#I don't like it I don't get the love for open world games I feel so lost and like I'm making no progress ever

[newbiespud]

I'm sure it's been said before but I'll say it myself because why not

The game In Stars and Time makes for a revealing contrast to the movie Groundhog Day in how they treat their final time loop and how that reflects on the main character. (Even though, if I remember right, the dev largely wasn't aware of Groundhog Day when they came up with ISAT.)

Spoilers for both after the break, I guess.

In Groundhog Day, Phil starts out narcissistic and self-centered, has the realization that he can live life without consequences, gets depressed after having tried and done everything that he's got everyone and everything memorized so that nothing can delight and surprise him anymore, and finally escapes when he performs a loop that proves that a better, happier world is within his grasp to make, not something owed to him, and that he is happy with the life he has today, not always pining for his ambitions for the future.

In... In Stars and Time, Siffrin starts out deflecting and aloof, has the realization that they can do this perfectly - 'this' being not only the impossible challenge of defeating the King but navigating their relationships with their party - gets depressed after hitting wall after wall and repeatedly fumbling into faux pas after faux pas with their party, and finally escapes when they perform a loop where their true feelings come out, no matter how ugly, and they're honest about their own desires and wishes rather than trying to keep up an ideal façade.

Plenty of people have pointed out that In Stars and Time subverts the 'escaping on the perfect loop' time-loop trope that Groundhog Day largely codifies. Not only does the 'perfect' loop completely fail, Siffrin escapes on arguably the 'worst' loop, the one where they rightfully worry that they've hurt and alienated their loves ones forever and cannot escape those consequences anymore.

But I don't think this contrast is as direct as it seems, even though one could say that Phil got away scot-free compared to Siffrin and that In Stars and Time is the superior story for portraying a harsher outcome. (I do think that exploration and advancement of tropes is just inevitable and even healthy over time, and Groundhog Day came out in 1993 so of course it and the tropes it spawned deserve modern critique, but I digress.) I actually think that it reflects how both stories and the mechanics of their time loops are built around their main characters. (There's also something to be said about how genre shapes narrative since GD is an existential comedy and ISAT is an action-adventure focusing on interpersonal drama, but that's another digression.)

ISAT makes an impact on the whole time loop genre with its clever subversion, but like all the best subversive stories, it's couched in strong characters that embody its themes.

And to take a broader perspective, the best time loop stories are allegories for the real-life situation of making the same mistakes over and over again caused by your own deep-seated personality flaws, and being forced to finally confront your inner demons and overcome them and become a better, healthier person. (Relatable, much?)

Phil is a man who's never happy with his lot in life, so he needs to learn to find the eternal richness and beauty of what he has within his grasp, and that a better, happier life is something he can make for himself. Thus, he escapes on the 'best' loop.

Siffrin is a person who refuses to share their true feelings and problems with others to the point of self-destruction (and complete reinvention in one aspect), so they need to learn that no matter how ugly and twisted they think they are, being open and honest doesn't mean their loved ones will care about them any less, even when Siffrin is seen at their lowest point possible. Thus, they escape on the 'worst' loop.

It's not just clever subversion, it's holistic circular story structure!

...Though maybe I'm just drawn to these stories because I, too, would like some extra time to Figure Some Shit Out and have that time come with some superpowers along the way, even if it nearly destroys me in the process.

[horny-p0et]

incelbur blurb part four

the support on this little series has been amazing, i want to thank all of you for the likes, comments and reblogs. that support and exposure encourages me to post more and improve as a writer. so thank you. genuinely c:

also this is the longest part yet and an apology to everyone who was upset y/n didn't kiss wilbur last part lol.

part one + part two + part three

warnings: alcohol, masturbation, noncon somnophilia

wordcount: 2503

dont like, dni. please just block me and move on.

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INCELBUR who avoided you for two weeks to punish you for breaking his heart. he was furious at you, but angrier at himself. he wasn't surprised you didn't like him, no one does. and they shouldn't like him, he's an ugly piece of shit. he told his professor he was sick to skip your classes together, he couldn't see or smell you again because he'd get on his knees and beg for the forgiveness he doesn't deserve.

INCELBUR who still kept an eye on your social media, obsessing over every scrap of information he could find. he wanted to know if you were upset, if you were struggling. but you just looked as happy and carefree as you always do. it was like salt in his wounds, seeing you laughing and smiling with your friends, enjoying life in a way he doesn't know how too.

INCELBUR who got a message from you after two weeks, ignoring the notification for a few hours before curiosity got the best of him. its an apology of sorts, reminding him that you care about him. it makes his heartrate increase but he knows there has to be something more, you have to be hiding something. because if you cared about him you wouldn't hurt him like this. you ask if he wants to game with you, and he knows he should say no. he should tell you to fuck off and die, but he doesn't. he says yes. he doesn't know who he is without you.

INCELBUR who tries to put his walls up now that you guys are talking again, bury his feelings in his shoes and just be satisfied with a friendship. but he isn't. he wants you to be his girlfriend, to be owned by him. he'd be happy if you loved him, he knows you could fix him. make him a better man, teach him to love himself, he wishes he deserved your love. he knows he doesn't.

INCELBUR who drinks until his vision blurs when he see's you at another bar, another night out having fun without him. you post a photo of your little black dress and it makes him so hard he thinks he might pass out because of the lack of blood in his brain. all he wants to do is rip it off and explore your body with his hands and mouth, show you what a good lover he could be. he knows he shouldn't but before he can stop himself he calls you, his fingers fumbling on the phone screen.

"wilbur? do you need something?"

".... you. needed to hear your voice, need you to tell me you still like me."

"of course i still like you, wilbur. i've always liked you."

"why? why do you fucking like me? i'm disgusting, and you're perfect and happy. everything i'm not."

INCELBUR who feels like crying when you reassure him he isn't disgusting, tell him that you think he's sweet and cute. you tell him he's funny and way better than you at call of duty, and way smarter than he gives himself credit for. he asks you how you stay happy when the world is so awful all the time, how do you stay so beautiful when everything else is broken.

