#they were nice and replaced it and said sorry

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Propose

@wolfstarmicrofic February 15, word count 527

Sirius checked and rechecked everything. He called the waiter over, and he reassured Sirius that he had it in hand. Sirius took a breath and threw his glass of whisky down his throat as he waited for Remus to arrive. 

The dinner went perfectly. Sirius was dressed in his favourite blue shirt, and Remus was in his favourite wool jumper, much to Sirius’s dismay. This was a nice place; he was honestly shocked they’d let him in. 

It was time for pudding, and Sirius knew exactly what Remus would pick. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake, please,” Remus said to the waiter. The waiter winked at Sirius as he went to put their orders in. Sirius had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Their puddings came out, and Sirius poked at his cheesecake as he watched with bated breath as Remus began digging into his chocolate cake. 

He was about halfway through the frankly enormous piece of cake when he coughed a bit and clutched his throat before swallowing hard. “Sorry, big chunk of chocolate in that bite.” Remus told him as he took another bite of his cake. Sirius winced and let out a defeated sigh. “Something wrong?” Remus looked up, worry creasing his face. 

“Little bit. Erm, darling, was that previous bite a bit hard to chew?”

“Yeah, nearly broke a tooth on it,” Sirius’s head fell into his hands. “Sirius, what’s going on?” Remus asked, shaking Sirius’s hands, trying to pull them away from his face. Sirius took a deep breath, in through his mouth, out through his nose. 

“That er, chocolate chunk was the engagement ring I had put in your chocolate cake. I was going to propose,” Remus dropped his fork and then burst into laughter. “Yeah, alright, worst place ever to put a ring. I should have known your hunger for all things chocolate would make this a disaster.” He waved the waiter over to get the check. 

“And how did everything go this evening, gentlemen?” The waiter asked, his excitement barely contained. 

“He swallowed it. Could we have the check, please? We have another date with A&E.” The smile dropped from the waiter's face, and he scurried off to get their bill. 

“The answer is yes, by the way,” Remus said as he finished his last bite of cake. “Yes, I will marry you.” They looked at each other and burst into fits of laughter again. They were still laughing as they entered the hospital to hopefully get Remus’s ring back out of his stomach. If not, Sirius was already thinking about replacements. 

He took Remus’s hand when his name was called and sat beside him while the doctor asked them how he could help today. 

“Well,” He started. “My fiancé here accidentally swallowed his engagement ring, and we were hoping you could get it back for us.” They all had a good laugh about it, and a little while later, Sirius and Remus were walking out of the hospital. Remus had his engagement ring on, and now they had the best engagement story out of all of their friends. It couldn’t have gone any better in Sirius’s opinion.

[thetomorrowshow]

febuwhump 17 - power instability

EMPIRES SUPERPOWERS AU IS BACK

title: vision, visage, gentile, genteel

fandom: empires smp

this is the first chapter of the esh au sequel. it's back babey

~

It began, as many things do, with a bang.

Nobody knew what it meant. There were people outside, getting ready to head to work, who jumped and cursed and spun around. The noise was considered by some, likely, a firework, or a gunshot, or perhaps some new super on the scene. Perhaps a car malfunctioning, or a tire popping. Whatever it was, it was none of most people's concern, and after a moment of fright, those unsuspecting souls continued on with their days and forgot that it had even happened.

When looked back on, there was no way to know that it was the beginning of the end.

The end of Major, Primary Protector of Empires City.

Or, not the end, exactly.

But with Xornoth dead, and most other villains minor enough to be more of a nuisance than anything (and some, like Mythics, often more friendly with the heroes than with the villains), the city had settled into complacency. The defeat of Xornoth by three very powerful heroes, Major, the Mad King, and the Ocean Queen—and the disappearance of another dangerous super, Solidarity—had led many to believe that the city was going to be safe for quite some time going forward. After all, those three heroes (and the other heroes of the city, such as the Wizard Gem and Pearl) had no plans to leave, and any challengers of their authority were quickly dispatched.

And the end started with a bang.

Or, more precisely, the end started in a small house on a quiet street on the East Side of Empires City, early in the morning, as the once-feared Solidarity whistled a little tune while scrambling eggs, and the Primary Protector of the city stretched his muscles and smiled fondly at his partner.

-

"Eggs are done!" Jimmy, once known as Solidarity, declares as he clicks off the stove.

Scott, also known as Major, Primary Protector of Empires City, finishes the final stretch of his routine before groaning his way to his feet and padding into the kitchen.

"I'm getting too old for this," grumbles Scott, who isn't even thirty, as he pulls a couple of plates out of the cabinet. "Why'd I choose to be a superhero? I could've been an architect, Jimmy. Instead of getting ready to save the world, I could be designing buildings to replace the ones that Mythics destroys."

"Yeah, right," Jimmy scoffs, scooping some eggs onto the plates. "Gays can't do math, there's no way you would've been able to design buildings."

"I literally passed my senior trig class with a C, thank you very much, and Cs get degrees."

Jimmy laughs, handing Scott the plates. Scott sets them down on the counter beside the toaster, into which he slots four pieces of toast.

It's domestic and warm in the kitchen—the stove has just been clicked off, still radiating a gentle heat, which is nice when there's ice in the air and snow on the ground.

Not that Scott minds either of those things. Despite his complaints, he's eager to patrol today. He always feels more energetic when surrounded by the make of his power. And maybe he feels a bit more . . . in control, he supposes. Bigger. More powerful. Almost like he can command the skies—a thought best left for his dreams, far beyond the reach of his power as it is.

It’s a lovely day. Crisp and cold, warm and homey, and Scott can’t fight a smile as he moves toward the table and clicks on the overhead light.

"Nope—" Jimmy cries out behind him, and Scott turns just in time to see the oven window shatter, pieces of tinted glass scattering across the kitchen tiles.

"Sorry, sorry, burned my finger on the stove," Jimmy explains, holding said finger in his other hand. "Took me by surprise, sorry."

"Hand under cold water," Scott instructs, pointing to the sink. As Jimmy hurries over, he continues, "and what's another oven window? Don't cut yourself on the glass, honey, let me get you your shoes—"

Scott heads back into the living room, kicking his yoga mat aside, to find Jimmy's velcro tennis shoes sticking out from under the couch. They have a tray for shoes by the front door, but Jimmy, for some reason, just leaves his shoes strewn about the living room carpet.

"Think the landlord is going to get concerned? This is, like, the fifth oven door we need replaced," Jimmy calls from the kitchen. Scott laughs.

"Well, if you'd stop burning yourself, we wouldn't need five oven doors, would we?"

"At least one of those times I cut my finger, so I'm not sure that the burning is the problem," Jimmy jokes back. "And remember when we had to replace the whole oven because you froze it and it broke? That's arguably worse."

"We really should have been kicked out by now," Scott comments as he reenters the kitchen, shoes in hand.

"Good thing you're rich."

"Good thing you're a gold digger."

The toast pops at the exact same time as Jimmy turns off the sink. Scott hands him his shoes, then steps around him to wash his hands before getting the toast.

"Have you got work today?" Scott asks. Jimmy shakes his head.

"Nah, it's still not doing well," he says. "Jerry has us working fewer hours, trying to make ends meet. He's hoping for a bit of a boom in business with this weather."

"I guess we'll see," Scott says. He sets the plates down on the table with the butter, one right in front of where Jimmy is sitting in his chair, strapping on his shoes, and the other in front of the chair beside it. He sits there, scraping a bit of butter across his toast before tossing back his antidepressants with a bit of water.

Jimmy does the same when he's done with his shoes, then spreads jam onto his toast before loading it up with eggs and shoving it into his mouth. Scott makes a pointed expression of disgust before resolutely ignoring the sin before him.

He's got an hour before his patrol shift properly begins, so that's probably enough time to sweep up the kitchen or wash the dishes. Not that either of those activities take him an hour to complete, but who can blame him for wanting to head out early? He's just itching to get out in the cold, in what is literally his element. It's the first snow of the season, and he's expected to stay inside?

Jimmy, as always, notices. He lays his free hand on Scott's knee (his touch always so gentle) and gives him a smile somehow made cuter by the crumbs on his lips. "You can head out early, if you want. I can—"

BANG!

The whole house rattles. Jimmy's hand tightens on Scott's knee, and for a second Scott feels a hum of power thrum through the air—more intense in his partner than in anyone else that he's ever known—before there's a high-pitched whining and all the lights in the house shut down, the refrigerator's hum whirring to a stop.

They sit there, for a moment, in silence, Jimmy's hand still on Scott's knee, the aftershocks of his power still pulsing from him.

Scott forgets, sometimes, that Jimmy has such magnitudes of power, that he isn't just shattered oven doors and broken dishes. That without even lifting a finger, Jimmy could collapse a building or take the life right out of a person's body.

Then he'll get a wake-up call like this, a reminder that Scott isn't the only (or even the most) dangerous person in the house.

Scott glances over to the microwave to check—never mind, the microwave is dead, no green numbers lit up to tell the time.

The time isn't really important, though.

What on earth could've caused that sound?

Scott's first thought is a gunshot, and he knows Jimmy's is too, by the apprehensive shine of fear in his eyes that Scott can see even through the darkness of their house. A gunshot that loud would have to have come from nearby, of course. . . .

Quickly, quietly, Scott steals to his feet and creeps to the front window in the living room, peering out carefully without disturbing the blinds.

Nothing. No signs of trouble, no screams, no bodies in the street. Just various neighbors poking their heads out their doors, looking around and calling greetings to each other.

Through the window (Scott had cracked it open while stretching to let in the frosty breeze), Scott hears one of them faintly call.

"Did you lot lose power, too?"

Scott grimaces. Jimmy's not going to like that. Sure, Scott can keep their fridge and freezer going until the power gets back on, and Jimmy can bundle up until then, but everyone else is without electricity while their freezers melt and there's nothing they can do about it. As far as he can tell, none of the houses along the street have power—and if the whole street is down, that means the neighborhood is too.

Unfortunately, it is Jimmy's fault, and he's going to want to do what he can to fix it.

Which, as far as Scott can tell, is nothing. So maybe he can just not tell him about it. Maybe he won't notice that the entire grid is out.

"All clear," Scott calls back to the dining room. "Any idea what that was?"

Silence from the dining room. After a moment, Jimmy calls, voice shaking,

"Sorry. Um, no."

Scott frowns. "Jimmy? You okay?"

Another moment of silence, followed by a shuddering sigh. "Yeah," Jimmy says unconvincingly. "I'm good."

Scott pulls the window shut, blinds clanking against the glass, then returns to the dining table.

Jimmy's still sitting where he left him, hands clenched around his trouser legs. He's staring resolutely at a spot on the table, eyes just the slightest bit wet.

"Jimmy? Baby?" Scott tries, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. Jimmy looks over at him, face pale, eyes resolute.

"I'm good," Jimmy says again, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

He's not good, that's easy to see. But he's okay, and some days, that's all Scott can ask for.

It's been over two years since Xornoth was killed, and Jimmy will never be entirely better. He'll likely always need his hip brace or cane, he'll always need his medication, he'll always have trauma responses. But Scott isn't ever going to judge him for any of it.

That's who Jimmy is. And Scott loves him for it.

And as he sits there, holding Jimmy's left hand, he finds his mind wandering to where it so often does as he gazes at the fourth finger on Jimmy's hand.

Scott doesn't even have a ring yet, so he pushes the thought out of his mind with a little reluctance. First he has to discuss the idea of marriage with Jimmy, then he has to follow up with Lizzie, and then he has to subtly get Jimmy's ring size. . . .

Well. Baby steps, and all that.

They finish eating like that, Jimmy leaning just slightly into Scott's shoulder. Right as they finish, the refrigerator starts humming and the lights flick back on, suddenly enough that Scott has to blink a couple of times to clear the floating clouds of color in front of his vision. The various clocks in the kitchen appliances flash a bright 12:00.

"Power's back," Scott says, less as an actual observation and more as just something to say, and gets up to carry their dishes to the sink, skirting around the glass on the floor. "Okay for me to head out?"

"Yeah, I've got Norman. Don't worry about me," Jimmy says, standing as well. He retrieves the broom from where it leans in the corner of the kitchen. "Speaking of Norman, I'd better get this glass cleaned up before he runs his little feet through it. Have a good day at work!"

"I'll save the world as usual," says Scott. He kisses Jimmy on his way by (Jimmy hums contentedly, all signs of his prior distress gone but for a wrinkle between his eyebrows), grabs his backpack at the door, and heads out into the frigid air of the first snow of the season.

Where the loud noise originated from is not far from where Scott exits his home, just two streets away. Not that he even thinks to go over there, instead heading for the main section of the city, assuming it would be at the hub of most activity. That's where most unidentified sounds originate from, after all.

And as Scott's day continues, he forgets about the sound, just as most others do.

Two streets away from Major's house, popular villain Mythics flees, eyes wild and breath gasping, a swirling portal crackling behind him.

-

It's possibly the best day of the year so far, weather-wise. The snow is actively falling, the streets are sparkling with ice, and Scott has never felt better.

Well, he's probably felt better. It snows every winter, after all.

But it feels so good after summer to finally return to what he is. This is the stuff Scott's made of, this is what gives him life.

It's glorious.

Scott lets out a little whoop as he slides part-way up the side of a building, the ice that already frosts its windows spreading spontaneously to the walls to give him the slipperiness he needs.

The people love it, too. Lizzie takes particular delight in sending him video compilations of his greatest tricks and most impressive fights, and the comments are always full of adoration for his skills and admiration of his power and creations.

So maybe, as he skates down a frozen sidewalk of his own creation (which he unfreezes behind him, because he knows not everyone has the skill to navigate such a path and would probably prefer a normal sidewalk), he adds a couple of flourishes to his act.

There's a group of kids at recess by Empires North Elementary School, and Scott stops to start a snowball fight before continuing on, frosting the windows of every classroom with beautiful little fractals.

He signs his name in frost as intricately as possible on the hood of someone's car, gives them a cheery wave when they run out of the store to take a picture.

He makes tiny snowmen to line the bus stop with just a couple of waves of his hand, then can't stop laughing when a little girl at the stop with her father cheers for 'Elsa'.

Maybe all of the villains of the city took one look out their windows and decided no, thank you, because there’s zero disturbances all morning. Scott doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he could ever get bored in weather like this.

By the time it hits lunchtime, Scott's cheeks are red from the wind and hurt from smiling. He slides into a small deli and picks out a sandwich and a drink, the latter of which freezes over in his hands quite nicely.

"Major!" the deliman (and owner of the deli, if his nametag is true) exclaims, adding lettuce to his sandwich. "Keeping us all safe?"

"As best I can," Scott smiles. "How are you doing, Felix?"

Felix, the owner, chuckles, going a bit red in the face. "Never better, Major. You can have this free, all right?"

Scott chuckles as well, setting the drink on the counter and digging out his wallet. "I want to pay, don't even worry about it."

"No, no, nothing for you!"

"Come on, Felix, I'm—"

BANG!

Scott follows his first instinct—protection. Within milliseconds, there's an ice wall surrounding Felix, and another one shoots up in front of the large deli windows and door. It's instant, and Scott's never moved so fast in his life but the ice is there and time itself seems to freeze.

Everything is still for a timeless moment, snowflakes slowly swirling around Scott's masked face.

And somehow, he's the ice that lines the streets and the pipes below that travel all the way through the city and the icicles hanging from every roof and the frost paving windshields, and Scott knows that something has gone very wrong.

He's never felt this powerful in his life—nor this overwhelmed. There's so much stimulus, so many far away nerves jangling and he can't focus on the snowflake in front of him when he can see every fractal of it—

"Major!"

With a herculean effort, Scott manages to pull himself back into his body from where the tendrils of his mind have reached all the way across the city. He blinks, looks around.

The entire deli is frozen over.

Two customers are frantically trying to scrape some ice off the shelves, another is kicking at ice on the door, and Felix—

Scott can't even see Felix, a thick wall of ice surrounding him.

Scott panics. He can’t help it—his breathing quickens, his mind races, he starts feeling distantly dizzy at the idea that he might've hurt people, he might've broken something—and he notices, as his frozen fingers shake, that the frost is growing with every moment, slowly spreading to the floor and up the walls.

He hasn't been this out of control since—since he was a teenager, since before he was trained, even, since before he was a hero—

He can fix this. He knows how to fix it. Scott shuts the panic and fear out of his head as best he can and thinks back to his early days of training, back to when Aeor had taught him how to properly channel his emotions for incidents like this.

He hasn't had to consciously control himself in years.

He's never felt like this before.

He takes a slow, deep breath, letting the frenetic energy travel from his brain and heart and out through his finger tips, where frost grows into icicles. Then, with all the control and might that he can muster, Scott pulls, reeling it all back with a steady grip.

Slower than he would've liked, the ice and frost recede, all pulled back into thin air bit by bit. Scott breathes with it, in and out, until the ice walls crack and slide apart and the frost is entirely gone.

He breathes, and with it, his mind begins to settle. He’s all right. Everything’s all right.

Each of the other customers thanks Scott, casting glances both confused and a little fearful in his direction. Felix, luckily, is fine, if a little shocked. Scott subtly slides more than triple the worth of the sandwich into his hand, apologizes for the disruption, and heads out, slightly soggy lunch under his arm.

And again, he can't find the source of such a loud sound—because he remembers, suddenly, that the reason he'd headed out from his house so early this morning wasn't to see the snow, but to find the source of that first sound.

There's almost nobody out on the street, no gun or powered individual or blown transformer that could've caused it. In fact, the only other people outside are people who have stepped out of offices and shops to look around.

Scott gives them a cheery wave when they turn to him, one woman shouting a question in Spanish. "Nothing to worry about," he calls, assuming she'd asked about the sound. "Have a good one!"

"Hey, Major!" a young man waves. "How's your day been?"

"It’s been great!" Scott smiles his best winning smile. "Gotta go—heard about something on the other side of town!"

He didn't hear about anything, and he usually feels pretty good about talking to citizens, but he does feel kind of awkward standing in front of a place he just froze, like a guilty child fleeing the scene of a mess. And he doesn't even have a dog to blame it on.

What had even happened back there?

Scott had—he'd been scared. He'd thrown up normal protections, in case someone was trying to shoot up the deli and had somehow missed the bright blue superhero standing there, and then—

Then he'd felt so much.

Scott's not entirely sure what happened—one moment he'd been fine, totally in control of himself and his actions, and the next he was frost crunching under a pedestrian's foot and an icicle dripping from a gutter and the tiniest snowflake blown about by the wind.

It was nothing like he'd ever felt before.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

It was—oh, look, there's Joel!

"King!"

Scott spots Joel from across the intersection that he's currently sliding through, and pulls up a ridge of ice to give himself a sharp turn. He slides up to where Joel is leaning against the walk sign pole, waiting to cross the road.

Joel nods to him, eyes looking somewhat preoccupied behind his mask. "Hey, Major. When's your shift end?"

Scott shrugs, pulling his sandwich from where it's tucked under his arm. He ought to eat it sooner rather than later. "Dunno. I was hoping to stay out all day, if possible."

Joel raises a brow. "In the doghouse?"

