on the center console the entire way, taking it in turns to reassuringly squeeze each other's hand.

Mason pulled up in one of the first bays in the car park, a fair distance from the entrance of the building where the team photographer was waiting to snap content of the players arrivals. Neither of you made any attempt to move, hand still intertwined as you both just stared ahead.

He let out a deep sigh, unclipping his belt and turning his body to face you, reaching for your chin to tilt your head towards him, “I better get going baby.”

“Okay,” you whispered with a dejected huff.

“Text me when you're home, and when Ace arrives,” Mason requested, thumb slowly brushing over your cheek, “and promise me you will call me straight away if you need anything?”

“I promise,” you puckered your lips, desperate to feel his against yours for one last time.

Mason obliged, pressing his mouth against yours, taking his time to appreciate the feeling of you, slipping his tongue between your lips.

Pulling back for a breath, he grinned at you, “I really really need to go.”

“You do,” you laughed as he made no effort to open the car door, “c’mon Mase, you’ll get fined.”

He jokingly rolled his eyes, stepping out and grabbing his suitcase from the boot. You leant behind you to grab his travel bag before hopping out and making your way over to where he stood to hand it to him.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he pulled you against his body for a goodbye hug, leaning back to press a final deep peck to your lips, “don't crash my car and don't miss me too much.”

“No promises to either,” you winked. Loving that despite your track record, he let you drive his beloved Defender whenever he was away.

He barked out a laugh, eyes softening, “I love you, I’ll call you everyday.”

“I love you too, have fun,” you couldn't help the wobble in your voice as he began to walk away, not missing the irony of it being you trying to convince him it would be okay 12 hours earlier to now feeling like you were about to fall apart at the sight of him walking across the car park.

Leaning against the car, you watched as he fist bumped the awaiting photographer and greeted a woman in a United kit that you presumed was one of the handlers. As Mason got to the entrance way of the building he turned to blow you a kiss before disappearing inside.

With a deep sigh, you stood yourself back up, hopped into the driver's seat and made your way home, counting down the minutes until Ace would be dropped round to keep you company.

•••

Later that evening you found yourself curled up on the sofa, Ace cuddled up to you as a Netflix documentary you knew Mason wouldn't be interested in played out on the tv screen.

Mason had called you about an hour earlier to say he had landed and was on his way to the hotel, filling you in on his already jam packed schedule. He sounded much lighter, telling you he only had 20 minutes to unpack before he was due for a post flight physio session and then a team meal later that afternoon.

Your phone buzzed beside you making Ace shoot upright, glancing around the room before settling back on your chest when he deemed there to be no danger. Opening the message you smiled to yourself, glad your plan had worked.

#mason mount #mason mount fic #mason mount fluff

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