INCELBUR who doesn't believe it when you tell him you aren't perfect. he can't understand when you open up and tell him you don't feel beautiful, how you hate the way you look in the mirror and aren't happy everyday. how can you be sad? do you not see the goddess on earth in the mirror when you wake up? he hates hearing your insecurities, you shouldn't feel as bad as he does. it isn't fair, you don't deserve that.

INCELBUR who like he's been punched in the chest when you offer to come over to his house that night, ditch your friends to make sure he's okay. he hates that his first thought if you coming over to fuck him, sucking his dick to make him feel better. he knows that isn't what you're offering, you just want to come over and look after a friend. but a man can dream.

INCELBUR who agrees, scrambling to clean his room before you get there. he throws as much rubbish as he can into the bin until its overflowing, shoving his piles of dirty clothes into his wardrobe and shutting the door. he sees the way his sheets are stained and wishes he had time to throw them in the wash, you deserve better than the disgusting man cave he rots in for days at a time. you should have a castle and lush fabrics, not him. anything is better than him.

INCELBUR who thanks god his mum is away on a work conference when you show up, he's embarrassed by the fact he still lives with her in his 20's but he doesn't know how to take care of himself. he can't cook, doesn't know how to save money or do his laundry properly. he apologises for the mess, you tell him it's okay and you don't care. but you should care, he's a slob.

"sorry about coming over on such short notice, i just wanted to make sure you didn't do something stupid."

"i called you when you were busy with your friends, that was pretty stupid."

"well, yeah but you needed some help. there isn't anything wrong with that. you know you can always call me when you need help, that's what friends do."

"... i guess so. i'm just not used to having friends at all. i don't want to make people deal with my shitty existence."

"if i didn't want to deal with your existence i wouldn't have bothered talking to you at all, mate."

INCELBUR who thinks you are an angel. that's the only logical reason you make him feel this good. you sit on his bed listening to some music, and he finds himself opening up about all the things he's kept hidden. his absent father, his insecurities about his body, his paranoia that everyone is out to get him, his innate need for validation and love. you thank him for opening up and put your hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. he hates that such a simple gesture of love makes his dick stiffen in his sweatpants.

INCELBUR who listens when you tell him about your problems. how you worry about the future, distracting yourself with partying so you can ignore that voice in the back of your head that says you're a disappointment. he wishes he could press a button that would make you feel better, even if the button only worked once he would use it on you instead of himself.

INCELBUR who tells you he's a virgin, how he hasn't had a girlfriend or even kisses anyone before. he wants too, badly. any form of intimacy he craves like a drug he's never even had. it makes him insecure knowing how everyone around him did it years ago. it makes him feel like the biggest loser in the world. you remind him there's more to life than finding love but he doesn't believe it. he knows he would be happy if someone loves him, because then maybe he could love himself.

"honestly my first kiss was awful, it was with some guy when i was thirteen at school. if i'd waited for someone who actually cared about me it would have been more memorable."

"i guess, but at least you had someone who wanted to kiss you. no one has ever wanted to kiss me."

"... you sure?"

INCELBUR who thinks this must be some cruel joke when you offer to kiss him. he knows you've been drinking tonight, and you just feel sorry for him and his sad life so you're throwing him a bone. but even knowing all that he says yes, god yes. he can't say no to you, he'd jump off a sky scraper for you. you tell him the kiss doesn't mean anything and it'll help him get over that desire if he just does it, and see's its just a thing. a physical action and not some giant, life changing event.

INCELBUR who forgets to breath when you put your hand on his cheek, he can smell your perfume and the alcohol on his breath and he think's he's suffocating, drowning in you. then you kiss him. your lips are soft, gentle, loving. his hands find your shoulders, his fingers dig into the skin, he can feel the bones and muscles underneath and he knows he's already in too deep.

INCELBUR who could have died when your tongue slides against his bottom lip, gently asking for entry. he lets you, of course. why shouldn't he? he wishes he had brushed his teeth that morning but if he tasted bad you don't pull away, instead your hand moves from his cheek to grip the curls at the nape of his neck and tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss.

INCELBUR who's cock is so hard it hurts, the outline so clear in his pants but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed. he's kissing you, his first kiss is with the most gorgeous woman on the planet and she's kissing him back. His hands move on his own, moving from your shoulders to your waist, one gripping the fabric of your dress while the other snakes up to palm your breast. he moans into your mouth, his body shaking with anticipation of anything else, of more of you. all of you.

INCELBUR who whines when you pull away, giving him a small smile. you sit back but he doesn't move his hands, he isn't ready to let you go. he asks to kiss you again, and you chuckle. you tell him you're happy to make out some more but you aren't fucking him, he's too drunk. he wants to protest and tell you it doesn't fucking matter if he's intoxicated, if he was sober he would just be drunk on your lips instead. but he stops himself, he'll accept more kisses if it means you stay with him a little longer.

INCELBUR who makes out with you on his bed for what could have been hours or minutes, he can't tell. you grip his wrist to pull his hand away when it tries to sneak up your dress, so he grabs your ass instead. you're lying on top of him, your warmth seeping into his bones. eventually though, it stops and you get off him. he opens his mouth to demand you get back on him but suddenly you're asking to crash the night. now he knows he is dreaming.

INCELBUR who agrees, how can he resist you? he feels like such a slob knowing you'll be sleeping in his gross sheets but you asked, you know what you're getting into. he offers you one of his shirts to sleep in and he can't wipe the grin off his face when you agree. you disappear into the bathroom and when you come out you're just in his shirt and your panties, the fabric hanging around your thighs. his cock pulses, still painfully hard. god, you will be the death of him. he doesn't take his own shirt off, he doesn't want you to see his pasty, skinny body.

INCELBUR who spoons you from behind when you slide into bed beside him, one arm under your neck while the other grips your hip possessively. he leaves some space between his hips and yours, he knows you would have felt his boner when you kissed but he doesn't want to scare you away. you tell him goodnight, and nuzzle your head into his pillow. he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, he wants to tell you he loves you. but he doesn't. he just says goodnight, and thanks you for coming over tonight.

INCELBUR who can't fall asleep with you in his arms. he glances at his alarm clock to see he's been lying behind you for at least two hours, still hard as a rock. you're asleep though, serene and relaxed in his bed. he's imagined how you'd look asleep beside him but reality is better than his imagination. you look beautiful, your face relaxed and lips parted as you breath deeply. you should stay he every night, you look happy here. with him.