"Of course not, the weather's just nice."

Joel chuckles. "Yeah, I'd guess so. You and Jimmy never fight, do you?"

"Well, do you and Lizzie?" asks Scott.

"Nope," Joel says proudly. "That's why we got married. We never fight."

Which is a lie, of course. Just last week, when he and Jimmy went over to Lizzie and Joel's apartment for dinner, Lizzie had thrown rolls at Joel all evening and Joel had implied some rather unkind things about her pet rabbit.

Scott doesn't bother calling him out on the lie. Joel's right about one thing—he and Jimmy almost never fight, and when they do, they resolve it quickly and schedule a couple's therapy appointment to make sure there are no lingering issues.

They're perfect for each other.

And once again, Scott's mind turns to the rather pleasant idea of a gold band around Jimmy's finger.

"You two really ought to tie the knot soon," Joel says casually, and Scott can't help but sputter.

"I—were you reading my mind?" he accuses.

"No?" Joel says, voice turning from confused to gleeful in that one syllable. "I—ooooh! You're thinking about it, that means it's practically official! So—are you thinking something big, whole city invited, those nice ice sculpture things like in movies—"

"Sorry, Major? Mad King? Can we get a picture?"

Joel shuts up—thankfully, otherwise Scott would've frozen his tongue in his mouth—and gestures for the two women to stand between him and Scott.

Scott smiles into the phone, and can't help but notice that there's frost on his own cheeks.

That's . . . that's a little odd. He isn't usually radiating cold, not unless he's angry. Maybe it's the high spirits he's in from the weather. That explains it, doesn't it?

Still, when the women leave, Scott scrubs at his face, hoping to warm his cheeks up enough that none of his frigidity can find a home there.

"Yeah, noticed you looked a little chillier than normal," Joel comments. "All good?"

Well, he did sort of lose control during some strange out of body experience earlier. But that's kind of embarrassing, and it was a one-off, so Scott doesn't mention it. He doesn't need Joel to tease him about it, nor tell every hero who'll listen.

He just nods, shrugs, and takes a bite of his sandwich.

-

Jimmy's alone in the house when it happens again, curled up on the couch with his blanket over his shoulders and his LinkedIn profile pulled up on his phone.

He doesn't really know what happens.

All he knows is that there's a loud noise and he doesn’t do well with loud noises, but luckily he manages to keep a hold on his powers this time.

Or, he thinks he does.

Because in the same moment as the BANG, Jimmy feels so much.

And it feels good.

[hanafubukki]

Good night everyone. I hope everyone has a good day/evening/night 💞💚🫶🫂🥳

[xyywrites]

Overused Words in Writing & How to Avoid Them

We’ve all got our comfort words—those trusty adjectives, verbs, or phrases we lean on like a crutch. But when certain words show up too often, they lose their impact, leaving your writing feeling repetitive or uninspired.

1. “Very” and Its Cousins

Why It’s Overused: It’s easy to tack on “very” for emphasis, but it’s vague and doesn’t pull its weight.

Instead of: “She was very tired.” Try: “She was exhausted.” / “She dragged her feet like lead weights.”

💡 Tip: Use precise, vivid descriptions rather than vague intensifiers.

2. “Looked” and “Saw”

Why It’s Overused: It’s functional but flat, and it often tells instead of shows.

Instead of: “He looked at her in disbelief.” Try: “His eyebrows shot up, his lips parting as if words had failed him.”

💡 Tip: Focus on body language or sensory details instead of relying on generic verbs.

3. “Suddenly”

Why It’s Overused: It’s often used to create surprise, but it tells readers how to feel instead of letting the scene deliver the shock.

Instead of: “Suddenly, the door slammed shut.” Try: “The door slammed shut, the sound ricocheting through the empty room.”

💡 Tip: Let the action or pacing create urgency without needing to announce it.

4. “Said” (When Overdone or Misused)

Why It’s Overused: While “said” is often invisible and functional, using it in every dialogue tag can feel robotic.

Instead of: “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Me neither,” he said. Try: Replace with an action: “I can’t believe it.” She ran a hand through her hair, pacing. “Me neither.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

💡 Tip: Don’t ditch “said” entirely; just mix it up with context clues or action beats.

5. “Felt”

Why It’s Overused: It’s a shortcut that tells instead of showing emotions.

Instead of: “She felt nervous.” Try: “Her palms slicked with sweat, and she couldn’t stop her leg from bouncing.”

💡 Tip: Let readers infer emotions through sensory details or behavior.

6. “Really” and “Actually”

Why It’s Overused: They add little to your sentences and can dilute the impact of stronger words.

Instead of: “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” Try: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

💡 Tip: If a sentence works without these words, cut them.

7. “Walked” or “Ran”

Why It’s Overused: These are go-to movement words, but they can feel bland when used repeatedly.

Instead of: “He walked into the room.” Try: “He strolled in like he owned the place.” / “He shuffled in, avoiding everyone’s eyes.”

💡 Tip: Use verbs that convey mood, speed, or attitude.

8. “Just”

Why It’s Overused: It sneaks into sentences unnecessarily, weakening your prose.

Instead of: “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Try: “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

💡 Tip: Delete “just” unless it adds essential nuance.

9. “Thought”

Why It’s Overused: It tells readers what a character is thinking instead of showing it through internal dialogue or action.

Instead of: “She thought he might be lying.” Try: “His story didn’t add up. The timelines didn’t match, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.”

💡 Tip: Immerse readers in the character’s perspective without announcing their thoughts.

10. “Nice” and Other Vague Adjectives

Why It’s Overused: It’s generic and doesn’t give readers a clear picture.

Instead of: “He was a nice guy.” Try: “He always remembered her coffee order and held the door open, even when his arms were full.”

💡 Tip: Show qualities through actions instead of relying on vague descriptors.

Final Tips for Avoiding Overused Words:

1. Use a thesaurus wisely: Swap overused words for synonyms, but stay true to your character’s voice and the scene’s tone.

2. Read your work aloud: You’ll catch repetitive patterns and clunky phrases more easily.

3. Edit in layers: Focus on eliminating overused words during your second or third pass, not your first draft.

[rafesfawn]

🪽🧺 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋

𝜗ৎ⋆｡˚ when rafe sees a precious little doll on the side of the road with a broke-down car, how can he resist out of the kindness of his heart offering her a ride? just a ride home, that's all...

or how trailerpark!angel!reader and rafe met!

warnings: use of the nickname pet & little one, reader! is eighteen-nineteen! bit of perv!rafe, barely proofread!

a/n: first time writing a rafe fic/blurb! im so excited, also this is based on this ask and thank you so much for sending something I really appreciated it and I hope u like it mwah! I would say you two meet in like early season 2 (right before the cross storyline) also for the format slight ib to others on here esp @rafesangelita (sorry for the tag!)

this was based off of this ask! which tysm i literally love requests and rafe and trailerpark!angel!reader is my new obsession <3

a small, meaningless kick was made to the tire while you huffed and groaned, putting two hands over your frustrated features as all you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“piece of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking the tire once more, but immediately a whimper fell from your lips. the pain shot from your toe up to your spine. making you sniffle and tip-toe in pain. in your denim ruffle skirt, white socks, and pink converse, you sat down on the asphalt, on the side of the road, leaning against the side of your broken-down car.

she wasn’t the best car, but she surely got you around most of the time. most of the time. it was a little volkswagen beetle, light pink in color, covered in so many stickers some wondered if it was passing inspection. it wasn't.

sitting with your head against the car for what felt like hours (it was maybe ten minutes), but spending even that on the side of a main road in kildare island was torture. especially with the beating sun late august provided.

rafe was speeding down the road on the way to play golf and get drunk with topper and kelce. “ah shit, i don’t know, man.” he said into his phone, holding it up with one hand; his voice gruff and confident, topper on the other line. “you really think i won’t kick your ass today huh?” a smirk grew on his already smug expression.

letting out a short chuckle at toppers response, nothing anybody ever said meant more than a laugh to him. or that's what it used to be like anyway, his act wasn't together if anything, it was worse than it'd ever been. his father condemning him to disingenuous "discipline" to forget about the possible death of his golden daughter.

"the fuck?" he mutters into the mic, his voice laced with confusion. as he sees up ahead on the road, a pink car broken down, with the most precious thing sitting against it. a pout on the angels soft lips and the most defeated look in her eye. aw, you just fell right into my lap, didn't you? little angel.

your eyes glued on the pavement, your entertainment of watching a little ladybug try to make it to safety in the distance, was shortly interrupted.

a nice black truck coming into view it came to such a short stop it almost took your breath away, the breaks slightly screeching at the haste. a tire replaced the spot the ladybug once was.

you stood brushing the dirt and gravel off the backsides of your pale thighs, left bare by the short fabric of your skirt.

the man stepped out of the truck. he was tall, and the sleeves of his polo looked like they were about to burst at the seams, not able to contain the biceps beneath. his features strong and statue-like, his deep sea eyes hidden behind the curtain bangs that hung over his forehead. a grin that seemed too genuine, too good to be true.

you removed your heart-shaped sunglasses, placing them on top of your head to see him more clearly. your possible savior, but he was anything but.

he stepped a bit closer, seeing the state of her already pretty beaten car, "having some car trouble?" rafe asked as if he wasn't stating the obvious.

you pretended he wasn't either as you nodded, the frown only slight now but still on your lips as your eyes remained looking up into his.

"aw.. poor thing we can't have that, what happened?" his voice, a mockery of sympathy. as he inspected the piece of shit car she loved so much. his care coming from a place of ownership, of burning ache or want.

still, in slight shock, you hadn't answered him, following behind him as he reopened the hood like he owned the car. not even realizing you'd been rude and not replied till he spoke again. "little one, i can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." a heady mix of gentle and firm that made your mouth go dry and your head dizzy.

"oh- it's been on her last limb for like ever, i guess she finally called it quits... right on my way home." you said with a little sad laugh that rafe wanted to bottle the sound of and listen to on repeat. "and I really need to get home," you added fiddling with your fingers in front of you.

a sweet girl all out of options, rafe was so glad he was here to provide her with his help. "tell you what, I'll take you home and come back and fix this thing up for you, huh?" he offered, there goes his saturday plans he presumed. it'd be worth it. he told himself he'd make it worth it, with those shy eyes and the expression you carried like a lost puppy. you'd owe him he'd make sure to get something in return.

just like he figured, you shook your head. never wanting to accept such a grand favor. "I can't ask you to do that, I mean, I don't even know your name." nerves, curiosity, and a glint of something else tinged in your voice, so many wonders in that head as soon as his truck came to a stop for you. why? the only question running through your mind.

"It's rafe, can I help you out now?" his genuine grin turned almost smug at his own remark, brushing that bangs out his face, the effort pointless as they immediately fell back again.

you paused. picking at the already chipped white nail polish on your sore fingertips, a larger-rougher hand covered your own, stopping your movements with that firm gentleness he carried around her. you looked up at him, he was so much closer. the scent of some cologne that probably could pay your rent, and a tinge of smokey wood filled your senses.

"pet?" he questioned with an expecting tilt of his head, calling you that like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your body and mouth responding before giving another second for your brain or anxiety to think it over, you nodded. "can you please give me a ride home?" you hesitantly asked, it felt weird. getting help, and even asking for it felt foreign, he offered it so graciously like it was nothing.

looking down upon her, his grin turned genuine once again, his eyes seemed almost proud it was a soothing balm to her nervous heart. a rosy hue to her cheeks as his palm covered the side of her neck, making a few pats to the flesh before leading her to his truck.

you'd owe him. something he was sure you were ready for.

[solxamber]

How about a request where Octa trio and idia (seperate) end up drunkenly confessing they have a crush on the reader during a moment where readers helping em + the aftermath of them realizing when sober and hung over and reacting to the situation? Feel free to delete or ignore! just had thought it could be fun

Drunken Confessions with: Octatrio + Idia

a/n: sorry for the long wait, i hope you like it <3

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul rarely let himself slip, and by slip, you meant this. He staggered, his weight shifting heavily against your side as you supported him on the walk back to Mostro Lounge. His normally polished demeanor was gone, replaced by flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and a faint, almost imperceptible slur in his words.

“Y-You’re…hic…so nice,” he mumbled, leaning more into you than he probably intended. “Why’re you so nice to me?”

You adjusted your hold, an amused grin tugging at your lips. “Maybe because someone has to make sure you don’t faceplant on the cobblestones, Azul.”

He blinked up at you, a soft, dopey smile crossing his face. “You’re funny. And good looking… so pretty.”

You stopped walking for a moment, looking down at him in surprise. “Are you sure you’re not hallucinating?”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, waving his hand in what he probably thought was a convincing argument. “I’m serious! I… I think about you all the time. You’re… you’re perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Azul Ashengrotto, perfectionist extraordinaire and self-proclaimed businessman, was rambling about how great you were while leaning heavily on your shoulder. You felt your cheeks heat up, but you brushed it off as the effects of the alcohol loosening his tongue.

“You can thank me when you’re sober, Mr. Compliment Machine,” you teased, continuing your trek toward his dorm.

But Azul wasn’t done. “I mean it!” he insisted, nearly tripping over his own feet. You quickly steadied him, and he looked up at you, his eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I… I like you. Like… like you like you.”

Your steps faltered, and you stared at him for a moment. His expression was so sincere, even through the haze of intoxication, that it made your chest ache.

“…Azul,” you said softly, “let’s get you home first, okay?”

He blinked at you, his brow furrowing in confusion, but he nodded obediently. “Okay… but you have to promise… hic… you won’t disappear. I'll give you free coffee for life.”

“I promise,” you said with a laugh.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, and Azul groaned as the dull, pounding headache reminded him of last night’s poor decisions. He buried his face in his pillow, groaning again at the flashbacks of you holding him upright, your warm laughter echoing in his ears.

What did I do? he thought, mortified.

And then it hit him—he’d confessed. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. He sat up too quickly, clutching his head as the dizziness hit him. You must’ve been horrified. Surely, you’d bolted the moment he fell asleep, wanting to avoid the awkwardness.

But then he heard a sound from the kitchen.

Azul froze, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. He slid out of bed, carefully padding toward the source of the noise. There you were, standing in the kitchenette, humming softly to yourself as you poured coffee into two mugs.

You turned when you heard him, flashing him a warm smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I made coffee—thought you’d need it.”

Azul stared, his jaw slightly slack. “You’re… still here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I go? You promised me free coffee for life, remember?”

Azul groaned, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean it.”

You laughed, stepping closer and handing him a mug. “I know. But you did mean the other thing, didn’t you?”

He stiffened, clutching the coffee mug like it might save him. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his face flushing.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing smile. “The part where you said you liked me.”

Azul’s grip on the mug tightened, and he swallowed hard. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, not meeting your gaze. “I meant it. But I understand if you—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His words died in his throat as he stared at you, wide-eyed.

“I like you too, Azul,” you said with a grin. “I have for a while.”

Azul blinked, his brain struggling to process your words. “…You do?”

“Obviously,” you teased. “Why else would I stick around to help you last night? You’re a handful, you know that?”

Azul’s lips twitched into a small, shy smile, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “…Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For the coffee? Or for liking you back?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.

“Both,” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

And black coffee had never tasted so sweet to him.

Jade Leech

Jade Leech prided himself on his composure, his refinement, and his ability to remain unflappable under any circumstances. That all went out the window after a few too many drinks.

You hadn’t even expected to see him like this—flushed cheeks, a lazy, amused smile, and a rare looseness to his usual precision. He wasn’t stumbling per se, but his steps lacked their usual grace, and every so often, he swayed just enough to make you reach out and steady him.

“I must commend you,” Jade slurred, his voice as smooth as ever despite the alcohol. “You’re quite… considerate. Most wouldn’t bother with something so trivial as escorting me home.”

“Trivial? You can barely walk straight,” you said with a huff, adjusting your hold on his arm to keep him upright. “I’m not leaving you to faceplant in the dirt, Jade.”

His laugh was softer than usual, warmer somehow. “Hmm… you truly are unique.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Save the compliments for when you’re sober.”

But Jade had other plans. “You’re always like this,” he murmured, his gaze drifting toward you. “Kind. Thoughtful. Beautiful…”

You froze for a moment, glancing at him. “You’re drunk, Jade. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I do,” he replied, the faintest pout gracing his lips. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long… but I couldn’t. You’re so… precious to me, I couldn’t bear to—hic—risk it.”

“Risk what?” you asked softly, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice.

“Losing you,” he whispered. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty that left you speechless.

You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Come on, let’s get you home,” you said gently, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

The next morning, Jade woke up with a pounding headache and the faint memory of warm hands rubbing his back as you murmured reassurances. His eyes snapped open as the events of the night before came rushing back.

“…Oh no,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. Confessed his feelings so blatantly, without any of the careful planning or subtlety he prided himself on. And to you, of all people—the one person he couldn’t bear to push away.

Jade steeled himself. He’d handle this like any other delicate situation—with poise and precision. If he acted normal, he could convince you that his confession had been nothing more than the ramblings of a drunk man.

And so, when he saw you later that day, he greeted you with his usual calm smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

You blinked at him, a bit surprised by his nonchalance. “Uh… yeah. How about you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” he said smoothly, showing no hint of the internal panic roiling beneath the surface.

You studied him for a moment, your brow furrowing slightly. “Do you… remember anything from last night?”

“Only bits and pieces,” he replied with a polite chuckle. “If I said or did anything out of the ordinary, I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Out of the ordinary? You were starting to wonder if you’d hallucinated his heartfelt confession. Jade was acting so normal, so perfectly composed, that it was almost infuriating.

It wasn’t until later, when you were both in the lounge, that he slipped.

“Of course, I treasure you more than anyone else,” he said offhandedly, then immediately froze as he realized what he’d just admitted.

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Wait. What did you just say?”

Jade cleared his throat, his face betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment. “Ah… I misspoke.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You meant it, didn’t you? Just like you meant it last night.”

He hesitated, his composure faltering for the first time since that morning. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, avoiding your gaze. “I meant every word.”

A smile broke across your face, and before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because I like you too, Jade.”

His eyes widened, and for once, he was completely at a loss for words. “You… you do?”

You nodded, your grin widening. “Of course. Why do you think I stayed to take care of you last night?”

Jade’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink. “I see… I suppose I should count myself lucky, then.”

“You definitely should,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Now, are you going to keep pretending nothing happened, or are you going to take me out on a proper date?”

Jade chuckled softly, the tension melting away as he looked at you with newfound warmth. “I believe I owe you the latter, don’t I?”

And with that, the polished, unflappable Jade Leech was yours to keep.

Floyd Leech was unpredictable on a good day. Drunk Floyd? That was another beast entirely.

He’d somehow managed to drink more than anyone else at the party, slinging his arm over your shoulder with a lopsided grin as he loudly declared you his “favorite Shrimpy.” If it weren’t for your quick reflexes, he probably would’ve knocked over at least three tables by now.

“Floyd, slow down!” you scolded, grabbing his wrist as he lunged toward a decorative vase like it was a basketball hoop. “We’re not here to redecorate.”

“But it’d look so much better broken!” he whined, leaning heavily against you. His sharp teeth flashed in a grin that was somehow equal parts adorable and terrifying. “Don’t ya think, Shrimpy?”