INCELBUR who can't resist shuffling forward until his clothes erection is pressed against the cleft of your ass. he bites back a moan at the pressure, he's leaking precum and its pathetic. he knows it's wrong but his hand on your stomach creeps up to your tits again, massaging the globes through his shirt until he feels your nipple harden. he pressed his face into the back of your hair, inhaling your scent as his hips rut gently against the curve of your buttocks.

INCELBUR who is being a creep. he knows that's who he is deep down, and he's desperate. he slides his hand up his shirt to play with your bare tits, his cock twitching with excitement when he feels your nipple against his palm. he wants to suck them, bite them. but he knows if he moves to much you'll wake up and be furious at him, so he keeps his movements and touches subtle. his hips roll in a gentle rhythm, its not enough to get him off but the pressure on his cock is enough to relieve some of his tension.

INCELBUR who presses kisses to the back of your neck and shoulders, sucking on the skin softly. he wants to mark you, to show everyone who belongs to him. he hesitated for only a moment before he presses his teeth into your soft flesh, increasing the pressure until he's confident you'll wake up tomorrow with a bite mark on your shoulder. he can feel the wet patch leaking through his pants from his precum and hopes to god you can't feel the wetness against your ass.

INCELBUR who doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he blinks his eyes open he reaches for you again. but you're not there. he sits upright, his head spinning from his hangover. he rubs his eyes, clearing his vision and scanning his room for you. but you're gone. your shoes and purse aren't there, the shirt you wore sits folded on his desk chair. he's filled with so many conflicting emotions he doesn't even notice the note on his bedside table.

INCELBUR who screams into his pillow, throwing a textbook against the wall hard enough to dent the plaster. of course you're gone, why the fuck would you give him the privilege of waking up beside you? god, he's such an idiot. why did he even think he had a chance with you? it was just some fucking kisses. he's just a charity case, not deserving of anything more than the scraps you give him.

--==--

taglist: @lillyspeakz @multifandomhallucinations @xxvalentinezxx @charlidog @bellelikesmcyt

[blueskittlesart]

*sigh* thoughts on Nintendo's botw/totk timeline shenanigans and tomfoolery?

tbh. my maybe-unpopular opinion is that the timeline is only important when a game's place on the timeline seriously informs the way their narrative progresses. the problem is that before botw we almost NEVER got games where it didn't matter. it matters for skyward sword because it's the beginning, and it matters for tp/ww/alttp (and their respective sequels) because the choices the hero of time makes explicitly inform the narrative of those games in one way or another. it matters which timeline we're in for those games because these cycles we're seeing are close enough to oot's cycle that they're still feeling the effects of his choices. botw, however, takes place at minimum 10 thousand years after oot, so its place on the timeline actually functionally means nothing. botw is completely divorced from the hero of time & his story, so what he does is a nonissue in the context of botw link and zelda's story. thus, which timeline botw happens in is a nonissue. honestly I kind of liked the idea that it happened in all of them. i think there's a cool idea of inevitability that can be played with there. but the point is that the timeline exists to enhance and fill in the lore of games that need it, and botw/totk don't really need it because the devs finally realized they could make a game without the hero of time in it.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I’m always paranoid of my tumblr being deleted or malfunctioning or something like that someday, so here’s other places to find me/follow me, just in case lol

~ instagram - https://www.instagram.com/lucalicatte/

~ main youtube - https://www.youtube.com/c/LucaLiCatte

~ games/sims youtube - https://www.youtube.com/@cloudycatte

~ facebook page (I rarely use this because I hate facebook but.. it at least allows text posts better than instagram does, so idk maybe I’d use it more if tumblr went away? lol) - https://www.facebook.com/cloudycatteart/

~ Other Links (stuff I don’t use often/isn’t Main enough to list here, like twitter, neopets, other tumblr sideblogs, youtube channels, etc.) are here - http://icewindandboringhorror.tumblr.com/otherlinks )

[kibibarel]

how's the new game going? been seeing a crazy amount of takes in every direction about it

short version is it is SO BUGGY (all the comments you have definitely already heard about the terrible performance issues are no joke; i don’t give much of a shit about graphical errors, of which there are many, but i’ve encountered a few bugs that actually ruined gameplay moments)......but also SO AMAZINGLY FUN...i don't want to put it down 😭😭

[darkdragon768]

I need to play the CDi Zelda games so that I can make the most unpopular opinion ever:

CDi game(s) being better than botw.

[emile-hides]

They were not kidding, you really can go anywhere anytime in this game huh

[neonqueerautumn]

I just...miss my job okay...

[warriorslantern]

Tags

[svtswhorehouse]

DATING SEUNGCHEOL INCLUDES…. — sfw

• sugar daddy or boyfriend? (the answer is both.)

• the definition of a REAL MAN. no one has ever treated you with as much respect or given you as much love as seungcheol has.

• you're his pretty little passenger princess and he's your personal chauffeur.

• mom and dad of the group, duhhhh.

• he would drop anything and everything just to give you his undivided attention, no matter how important it is.

• yes. he would still love you if you were a worm.

• he would definitely give you his bank card without a second thought. it would also be linked to your phone, he insists on you using it always and would throw a fit when you don't.

• you would also give him your card at times and he always takes it without a fight, but would never use it.

• would take you out on dates in which you can dress up pretty and maybe dine at a fancy and EXPENSIVE restaurant. don't be fooled though. he also pays attention to the little things so if you're into books, he's taking you to a library themed restaurant. if you like animals, he's booking a ticket to orlando and ya'll are going to the rainforest cafe or something.

• you would never have to lift a finger ever again.

• he would wash your car, fill it up with gas, and take it to go get serviced without any complaints.

• he would burn down the world for you.

• he always puts you first. if he had to pick between you or the company (if they ever made him choose) he doesn't even need to think, it would be you every time.

• also your body guard ! any social gathering ya'll attend, he always has his eyes on you no matter how far away you are from him.