“No, Floyd,” you said firmly, guiding him away from the vase. “Let’s just focus on getting you home in one piece, okay?”

Floyd pouted but allowed you to steer him toward the exit, his lanky frame draped over yours like a human anchor. As you walked, he alternated between humming tunelessly, giggling at nothing, and telling you random, cryptic statements like, “The moon’s gonna eat you if you don’t smile back at it.”

“Sure, Floyd. I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, trying not to laugh.

It wasn’t until you were nearly to Octavinelle that his unhinged ramblings took a sudden, softer turn.

“You know somethin’, Shrimpy?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost wistful.

“What’s that?” you asked, adjusting your grip on him as he started to slump forward.

“I really, really like you,” he slurred, his mismatched eyes blinking up at you with a rare sincerity. “Like… not just as a buddy or whatever. I mean, like… like-like.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Floyd, you’re drunk.”

“So what?” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping. “Still true.”

Before you could respond, he let out a content sigh and promptly passed out, his head lolling against your shoulder.

“Of course,” you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. “You couldn’t confess while sober, could you?”

The next morning, Floyd was back to his usual self—or so it seemed. He greeted you with his usual wide grin and a sing-songy, “Mornin’, Shrimpy!”

You half-expected him to pretend last night didn’t happen, but instead, he seemed… more affectionate than usual. He leaned closer when he talked to you, casually draped his arm over your shoulder, and even offered you one of his prized snacks without a second thought.

It wasn’t until later, while you were both lounging in the lounge, that he dropped the bombshell.

“So, what do ya wanna do for our first date?” he asked, twirling a toothpick between his fingers.

You blinked at him. “Our what?”

“Our date,” he said, tilting his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, ‘cause we’re dating now.”

“…Floyd, you never asked me to be your partner.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I did. Last night. Don’t you remember?”

“You were drunk, Floyd,” you pointed out.

“Still counts,” he said with a shrug, then grinned. “Unless… you don’t wanna date me?”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, leaning in with a teasing smirk.

“It’s a yes,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

Floyd’s grin widened, and before you knew it, he was scooping you up into a crushing hug, spinning you around as he laughed. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me, Shrimpy!”

As chaotic as he was, you couldn’t help but think you were in for one wild, wonderful ride.

Idia Shroud didn’t go to parties. Not unless someone twisted his arm—or in this case, dragged him out. His idea of fun was gaming in his room, not standing around awkwardly while extroverts did extrovert things.

And yet, here he was. Drinking something questionable because a certain someone (you) had sweet-talked him into joining.

He didn’t expect to end up three drinks deep, his face red, and leaning on your shoulder as you tried to guide him back to Ignihyde.

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” he muttered, stumbling slightly. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… a little dizzy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, tightening your grip on his arm. “You’re lucky I’m here, or you’d probably have wandered into the forest by now."

Idia chuckled, the sound softer and less nervous than usual. “Maybe. But you’d come get me, right? You always do…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, brushing off the adoration in his voice to focus on keeping him upright. “Come on, almost there.”

He was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional muttered complaint about his legs feeling like jelly. Then, he said, almost too softly to hear:

“Do you know why I always listen to you?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “Why’s that?”

“‘Cause I… I really like you,” he mumbled, his face somehow growing redder. “Like… more than I like my SSR pulls. And you know that’s saying something.”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Idia, are you—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he tripped over absolutely nothing, faceplanted into the ground, and immediately started snoring.

“…Of course,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

The next morning, Idia woke up with a pounding headache and the horrifying realization that he’d said everything out loud.

“No. No, no, no, no,” he groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’ll just… never leave my room again. Yeah. Problem solved.”

His brilliant plan lasted all of five minutes before he heard you outside his door.

“Idia, open up,” you called, your voice firm.

“N-nope! Not happening!”

You sighed loudly. “Okay. Ortho?”

“Yes?” came Ortho’s cheerful reply.

“Break the door down.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Idia scrambled to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. “No need to bring in the big guns! I-I’m opening it, see?”

He stepped back, allowing you inside, and immediately tried to hide behind his hair. “If you’re here to say you hate me now, just—just get it over with,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Why would I hate you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“B-because of what I said!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I—I confessed, and then I passed out like an idiot, and—ugh! It’s like something out of a cringe anime!”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, cutting him off mid-rant. “Idia, shut up for a second.”

“What—”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling him freeze in place. When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but grin at his wide-eyed, stunned expression.

“I like you too, dummy,” you said. “Who else would I like? If not you, then who?”

Idia’s face turned scarlet, his hair flaring pink at the edges. “Y-you… you really mean that?”

“Obviously,” you teased, ruffling his hair. “Now stop hiding in your room and let’s go get some breakfast. You owe me for last night.”

Idia nodded, still too stunned to form words, but the small, shy smile on his face said everything you needed to know.

Masterlist

[viaxslz]

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ NOT SAYING I LOVE YOU BACK

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 gn!reader, cw: pet names, not proofread :P, Maknae line ver.

BANG CHAN

“Bye Chan!” You spoke making your way over to Chan who slouched on the couch as he lazily scrolled through his phone with a bored expression. You leaned down placing a soft kiss on his cheek. He hummed turning his head to face you. “Ok bye bye! Love you” he smiles at you. You smiled back turning around to leave but stopped to Chan pulling you back. “Say it?” “Say what?” You asked tilting your head to the side with a puzzled expression. “I love you too” he responded with a slight glare waiting patiently for you. “Ohhh” you giggled as soon as you realized. “I love you too”

LEE KNOW

Lee know pulled over at the front of your house. He was dropping you home after a wonderful date. As you bid goodbye to him, he opened his mouth to speak. “Ok..i love you” he said staring lovingly at you. You nodded turning your body to leave the car only to realized it was locked. You glanced back at Lee know who stared blankly at you. “I love you darling”. “I know” you responded like It was very obvious. You turned to open the door but he pulled your hands back preventing you from getting out. “Babe I said I love you…..didn’t you hear?” He spoke getting slightly pouting as he gripped onto your hands tightly. “Same” you answered trying to stifle your laughter. He scoffed and started the engine driving away from your house grumbling under his breath. “You’re not going home until you say it back”.

SEO CHANGBIN

Today was one of those days Changbin decided to be nice and drive you to work. Before you go down he gives you an I love you filled with happiness and love. You stayed silent and turned around to opened the car door and leave but it was locked. You turned around to give him a “what the heck face”. “I said I love you..?” He repeated in case you didn’t hear it. You nodded turning around to leave again, you were going to take whatever it takes to avoid repeating it. He grabs your arm and looks at you with a forced smile, trying to mask his annoyance. The silence was enough to make him grab your face and pull it closer to his. “I.LOVE.YOU.TOO! Come on repeat after me or else I’m gonna cry” he whines. You giggled at his adorable behavior and finally decided to stop teasing him. “Alright alright I love you too” you said placing a soft kiss on his cheeks.

HWANG HYUNJIN

You were lazily scrolling through Tik tok until you came across a trend where you don’t say “I love you back” to your boyfriend. You decided to do it tomorrow before he goes to work. “I’ll get going now. I love you princess!” He beamed happily. “Ok, thank you. Bye bye” you responded trying to sound dry. Hyunjin paused in his tracks turning to face you. "Huh? I said i love you, baby.…..Did i do something wrong?" His expressions changed as a pout started to form on his lips. He slowly walked towards you. “Did I do anything wrong? I’m sorry….please forgive me” he pleaded reaching out to your hands and lightly squeezing it. “I love you Princess” he repeated in a softer tone. “Thank you!” You nonchalantly responded. “Darling don’t you love me anymore? I promise I'll buy you a sweet treat and a bouquet of flowers. I'll buy you lots of plushies. Take you out on lots of dates. Just Say you love me back, pretty please..." His voice was pleading, and he pouted while looking at you with puppy eyes. “Hyunjin you are going to be late for work” you pointed at the ticking clock. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving until you say you love me back. Please say you love me back. Hyunjin continues to pout while still staring at you with puppy eyes. You sighed in defeat not being able to handle his cuteness. “FINE! I love you too!” You responded making him crack open his lips to a bright smile. His previous sulky and needy emotions replaced with a happier one.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter one

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 2.4k

-

a/n: first series! it won’t be super long, but I hope you enjoy. send requests for more fics!

-

“Matt, you can’t back out now!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at your best friend where he lays on his bed, setting his phone down to look up at you.

“I’m sorry, love, something came up and I can’t make it,” he apologizes, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get out of it.”

You groan, throwing your head back in frustration. You had a family wedding to attend and already RSVP’d with a plus one, which was supposed to be your best friend Matt, who had lovingly agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend for the night. Your family was super invasive about you getting a boyfriend, and you wanted to avoid all of the comments and questions by just pretending to have a boyfriend for one night at the wedding, but your plan was falling apart.

“What am I supposed to do? I already told everyone I was coming with somebody, they’re gonna know I was lying if I show up by myself,” you tell him, trying to rack your brain for any ideas.

“You could bring Nick,” Matt suggests, picking his phone back up and going back to scrolling.

You scoff. “Yeah right, like Nick could pretend to be straight for an entire night. He’d be caught in less than an hour.” You shake your head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to Matt. “I’m gonna have to go on, like, Bumble or something and find some random to go with me.”

Matt looks up at you over his phone, waiting for you to lock eyes with him before he starts to speak. “I mean… I know one other guy you could ask.”

You tilt your head, excited to hear the suggestion, before you realize who he’s talking about and your eyes widen, head shaking rapidly. “Absolutely not,” you put your hands up, pointer fingers crossed over in an X. “I am not asking Chris, no way.”

Matt raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I told you I knew someone, I didn’t say you’d like what I said.”

You roll your eyes. “He would never say yes to me anyway, even if I did want to ask him.”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. You could always bribe him, he loves a good bribe.”

You think about it for another moment, knowing it would be easier to get Chris to do it than it would to find some random guy to go to a wedding as a first date, but the thought of spending an entire night next to Chris made your skin crawl.

The two of you had never really gotten along, even with you being around as much as you were, you guys never clicked, in fact it was the complete opposite, always insulting each other any chance you got, ignoring each other, and always avoiding being in the same room by yourself, even if only for a few moments.

“I mean… I could try but I really can’t promise I won’t kill your brother, Matt,” you half joke, but not really. “Might turn you into a twin.”

“That’s fucked,” Matt laughs, using his foot to kick you lightly. “I‘ll still be a triplet, even if you kill him. I’ll just be a triplet with severe depression and no will no live.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him through a laugh. “Your life would be so much quieter, wouldn’t that be nice? You’d secretly thank me for killing him.”

Matt shakes his head at you with a smile, though his eyes tell you he thinks you’re crazy, before looking back down at his phone.

“Killing who?” A voice sounds from the doorway and you look up to see the man of the hour staring back at you, a disinterested look on his face.

“You,” you smile sweetly up at Chris.

“That’s nice,” he says, flashing you a fake, tight lipped smile before turning to his brother. “Hey, can you take me to go get food?”

Matt groans and throws his head back, closing his eyes. “But I’m so comfortable,” he whines.

You take a deep breath and consider your options. Chris, who you hate but have known for years, or a random guy who might be a serial killer? You’d definitely be safer with Chris, but the thought of having to be near him without his brothers for an entire night seemed like hell. Especially having to act like you were pleased to be in his presence.

“I’ll take you,” you speak before you can stop yourself.

Both Matt and Chris look at you with shocked expressions, Chris having a bit of disgust in his eyes.

“I’d rather starve, thanks,” Chris replies. “Matt, c’mon seriously, can you take me?” He asks again.

“Chris,” you say in a stern voice, standing up from the bed and walking towards him. “Let me take you. I need to talk to you.”

Chris watches you walk past him through the doorway and then looks back at Matt, shooting him a confused look, to which his brother just shrugs, before he leaves to follow you, finding you by the front door slipping your crocs on.

“The fuck is this about?” He asks, trotting down the stairs to meet you by the front door. “You in love with me or some shit?”

You look up at him with an unamused expression. “You wish I was in love with you.” You huff. “I told you, I gotta talk to you.”

You open the front door and head outside towards your car, opening the drivers side door. You look behind you and see Chris standing in the doorway, staring after you. “I’ll buy your food,” you tell him, and he immediately shuts the door behind him and walks up to your car. “You should’ve led with that!” He says.

You both get in your car and you start driving. “Where do you want to go?” You ask him, turning your head to see him on his phone. “Chris,” you push, reaching out to smack his phone out of his hand, causing it to land on the floor.

“What the fuck, dude. Unnecessary.” Chris huffs, reaching down to grab his phone, but he tucked it between his legs instead of going back on it. “I don’t know, McDonald’s?”

You groan. “You always get McDonald’s. Can’t we get like Popeyes or something?”

Chris looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Well I didn’t know you were gonna eat, too, jesus. Sure, Popeyes is fine.” He goes for his phone again, but you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him.

“Wait,” you start. “I actually do need to talk to you.”

Chris sighs and puts his phone away in his pocket completely, looking over at you. “Okay, spit it out then.”

You flash a glare at him quickly before returning your eyes to the road. “So… Matt was going to be my plus one for a wedding I’m going to, but he can’t go anymore because something came up, and I can’t ask Nick because he’s gay and that just won’t work, and so that just leaves you.” You tell him nervously.

“So what if he’s gay, your family homophobic or something?” Chris asks, annoyance lacing his voice.

You sigh and pull into the Popeyes parking lot, pulling into a spot and throwing the car into park before you turn your body to face Chris. “No, they’re not homophobic. It’s just… I kind of told them I was bringing a boyfriend.”

Chris stares at you for a moment before laughing, completely unserious. “You? A boyfriend? That’s hilarious. I can’t believe you’re lying to your family about having a boyfriend.”

You don’t laugh though, you just drop your eyes down to your lap, knowing that this was exactly how the conversation would go.

“Wait a minute, that means you want me to pretend I’m your boyfriend? Fuck no, I’d rather be single for the rest of my life. Forget it, dude, you’re shit outta luck with me.” Chris shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.

You nod and start backing out of the spot, heading towards the drive-thru. “Yeah I figured that was how you’d respond,” you murmur.

You guys order your food, and you still pay for it, staying true to your word, before heading home. It was a quick but quiet ride back, both of you getting out of the car without a word, not even a ‘thank you’ shot your way. You take your shoes off and head back up to Matt’s room, seeing him in the same position you left him in, only now he was watching a movie, and you got in his bed to join him with your food.

“How’d it go?” He asked, reaching out to steal one of your fries.

“Exactly how I expected it to go. He laughed in my face and said he’d rather be single for the rest of his life than pretend to be my boyfriend,” you tell Matt, looking down at him from where you sat.

Matt smiles up at you, reaching out to pat your leg. “Sorry, kid. You tried.”

You nod and look up at the tv screen, starting to eat your dinner.

-

The next day, you’re sitting on your couch panting your toes and watching your favorite comfort show when you hear the doorbell ring, startling you as you weren’t expecting anybody over today. You look down at your toes and swear under your breath, seeing that you smeared polish along your skin.

You set down the polish on the table and stand up, walking to your door and pulling it open, jaw dropping in shock when you come face to face with Chris, the last person you expected to show up at your door unannounced. You almost wanted to rub your eyes in case you were mistaking him for another triplet, but you knew your eyes didn’t deceive you.

“Chris?” You question. “How did you get here?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I ubered?” He says like it’s obvious. “You gonna let me in or what?”

You take a step back and let him into your house, shutting the door behind him. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You say, sitting back down on your couch. He follows and sits at the opposite end, looking over at you.

He ignores your question, watching you as you continue to do your toes, cleaning up the mess you made. “Why not just get your toes done?” He asks.

You look at him with an annoyed expression. “Costs money? Why spend money when I can sit around and do it myself?” You go back to painting your toes. “Why are you here?”

Chris shrugs. “Been thinking about what you said yesterday, about the wedding.”

You stop what you’re doing and put the polish back down, turning your attention on Chris completely. “Did you change your mind?” You ask him.

He sighs and licks his lips before speaking. “Consider it my charity for the year,” he smiles, tilting his head at you. “But I need a small favor from you.”

“A favor in return isn’t charity, Chris, it’s like… eye for an eye or whatever.” You look at him deadpan. Of course he’d want something in return, he could never do something for you out of the goodness of his heart.

“Whatever, dude, you want my help or not?” Chris asks. “If not I’ll just leave, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You huff and give in. “Fine. What’s the favor?” You ask him.

He pulls out his phone, scooting a bit closer to you on the couch. “There’s this girl that will not stop hitting me up and she’s driving me crazy. I told her I’m not interested, I’ve ignored her messages, I even blocked her on snap to see if she’d get the hint but she still texts me every day.” He shows you all of the unanswered messages and your jaw drops.

“Holy shit, what does this girl see in you?” You laugh, reading how desperate she was for Chris.

“Funny,” Chris replies, unamused.

“What does this have to do with me?” You ask him, looking back up at his face.

“I think it’s only fair if I pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding, you pretend to be my girlfriend on social media. Only for a few weeks or until she stops messaging me. Plus, you’re way hotter than her. ” Chris tells you, and by the tone of his voice, he’s completely serious.

You feel heat rising up your neck and you try to get it under control before your cheeks turn red. “You think I’m hot?” You ask him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Not the point,” he replies.

“So you tell me that you would rather be single for the rest of your life than pretend to be my boyfriend, and now you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?” You clarify, and he just nods, like it’s no big deal. “Pretending to be together at an event is one thing, but you want to take photos to look like a couple? That’s a little… intimate don’t you think?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a big boy, you’re a big girl. Don’t think you can handle a little physical touch without falling for me?” He smirks, leaning in closer to you.

You grimace and reach up to push his shoulder away. “Gross, dude. I could have sex with you and still not fall in love with you and your terrible personality.”

Chris gasps, fake shocked, throwing a hand to his chest. “I am a very good lover, why do you think this girl won’t stop texting me?”

Your eyes widen. “You had sex with her?!” You shriek. “Chris, no wonder she keeps blowing your shit up!”

Chris groans and throws his head back, leaning it on the back of the couch. “It was supposed to be a one time thing, I don’t know why she’s so hung up on me!”

You find yourself giggling a bit before you stop and clear your throat, not wanting to give Chris the satisfaction of making you laugh. You compose yourself and shake your head, clearly disappointed in the boy across from you. “Fine, I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, but no kissing! I draw the line at kissing.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, I don’t want to kiss you,” Chris cringes. “So… I guess we should start planning this?”

You nod and smile towards him, placing your hands in your lap as you guys start to figure out how to execute both individual plans.

-

a/n: this chapter is SUPER short but it’s kinda just to get a feel of the fic and how it’s gonna play out. I really hope you guys like this series im so nervous about it!!

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @st6niolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696

[heavensenteden]

✎ caught you! | nsfw fic 🔞

☆彡

i finally pulled myself up to write a TKaTB fic.

i wanted a reader who was freaky like sol and matched his freak LOL, so we have reader who is aware!!

i’m also brain rotted about this man sooo bad it’s insane guys help!

enjoy ;P

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62611723

pls minors dni and dnr ⭐️

word count: 3747

🌱˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

The library was quiet today, save for the soft rustle of pages from students studying diligently and the occasional creak of the old bookshelves that your university so desperately needed to replace.

You liked it this way, a nice, quiet place far away from everyone, where you could just relax and be alone, and where Solivan’s eyes could follow you without drawing much attention. He was sitting nearby, alone at the end of the big oak table tucked away in one of the library’s four corners.

You had purposefully chosen a spot where he could watch you, presenting yourself out in the open for him. Pretty generous of you, honestly. You could feel it. Sol’s gaze, always lingering on you, his presence a shadow at the edge of your peripheral vision.

Occasionally, you’d glance up on purpose, just to catch a glimpse of his eyes meeting yours before he buried himself back into whatever book he had open, his face flushing that pretty red colour.

It was comforting in a twisted, intoxicating way. You already knew he was infatuated with you. It started off quite tame, to be fair; you hadn’t really noticed him before since he always sat at the back of the class, away from judgmental eyes.

But then the little things started. A shadow following you home, or that burning feeling of being watched.

Then one windy evening, you came back home to your apartment to find your window lock broken, and the place freezing because of it. Naturally, you freaked out. You called Crowe to come assess the damage, check if anything was missing, and to keep you company while you tied a flimsy ribbon around the latch, hoping it would be enough to keep your stalker out.

Unfortunately, Sol needed a lot more than ribbon to deter him.

That same night, he oh so easily undid your makeshift lock and slid right up next to your unconscious sleeping body, stroking your hair and holding your hand as if you were lovers.

Unlucky for him, you were a light sleeper, and the slight brush of his hand woke you. The room was so dark, save for the beams of moonlight streaming through the same window Sol had crept through not too long ago. You could only catch pieces of green and black hair shuffling around as you lay, somewhat petrified, in bed.

Then he spoke.

“My sweet pumpkin… sorry about your lock. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispered to you sweetly.

You felt him shift, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before sliding out of your bed, bidding your “sleeping” self goodbye as he slipped back out through your window. By the time you scurried to see his figure outside, he was already gone.

The next day, his actions couldn’t have been more different. You met him face to face in your art class, where you were paired as new partners for the upcoming project.

“My name is Solivan Brugmansia. Sol for short,” he said.

It was the same voice.

At the time, your blood ran cold as you realized the tall, brooding man in front of you was the same one who’d been lying next to you in bed the night before, breaking into your apartment just for a few moments of bliss with you. You.

Were you creeped out? Of course. Scared? Maybe a little. But for some sick reason, you were flattered that he’d taken such a liking to you.

“Sol… like the sun? That’s so cute, considering you’re dressed so… alternatively,” you said, deciding to experiment a little.

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against the thick black-and-green choker he wore. Your fingers moved lower to lift the key necklace around his neck, examining it carefully. Hmm. It didn’t look like a key to your apartment, so that was good.

You looked up at him, offering a sweet smile as you stepped back. You noticed how red he’d gotten and how he murmured under his breath about how pretty you were, clearly under the assumption that you hadn’t heard.

Oh, you were going to have fun with this one.

-

Today, you decided to push him further and tease him a little to see how he’d react.

Standing up from your seat, you knew Sol’s eyes would already be on you, watching and studying your every move as you walked over to the English section. To be fair, you actually did need some books for an upcoming research paper but you grabbed one at random in all honesty.

As you scanned the shelves, you found the perfect target: a book just out of reach. You stretched your arm dramatically, fingers brushing the spine but never quite making contact. You let out a dramatic, frustrated sigh, even pouting a little as you looked up at the book, knowing full well Sol was watching.

“Having trouble?” His voice was velvet, smooth and dark, as he appeared from nowhere. His tall figure loomed just behind you, towering over your own, and close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

You turned to him, feigning surprise. “Oh, Sol! I didn’t see you there. Could you help me, please?” You looked up at him with pouty lips and big eyes, clasping your hands together as you played the damsel in distress. And he was eating it up.

His pierced lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes, those intense, bright eyes, burned with something else. “Let me help you.”

He reached over your shorter body, effortlessly pulling the book from its place. His arm brushed yours, and you shivered, allowing the reaction to linger longer than necessary. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Oh, thank you, Sol,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “God, you’re such a lifesaver for me!”

Something flickered in his gaze. Satisfaction? Possessiveness? Maybe it was a bit of both. “Anything for you,” he murmured.

You took the book from his hands, letting your fingers graze his. A deliberate move, subtle but effective. His breath hitched, barely audible, but you caught it.

“Are you studying by yourself?”

Holding the book he’d just grabbed for you close to your chest, an idea popped into your head.

“Yeah, I was uh… sitting over there.”

Sol’s gaze shifted as he gestured to the big oak table he’d been seated at earlier. Thank god he’d picked a more isolated area to reside in.

“Oh my god, perfect! I’ll come sit with you!”

Before he could get an answer in, you zipped back to your study area to gather your bag and papers, carrying it all over to the empty table, save for Sol’s setup, and dropped it all on top.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” he said, glancing at you as he slipped back onto his chair. “I’m fine on my own.”

“I like being with you, though,” you replied, your voice now more quiet since, well, you were in the library. “With you.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing as he tried to focus back on his book, but you weren’t about to make it that easy for him. You slipped into the chair beside him, leaning slightly over the table as you pretended to skim through the pages of the book he’d grabbed for you.

“Hey, Sol,” you said, your tone sweet but laced with mischief. “Do you think Edgar Allan Poe was really that depressing, or do you think he was just dramatic?”

He looked at you, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. “Poe… was a complicated man,” he began. “His life was filled with tragedy, but I think he used his writing as a way to… cope.”

“Hmm,” you mused, tilting your head as if deep in thought. “I don’t know, some of his stuff just seems so… intense. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to get it?” You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “You’re incredibly intelligent.”

“Aww, you really think so?” you cooed, leaning even closer until your face was mere inches from his. His breath hitched, and you swore you saw his grip tighten on the edge of the table.

Before he could respond, you shifted, swinging a leg over to settle yourself on his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, and his face turned a deep, furious red.

“What are you doing?” he stammered, his hands hovering awkwardly near your hips, unsure of where to place them.

“Getting comfortable,” you said simply, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned in close, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “Is that okay?”

He swallowed hard, his hands finally resting on your waist as if he couldn’t help himself. “Y-yeah, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his breaths came out more quickly, staggered, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. The hard press of his cock hidden beneath the layers of clothing between you only confirmed it, and you smiled to yourself, savouring the bit of power you held over him.

You hummed, pretending to be clueless about his… growing problem as you skimmed your books, jotting down notes here and there, while Sol struggled to even get through one paragraph of the book he was reading, your body on top of his becoming too much of a distraction.

The girl of his dreams, the one he snuck out to see every night, the one he studied so closely and had fantasies about, was, right now, in this very moment, sitting on his lap. Her plush ass perfectly slotted against his body. And it was driving him insane.

“Sol?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through his haze. “You haven’t turned the page in a while. Is it boring?”

His eyes darted to yours, wide and panicked, as if you’d caught him doing something forbidden. “N-no, it’s fine,” he stammered, his hands flexing against your waist. “Just… distracted.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Distracted? By what?” You leaned in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Is something on your mind? You can talk to me, you know…”

His breath hitched again, and he clutched you tighter as if grounding himself. “No,” he whispered, voice low and strained. “I-I’m okay.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, savoring the way he froze beneath you. “If you’re so sure,” you murmured, your voice laced with a little bit of concern. “Because if you need to talk I’m always here for you sweetness.”

Yeah that did it.

Sol’s pants felt so tight as the curve of your ass shifted on and off his hard, clothed cock, and he bit his lip to try and stifle any noises as you moved around. His hands gripped your waist as he spoke into your ear, low and raspy.

Sol’s hands trembled as they clutched your waist, his knuckles whitening with restraint. “Please… sit still,” he begged, his voice strained and heavy with need.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his plea, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “Hmm, I don’t know,” you teased, shifting just slightly, enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. “You seem a little tense, Sol. Are you sure you’re okay?”

His eyes darted to yours, wide and desperate. “I-I need… I should go.”

Before you could respond, he gently lifted you off his lap and bolted from the table, his long strides carrying him toward the exit of the library and to the left, down the hall to where the bathrooms were tucked away.

You watched him disappear through the library exit, a slow grin spreading across your face. How adorable. He thought he could hide from you.

Leaving your things behind, you followed. The hallway leading to the bathrooms was dimly lit, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above, reminding you for a moment of how shitty this university could be.

You pushed the door open silently, locking it behind you with ease and stepped inside, finding Sol leaning over the sink, his head bowed, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles were pale. He was panting, looking as if he might pass out from just being teased by you, his hard-on visible to you as it strained against his pants.

“Running away from me, Sol?” you asked, your voice lilting as you closed the distance between you.

He froze, lifting his head up instantly, his reflection in the mirror staring back at you, panic swirling in his bright eyes. “W-What are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he turned around to face you.

You stopped just behind him, close enough that your breath brushed along the nape of his neck. “You ran off so suddenly… I got worried,” you murmured, your fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his sleeve, brushing his fingers with yours. “What’s wrong, Sol? Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no,” he choked out, refusing to meet your gaze. His hands flexed against the sink, and you noticed the way his shoulders tensed, his whole body tense with barely-contained frustration.

“You’re lying to me,” you whispered, stepping closer, your chest now pressed flush against his. You slid your hands up his arms slowly, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. “You’re so worked up, Sol… what were you planning to do while you're here?”

“I—I wasn’t going to–” he stuttered, but the words died on his lips as your hands moved to his waist, your fingers brushing along the waistband of his pants.

“Shh,” you cooed, standing on the tips of your toes and brushing some of his hair out of the way to press a gentle kiss to his neck. “No need to lie to me sweetness. I already know.”

His breath hitched audibly, and his hands clenched the sink harder as he fought to maintain control. “You can’t just… do this to me,” he rasped, his voice breaking with desperation.

“Do what?” you asked innocently, your lips trailing to his ear. “Help you? Because it seems to me like you need it, Sol.”

You let your fingers dip lower, teasing the button of his pants as you whispered, “So tell me… do you want my help?”

His resolve crumbled in an instant. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whimper. “Please.”

Sol’s hands gripped the edge of the sink so tightly, his knuckles were turning white with restraint, but his body was betraying him. He was trembling with need, his chest heaving, every breath shallow and hitched. You could feel his thighs tremble as your hands deftly moved to unzip his pants, undoing some buttons along the way.

You took your time, savoring the moment with this gorgeous man crumbling under your touch and gaze. Slowly, you pressed your body flush against his, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. You could feel the stiffness of his arousal, throbbing against the confines of his boxers, and it made your own… area pulsate in response.

“Sol…” you whispered against his ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. So desperate for me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands still resting against the sink, his body shaking as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore,” he groaned, his voice cracking. “I need you… now.”

You smiled, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You knew exactly what he wanted, what his body was begging for. You slid your fingers down the waistband of his boxers, barely grazing his skin, and Sol’s breath hitched, his hips jerking forward in anticipation.

“Patience, Sol,” you teased, your fingers circling his cock gently, slowly, barely touching but just enough contact to make him shudder. “You’ve been so good for me so far, haven’t you?”

His hands flexed against the sink again, and he let out a low, guttural moan. “I need you,” he whispered again, more urgently now, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t make him wait any longer.

With a swift motion, you freed him from the remains of his clothing, your hands finally wrapping around his cock completely. Sol’s body jerked at the contact, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as a sharp gasp left his lips. He was so sensitive, so responsive, and it made your heart race.

“You’re mine now,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding. You began to move your hand slowly, torturously, teasing him just enough to make him squirm, but never enough to let him find release.

Sol’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with need, his hands gripping the counter as if it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. “Fuck…” he muttered. “Please… I can’t take it.”

“You can take it, Sol,” you whispered, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? You’re going to finish when I tell you to. Understand?”

He nodded his head, never disagreeing with your demands, his eyes were glazed with lust for you, his body twitching with every slow stroke from your hands. “Yes… Yes, I understand.”

Sol whined softly to himself, as you jerked your hand up and down. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, only for you to sweetly tell him to open them back up, of course he obeyed, watching your slow, deliberate movements. The way you were hovering over him right now, your eyes boring into his, as your hands were wrapped around his cock, applying more pressure.

“You’re being so good for me Sol…” you purred, slowly sinking towards the ground, not caring about being in a bathroom, or even caring that you were doing this at your university. You looked up at him sweetly, asking him politely to hold your hair back, and he did it right away, after all how could he refuse?

He gently pulled all your hair back, somewhat neatly wrapping it around his hand, careful to not pull too tightly. He felt your warm hand gently stroke his cock, your lips just inches away, so so close.

Then you started to tease him. Licking up the underside of his length, gently pressing kisses from the base to the tip, your tongue teasing him as he whimpered and started to shake underneath you, completely submitting himself to you.

He could feel your hot breath as you hummed and toyed around with him. You slowly started to take his whole length into your mouth, inch by inch until your nose was pressed against his pelvis. He was in heaven.

Sol gasped at the sensation, his hand tugging at your hair as he watched you bob your head up and down, your hot, wet mouth, and shivered at the way his cock hit the back of your throat.

“P-Please… hah… pumpkin…” Sol called out for you. His legs shook gently as his climax slowly built up, soft moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he bit down on one hand to muffle his noises, your tempo never letting up as you continued to suck on him.

“Can I cum? Please… let me cum for you pumpkin.” He was begging quietly in the bathroom, watching you suck and hearing you make a muffled ‘mhm’ noise with your pretty plump lips wrapped around him, granting him permission without words.

Within seconds, his hands flew to the back of your head, pushing you down as he came into your mouth, moaning softly as he did, and you graciously let him, taking it all as you felt his fingers dig into your scalp. After a few moments he took a deep breath, releasing his grip on you, and falling back against the cool countertop of the bathroom sink.

You looked up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to show him that you had swallowed it all.

Freak.

Slowly, you started to stand up with a satisfied smile, your eyes meeting Sol’s pretty red-orange ones. He was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling, his skin flushed with heat.

You took a step back, eyes never leaving his, and fixed your own clothes with a bit of deliberate slowness, just to tease him. You tucked your shirt back into your uniform skirt, your fingers trailing over the fabric that dipped between your breasts, noticing that Sol’s gaze followed your every movement, still dazed, and still processing everything that had just happened in the bathroom.

Once you were finished, you stepped closer to him, your body just inches away from his. You tilted your head slightly, studying him with that playful glint in your eyes.

“Guess we’re even now, huh?” you whispered, your lips curling into a sly grin.

Sol’s eyes flickered to yours, his confusion evident even with that lingering haze of pleasure clouding his mind. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I know you’ve been sneaking into my apartment at night, Sol… I can hear you when you’re outside my window, and well… playing with yourself in my bed.”

You pulled back, eyes locking with his as you saw the way his pupils dilated, the sudden panic flashing in his gaze. “I’ll make it easier for you though and leave the window unlocked for you tonight, darling,” you purred, your voice dripping with both sweetness and mischief.

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you straightened up, straightening your clothes one last time, watching as Sol stood frozen, his expression a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“Don’t keep me waiting, okay?” you teased, giving him a quick kiss, before turning away and walking towards the door.

You pulled it open, leaving him standing in the bathroom alone to process what had just happened, as you stepped out into the hallway. The last thing you heard before the door clicked shut was his soft mutter, “Damn… she knows?”

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself as you walked away, knowing exactly what would happen that night. He was yours from now on.

[multifariousqueer]

Ooo for a Nate request could you do something like Nate x shy virgin reader or something like that ?🤭

Ofc darling!!🩷

Warnings: smut, mentions of bruising and abuse, deflowering, sub! Reader, strong language, nate being rough, idk I think that’s it

The warm autumn air brushed your skin as Nate’s hand snaked its way around your waist. He had began walking you to school during the summer so that you didn’t get kidnapped. That was one of his biggest fears, you getting kidnapped and assaulted. He would offer to drive you but you liked to walk when the weather was nice:

“So I’ll pick you up at 3, okay?” He spoke. It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement.

You knew not to test Nate after seeing what he did to Maddy and Cassie. Nate would never intentionally hurt you physically, but hey, accidents happen right?

“Okay” you said softly. Nate loved when you would speak softly and do whatever he wanted.

He smiled and led you into the building, where he saw Maddy who gave you both a death glare:

*Flashback*

“You know he’s toxic, right? He held a gun to my head, are you fucking stupid? Why would you date him?” Maddy said to you once she found out about your relationship

“I’m sorry” you said in tears. You had always looked up to Maddy and seeing her mad at you made you want to die.

“You will be” she said before leaving. That was the last time you guys spoke three months ago.

Since that day, Nate became more and more protective over you. He was always the jealous and possessive type but this pushed it over the edge. Nate loved Maddy but he loved you more, and if anything happened to you, he would kill whoever hurt you with a baseball bat.

Nate always had his hand around your waist or holding your other hand as he carried your books in his abnormally large hand. If anyone looked at you funny, he would shoot them a death glare and grip you tighter, sometimes even leaving bruises. Nate liked leaving bruises because it proved that you belonged to him.

He watched as you migrated over to your friends and watched in awe at how pretty you looked. Your hair was in a ponytail and your clothes were tailored to your body perfectly, your smile lit up the room as you giggled at one of your girl friends jokes.

Nate barred you from having guy friends that weren’t his because he didn’t like the idea of someone hitting on you, Nate took offense whenever someone tried to take what was his. To him, you were his toy, his object of affection that only belonged to him and no one else. He admired how clean and untouched you were, never having a serious relationship before him and never even having sex at all. Thoughts of you in compromising positions and in outfits that only he could see littered his mind throughout the day and made his pants tighten. He couldn’t wait for what he had planned after school.

*Flashback*

Nate and you had gone to the mall one day after school. You browsed for a new pair of shoes but Nate had gone for other, more promiscuous reasons. He took you into Victoria Secret and bought you a bunch of lingerie in pink:

“Here. Try this” he said, holding up a stringy pair of underwear with a bra that had a bow on the breast.

You eyed it nervously before hesitantly agreeing to try it on.

You tried it on and Nate’s breath hitched. He pulled you in between his legs and grabbed the bow on the bra and pulled it, leaving your breasts exposed.

Nate pulled your sensitive buds in his mouth while you let out a small moan:

“Please not here” you breathed

Nate bit down on your nipple and gave you a look that told you to just go along with it. He rolled your nipple in between his teeth as you let out small moans and breaths, the fitting room getting a bit hot as his mouth moved from your nipples to your mouth:

“I don’t wanna take your virginity here, babe” he breathed

“Than where?” you asked

Nate whisked you up over his shoulder as he took off the lingerie and replaced it with your normal clothes. He walked up to the register, still holding you and said:

“These please”

You walked out of the mall and he ushered you into his truck, your outfit riding up a bit as you slid into the seat.

It seemed like you would never use that set but the day finally came. He took you to his house where he had a picnic in the backyard:

“Hi, y/n!” Nate’s mother said

“Hi, Mrs. Jacob’s” you answered with a smile

Nate’s family loved you because you made Nate seriously happy and you were respectful, unlike Maddy who disrespected them all the time.