• times in which you do drive yourself, ya'll are definitely the type of couple to have life 360 on each other. he would text you saying to slow the fuck down if you're speeding.

• no matter how much you insist he goes to sleep and no matter how late you're getting home — it could be 4 in the morning, he will ALWAYS wait up for you.

• he has the habit of buying you anything you even slightly mention. he also pays close attention to the things you look at when out shopping together and they would show up delivered to your apartment the next day. he would take the heat from you, but still would continue to spend his money on you.

• when you have a bad day, he is already there with open arms ready to give you the biggest bear hug and shield you from the rest of the world.

• whenever you two go out together, he always has a hand on your back to guide you through crowds or just so everyone knows that you're off limits.

• if you ever lose during game nights with friends or really anywhere, he would do the penalties for you!

• he always makes sure you're on the inside when walking near a street.

• if you ever doubt yourself or feel insecure, prepare for a long serious conversation with lots of tears because he WILL NOT be having any of that. no. not when he thinks you're one of the most beautiful, talented, and honorable people he knows.

• you have never felt so safe and secure than when he's around.

• he will constantly be saying "i love you." definitely the type to call you back immediately if you forget to say it and hang up.

• he has a personal agenda out for revenge against anyone who hurts or disrespects you in any type of way.

• he will be your designated driver for not only you BUT your friends as well during girl's night out.

• he may be competitive, but when it comes to you, he would let you win just so he can see a smile on your face.

• says he CAN'T (won't because he's stubborn) fall asleep if he's not cuddling you.

• he becomes the softest most kindhearted person in the world when it comes to you.

• he gets jealous easily, but he trusts you with his whole heart so he doesn't dwell on it for too long.

• when it comes to arguing, no matter if he was in the right or wrong, he is always the first to apologize. definitely the type to get you chocolate, flowers, and ALWAYS gets you a teddy bear after.

• would make you sit on his back when doing pushups or would give you a piggy back ride when he is doing pull-ups !

• he LOVES when you wear his clothes. you would always find his shirts or hoodies on your side of the closet and be like "hmm, how did this get here?" ask your boyfriend.

• rarely ever calls you by your name. always calls you baby or something cute. he also insists that you don't call him seungcheol. he will pout if you do.

• definitely impressed your parents right off the bat. your family absolutely adores him and your parents treat him like a son.

• he would tease you by giving you a hug when he's all sweaty after practice.

• he INSISTS on picking you up EVERYDAY after work.

[gabgabwrites]

LOVE AND ACES | Art Donaldson

Summary ⇝ Art is mesmerised by your skill, and when you and Tashi agree to spend time with him and Patrick at their room, things get heated, to the point where he’s utterly infatuated by you.

Warnings ⇝ mentions of slight tashi x reader x patrick, swearing, drinking, smoking, kissing, smut! p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f), handjob, early orgasm, orgasm in clothing, cum eating, mentions of foursome, fingering, hair pulling, praise—ART IS A SCHLUT FOR PRAISES.

read part 2 here

"No, don't even worry about it girl, you beat me fair and square," Tashi Duncan said to you, tight lipped smile. You had recently qualified for the finals of the your schools tennis tournament.  You remember how the ball managed to skim her racquet making you the winner. You knew she was happy for you but you also knew how important tennis is to her.

"I know how much this meant to you though," You sigh. The two of you were currently in her dorm room, sitting crossed legged and facing each other.

Tashi let out a soft exhale before meeting your gaze, the pain evident across her face. She pushed a smile onto her features, "Yeah... It did," she began, her words slow as if choosing each one with care. "But hey," Tashi reached out, gently grabbing your hand. "I'm happy you won," she said genuinely.

"Thank you, Tash," You grab her slender hand ad give it a gentle squeeze before letting it fall back to its place.

"I mean it," she said, her words soft as she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The two of you had spent countless hours practicing together, supporting each other through both wins and losses.

"Yeah, welp I better go and get rest. Game is tomorrow," You pat your lap, swinging your legs to your side to stand up from her bed.

Tashi watched as you got up from the bed, her eyes studying you closely. There was a hint of disappointment in her expression, but it vanished quickly as she smiled. "Alright, sleep tight," she said, her voice neutral.

"You too, and also, you're coming to watch, right?"

Tashi chuckled, her expression lightening, "Of course I am, wouldn't miss it for the world," she assured you, a smile forming on her face. "You better bring your A game," she teased, a small smirk on her face. Her words were light, but you could tell there was still a hint of upset lingering in her eyes.

"You got it boss," You look at her once more before leaving her dorm. You gently shut the door behind you before walking down the passage to your room.

You opened the door, immediately going to your bed and flopping on it. You didn't bother changing from your hoodie and cotton shorts before drifting to sleep.

The sun intruded your curtains before anything else did. You stirred from your sleep before hazily getting up. You brushed your teeth and hair, got dressed in your tennis uniform, grabbed everything you needed before making your way down to the tennis court.

No matter how well you did, you always got nervous. Tashi made sure to tell you that every time you played a match. You loved the girl but sometimes all she did was point out flaws that perhaps were not of your interest.

The hairband in your hair suddenly felt too tight, and your shoelaces were tied too tightly, the racquet in its sling felt too heavy on your arm and your palms too sweaty.

It wasn't like this was your first time ever playing, yet it felt like it was. You didn't know what you were more scared of. Losing and not qualifying for the cup, or disappointing Tashi.

Tashi arrived early, of course she did, finding a good seat to watch the match from.

The grandstands filled with people, Tashi could feel her heart beating faster, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh. She had already gone over every possible outcome in her head; you break a bone or twist an ankle; you miss one too many balls; or worse.

"I cannot believe it, dude. I mean, I for sure thought it would be Tashi Duncan playing, but not her!" Tashi overhears some loud voice mention her and your names, she has the urge to turn to look but ignores it. "She's in another league, she's beautiful!"

"And now entering the court, the girls singles world number 1 and winner of the Junior French Open..." The commentator says your name and majority of the crowd blister in cheers.

Tashi sees the way you smile too big to hide your nerves as you step onto the court, waving at the crowd, eyes immediately looking for her. When you do make eye contact, she sees your shoulders relax a little.