Nate ushered you into the back and sat you down gracefully.

“Aww Nate, thank you so much” you cooed

“Mhmmm anything for you, babe” he spoke

You two chatted about any and everything, mostly about football and how he had found his fathers tapes:

“That’s horrible. What can I do to help?” You asked

“Well, now that you mention it-“ Nate started before lifting you up bridal style and carrying you to the bedroom.

You were innocent and Nate knew that. You had never done anything sexual with anyone in your life:

“Have you ever done this before?” Nate asked

“no” you said, feeling 1 inch tall

“Have you ever touched yourself?” He asked, looking down at you as he placed you on the bed.

“Ummm… yes” you said, hesitating to answer honestly because you were afraid that he wouldn’t be happy

“Hm. Okay” he said before laying you down on your back and spreading your legs

Nate pulled your panties off and spit on your core, sending low whimpers from your mouth into the space. He grabbed your neck and whispered in your ear:

“Can I fuck you?”

“yeah. just be gentle” you begged

Nate scoffed and said:

“always”

He rubbed circles along your clit as moans escaped your lips, sliding two fingers in and pumping them gently:

“Fuck you’re so tight for me” he breathed

Your mind was preoccupied on how full you felt. If his fingers were this big, you couldn’t imagine how big his cock was. Luckily, you didn’t have to imagine long because as your orgasm was approaching, Nate stopped, leaving you empty and frustrated.

“Not yet, cutie” he smiled.

Nate pulled out his hard cock as you watched in awe at the sheer size of it. He saw the look in your eyes and said:

“You’ll get used to it”

He pushed himself inside of you as you let out a moan of pain. You gripped onto his bicep as you felt like you were being split open by him. He let out a loud groan as he felt your warm walls grip onto him. His eyes found yours as tears filled your eyes and he grabbed your hand:

“Do you wanna stop?”

“I- ughh- no” you said through tears

Nate paused for a moment to give you time to adjust to him. You tapped him to let him know that he could keep going and he did. His hips moved at a slow pace as your face went from an expression of pain to pleasure. His pace picked up as moans escaped your lips and his mouth found your neck and chest, leaving large bruises on both. He wanted the world to know that he had you the night before, in such a vulnerable position underneath him.

His pace went from fast, to very fast as the vulgar sound of skin slapping and your tight cunt drove him to the edge. His eyebrows furrowing as his orgasm approached in a wave. He looked down at you and placed his hand on your neck as he angled his cock up so that it was touching your g spot. He thrusted upwards in a way that made your walls twitch and grip onto him. Your back arched and your mouth parted as your orgasm approached fast:

“I think I’m gonna cum” you moaned

“Not yet.” He said

“Please?” you pleaded

Nate pulled out his cock and you whimpered.

“Since you wanna act like a slut and not listen to me, I’ll treat you like the slut you are” he breathed before flipping you onto your stomach and holding onto your neck.

His thrusts were rough and merciless as you whined into the pillow, his grip tightening on your neck as his thrusts became sloppier and your orgasm became closer and closer.

“Cum. Now.” He barked

You did exactly that as a wave of pleasure washed over you and made you unable to move. You lay there, a moaning mess as your boyfriend released ropes of his cum into you, marking you as his.

“I’m sorry for being so rough” Nate said breathily

“Mmmmm it’s okay” you moaned

He picked you up and laid you on the mattress properly as he left to grab a cool towel and your favorite big shirt of his. You laid there reminiscing on how amazing your first time was.

Nate cleaned you up and joined you on the mattress, pulling you into his embrace.

“Nate?” You asked

“Yeah?” He said

“Can we do that again?” You asked innocently

He chuckled and said:

“Maybe tomorrow, Princess”

[s-brant]

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!

[mocchii-writes]

can you do a thanos x reader (with slight dae Ho x reader) where they used to date before he became a rapper and did drugs and she’s the only person he ever truly loved. They break up because of the person he becomes and cut contact, seeing each other for the first time at the games. Thanos is keeping up his cool guy persona and flirting in a dickhead way, but then he sees her getting along with dae Ho (who likes her too) that cause thanos to actually be vulnerable with the reader in private, acting like he once was. up to you if you want to make it an angsty or fluffy ending

Well, all the stars would shine a bloody red

Paring: Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x fem!reader, slight Kang Dae-ho x reader

Summary: Seeing Thanos in the games after he changed for the worse, but he sees you too.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Brief mentions of prayer, mentions of drugs, swearing, death, squid game stuff

A/n: grr I'm not good with angst, I'm sorry if this sucks lol. Also, it came out way longer than I expected, so sorry for that ♡

~🍡🍡

The world seems blurry around Thanos. The leaves on the ground are nothing more than a distraction from your face. His heart beats faster as you smile at him, telling him some story he can't remember. The park is nice, a cool breeze ruffling your hair slightly.

His hearing is the first to go, and your voice becomes incomprehensible murmurs as the world slowly darkens and shifts. He can't see you anymore, either, and his vision soon blackens like an exposed film. Soon, the darkness is replaced by blaring lights as he opens his eyes.

Oh.

He sits up, his loose shirt clinging to his damp cold sweat. Why had he dreamt about you? It was so long ago, but he knew he'd never recover. His mattress always feels empty, now. No matter what girl is in it, it's always empty. You were so perfect, how could he have lost you?

It doesn't matter anymore, and he knows it. His life is better now. He just needs to keep saying that until he can wake up and feel like an entire person. But for now, he's just a husk, and he knows it. He'd never admit it, though. He can hardly admit it to himself. He knows he's changed. He wishes he could say for the better, but fame does something to a person. He still remembers that day.

He was high all the time, at clubs or concerts, hardly home, and hardly himself. You had spoken to him a week or two ago, telling him you were worried.

"Please, Su-bong." You had whispered. It was the first time you had gotten to speak to him in a while. "Why are you doing this? Why are you changing so quickly? So harshly?" He thought you were going to cry. So did you. Your hand rests on his arm. But he, for some fucked up reason, brushed you off.

"Chill, man. I'm not changing, I'm living my life. Why can't you just let me? Be happy for me?" He shoves your hand away. "I have a signing soon, see you later," he dismissed you.

That night, though. He should've been able to tell you were different. Your demeanor was cold and dry. But he couldn't even recognize himself, so you expected nothing more. You were sitting on the couch, arms crossed, zoning out into the ceiling. He stumbled in, clearly high off his mind. He had hickeys. You don't care, at this point. You can't remember the last time he even hugged you, but you stopped trying a while ago.

"Hey, Baby," he muttered, taking off his jacket. He walked over and sat next to you, turning on the TV.

"Do you know what day it is?" You calmly asked. You were prepared for this. You already knew what he would say, he didn't even deserve the benefit of the doubt, but you still asked him anyway.

"Happy anniversary." He'd said, dismissively, switching the channel. You scoffed, focusing your eyes on him. You stood, and he looked at you, almost annoyed.

"You're not yourself." You say, biting your lip, trying not to break.

"What? Flower, I thought we were past this." He groaned. You didn't say anything. You just grabbed your phone and walked to the door.

"Talk to me when you can remember my birthday." You said, slamming the door. He didn't comprehend it at the time, passing out after a while.

But he does now.

He can't take it. He lost all his money, unable to blind himself anymore. He rarely dreams of you, but it hurts more each time he does. He was stupid. He is stupid. He's never felt for someone like you since then. He stands, defeated, and heads outside.

He's not proud of what he plans to do, but he is confused when a man in a suit approaches him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have to squint your eyes to get used to the bright florescent lights in the strange room you find yourself in. You panic, but only briefly, before remembering the Ddakji, the small card, and the ominous car you entered.

You take a moment to assess your situation but don't get very far. There are many different kinds of people around you, seemingly in the same situation. You wear identical tracksuits with different numbers and are surrounded by strategically stacked metal bed frames. You then notice the violin music playing from seemingly nowhere and everywhere, and you finally stand up.

Many people join you as the crowd looks confused. Until a buzzing sound is heard, cutting off the peaceful music, as large doors at the front of the room open, and people in bright pink uniforms walk out. One starts talking about games, money, and lots of things that would normally interest you (or any other sane person), but your attention has drifted elsewhere, your world stopping in its tracks.

It's not like he's difficult to notice. His hair is still that stupid purple, and he still seems to carry himself with a sense of arrogance, but you almost wish you hadn't seen him, as memories come flooding in of the life you still sometimes mourn.

You barely begin to think of him in a positive light before your thoughts are interrupted by his voice, proving your hopes wrong. "What's with these shoes?" You roll your eyes as you watch the back of his head. "My shoes are limited fucking edition, they're hard to find." He whines. "You going to replace them if they get ruined?" Nice to know his priorities haven't changed. Your dread doesn't fade when other people begin asking questions. You almost get on your knees and pray, right there, that he doesn't see you. Instead, you decide to focus on more important matters and listen to the guards' answers.

One particularly whiny guy pushes a little too hard, and his name and number are soon ominously announced by the guard speaking, followed by his debt, age, and history. You refrain from smiling as a video is played on a large screen of him playing Ddakji and presumably losing. More videos are played, thankfully none of you, but there is one of Thanos, sadly without him getting slapped. The pink guard then continues speaking, offering a chance at a better life, or so he says. It's not like you have very many options, though.

The lights turn off as you watch a clear piggy bank lower, grabbing your interest. Even more when a prize of 45.6 billion won is announced. It's not like you have many options. So, when lines are formed, you sign the paper.

Eyes naturally trailing to Thanos, you notice him fussing with the whiner from earlier. You can't hear what they're saying, but you resist the urge to scoff at his immature behavior. He's nothing if not consistent, at least. It is kind of funny, though, watching him be pulled off of the guy.

You get your picture taken, ignoring a flight of fans to Thanos and an embarrassing moment to witness, and are led to an open, sandy area. You see an ominous-looking doll, but your thoughts are interrupted. "The first game is Red Light, Green Light."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

shit shit shit

What is this psychotic prison? You thought that 456 guy was crazy, high, or something other than honest! You know you don't have much time left. You glance up at the clock as it ticks down.

00:52

Well, fuck. You're going to end up like those people at the start of the game. Just another failure with no money or life dragged away before anyone could remember your name.

You can't distract yourself with that now, though. There are only a few people left (considering there are like 400 in total), and your position at this moment isn't the best. To make things worse, as soon as you hear that devilish singing, you're pushed. Hard.

Your body crashes to the ground, and you feel your leg bruising immediately. You struggle to stand up. You know you can't run anymore. The doll spins its head back around as your mind races.

00:28

You're going to die. You know you are. You can't make it that far whilst limping. You glance around, praying for something to happen in your favor when you make eye contact with someone at the end, already finished.

He looks kind, at least kinder than most people here. He sees you, he sees your situation, and he nods at you. You're unsure what that means until he runs to help you when the music plays again. When he reaches you, he freezes once he has an arm under you.

00:20

The doll looks away, and he pulls you up with ease. You wince, but you know you have bigger issues. He smiles apologetically as you both move as fast as your body lets you until the singing stops again.

00:14

You feel bad for this boy. He's just trying to help you, but you've now taken down another sweet person with you. He senses your tiresome energy and covers his mouth before the doll moves to look around.

"Don't give up. We're so close." He says, staring daggers into your eyes. You squeeze them shut and bite your lip. "You can do this," He whispers. The singing begins again.

00:07

You sigh and push yourself up again, both of you continue moving as you feel people's eyes on you.

00:02

He pushes you forward as you fall over the line, him soon after as the clock stops.

00:00

You instinctively cover your eyes as you hear the shots that echo through the room, as the remaining players lose their lives to this wretched game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boy walks with you back to the sleeping quarters. You're both shaken, but you manage to speak. "Thank you," you whisper, but you know he hears you. "I thought I wasn't going to make it."

He looks at you and nods. "Of course." He says softly, "I'm Dae-ho." You smile at him and introduce yourself. You both make your way to a corner and sit on his bed as the guards enter the room again.

Some people cry, some people start begging, and you kick your legs and watch it play out, frightened, but curious. Eventually, the familiar piggy bank dramatically stoops down again, this time filling with money, climactic music playing. The mood is soon killed, though. 24 million is the share each player would get, and you squint at the guard. Your mood isn't much better when you hear another voice.

"24 million?" Thanos asks, "You said 45.6 billion!" he says, an accusatory tone in his voice as the guard re-explains the situation. You aren't listening very closely anymore, though. Your heart and mind ache with thoughts of your past. You miss his kindness, the gentle Su-bong, who always closely cared for you. Now, all that's left is a harsh concrete wall between you two and the sting on your shins from the fall you took.

Before you know it, it's time to cast votes on whether to stay or leave this fever dream of a place. Your number is pretty low, so you get to see a lot of people's votes. Unsurprising to you, Thanos wants to stay. After a scene is caused by 456, you cast your vote and return to Dae-ho. He starts talking, breaking the silence between you.

Neither of you are quite sure what there is to say, but he talks anyway. He talks about his sisters, how they raised him, and his father, who never really knew him. He talks about his time in the military and what his life was like. You listen, nodding, laughing when he says something funny, and understanding. You both get food. It's not the best, but it's food, nonetheless. You begin to tell him about your life, but you're soon both distracted by 456, sharing his knowledge on the next game. Curious when you find out it's Dalgona, Dae-ho confirms your suspicions and verifies what the game is. Once the crowd dies down, he energetically offers you and himself to join the group, and they don't decline.

You're soon distracted, though. That empty aching feeling returns as you watch Thanos and his friend harass someone again. The same guy from earlier, 333. No matter how much you think you miss him, it's always drowned out by a hatred for who he is. You're soon brought to reality again as the sound of Thanos hitting the ground drives your attention back to the situation. The boy is soon held back and punched. Your stomach tightens as you watch the boy you once knew to be funny and kind, be so aggressive and violent. You know he'll never change, so you simply turn to focus on something less depressing, only to find Dae-ho slipping his egg onto your plate. You smile at him, distracting yourself successfully until even he looks over, noticing a man from your group kicking Thanos's ass.

You have to refrain from laughing, but Dae-ho doesn't try to hide the grin on his face. You could hardly admit to yourself that it slightly ached your soul to see your sweet boy be hurt like that, but the thought diminished quickly, replaced with an anxious realization that you're not just looking at Thanos, but his eyes.

He sees you.

Oh, fuck.

This was probably worse than watching that stupid timer tick away. His eyebrows soften from angry to shocked to bittersweet. He doesn't smile at you, but you can almost see his apology in his eyes if it weren't for his dilated pupils. His eyes look next to you, but your attention is soon changed as you hear Dae-ho. "Are you alright?" He asks, looking at you. It's only now you realize you're shaking, and you suddenly feel it all settling in. Your situation. The people, the place, the danger, it's a little too much. You bite your lip and nod, heading to the bathroom to clear your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You honestly should've expected it, but you didn't. You're standing over the sink, washing blood off of your face when the door opens. You look and immediately look away. How did he even get in here? You let out a shaky sigh as you grip the sink, distracting yourself yet again.

"Hey," Thanos says, his tone a little lighter than what you've heard so far.

"I can't believe they even let you in here." You scoff, trying, and failing, to hide the crack in your voice as you look at your reflection. You're a mess. Your hair is damp with sweat, water, and probably blood. Your face is tired, your lip is quivering. You honestly look worse than him, and he just got the shit beaten out of him. "What do you want from me?" You say, not looking at him. You honestly don't expect him to be gentle with you, he never was before you broke up, but you're proven wrong.

"I don't want to upset you, Baby." He whispers, walking closer slowly.

"Don't call me that." You say, closing your eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be an asshole like he always was. Then you could tell him off and leave him in the dust again, but now you have no plan. He's not being Thanos, he's being Su-bong. You haven't heard from Su-bong in a painfully long time.

He's still coming closer. You don't move, though. You're not sure what you want him to do, but you don't think he knows either. He leans down a little bit to look at you from the side, and you open your eyes and look at him, finally. He's so pretty. You feel your eyes getting glassy as you look at him, the pain of your burnt love story refreshing in your mind. His eyes aren't as dilated, but still a bit. You hope it's just because he's looking at you, but you aren't going to think about it.

He seems to notice your glossy eyes and furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly and looking at you sympathetically. It felt unwelcome but familiar. He lifts a hand slightly, appearing to try to touch you, but doesn't move it from its place in the space between you. You don't pull your eyes from his until the stinging is too much, and you close your eyes. You tilt your head downwards to hide the trickle against your cheek.

You feel his hand hold your face gently as he sighs lightly. "I'm so sorry," is all he whispers. You want to lean into his touch and accept his offer of love and forgiveness, but you're scared. He knows you are. But you don't move. You don't want him to stay, but you don't want him to leave.

"I know." You say, defeated. You bring your arms away from the sink to play with your hands, your body naturally turning to him. "You always said you were." You whisper, sniffing. You see his eyes close and he looks frustrated with himself, but you feel his other hand on yours, gently rubbing his thumb over your hands.

"I was so stupid, angel. I couldn't see what I was igniting until our love was already burnt." He says, never taking his eyes off you. You laugh lightly, and he smiles, confused. "What?"

"Kinda sappy, but I'd expect nothing less from you." You tease, as he scoffs. You sniff once more before dragging your eyes to meet his. You're met with nothing but care in his eyes. You look at him and are reminded of your perfect boy, who always made you smile.

"Please forgive me." He whispers. "I still dream about you. I've never loved someone like I love you." He admits, so quiet he was scared you might not hear, but you did. Your heart beats a little faster as you move closer, leaning your forehead to his. he closes his eyes, and you copy. You had certainly missed this.

"It will be difficult," you say, he nods, "Don't hurt me again, please." He bites his lip, and both his hands find your jaw, moving back to look at you.

You inch closer to each other, painfully slow. Your breath is shallow, you can feel your brain screaming to stop. He's so soft, though. Nothing is stopping you. You can feel his breath fanning onto your nose as his thumb glides over your cheek. Your hands have the urge to hold him, to let him love you and cherish you. You want to lay your face on his neck and fall asleep in his arms.

You want to question yourself, too. You want to stop, run away, and ignore every call. That is until your hands find his shirt, and you realize you can't stop if you try. This is what you need. This is why you want to cry. This is what you're aching for, and the heart wants what it wants.

So, you lean forward, accepting the wave of warmth that washes over you when he softly kisses you. You get chills up your body, one of your hands moving to his neck, then to his hair, slowly pressing a little harder, feeling him loosen in your grasp. You want to keep it this way forever, to stay in his presence and be showered with gentle love and appreciation until you're suffocated. But still, you lean back. You can't deny you're glad to see his smile when you open your eyes, and he can't say he's upset to see yours shining back.

[alltheirdamn]

DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

Summary: You're on a cross-country road trip when your tires blow, and you're forced to get them fixed at a small town mechanic shop. When your card declines, you only have one other option to get your car back. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 3k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, mechanic!joel, sex for favors, oral sex (f + m receiving), blowjob, deepthroating, cum eating, fingering, squirting, semi-public sex, unprotected piv sex, size kink, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, joel being a disgustingly nice gentleman, porn with absolutely no plot A/N: I saw this gif float across my pinterest and had a terribly fun idea... so here it is. Enjoy a lil fun ;)

PART 2 | Masterlist | Ko-fi

“S’all fixed up now,” Joel said, walking into the waiting room.