Art has heard Patrick pine and want Tashi, but he's heard him rant and rave about you, last night he would not shut up about how you beat Tashi by the skin of your teeth.

You took a sip from your bottle as you set it down on the floor next to the chair, slinging your racquet off and unzipping it.

You stuck out a leg and did last minute stretching, allowing for your muscles to ease and thankfully, your nerves dissipating.

Then the match began and you were all over the court. Your shots were precise, your movement nimble, and your concentration unwavering. Your Russian opponent, Irina Petrovska , couldn't quite keep up, struggling to return each of your powerful serves and shots.

Shared grunts emitted from the both of you, your shoes squeezing against the tar. Sweat dribbling down your temples.

Art and Patrick sat watching, their jaws practically on the floor. The ease in which you were demolishing Petrovska was incredible. They tried to come up with words to describe your performance but found themselves at a loss.

One second you were in the farthest corner on the baseline and the next, soaring through the air as the ball slammed from your racquet, you positioned a meter above the service line.

Tashi sat there, watching every move you made on the court with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Your game was flawless and it was clear that you were dominating the match.

Minutes ticked by, a short interlude and then it continued. Everyone was on the edge of their seat. With one last toss up of the ball, you won an ace, and victory was yours.

Pride swelled in your chest as you were looking at Tashi who gave you a smile and clapped. You did it, securing another win in your name. Petrovska has an absolute meltdown, cursing at herself in Russian, smashing her racquet to the ground.

Tashi made sure you had a small party to celebrate your win. Your family was there, the people who watched the game, other friends and your fans. It was nighttime, supposed to be cold but the twinkling fairy lights managed to emit the tiniest bit of warmth, the alcohol in your system definitely helped as you and Tashi danced to Nelly.

You tap Tashi on the shoulder. "I'm thirsty, come with me?" You asked, she simply nodded as she followed you to the table, both of you grabbing your drinks.

"Come, let's sit down over there," She points to some loungers off by a wall where it's more quiet. "Just want to get away from all the busy."

You follow suit before plonking yourself on the one to the left. "Ugh, my feet hurt," You complain, Tashi nodding next to you. You let your eyes momentarily flutter closed before voices interrupt.

"I'm Patrick Zweig—."

"Art Donaldson."

You open your eyes to see two males dressed in jeans and pale coloured button ups. One has curly black hair and the other, slightly longer blonde hair. Both of their eyes flitting between you and Tashi.

Tashi is the first to speak. "I know who you are, you're fire and ice, right?"

You let out a giggle through your nose, drawing both their attentions. The blonde one flushed as pink as his shirt while the one with the black hair grinned. "Hm, so which ones which?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The darker haired one winked.

"You were fucking incredible today," The other male spoke, looking straight at you. "I mean, it wasn't even tennis, it was something entirely different."

"Thank you," You give him a smile which he mirrored.

"I felt bad for Ilina."

"Don't be, she's a sore loser," You scoffed, taking a sip from your drink.

"And a racist bitch, she's constantly say bad things under her breath in Russian at half time," Tashi said. "Hey, you're going to Stanford, right?" Tashi asked the blonde who looked slightly surprised at her question.

"Uh yeah, how'd you know that?" He questioned.

"I just accepted their offer and they mentioned you," Tashi replied.

"You're not going pro? You're going to a college?" The one with the dark hair asked.

"Yeah, we both are," Tashi jabbed a thumb in your direction and you nodded.

"Yup, I mean I still wanna keep up my education and not flunk only to be sleeping in my car after school," you chuckled.

"Girls! Come to the trophy stand, I want to take pics of the both of you!" Your mother ushered with a big smile, holding up her well expired phone. "And the photographers want some of my baby as well!"

"Right, coming mom!" You yell, "C'mon," you motion for Tashi to follow.

"Let's go," She turns to the two boys. "Gotta go..."

"Yeah, bye!" You wave one last time before disappearing into the crowd of people. The two boys watched as you and Tashi plastered on massive smiles in front of the pristine trophy you won as a photographer snapped photos.

During which, you had learnt that Patrick was the one with the black hair and Art was the one with the blonde hair when you asked Tashi who was who.

Your cheeks ached and your eyes burned when the camera was going off, a multitude of people standing next to you at different times. You even stood next to Tashi while either of your families stood around you two.

"You ready to leave?" Tashi asked, her thumb flicking off some dried mascara that had fallen from your lashes and onto your cheek while you thanked her.

"Absolutely," She tugged on your wrist towards the pathway between the bushes, having both to stop and say your last goodbyes to everyone.

It was quieter as the two of you walked before voices cut through the silence. "Hey!" You looked up to where the voice came from to see Art and Patrick, lounging by some benches in a tucked away corner.

"Guess we should see what they want," Tashi mumbled.

Getting closer, you noticed the two of them smoking cigarettes, both immediately standing up when you and Tashi approached. The smell of tobacco hung in the air, mingling with the cool evening breeze. "Hi," you greeted them, your voice breaking the silence. Patrick glanced at you, then quickly turned his gaze to Tashi, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Don't you guys have a final tomorrow?" you asked, genuinely curious about their casual demeanor.

"It's just juniors, so nothing to worry about," Patrick confirmed, his tone dismissive. He looked bashful as he stared at your best friend, his cheeks reddening slightly under her gaze. It was clear he was more interested in her than in any exam.

You nodded, trying to keep the conversation light. "Okay, well um, it's cool how you two stayed," you said with a smile, feeling a bit awkward.

"Do you two smoke?" Patrick asked, his own cigarette bouncing against his bottom lip when he spoke, drawing your attention briefly there.

"No," Tashi replied faster than you did, shaking her head vehemently. Her long hair swayed gently as she did, catching the fading light of the day.

You nodded in agreement. "Yeah, no, we don't smoke," you said, watching as Patrick slipped the cigarettes back into his pocket.

Patrick nodded while Art sucked on his cigarette. "Do you guys wanna go to the beach?"

You agreed and Tashi did once you did, and so now the four of you were walking to the hill that was actually above the beach, you sat on a rock while Tashi sat on a discarded tree stump, the boys sitting on chairs.