You had been waiting a few hours to have your alignment fixed and tires replaced, and now you could finally breathe a sigh of relief. You were on your way through the small town headed east towards Tallahassee when both of your back tires blew out on the highway. You were lucky not to cause a crash and thankfully found a local mechanic shop only half a mile off the road. 

“Thank you so much,” you exhaled as you stood up and stretched your legs.

Joel rounded the counter to the register, typing up the work order to charge you out. Wallet in hand, you waited for the cost, praying it wouldn’t make a dent in your bank account. You only budgeted so much for the road trip, and this definitely wasn’t in the budget.

“Alright, ma’am, lookin’ like it’s gonna be around $500 for everything. Shaved some off just for the hassle you been through,” Joel smiled.

Shit.

“Uh, okay. Great.”

You reluctantly handed over your card, praying it would be enough. Joel swiped it on his machine followed by a loud beep that clearly meant DECLINED. You let out a shaky breath, fishing through your wallet for another card.

“Shit, try this one,” you said.

Joel nodded, his brows furrowing a bit when it also beeped in the same tone. He slid your card across the table, cocking a brow as if to ask, ‘Got another one?’

“Fuck,” you laughed nervously. “Okay, how ‘bout this one?”

Another card. Another decline. How the fuck were you going to get out of town now?

“Sorry, ma’am,” Joel sighed. “No payment means no car ‘m afraid.”

You ran your hand through your hair in frustration, trying to come up with something. Glancing up at him, you took in his broad frame covered by a simple black t-shirt that seemed to hug the planes of his chest perfectly. You hadn’t even noticed the patchy beard or kind grin that he donned so well earlier. Maybe…

“Look, I gotta get out of here tonight,” you pleaded. “Is there anything I can do to just get my car?”

Joel crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps looking much bigger in that position. With a frown turning down his lips, he shook his head.

“Afraid not, ma’am.”

“Anything? Please, I'm begging you.”

He considered you a moment, his eyes raking over your figure. You felt your cheeks warm at that look, knowing what he might be insinuating. If that’s what it took to get your car and get the fuck out of this town, then why not?

“Anything?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m pretty fucking desperate right now.”

Joel came around the corner of the counter, crowding you until your neck craned up to meet his eyes. Your heart thrummed in your ears, warmth blossoming in your stomach the longer he stared at you. 

“Desperate lil’ thing, huh?” He teased.

Backing away from you, Joel walked to the shop entrance and slowly turned the lock. He looked back at you as he flipped the sign to CLOSED as if testing your judgment. You gave him a meek nod, never letting your eyes off him as he stalked toward you again. His finger ran up your forearm, catching on the sleeve of your top and tugging it lightly.

“Follow me, darlin’.”

That sentiment, followed by the twang of his accent, was enough to make your knees buckle, and you followed him like a dog in heat. Joel led you back into the heart of the shop, scraps of tools and car parts littering the makeshift garage. And right in the center of it all was your car. Leaning against the hood, he patted the metal, beckoning you over. You dropped your purse on the workbench and walked toward him on shaky legs. Joel spread his legs a bit wider as you approached, his fingers wrapping around your belt loops to pull you in close.

You were a breath apart now, just the barrier of clothes separating you. Joel’s hands snaked around your waist and firmly palmed your ass through your jeans. You let out a small yelp as his fingers dug into the supple flesh, kneading and massaging until your eyes drifted shut at the feeling.

“You pay off all your debts this way?” His voice dropped an octave, and you felt the bulge in his jeans prodding against your stomach as you leaned closer.

“Fuck off,” you scoffed. “Wasn’t planning on my car taking a shit out here and definitely wasn’t budgeting for it either.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “Ain’t got a boyfriend to give you some cash to help?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be out here tryna fuck you for my car,” you quipped.

A grin split across his face at your defensiveness, as if he enjoyed you being a brat. You weren’t trying to be— honest to god—but you desperately needed to leave this town, preferably with your car. 

“Y’sure are a bratty little thing,” he said, tugging you closer.

“Why don’t you stop talking so much and fuck me so I can get the hell up out of this small fucking town?” You grumbled.

Joel raised one of his hands to grip your chin, steadying your gaze on his. Sliding his thumb over your lips, he coaxed your mouth open and urged you to suck on his finger. Without breaking eye contact, you swirled your tongue over the skin of his thumb before wrapping your lips around it.

“Christ, darlin’,” he exhaled. “Might just let you suck my cock and send you on your way.”

You released it with a pop, a trail of saliva dripping from your bottom lip. Reaching down, you massaged the bulge in his pants, letting out a soft gasp. He was massive—bigger than expected. He let out a small chuckle as if reading your mind, bucking his hips against your touch.

“You’d give me my car for a little blowjob?” You questioned, squeezing his cock tighter.

“S’nothing little about me, darlin’.”

“Aren’t you just full of yourself,” you rolled your eyes.

Your fingers danced over the zipper of his jeans, tugging it down as he helped pull his cock free. You peeked down to catch a glimpse of it, your eyes growing wide. His cock was girthy and thick and definitely had no shortage of length, either. Precum leaked from the tip, and you wet your lips at the idea of trying to fit it all in your mouth.

“Y’gonna suck it or what? Car ain’t gonna pay for itself.”

“You gonna give me my car after?” You tossed back.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Those tires might cost you extra.”

“We’ll see about that,” you smirked.

Sinking to your knees, you pulled down his jeans and underwear until he adjusted himself at the tip of your lips. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, squeezing softly as you guided it into your mouth. Stretching your lips wider, you swirled your tongue around the tip, basking in Joel's groan as you did so.

“S’fucking perfect, darlin’. That mouth feels fucking amazing.”

 You took him deeper, moving your mouth in a rhythmic motion until you felt his hand come down to grip your hair. He held you steady as he snapped his hips back and forth, pushing his cock further down your throat. Sputtering around him, you dug your nails into his thighs as leverage while he continued fucking your throat.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasped. “C’mon now, take this fuckin’ cock down your throat.”

Opening your throat wider, you swallowed every thrust as tears streamed down your cheeks. Joel was relentless with his thrusts, your nose brushing against the curls at the base every time you took him deeper. You could sense he was close to the edge, so you dragged your tongue against the base of his cock with each stroke, spurring him on further. It elicited a primal growl deep within his chest, and within seconds you could feel the warmth of his cum sliding down your throat. His cock twitched inside your mouth as he came down from his high, and you hummed as you swallowed every last drop.

Using the grip on your hair to pull you off, you sat back on your heels, coughing and heaving to try and catch your breath. Joel looked down on you with heavy lidded eyes and a smug grin as if to taunt you. Cupping your cheek, he slid his thumb against your skin and brushed away the rolling tears.

“Open,” he ordered. “Show me.”

You quirked a playful smile, leaning your head back as you stuck your tongue out to prove you swallowed it all. Slapping your face softly, Joel let out a soft chuckle.

“Atta girl.”

You brushed the remainder of your tears away, wiping the makeup from your eyes, and you stood on wobbly legs. Smoothing down your shirt and jeans, you crossed your arms over your chest and cocked a brow.

“I think I earned my car back,” you insisted, your voice hoarse from how hard he fucked you.

“Hmmm, y’think so?” Joel questioned. “I think I deserve a taste of that pussy.”

You shoved at him playfully, rolling your eyes. 

“In your dreams, cowboy,” you laughed. 

With his pants still hanging down, Joel spun you until your ass was pressed against the hood of your car. Working at the button and zipper of your jeans, he shoved them down and pulled your legs free until your bare ass was pinned to the cool metal. Joel gave you a lopsided grin and shoved you further onto the hood.

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t return the favor, darlin’.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Oh, but I want to,” he argued. “Gotta see how sweet you taste.”

Sliding down, Joel situated himself between your thighs, tugging your calves up to rest on his broad shoulders. He gave you a teasing kiss on your inner thighs before delving in, his tongue flicking at your sensitive bud. You careened back against the hood, your back arching as his mouth suctioned around your clit. Crying out, you carded your hand through the brown curls of his hair, anchoring his face against your wet cunt as it pulsed against his mouth. Joel plunged his tongue inside you, forcing another whine from your lips.

“Fuck!” You cried. “Right there! Oh my god, yes!”

He hummed in satisfaction, bringing his fingers into the mix as he opened you up, curling them against that sweet spot inside you. Keeping his mouth on your clit he worked in tandem with his fingers until that coil inside you wound tighter and tighter. With one more curl of his fingers, your orgasm surged through your body, forcing a gush of liquid to stream out of your wet cunt. Joel sat back in awe, staring at your glistening folds as your body trembled from the release, your juices covering his beard and mustache. 

“Fuck babydoll,” he grinned. “You a squirter, too?”

You laughed awkwardly and watched as he removed his two fingers and brought them to his lips. Sucking them into his mouth, Joel groaned as he tasted the remnants of your orgasm. You knew you could squirt—it was your own dirty little secret—but something about seeing him covered in your juices made you want more. Tugging him softly with your calves on his shoulders, you urged him back to your soaked entrance, silently begging for another round. 

“Gonna cover me in your juices again, darlin’?” Joel smirked. 

“Mhmm,” you whined. 

“Drench me babydoll, let’s see it.”

Joel’s mouth was on you again, lapping up the juices leaking out of you until you were crying out for him. He didn’t let up as he sucked your aching clit between his teeth, his tongue working at the bud in earnest. He pushed his fingers back into you, your cunt pulsing violently each time he curled them. Slipping a third finger in, he stretched you wider and moaned against your clit as your body tensed with another orgasm. Another rush of liquid made it past his fingers, soaking his mouth and chin. You could feel it trickle down the seam of your cunt, drenching the hood of your car as you thrashed against it.

“Christ, Joel,” you mumbled, your head lolling to the side. 

He rose to his feet, wiping a hand over the hair covering his chin as he smiled at you. You sat up slightly, positioning yourself on your forearms as you watched him slide his jeans further down his legs. You were already in this deep; you might as well keep going. Spreading your legs a bit wider, you raised a finger to beckon him closer. 

“C’mon cowboy,” you teased. 

“Y’really need that car, huh?” He smiled, lining his cock up to your entrance. 

“I really do,” you whimpered, nodding your head vigorously. 

Joel eased himself inside you, inch by fucking inch, until he was fully seated at the base of his cock. You both groaned in unison, his cock sliding in and out of you easily from all the juice leaking from you. Crossing your ankles behind his back, you pushed him deeper, mewling at the sensation of the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. You could feel that stinging stretch of your cunt as he picked up his thrusts, your ass sliding up the car each time. 

“Shit, babydoll,” he growled. “S’fucking tight around my cock.”

“You feel so good, Joel,” you hummed. “Please, I need it harder.”

Listening to your pleas, Joel planted his hands on either side of your face, pistoning into you with brute force. He bent down, sucking and biting the skin of your neck until you were crying out from the pain mixing with the pleasure. You rolled your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, your cunt fluttering against his cock each time. That blinding orgasm was on the horizon as your muscles tensed up for its release. Running your hands up under his shirt, you dug your nails into his back muscles, dragging them down his tanned skin. Joel groaned into your ear, his hips snapping against yours harder and faster.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “I–I’m gonna fucking cum, Joel!”

“Yeah, babydoll? Fuckin’ soak me with it.”

He pulled out at the last moment, a heavy stream of liquid pouring from your cunt and coating your inner thighs and Joel’s cock. Without wasting a second, he drove back into you, picking up the pace despite your body still shaking and dripping from your orgasm. You could feel your tears rolling down the sides of your face, that warmth still coursing inside you. Joel’s thrusts grew erratic and off-rhythm, and you sensed his orgasm was pushing him to the edge. 

“Y’gonna let me fill that pussy, darlin’?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his voice sent shivers up your spine.

“God, please,” you cried.

With one…two…three final strokes, Joel was grunting and painting your insides with thick bursts of his cum. You both lay there limp and fucked out for several moments, catching your breath and chuckling as reality settled back in. He slipped out of you and drew his pants back up his legs, his eyes roaming over your sweaty body. With one hand, he tugged up the zipper of his jeans, using the other to push the cum leaking out of you back into your wet cunt. 

“Gotta send you off with some sort of parting gift,” he laughed.

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, adjusting yourself and sliding off the hood. Joel bent down to ease your pants back over your thighs and hips, helping with your own zipper as you stood awkwardly in front of him. Joel leaned in to kiss your cheek before walking to the corkboard hanging from the wall. Retrieving your keys from one of the hooks, he offered them to you with a kind smile.

“I’m free to go?” You asked, reaching for them. 

He pulled them away, shaking his head with a teasing grin. You pouted sarcastically, opening your hand and waiting.

“One kiss, and we call it even, babydoll.”

You grabbed either side of his face, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. You coaxed his mouth open, teasing your tongue over his, tasting your arousal still lingering on his tongue. Joel deepened the kiss, tangling his free hand in your hair to anchor you closer. Pressed up against him, you found yourself thirsting for more but knew you had no obligation to stay. Sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, you pulled away reluctantly and snatched the keys from his hand. 

“Thanks for the new tires, cowboy,” you grinned. 

Joel dazzled you with another gorgeous smile, the lines around his eyes creasing as he gave you one final nod. You squeezed your way out of his embrace, making your way to the driver's side door. He followed you over, opening it like the gentleman he was, waiting till you were situated inside. Leaning in for one more kiss, he lingered a moment too long before breaking away.

“Safe travels, darlin’. If you ever need some work done, y’know where to find me.”

You dug your keys into the ignition, letting the car rumble awake. Joel shut the car door with one final smile and watched you reverse out of the mechanic shop. Giving him a small wave, you turned onto the street and back toward the highway with a soreness creeping up your thighs.

[fatecantstopme]

All I Want Is You

Pairing: Tyler Owens x reader

Summary: Chasing tornadoes with the famous Tornado Wrangler is a dream come true, but falling in love with him wasn't exactly on your to-do list.

Warnings: Cursing, use of pet names, descriptions of tornadoes. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), praise kink, light choking, spanking.

You groaned softly at the sound of plastic snapping from behind you. "Boone..."

You turned to see the man in question giving you a very sheepish look. He held up the broken antenna with a wince. "Sorry, (Y/N/N)."

You exhaled heavily. "This is why we can't have nice things."

A small smile danced on your lips as you took the antenna from him. You examined the base and determined it just needed a new coupler. An easy fix.

"Dani!" you called out.

Dani popped her head out from behind the camper. "Yo!"

"Can you get me a new coupler for this antenna, please?" You held up the broken item so Dani could see which one you were referring to.

"Yeah, one sec!"

You glanced at Boone, who still had a sheepish expression on his face. You shook your head slightly as you took a step towards him. "Don't worry about it--I won't tell Tyler."

Boone smiled. "I'm way more afraid of you than I am of Tyler."

"As you should be," you teased. "Gimme a hand?"

He reached out to steady you as you pulled yourself up into the bed of the truck and climbed onto the roof. Dani came over moments later with the replacement coupler. You set to work on fixing it before Tyler came back and asked what was going on.

"Any particular reason you're on top of my truck, darlin'?"

You froze as Tyler's voice washed over you from behind. You turned to look at him, noting the amused smile on his face. "Just making a quick adjustment."

He raised his eyebrows, his disbelief evident in the action. "I made adjustments not 20 minutes ago."

"Well I'm just making sure."

"Uh-huh."

You'd finished attaching the antenna, but you made a show of checking all the other attachments on top of the truck. "Hmm...everything looks good to me."

Tyler chuckled and shook his head. "Then get down from there before you hurt yourself."

You slid down into the truck bed and jumped off the edge onto the hard ground. Tyler's hand shot out to make sure you didn't fall. You shot him a pointed glare that clearly said I don't need your help, thank you very much.

"So you gonna tell me who broke something?"

"Never."

He laughed lightly and followed you to the camper where the rest of the team had gathered.

"How's the radar looking, Dex?" Tyler asked.

"We've got a nice looking cell popping up to the East. It'll probably hit within the next hour."

"Excellent."

Everyone turned to look towards the Eastern sky. You could plainly see the dark clouds rolling across the horizon, heralding the oncoming storm.

"Thoughts, Lightning?" Tyler asked softly, the nickname rolling off his tongue with ease.

"Smells like a good one," you murmured.

The team had long ago learned to trust your instincts when it came to the weather...even if your methods weren't exactly orthodox. Tyler always said you could feel a storm in your bones, and he wasn't wrong. It was as if Mother Nature herself spoke to you.

"Who needs science when we have (Y/N)?" Boone said with a grin.

You turned and shot him a warm smile, but it quickly faded as you caught sight of four vehicles pulling into the parking lot. "Fuck," you muttered.

The rest of the team followed your gaze and muttered their own varying expletives.

"Can't we just have one storm where those assholes don't show up?" Lily grumbled.

"We'd never be so lucky," you said with a sigh.

The six of you watched as men in polo shirts piled out of the vehicles. Each and every one of them wore the logo of the business on their shirts, just as each of the vehicles did.

"Howdy, Storm PAR," Tyler said in a mocking tone.

Most of the other team ignored him, but one of the younger members gave him a friendly wave.

A soft chuckle left your lips, echoed by the other members of your team.

You opened your mouth to make a joke, but your jaw clamped shut as Scott Miller, one of the founders of Storm PAR, started walking your way.

You felt Tyler tense beside you, and you could see the others doing the same out of the corner of your eye.

"(Y/N). Owens." Scott gave the two of you appraising looks. "Surprised to see you're still chasing together."

You pushed down every annoyed response you wanted to shoot at him, instead opting for what you hoped came across as cool indifference. "Can't see why you'd be surprised."

Scott shrugged. "You and I both know you're too smart to run with this bunch of hillbillies."

"Hey!" Boone yelled. "Watch it."

Tyler stepped forward, his expression calm, but his stance was protective. "No need for the name calling, Scott. (Y/N) can chase with whomever she wants to, but you can't be mad when it's not you."

Scott's expression darkened. "She and I both know which one of us is actually successful." He started to walk away, pausing only to throw one more insult over his shoulder. "The YouTube channel sure is cute though."

Tyler bristled, but you grabbed his arm to keep him from saying anything further. "Let it go, Tyler. He's not worth it."

Tyler exhaled slowly and nodded, turning back to the rest of the team. Each of them shared the same angry expression, and it upset you that someone you used to work with dared to speak to them this way.

"I'm sorry, guys."

"Nothing to be sorry for, (Y/N)," Lily said with a smile.

"Lily's right, that dude's an ass," Boone commented.

"An ass I used to work with," you muttered.

"We all make mistakes," Dexter said with a small smile. "Besides, you're here now."

Tyler nudged you with his shoulder. "They're right darlin', and so were you. He's not worth it."

You smiled. "Alright, alright. 'Nuff of this sappy shit." Your voice was light and teasing, and it made the rest of the team smile. "We've got a storm to chase, don't we?"

"Yes ma'am," Boone said.

"You heard her. Let's get a move on," Tyler added.