Tashi spoke about tennis— she always spoke about tennis, you sat and listened to her getting appraisal, you got complimented on your game and your skills, but you just smiled in response where as Tashi would talk about how tennis was like a relationship.

You weren't really paying much attention, instead choosing to look over your shoulder at the glistening waves of the ocean, reflecting the moon's edge. The rhythmic sound of the waves was almost hypnotic, drawing you into a tranquil state.

"And you?" Your name was called, snapping your attention away from nature. You turned to find the blonde staring at you intently, a curious look in his eyes.

"Huh?" you responded, a bit startled and disoriented from being pulled out of your reverie. The question hung in the air, and you realized you had missed something important in the conversation.

"Tashi was explaining what tennis is to her, so I asked you what tennis is to you," He continued, finishing off his cigarette.

"Oh, uh, a sport I guess," You shrugged. "It's great and all but..." Tennis wasn't your first choice, nor your second, yet the weight of your future was not dependent on your hands. It was on your father's, and after he saw what Tashi could do and the success that lies in the sport, you were ripped away from your passion and plonked in the middle of the court. It wasn't that you didn't like tennis, you just didn't love it.

"What?!" Patrick's eyes bulged out his head as he sat up. "Just a sport?! Surely you're joking?"

You shook your head earning a scoff from him. Tashi went quiet, looking at her lap. A gentle smile on her face, somehow gif answer struck a little bit of shame in her.

"Hey, um, I think I should go. My dad's probably gonna come looking for me," Tashi spoke, standing up from her seat.

"Oh yeah, hold up. I'll walk you to yours," you said, also standing and dusting the back of your pants, trying to brush off any dirt that might have clung to you. You glanced back at the ocean one last time, the waves still shimmering under the moonlight.

"You have Facebook?"

"What?"

Art tilted his head towards Patrick. "He's asking for your numbers, and so am I."

"Not a home-wrecker," you muttered under your breath, your eyes darting between the two of them. Patrick shook his head at your response with a small smile.

"We don't live together, so it's barely a home," Art nodded at his words, agreeing.

"Yeah, and Patrick has a girlfriend," At this response your eyebrows raised, Patrick's expression fell.

"It's barely a relationship," He excused.

"Sure. They put you two in the hotel in Flushing, right?" Tashi asked them with her arms draped across her chest, shielding her from the chilly night air.

"Room 206."

You let out a short giggle through your nose, softly nudging Tashi with your elbow. "They want you to go tuck them in."

"Not just her, and no, we wanna keep talking..." Art cocked his head, blonde locks falling over his brown as he did as such. "...about tennis."

"Okay," you shook your head, urging Tashi to continue walking. She thankfully did.

"We have beer!" you heard one yell after the two of you, making you laugh. You glanced back over your shoulder with a playful smirk, catching a glimpse of their hopeful faces before they were both covered by the thick bushy arch-way.

You were always in Tashi's dorm, the two of you out of your dresses and into something more comfortable. You chose black cotton shorts and a white Nike hoodie. "I think it'll be fun, don't you?" She asked as she sprayed some deodorant over herself.

"Yeah,but they also seem like two die hard virgins," You snickered. "But shame, they were sweet," Your chin was nestled in the palm of your hand as you silently watched her.

"Or maybe they're secretly sex gods," Tashi shrieked when you threw a pillow in her direction, laughter bubbling from her lips. "What? I'm just saying! The blonde one was totally into you!"

"We had minimal conversation," you playfully rolled your eyes, getting up from the bed as Tashi made her way to the door.

"Yeah, but you didn't see the way he was looking at you when you weren’t looking," She said in a sing-song voice, opening the door and shutting it behind you, the two of you walking down the passage together.

"Okay, sure Tashi."

"Do you think they're actually coming?" Art, who was laying on his back on the bed, asked. Legs leaning against the wall as a cigarette dangled from his lips, tossing a ball up and down.

"They might," Patrick groaned when the AC didn't work, even after he had banged on it multiple times.

"Dude, you made it sound like we wanted to fuck them in here."

"...we do."

"And if they do, then what's your plan?"

"We each have one, or worse, they both have one, while the other sits in the bathroom."

"Just face it, they're not coming," and then, there was a knock on the door, both boys went stock still and rigid, a second knock brought them out of their shock before they were hurriedly stumping out their cigarettes and throwing on shirts.  The door before you ripped open, revealing the two who looked out of breath and flushed. "Hey."

"Hi."

So now the four of you ended up sitting on the floor, sporting one beer can between you all, and a deck of cards as you guys were in the middle of Go Fish. "You guys went to boarding school."

"Mhm, we've been bunk mates since we were twelve."

"That's cute," You said before taking a swig from the chilled can of beer, before placing it down in front of you.

The conversations switched between different topics. "So what about the two of you?" Tashi asked, gesturing between the two of them. It took a solid minute before they realised what she was insinuating.

"No."

"No."

"Well..."

"No, don't."

"What? It’s a sweet story," Patrick giggled as he recalled it, Art went a brilliant shade of red as he hid his face behind his shirt, hiding his embarrassment.

"Well go on, let's hear it," You leant backwards, leaning against your hands as you watched Art turn even more red before he threw his hands up in defeat. Patrick nodded.

"I taught Art how to jerk off," Patrick said, watching Art's head hang in embarrassment. You couldn't fight off the grin that made way on your face.

"Okay. Patrick was an early bloomer, and I think I was on time," Patrick said. "And one time, I thought he was asleep but he was, y'know... jerking off—."

"Jerking off. And, yeah..." Patrick butted in.

"And I asked him, "What are you doing?"And he told me; He's jerking off." Patrick again jabbed in with the 'jerking off' part. "He asked me if I've ever done it before and I said no, so he just...showed me."

"What do you mean he showed you how?" Tashi laughed, she had been sitting with her legs pressed against her chest, arms wrapped around her knees.

"No I mean...he did it on his bed and I did it on mine. We did it together but like, on opposite sides...in the room," Art looked like he wanted to die, to have the earth split open in two and swallow him.

"Silently?"

"Hmm? No, no. I was think of Kat Zimmerman and so..." Patrick explained.

"So I was thinking about her too."

"Because it's always better to have someone in mind, y'know?"