**********

Thirty minutes later, you'd all piled into your respective vehicles and headed off to chase yet another storm. Radar still showed the cell to the East was looking promising and you'd confirmed it.

You could tell by Tyler's expression he was disappointed you'd chosen to ride with Lily instead of him. Boone had been more than happy to ride shotgun with Tyler and you'd muttered something about needing to drive so Lily could fly Cairo.

When you climbed into the driver's seat, Lily gave you a look. "What?"

"Why aren't you riding with Tyler?"

"Because you need a driver."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what, Boone forgot how to drive?"

You rolled your eyes. "Boone's operating a camera."

"Oh right, because we don't have cameras in every vehicle."

"Lil..."

"I know something's going on with you and Tyler. You've been acting weird all week."

You sighed. Lily was your best friend and your closest confidant. She knew very well how you felt about Tyler--and she knew exactly why you would never tell him. It wasn't that you thought he would be rude about it...you just didn't want to risk making things awkward between the two of you, or gods forbid, the rest of the team.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise I won't make fun of you, but I can make no promises regarding my laughter."

Her candor made you chuckle. It was one of the many things you loved about her. "I had a dream earlier this week...and um...well, I can't get it out of my head. Every time I see him, it just invades my damn brain."

She smirked. "What kind of dream?"

You groaned. "You know exactly what kind of dream, Lily."

"Was it..." she grinned, "...the dirty kind?"

"Lily!"

She laughed loudly. "Oh there's nothing wrong with it! We've all had a dirty dream before."

"It's a little different when it's about someone you know and see every damn day."

"Instead of being awkward about it, you could just tell him...maybe he'll make your fantasies come true."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen. We both know Tyler isn't into me like that."

"I most certainly do not know that, and for the record, neither do you."

"He's not."

"How do you know if you never ask him?"

"He would have said something by now, Lily."

"Oh, you mean like you have?"

You shot her a glare, but before you could respond, the radio on your dash crackled to life, Tyler's voice on the other end letting you all know Boone was starting the stream. You flicked the camera on your dash on, effectively silencing any further personal conversation.

Tyler made his traditional intro, introducing every member of the team before launching into a description of today's storm.

"Lightning, can you swing up to my left and give me your thoughts?"

Lily'd already pulled her goggles down, eyes trained on whatever Cairo was seeing up in the air. You pulled around to the left of Tyler's truck, giving yourself a good view of the approaching storm.

You breathed deeply as you took in the beautiful cloud formations before you. No matter how many storms you chased...or how many tornadoes you experienced, the beauty and power never ceased to amaze you.

"She's looking beautiful, T. Plenty of shear and that cap is definitely gonna break. I'd say take a left in a half mile and drive straight at her."

"You heard the woman. Let's ride."

The clouds were rotating more rapidly as you approached the storm. You could feel the electricity in the air--the heaviness that accompanied any supercell storm.

"Come on, baby, show us what you got," you muttered.

The rest of your team smiled at your words as they crackled through the radio.

"We've got a funnel!" Lily called. Cairo zoomed overhead, able to see the beginning of the tornado before the rest of you.

You watched in rapt awe as the funnel grew. When the tornado finally touched down, you let out a whoop of excitement. The sound was echoed by the rest of the team.

"We've got ourselves a grade A tornado here folks," Tyler said. You could hear the joy in his voice and you smiled as you pictured his excited expression. "Lightning, Dex, you guys hang back while we get a little closer."

"Copy," you responded, Dex's affirmation coming moments later.

You slowed to a stop, eyes glued to the red truck as it sped closer to the tornado. This was always the moment that had your heart clenching in your chest...this was the moment it could all go wrong.

"What are our readings, Lil?" you asked.

"Wind speeds are currently 98 miles per hour and it looks like we've got an RFD forming."

Your breathing slowed as you stared at the tornado. You could see the rain curtain forming at the southeastern edge of the tornado, confirming Lily's RFD observation. Your earlier excitement turned to dread as an overwhelming sense of wrongness came over you.

"Monitor the wind speeds, Lily. I'm not liking this one."

"You got it."

"Tyler?" you hailed him directly.

"Yeah, Lightning?"

"You're heading straight toward an RFD. You need to pull back or you're not gonna be able to see the actual tornado."

"What's the current windspeed?" he asked.

"We're up to 110," Lily replied.

"Tyler--pull back. Now," you urged. 110 mph was the top windspeed for an EF1...and that truck wasn't rated for an EF2.

"We've got hail!" Boone yelled excitedly.

"Baseballs!" Tyler hollered.

"Tyler!" you called.

"We're alright, Lightning. Don't worry," he responded.

You exhaled heavily and closed your eyes for a moment. "Windspeed, Lil?"

"120."

"Shit. Tyler it's an EF2 and you're driving right into the damn rain wall. Back off."

"Alright, we'll go around the edge--see if we can't skirt around the RFD."

You didn't like it...you never liked when visibility was so compromised. Especially when you weren't actively in the storm. You'd lost visual of the truck, but you could still clearly see the tornado and the rain wall that formed on the Southeastern edge. Your skills were of more use when you were actually in the storm...not watching from a distance.

"(Y/N), we've got a second funnel forming," Dexter called.

"Where?"

"I can see the hook on the radar. Off to the west."

"Lily, can you get me eyes?" you asked.

"On it."

While you couldn't see Cairo, you knew the drone was flying overhead, racing towards the western edge of the storm.

"Wind shear is still high," Dani commented.

You could hear the slight worry in her voice, echoing your own concerns.

"Shit," Lily muttered. "We've got an updraft and she's rotating."

"Tyler, get out of there now," you ordered. "Second tornado just touched down to the west."

"We can't see it," Tyler called out.

"Windspeed on the first tornado?" you asked.

It was Dexter who responded. "136!"

"Fuck!" That was the threshold for an EF3.

"Windspeed on the smaller twister is already 105," Lily yelled.

"Tyler!"

"I can't see the other tornado!" he yelled.

"Lily!"

"I'm trying..." she said desperately. You watched in dismay as the two tornados spun in the distance. Tyler and Boone were somewhere in the middle of it and Lily was trying to find the truck with Cairo.

"Got 'em!"

"Guide me!" Tyler yelled.

"Go in reverse," Lily insisted. "If you keep going straight, you're gonna hit the second tornado."

You could hear Tyler's cursing over the radio, followed by the revving of the truck's engine.

"Keep going!" Lily commanded.

Your anxiety was through the roof and you still couldn't see the truck you were so desperately searching for.

"Shit!!!" Lily yelled. "I lost Cairo!"

It was your turn to take over...but all you had was instinct. "Tyler! What can you see?"

"I can still only see the EF3!"

"To your right?"

"Yes!"

You gauged his likely location and sent out a silent prayer that you were right. "Go left. As fast as you can."

Tyler didn't even ask if you were sure. He trusted you with his life...and with Boone's.

"You might be sending him right into the EF2," Lily said softly.

"I know."

You could feel her concerned gaze on you, but you didn't dare take your eyes off the storms raging in front of you.

"We've got a wind shift," Dexter called. "The storm is moving Northeast."

"Tyler?"

"I heard. We're headed in the opposite direction."

You held your breath, waiting to see the red truck finally come into view.

"I see them!" Lily shouted.

You followed her line of sight and let out a long exhale. The sight of that damn truck was easily the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

You waited until the truck finally pulled to a stop just ahead of your truck before getting out and racing towards it.

Tyler jumped out and didn't hesitate to catch you as you jumped into his arms. He held you tightly and you finally felt the tension leave your body. Neither of you said a word as he sat you down, the emotion on both of your faces was enough to convey what you needed to.

The rest of the team had run up to the truck and everyone embraced in relief. Tyler turned back to the camera, letting everyone know the team was safe. He reminded the viewers not to try anything like this without proper training and equipment, before signing off the stream.

"I need a drink," he muttered.

"I think we all could use one," you added.

The sound of a horn honking brought your attention back to the road. A Storm PAR truck pulled up alongside you and Scott leaned out the window.

"Taking a little break?" he taunted.

"Why don't you go drive into an EF5, Scott," you snapped.

He merely laughed. "Next time, you should leave the storm chasing to the adults...and maybe stop listening to intuition instead of science."

"That intuition just saved my ass," Tyler growled.

"And mine," Boone added.

"Intuition," you said softly. "The one thing you've always wanted but will never have."

Scott glared at you. "Maybe this is the right group for you, (Y/N). You never were on my level."

"You've got that backwards, Scott. You were never on mine."

A chorus of "ooos" went up around you, sparking a smirk to cross your face.

"Screw you, (Y/L/N)."

"I'm sure you'd like to." You gave him a teasing wave as he sped off, middle finger hanging out the window.

"You handled that very well," Tyler said softly.

You smiled. "I guess I just got tired of his shit."

"Personally, I thought it was pretty hot," Boone commented.

You laughed, along with Lily and Dani, while Tyler and Dexter groaned.

"Come on kids. Let's go get a drink."

"And food?" Boone asked hopefully. "I'm starving."

"Since you just survived a very harrowing experience, I think we can manage to scrounge up some food for you," you teased.

He grinned and gave you a kiss on the cheek before climbing back into the passenger seat of Tyler's truck.

Tyler's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he went back to his truck...a gaze that didn't go unnoticed by Lily.

"I saw that," she whispered once you were both back in your truck.

"You saw what?"

"The way he looked at you."

"It's called gratitude, Lily. Nothing more."

"I love you, but you are blind as hell. You both are."

You just shook your head and started the car, trying desperately to ignore the pit in your stomach that had formed the moment you'd lost sight of Tyler's truck in the storm...

**********

The team had made it through a round of drinks and appetizers before their meals hit the table. Adrenaline did wonders for one's appetite.

You'd managed to find a large booth in the bar across the street from your motel. You sat between Boone and Tyler, and the other three sat across from you. Lily's gaze was focused very heavily on you to the point where you kicked her under the table to get her to back off.

After everyone had shoveled down their meals and gotten another round of drinks in, Dani announced she wanted to play pool. Dexter and Boone immediately offered to join her, and Lily said she'd try her hand at it before following them to the tables at the other end of the bar.

"You don't wanna play?" Tyler asked.

"I suck at pool and you know it."

He chuckled softly. "You really are terrible at it."

You shot him a glare, but his warm expression softened yours instantly. "I'm glad you're okay," you whispered.

"Thanks to you, Lightning."

"And Lily. Mostly Lily."

He shook his head. "I should have listened to you right away. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. I probably sounded overprotective."

"Your instincts are always spot on. I shouldn't have ignored them."

"It's alright, T. You and Boone are fine. That's all that matters."

He was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating his next words very carefully. "I'm glad it was Boone riding with me today. I don't know what I would have done if it had been you."

"The same thing you did today. Nothing would have changed."

Tyler gave you a long, strange look. "I would have been terrified, Lightning. Absolutely terrified."

"Why?"

"I can handle putting myself in danger or even dying, but I don't like the idea of putting any of you in that situation, you least of all. If something happened to you?" His eyes closed and he breathed deeply. "I don't know what I would do."

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it, prompting him to look you in the eyes. "I know the feeling. I was scared out of my mind today, Tyler. More afraid than I've been in a very long time."

He scanned your face as if looking for something. You couldn't tell if he found it or not, but his expression changed back to the easy cockiness you were used to. "Wanna dance, darlin'?"

You couldn't help the surprise that crossed your face at the sudden change of topic. "What?"

He just grinned at you. "Dance with me."

You nodded slowly, letting him pull you out of the booth and to the dance floor. Tyler had never asked you to dance before and to be honest, you didn't think he even liked dancing.

You, however, loved to dance. You'd danced with every other member of the team and plenty of strangers. You were never ashamed to dance alone either. Music spoke to your soul in the same way storms did, and you'd always lost yourself in both.

You were surprised by Tyler's movements as he moved to the rhythm of the upbeat song. "I didn't know you could dance," you teased.

"You never asked."

"I've danced at every bar we've ever been to," you countered. "I don't think you've ever joined in!"

"I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of an expert."

You laughed. "I'm not expert, I just love it."

He grabbed your hand and spun you around a few times before spinning you into him. "Perhaps I just like to watch you move. It's one of the few times I see you look truly free."

He spun you away from him again before you could comment. You'd never noticed him watching you dance and his admission surprised you.

The song changed to a slower, more sensual beat, and Tyler pulled you into him, back against his front. You swayed your hips to the beat, trying to steady your heartbeat as Tyler's hands rested on them.

You felt his body moving sensually against yours--the feeling more intoxicating than you'd ever imagined. You felt his lips graze your temple before spinning you around to face him.

You couldn't look up at him, eyes focusing instead on his slightly exposed chest. He moved your body slowly with his, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "Look at me."

It took all your willpower to look up at him without panicking. He was looking at you with an expression you'd never seen before, and it made you breathless.

His eyes swept lovingly across your face as his right hand lifted to cup your cheek. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

You inhaled sharply, surprised as much by the tenderness in his voice as the words. "Ty..."

"Can I kiss you?" he murmured, his voice little more than a plea.

You didn't trust your voice, so you simply nodded.

He lowered his mouth to yours, pressing his lips against yours with a gentleness you didn't expect. It was a soft kiss at first, but as you responded to it, he nipped at your bottom lip, tongue pressing firmly against your lips, begging for entry. You parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss as he explored your mouth.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers gripping at the short hairs at the base of his neck. His left arm had wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against him, right hand cradling your face.

You had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It felt as if time stopped and the world around you ceased to exist. It was only the two of you and the moment you shared.

When you finally parted, you were both breathless. It was evident from his expression he didn't have an interest in stopping, and neither did you. You would have kissed him on that dance floor all night long.

He kissed you again, but it was over too soon for your liking. "Tyler," you whimpered as he pulled away.

He chuckled softly. "I don't wanna stop either, baby, but if we don't, I'm liable to make a bit of a scene on this dance floor."

You grinned. "What kind of scene?"

He leaned in close, lips a hair's breadth away from yours. "The X-rated kind."

You brushed your lips against his. "I'm down if you are."

His responding grin warmed your heart. "As hot as that would be, I'd rather not share you with the rest of this bar."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing our motel is right across the street."

He groaned softly. "Thank god." He pulled away, but you could see in his gaze he didn't want to. "Lemme just pay the tab."

"Oh, I gotta pay mine too."

The look he gave you halted you in your tracks. "I'm taking you to bed, Lightning. I'm paying your tab."

You laughed lightly and watched him walk away. Your gaze lingered on his very nice ass for a moment before flickering away in search of your team.

You met Lily's eyes across the room and the grin she gave you told you she'd seen everything. She pulled out her phone and typed for a few moments. Unsurprisingly, yours dinged the moment she looked back up.

Lily: YOU KISSED TYLER!

You: Technically, he kissed me.

Lily: Whatever! YOU KISSED!!! I told you he liked you!

You: Yeah, yeah. You can gloat later...we're going back to the motel. ;)

Lily: You can bet your ass I will! Have fun and don't do anything I wouldn't do.

You: Is there anything you wouldn't do?

Lily: Nope :D <3

You met your best friend's gaze again and she was grinning ear to ear. She gave you a big thumbs up, which sparked your own happy smile.

"Whatcha smilin' at, sweetheart?" Tyler asked, appearing beside you.

You looked up at him with a warm expression. "You."

"Mhmm." His tone told you he knew exactly what had made you smile, or rather whom.

"Walk me home?" you teased lightly.

He grinned. "It would be an honor, milady."

You laughed at his attempt at a proper British accent. "Stick to your normal accent, babe. It's hotter."

He smirked. "You think my accent's hot?"

You groaned as you walked out the door, Tyler right behind you. "I'm gonna regret admitting that, aren't I?"

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to a stop. "I don't know, darlin'. Are you?" His voice had deepened and that southern drawl made your knees weak.

"Not if you keep that up," you whispered.

He chuckled as he placed kisses on your neck, nipping gently at the place where your neck met your shoulder.

You let out a soft moan and he tightened his grip on your waist. "We better get moving or I'm gonna lose it."

You smiled. "As much as I'd like to see you lose control, I'd prefer it be in my room and not the parking lot."

He laughed softly and grabbed your hand. He guided you across the street and up the stairs of the motel. His eyes seemed to gleam in the moonlight as he watched you fish out your key and unlock your door.

The second you entered the room and closed the door, Tyler had you pressed against it, lips pressed firmly against yours. You sighed into the kiss, relishing the hard lines of his body beneath your hands.

You made quick work of the buttons on his plaid shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as his lips trailed down your neck. He nipped at your collarbone, earning a breathless moan from you.

Your hands instinctively went to his hair, but his backwards ball cap was in the way. You pulled it off his head and tossed it across the room before tangling your fingers in his dark blonde locks. He let out a soft sound of pleasure as your nails scraped against his scalp.

"Normally I treat my hats with more respect than that, but you're more than welcome to throw 'em around if it means I get to feel your hands in my hair."

You chuckled, tugging lightly on his roots. He groaned lowly in response, and you grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

He tugged his shirt the rest of the way off before sliding his hands under yours and removing it with a swiftness that surprised you. His eyes trailed down to your bra, but you were too focused on his bare chest to notice.

He leaned forward, aiming to press a kiss to your breast, but you held him at arm's length. "Sweetheart?"

"Hold on," you mumbled. "I'm trying to count your abs."

He laughed and shook his head slowly.

"It's not natural to have that many. It's absurd."

He laughed even harder, hand sliding under your chin to tilt your head up. When your eyes met his, you could see the mischief dancing in them. "You can count them later--after I'm done making you scream my name."

You smirked. "Is that a promise?"

"The screaming or the ab counting?"

You laughed lightly, smacking his chest affectionately. "The screaming, Tyler Owens. I am very interested in forgetting my name...if you think you can manage it."

He grinned wolfishly. "Oh darlin', my name will be the only thing you'll remember."

He didn't allow you to respond before kissing you with even more hunger than before. His hands deftly unclasped your bra and you let it fall to the floor.

Tyler pulled away just enough to look at your bare breasts, a low appreciative whistle escaping his lips. "Now these are the nicest pair I've ever seen." He punctuated his words with a pinch to each of your nipples, which had you arching off the door.

"Ty--"

Whatever you were about to say was cut off by moans as he lowered to take a nipple into his mouth. His hands massaged what his mouth could not, and he listened closely to your breathing to gauge your enjoyment.

After spending a sufficient amount of time appreciating your ample chest, he slid to his knees, mouth trailing kisses down to your abdomen.

He made quick work of removing your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lacy underwear you suddenly found yourself incredibly glad to be wearing.

"These are nice," he murmured, tracing a finger around the edge of the lace. "Were you expecting something, Lightning?"

His tone was teasing, but you could see a little bit of worry in his eyes. As if you would have wanted to be in this position with anyone but him.

"There's always a part of me that hopes you'll see them," you admitted softly.

His eyes lit up. "Oh? You wear them for me?"

You blushed. "I wear them for me, but...you're the only man I'd want to see them."

Tyler grinned and dipped his finger beneath the lace, hooking it around the crotch panel and tugging down slowly. You watched his hungry gaze as he lowered your underwear to the floor for you to step out of.

He gently traced a finger along the seam of your labia, a groan escaping his throat. "Fuck, baby. You're already soaked."

You blushed and let out a soft whine, desperate for him to actually touch you already. "Ty..."

He chuckled lightly. "Patience, sweetheart." He grabbed your left leg and pulled it over his shoulder, before leaning in to lick a thick stripe up your pussy.

You gasped, one hand going immediately to his hair while the other pressed against the door for balance.

"You taste even better than I imagined."

Every woman wants to hear that, and you were no exception, but you were becoming increasingly impatient. "Tyler, please."

"You gonna keep still for me, darlin'?"

You nodded rapidly.

"Good girl. Now let me enjoy my meal."

You weren't sure what pulled the moan from deep in your chest--his words or the incredible feeling of his tongue delving into your pussy. To be honest, you couldn't be bothered to care.

It was harder than you'd thought to actually stay still. His tongue was exceptionally talented and he had you bucking up against his mouth almost instantly.

He chuckled against your pussy as his hands grabbed your hips and held you firmly in place. He wasn't about to deprive himself of your delicious taste for even a second to admonish you for moving.

As your moans increased in volume and frequency, Tyler found himself loving the sound more than he'd ever thought possible. He knew he would do just about anything to hear them again.

Your grip on his hair tightened and you pulled on it periodically, each time breaking his concentration for a moment. You were still coherent enough to tuck that knowledge away for use at a later time.

"Tyler," you whimpered. "I'm close."

He groaned against you and his grip on your hips tightened to an almost bruising level. He brought all of his focus and effort to your clit, increasingly desperate to feel you come.

Gasps and moans ripped from your mouth as the tension in your abdomen reached a fever pitch. "Please, please, please."

Tyler didn't stop his ministrations--didn't change a single thing. Your legs began to shake and your grip on his hair was painful, but he'd let you rip every last strand out just to hear your moans as you came.

With a final flick of his tongue, you fell over the edge into a brilliant abyss of pleasure unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. The sounds pouring from your mouth were easily the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard and he never wanted them to stop.

Your thighs were shaking as you came down from your high, Tyler's mouth still fixed on your pussy despite the grip you had on his hair. He finally let you pull him away, if only to prevent you from losing your balance.

He stood up, licking his lips happily as he gazed into your flushed face. His cock was throbbing painfully, but he was happy to ignore it in favor of ensuring your pleasure for every moment.

"If you're that good with your mouth," you started breathlessly, "then I'm intrigued to see what you can do with the rest of your body."

He grinned wickedly. "I'm more than happy to show you."

You smiled. "I thought you might be."

You grabbed his face and pulled him down for a heated kiss. He pressed his body firmly against yours and you could feel his erection pressing into your lower belly.

You palmed him through his jeans, giving him a firm squeeze. He groaned and bucked his hips against your hand. You smirked against his lips as you noted the impressive size beneath your palm.

"Baby," he ground out. "Don't tease me."

"Since you had mercy on me, I suppose I can do the same," you murmured.

You made quick work of removing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. He helped you remove them, along with his boxers. Before you could see exactly what he was working with, he'd scooped you up in his arms and was carrying you to the bed.

He laid you down gently, climbing on top of you, lips pressed against yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue fought yours for dominance, but you allowed him to win, opting instead to reach for the hard length you could feel pressing against your thigh.

You wrapped your hand around him and began to stroke slowly, adding a little pressure each time you reached the head. Tyler groaned against your lips, clearly enjoying the sensations.

After a few moments, he grabbed your hand, stopping you mid-stroke. "Keep that up and this isn't gonna last nearly as long as I want it to."

You smirked and nipped at his bottom lip. "I didn't realize I had that effect on you."

"How you didn't figure it out is beyond me. I've wanted you with increasing desperation since the day I met you."

You inhaled sharply, surprised by his admission. He didn't want to give you time to respond, especially if you hadn't felt that same attraction, so he used your momentary distraction to brush his cock against your folds.

You both moaned softly, focus returning to the present situation.

"I would have liked to repay the favor, but I don't think I can stand another second without you inside me," you whispered.

Tyler smirked. "The feeling is mutual, baby."

He gripped his cock tightly and lined it up with your entrance. He paused, realizing he was forgetting an important step. "Shit. Do you, uh, do you have a condom?"

You shook your head. "It's okay though. I've got an IUD."

"Are you sure?"

You nodded. "I trust you."

"I'm clean and I haven't been with anyone since I got tested last."

"Same," you confirmed. "So please, if you could fuck me senseless, I would really appreciate it."

Tyler grinned and chuckled breathily. "Your wish is my command."

He knew he was well-endowed and he could see the flicker of worry in your eyes as you stared down at his cock. He didn't want to hurt you, but he knew the moment he felt your warmth around him he'd lose all sense of control.

"I can go slow, sweetheart," he said softly.

Your eyes flicked back up to meet his and you shook your head. "I wanna feel you--all of you. Please."

He nodded and pressed the tip of his cock against your core and slowly slipped into you. He watched your face for any sign of pain or discomfort, but he didn't see any.

"Take a deep breath for me, baby," he whispered.

The moment you inhaled, he thrust into you, filling you so fully you nearly screamed from the stretch alone. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly and gasped his name.

He lowered his head to yours and tried to steady his racing heart. He knew you'd feel good, but he'd never imagined it'd feel like this. "You feel incredible," he murmured. "Made for me, weren't you darlin'?"

"Ty," you whimpered. "Need you to move--please."

He started to move slowly, dragging his cock along your tight walls until he was almost all the way out before plunging back in. The initial discomfort eased as he moved until all you could feel was blinding pleasure.

Tyler watched your face, waiting until your expression morphed to pure ecstasy before shifting his angle. He elevated your hips, tugging both your legs up against his chest as he pounded into you.

You let out a cry of pleasure as his cock brushed against that spot inside you that made you see stars. Your nails dug into his biceps, the only part of him you could reach.

"You feel so good, baby," he ground out. "Squeezing me so tight."

Your eyes snapped shut and your head tilted back as a series of moans and expletives slipped from your lips. You could feel another orgasm building, pleasure so close you could almost taste it.

"Ty, please don't stop," you begged.

"I wouldn't dare."

He knew you were close--could feel it in the way your walls pulsed around him. He continued his pace, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust.

Your grip on his biceps tightened to an almost painful level, nails digging into his flesh so deeply they may draw blood, but he was too lost in the pleasure to care.

"You gonna come for me, sweet girl?" he murmured.

You were past words, only able to manage a rapid nod of your head. The sounds your bodies made mixing with the broken moans coming from both of you, was absolutely the most sinful sound either of you had ever heard. Tyler would have given his last breath to hear those sounds forever.

Your jaw went slack, the only warning Tyler had before he felt the explosion of pleasure rock through your body. Your pussy clenched him so tightly he couldn't move, the force of your orgasm stealing the breath from his lungs.

You clung to him as you came down from your high and he slowly lowered your legs so he could kiss you without breaking you in half. His lips brushed against yours, swallowing the soft panting breaths as they escaped your lips.

"How many more do you think you can give me, Lightning?" he murmured against your soft skin.

"I--I don't know," you answered breathlessly.

"Well then, let's find out." His tone was dominant, but you knew he wouldn't do anything you didn't want him to. If you asked him to stop, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

You nodded your agreement, earning a wicked smile from his handsome face. He slipped out of you and the sudden emptiness almost made you cry. Tyler noticed instantly and he cooed softly, "Aww, don't worry, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

His strong, callused hands stroked your sides before gripping your hips tightly and flipping you onto your stomach. You gasped in surprise, but immediately lifted your hips for him as if on instinct.

He chuckled softly. "Such a good girl, aren't you sweetheart? You know just what to do."

You shook your hips and whimpered softly, signaling your need to the man now hovering behind you. You felt his hand trail down your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake. When his hand reached your ass, he smacked it--hard enough to get a reaction, but not hard enough to really hurt you.

You moaned loudly at the pleasurable feeling and pushed your hips back towards him, desperate for him to touch you again.

"Oh you like that, pretty girl?" He smacked your ass again. "You like it when I spank you?" Another smack.

"Yes!" you gasped out between moans.

Tyler chuckled and gave you one more spank before sheathing himself in your warm heat without warning. Your cries mixed with his low groan as he bottomed out.

"Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight."

You pushed back against him and wiggled your hips, a broken "please" escaping your lips.

He couldn't resist your begging tone even if he wanted to. He set a brutal pace, pounding into you like he'd never get to do it again. He held your hips so tightly there was no doubt there'd be bruises there in the morning.

"So deep," you cried out between moans. "'s so good."

Tyler wanted to feel you come again, but he had a feeling you'd need a little extra stimulation this time. His right hand slid down your back until he could wrap it around your throat. Using it as leverage, along with the arm he slipped around your middle, he pulled you up so your back pressed against his chest.

You gasped, head falling back against him, exposing your neck to him as your heavily lidded eyes met his. He brushed his lips to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek--hips never faltering, hold never slipping.

"I need you to come again for me, baby."

You whimpered in response, but made no move to stop him as his dominant hand lowered to your throbbing clit. He maintained a grip on your throat, firm but gentle, while his other hand slowly massaged your clit.

The moans that fell from your lips were like music to his ears, along with the half-gasped whimpers of his name. "Let go for me, sweet girl. I've got you."

You lifted one arm to wrap around his head, entwining your fingers into his hair. You held onto him as best you could as your orgasm ravaged your body.

Tyler groaned as you tugged his hair, teeth nipping at your pulse point while he helped you ride out your high. He knew if he let go of you, you'd fall flat on your face, so he lowered you very gently to the bed before rolling you back over to look up at him.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered.

A soft blush bloomed across your cheeks, somehow only making you more beautiful. He wished he could take a picture of this moment, but he'd have to settle for the memory instead.

He lowered his lips down to yours and you met him with surprising intensity. You held on to the back of his neck and tugged at his hair as your tongues intertwined. You brushed your soaking core against his painfully hard length, and he groaned into the kiss.

"Want you to come too," you whimpered against his lips.

"Only if you come with me."

Your eyes widened as you pulled away from him. "I don't think I can."

"Will you try for me, pretty girl?"

You bit your lip, but you nodded slowly. "I'll try."

He grinned, nudging his nose against yours affectionately. "That's my girl."

He slowly slid back into you, starting his medium pace immediately. Your breath mingled with his, lips never more than a couple inches apart. He was supporting himself entirely on his arms, which were caged around you.

Unlike the previous positions, this felt unhurried, gentle...loving. You lost yourself in his blue-green eyes, gaze never leaving your face.

Tyler wanted to see you fall apart this time--really see you. He wanted to see all those little micro-expressions of pleasure--pleasure he was giving you.

To your surprise, you could feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly, feel the ache that always preceded an orgasm. Your hands were soft against his velvet-smooth skin as you traced the muscles up and down his back.

"Tyler..." you whispered, brushing your lips against his again.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Wanna come with you."

He kissed you gently. "Tell me what you need."

"Just don't stop," you begged softly.

His lips brushed your forehead. "Never."

You weren't sure if it was the passion of the moment or the heightened sensitivity from multiple orgasms, or maybe a mixture of both, but you were already teetering on the edge of bliss. Your nails dug into his back and your moans became louder--a subtle signal of your impending orgasm.

"I can feel you tensing, sweet girl. I know you're close." He kissed you again, tasting the moans that left your lips.

Your entire body began to shake and your breathing was ragged as you held tightly to Tyler like he was the only thing keeping you tied to earth.

Tyler was on the edge too...barely able to hold back the orgasm he'd been fighting for several minutes. It was taking almost all of his focus not to come before you did.

"Need you to come with me, (Y/N)," he begged. "Please, baby."

Hearing Tyler Owens beg was one of the sexiest things you'd ever heard, and it had you falling into an ocean of pleasure you might very well drown in.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream as you fell apart, Tyler's strong hands and whispered words the only things holding you together.

Your name escaped his lips like a prayer on repeat as he came, filling you with his seed. You clung to each other in the moments after the pleasure began to fade, neither of you willing to part just yet.

Tyler's large, toned body collapsed onto yours, pinning you beneath him as you both tried to catch your breath.

"Am I hurting you?" he mumbled.

"No."

"Good...because I don't think I can move."

You chuckled lightly, feeling his responding chuckle rumble against your chest.

Your fingers ran through his hair, gently messaging his scalp as you held him close to you. If you were being honest, you didn't want him to move...at least not anytime soon.

After several minutes, Tyler finally pulled himself up and you grumbled softly, wishing you could hold him a little while longer.

He chuckled as he looked down at you. "I'm coming right back, sweetheart. Just gonna grab something to clean you up with."

You watched him walk to the bathroom and return moments later with a warm, wet washcloth. He was gentle as he cleaned up the mess between your legs before wiping himself off and collapsing on the bed beside you.

"C'mere," he murmured, pulling you towards him. You obliged, laying your head on his chest and letting out a happy little sigh.

Tyler smiled as he placed a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you even closer despite how hot his skin felt.

"What're we gonna tell the team?" you asked softly, unsure if you really wanted the answer.

His responding chuckle made you smile. "Pretty sure they already know, darlin'. Especially if Lily's expression when we left the bar was anything to go by."

You blushed as you looked up at him. "So you're okay with this?"

Tyler could see the flicker of worry in your eyes and he wanted to assuage it immediately. "If by this you mean, telling every single person I see that you're my girl, then yes."

It was your turn to chuckle. "I think I like that."

He smiled. "Yeah? You like being my girl?"

You pulled yourself up to kiss him sweetly. "I like it very much."

He kissed you deeply before allowing you to settle back against his chest. He knew he wouldn't mind spending every day like this for the rest of his life. In fact, he was willing to do just about anything to ensure it...and so were you.

[strawberrykidneystone]

Hiiiiiii I know we talked about mechanic sevika buttttt can I request gym owner sevika?

I saw THIS and I couldn’t help myself 🤭

OMFG YES

gym owner sevika!!!

(fem reader, women’s only gym sorry)

unfortunately, your new year’s resolution was pretty basic

going to the gym!

you weren’t expecting to keep up with it like most of your other resolutions

until you met the owner

the first few times you went to the gym by your house, you didn’t think much of it

it was pretty basic, had all of the machines that you needed and a bored blue haired girl who sat in the reception area who was probably working there part time just for college. she was pleasant enough and the two of you had chatted a few times while you were on your way out.

but it was a women’s only gym, so you actually felt really comfortable in the atmosphere of the building

you usually went at night, but today you had a free morning so you thought you might as well get it over with

as soon as you tapped your card onto the outside sensor and opened the door, your knees almost buckled under you as you went to greet the usual blue haired girl who was replaced by a beautiful buff woman with a short black haircut, a shimmer prosthetic arm, and the most intense eyes gray you’ve ever seen

you nodded to her awkwardly when you made eye contact and stiffly walked over to the cubbies, shoving your bag into its usual cube

you shook you head to try and clear your mind, you were here to improve yourself not to stare at beautiful women!!

jumping up in the treadmill, you couldn’t help but steal a few glances over at the welcome desk

you prayed to all of the wlw gods that she was single

once you were done with your cardio, you headed over to the weight lifting stations and thanked the gym gods that your favorite spot was open. there wasn’t anything special about it, it’s just the one you usually went to and might’ve accidentally gotten an emotional attachment to it

you slide on the weights you needed onto each side of the barbell and secured them in with the clip, adding a little more weight than you usually did this time

ducking under the bar, you rested the bar on the sweet spot down the back of your neck and adjusted it to your liking

you reached up and under the bar, adjusting your grip until it felt right and just as you were about to lift the bar off the hooks, you saw a pair of sneakers step into your line of vision

as you slowly lifted your head, you took in the entire body of the ripped woman in front of you who was wearing nothing but gym shorts and a sports bra

you had to bite your tongue to keep from drooling over her defined muscles, her bulging flesh arm that crossed her prosthetic in front of her chest made you feel dizzy as you ripped your eyes away from them

once you met her gaze, those same piercing eyes that you met at the entrance you almost didn’t catch her question

“need a spot?”

“huh?”

“while you lift, do you need a spotter?”

“o-oh yes! yes please!”

sevika walked around and stood behind you

suddenly the room felt a lot hotter

this was totally normal right? she was probably a personal trainer here or something!!!

having her behind you was definitely a comfort, usually you did your lifting on your own but knowing that she was there made you a lot more confident, especially with more weight than usual

she squatted with you as you moved and held her hands about half a foot under the bar just in case something slipped, giving you little pointers to improve your technique

you were ashamed to say that you purposefully arched your back a few times, you couldn’t see but you hoped that she was looking… (she was)

once you were done with your set, she easily helped you put the bar back onto the hook as if it weighed nothing, which to her it probably didn’t

“so sorry i totally forgot to ask you your name?” you asked with a flutter of your lashes, hoping you didn’t look to disheveled as you wiped down the equipment

“sevika, nice to meet you,” she said smoothly, giving you a firm handshake with her flesh hand

god her hand almost completely enveloped yours

you quickly told her your name and gave her your sweetest smile, “so do you come here often? i don’t think i’ve seen you here before.”

sevika chuckled and crossed her arms over her chest once again, a seemingly relaxed position for her, “i actually own the place, but my niece usually works the front desk, ‘specially when her uncle has me running errands all around town.”

“oh! well it’s so nice to finally meet you, i’ve talked to jinx a lot and she’s a super talented artist,” you recalled, seeing jinx drawing in her sketchbook at the front desk

sevika deadpanned and pinched the bridge of her nose with her hand, “has she been drawing on the clock again?”

you covered your mouth with your hand as your eyes widened, shit you didn’t mean to snitch on her

she sighed and shook her head, “i told her not to but she insists that she ‘can’t stop the creative flow when it’s happening!’” she said with exaggerated air quotes and made her voice higher to imitate jinx’s

you giggled at the impression and the two of you continued to make small talk until you had to leave to go get ready for work

sevika stepped behind the desk and waved as you were about to leave the gym, but you stopped yourself

you backtracked and stood in front of her at the desk, mustering up all of your courage, “can i give you my number?”

sevika looked up at you with an inquiring eyebrow before slowly nodding

“yeah sure, do you need some more pointers or a trainer?” she asked as she handed you a pen and paper from across the desk

“nope. well i mean yes, i’d love some pointers, but i’d also like to take you out on a date. romantically.” you said as casually as you could, scribbling your name and number down onto the paper with a little heart next to it, your own heart pounding so much you could hear it in your ears

sevika was a little in shock and numbly took the paper from you, a blush creeping on her cheeks as you waved goodbye, almost running into the door frame on your way out

she was so used to being the one initiating dates that having a woman so bluntly ask her out was new territory for her

but it felt,,, good? oh god is that what butterflies in your stomach felt like?

she immediately saved your number into her phone and added a heart by your name, just like on the paper you gave her <3

you received a text about 30 minutes later, something sevika had to rewrite at least 5 times

it’s sevika. so when is this date we’re going on sweetheart?

a/n: i’m sorry if the jargon is off yall im a pilates/yoga girlie😔

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

[theoldsports]

SPONTANEOUS.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

LINK TO SORRY SERIES

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ‘promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.