"So who finished first?" Tashi asked, you turned your head to look at her with a raised brow, wondering why she was asking all these questions.

"I don't remember..."

"I think it was him," Patrick pointed at Art. Art tried to deny but Patrick wasn't hearing it. "No... it definitely was. I remember," He began to chuckle. "I remember how he was just sitting there, like some kid who had spilt milk all over his lap. I knew enough to have a sock nearby. Forgot to tell Art so..."

"Oh Jesus, Patrick!" Art sighed, skin hot and pink from how much Patrick was letting on.

"No, I think it's a cute story," You giggled while Art looked at you distraught before running a hand over his face muttering things under his breath.

Tashi took a sip of beer before she shook the can. "We're out of beer.”

She said that before standing up, you watched as she looked around the room before deciding to sit on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap. Her eyes cast down on the three of you as you still sat on the floor.

With a jut of her head, she said; "Come here,"

"Which one—?" Patrick was already pushing off the floor and sitting down next to her, Art following suit, while you decided to stay seated on the floor, turning to look at them.

Tashi sat on the bed with Art and Patrick next to her while you sat on the floor, in the boy's shared room. It took you by surprise when she leant closer to Patrick, almost as if she was going to kiss him before tilting her chin away and pressing her lips against Art's. Patrick looked butt-hurt to say the least.

Her lips mingled against Arts in a steamy kiss, Patrick's shoulders sagged and you, all you could do was watch. She then broke the kiss and kissed Patrick, Art watching their lips move together, mesmerised.

What shocked you the most after she had finished kissing Patrick, was when she bent at the waist to look at you. "Come here," Tashi instructed.

You blinked up at her before standing up from the ground and walking towards her. She grabbed the front of your hoodie and pulled you onto Art, whose hands had to grip your waist to prevent you from falling, your hands on his shoulders.

"Go on..." She instructed, gesturing between you and Art. Your lips parted to say something but closed as you turned to look over at Art.

Slowly, you brought your face to kiss, lips brushing his, which had a thin layer of saliva on them, and pressed them together. Arts hands moved from your hips to your lower back, lips moving increasingly faster and harder against each other.

Tashi watched as you kissed the boy, Patrick watched her. Her brown eyes blown with lust as she slowly brought her lips to Patrick's, eyes prying off of you before fluttering shut.

You leant closer, lifting your legs up to straddle him, his hands immediately going to cup your ass, to hold you firm in place. Art would let out small whimpers and whines against your lips, turning into putty when your fingers thread through his locks, the boy almost came in his pants when you tugged in his air.

It really didn't help when he felt your hips dip, as you began to grind your hips against his lap, his pyjama shorts were so thin, and your cotton shorts were just as, he could feel the heat of you against his aching erection.

Art gave up and lay back, having you still cage him in, hips relentless. You could feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your clothed arousal, which was dripping into your panties.

Art's lips broke away from yours, allowing for your lips to kiss down his jaw and suck purple and red bruises on his neck. His mouth lax, letting out whimpers of your name. "Aw, fuck...shit..." He'd moan, his strong hands gripped at the flesh of your hips, his own hips kept rocking up against you.

You were well aware of the scene next to you, Tashi and Patrick who's lips were locked together, Patrick was more rough with Tashi than Art was with you, but he wasn't as talkative or loud than Art.

"Please?" Art didn't know what he was begging for, but he needed something. The small patch of wetness in his underwear from his pre-cum was seeping through to your own wet patch of arousal.

"You like this, Art?" You asked against his skin, Art nodded, his larger hand finding the ends of your hair and tugging at it, you could only let out a moan of your own. You moaned his name, and that was Art's end game as he spilled his hot cum in his shorts, moaning out your name.

You couldn't enjoy it any longer, the way you felt your own high near, the way you felt wet and sticky down there, desperate for release before you were yanked backwards by Tashi, who gripped your hoodie. "Come on, it's time to go."

"W-What?" You asked in disbelief, back on your feet. Art had sat up and grabbed a pillow, hiding the massive spill in his shorts with a face as red as a turnip. "But I was...we were just—."

"Ah, ah, ah, it's past one. Bed time, missy." Tashi let go of your hoodie and began to walk towards the door. You could tell she enjoyed her kiss, with her messy hair and the dark marks that began to darken against her skin, but clearly that's all it was for her and Patrick—a kiss.

You had no choice but to follow, turning to look over at Art who watched you, like a kicked puppy, leave. "I'm not done with you," you pointed to him before you were out of sight.

Patrick waited until you were guaranteed to be out of ear shot before turning and grabbing Art by the shoulders and ferociously shake him. "Dude! Look at you! Almost banged one of the hottest chick ever!" He exclaimed. "You should totally go for her, she was definitely into you."

"You think?" Art got a little too excited and stood up, pillow slipping from his lap, exposing his semi-boner he got from recalling the events.

"Yeah," Patrick slapped Art's boner, who doubled over in pain. "Go for it."

A week had passed, Tashi and Patrick were somewhat a thing, as for you and Art, well, he thought you were ignoring him. Anytime he saw Tashi, you weren't with, you were always with Tashi. The one time he asked her where you were and she said practicing on the courts, when he got there, there was no sign of you.

Art wondered if he did anything wrong, if you regretted the kiss. Since the kiss, Art hadn't been able to get you off his mind, he knew of you before and thought you were brilliant and was somewhat attracted, but now? He's utterly infatuated with you, and you... are no where to be seen.

You had been so caught up in your studies, you had one last final to write before you were done. You had spent most of your days harbouring knowledge in your room or practicing for shorter periods than what you perhaps should have, it was an ongoing cycle.

Thankfully all that stress was gone into this air when you walked out the exam venue, immediately going to the small vending machine. "God damn it," You sighed, your foot digging into the metal box when it swallowed up your five dollar bill and refused to give you your snack. "Why?"

Your name was called, you look at the directions to see Art jogging over to you. The closer he got, the more sheepish he became. "There you are, I haven't seen you all week."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I've just been studying for my final finals, between that and tennis I've just lost track of time," You told him honestly. You watched as his shoulders relaxed and he suddenly became embarrassed.

"Oh. I thought you were avoiding me," His hand rubbed the back of his neck, skin burning under his touch. "I'm sorry."

"Avoiding you?" You crossed your arms over your chest. "Why would I do that?"

"I...I don't know. I just thought that you didn't like the kiss we had, and got weirded out when I, y'know..." Art stared at his shoes, they were pearly white and brand new. "I didn't know, now I sound stupid."

"Pfft, no you don't," You let out a breath of a laugh. "And no, I did very much enjoy our kiss, and I kinda liked it when you came in your pants."

Art let out a groan of embarrassment, big smile stretching on his face as his head lifted up to look at the popcorn ceiling before looking at you. "Stop! Now you make me sound like a virgin," He laughed and shook his head.

"No, it was cute," You smiled up at him, leaning against the vending machine. It was silent as you two just smiled and stared at each other. His face inching to yours.

A beat passed. "I really wanna kiss you right now," He admitted, his voice was soft yet filled with desire. "Can I kiss you right now?"

"I'd be upset if you didn't," Arts lips were instantly on yours. Not caring if others could see. His one hand was on your jaw, fingers pushing between your hair, tongue licking at your bottom lip.

You didn't allow him into your mouth before you broke the kiss, finding it sweet how his lips chased yours before realising you weren't going to continue the kiss, opting to look at you with a small pout.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Can't give you everything you want," You smirked. "You'll have to find me later if you want more, and who knows? Maybe you'll cum in your pants again," Your smirk grows bigger when you finish your sentence before brushing past him and walking away, leaving a very flustered and shocked Art by the vending machine.

The irony of it all was your snack slipped from its holder, landing with a loud 'clang' at the bottom. Art replayed your words in his head, and now he couldn't wait for 'later'.

Except he didn't know when was 'later' and where it was. He doesn't know which hotel, you were in nor which room. He would only be able to catch you during school. He thankfully caught you in the schools canteen, where he was going to meet Patrick. You were busy ordering from the counter when he saw you, Patrick going to go sit down by the counter against the wall.

You had bought a chocolate croissant, spinning around only to almost bump into Art. "Oh, didn't see you there."

"Sorry," You could count how many times he'd apologised today on one hand. "Just, didn't know when to catch you, and I don't have your number so... uh," He licked his bottom lip as he chose how to ask you. "When is...later?"

"Ohh, later, as in round two, when we pick up where we left off later? M'kay, well that's whenever you want it to be," You gave him a smile after your words.

He tilted his chin down by a smidgen, his blonde locks barely moving as some were trapped under his red cap he wore backwards. "If I had my way, later would be now," He admitted, a flash of darkness surged though his eyes before it was gone as he stepped around you to order, leaving you just as shocked as you left him by the vending machine.

You let out a hum, turning around to face his back. "I'll come visit you tonight at eight, make sure your friend is gone before I arrive. See you," You chirped before spinning on your heel and walking out the canteen.

Art mulled on your words—yet again, and now he really, fucking couldn't wait until 'later'. He grabbed his two churros from the lady at the counter and made his way towards Patrick who was grinning from ear to ear. "So. What did she say?"

Art cleared his throat. "Hey, don't you wanna go spend the night with Tashi?" He asked, in hopes that Patrick would agree and not catch on to what he said, unfortunately for him, he did.

"Man, my man! You horn dog!" Patrick chuckled as he grabbed his churro and took a large chuck out of it, chewing on it mercilessly. "But yeah, I'll spend the night with Tashi."

And then, the 'later' came. Patrick had left and told Art he'd be back somewhere tomorrow, leaving Art all on his own. Art had only ever done casual, he'd gone on maybe two dates, which ultimately failed, and he's slept with maybe four other girls which would all leave by the morning, he told himself this was nothing new, yet found himself spraying on a little extra deodorant to smell good, for you.

His heart rate spiked when he heard you knock on the door, he rushed to rip it open revealing you in a pink sweater and denim shorts. He greeted you a little too quickly, he was nervous.

"Hi, Art," You stepped inside and wrapped your arms around him in a hug, he immediately melted into it as he shut the door with one hand.

"I have a movie and some snacks, if you wanna watch," His thumb jabbed towards the small TV in the hotel room that was positioned in the corner, facing the two double beds.

"Sure, Art. Lead the way," Art nodded and turned to go find a movie to watch, pondering over which was suited for the occasion before settling on some crappy romance flick. You sat at the edge of Arts bed, where you two had kissed. Art rushed to turn off the lights and grab a packet of chips, before plonking himself next to you.

You thought it was sweet how you two were supposed to fuck, yet here you were, watching some poorly executed film.

Twenty minutes had passed before you grew bored of the movie. You turned your head to watch Art instead.

You could see how tense he was, his adams apple bobbed when he swallowed a chip, his back plank straight instead of hunched in relaxation.

A soft gasp caught in his throat when he felt your hand land on his back and run up and down his spine. "You're so tense, Art," He looked over at you, while you watched your hands movements. His hands firm on his thighs.

His eyelids fluttered shut and his lashes kissed his cheeks when your hands went higher to massage his head. He dared not open is eyes when your warm breath fanned his face. You were close, so so close!

"Look at me," Like an obedient puppy, his eyes snapped open as he stared at you. "Why are you so nervous?”

Art swallowed. "You make me nervous," He said, before whispering; "because I like you."

You couldn't fight off the smile that graced your face. "It's okay Art, I like you too," your hand moved to his forehead where you pushed his curls back, Art enjoying your touch before a frown graced his features when it left. He then felt your weight on him as you climbed onto his lap, exactly like the time you shared your kiss. Arms looped around his neck and your chest against his.

His hands got a little more touchy as they slipped under your sweater and settled on the warm skin of your lower back, his fingertips tracing every groove and bump there. His sky blue eyes looking up at you through his light lashes in the dimly lit room. "You do?" He whispered softly.

"I do," Then, you pressed your lips to his. He sighed against you, allowing for the rest of his nerves to evaporate, his arms ringing you closer. You felt his lashes brush your skin, and his curls against your forehead. You licked at his bottom lip and he immediately allowed for your tongue to press against his.

Your nails scratched at the spot beneath his ear, sending a shiver down his spine and an involuntary whimper to escape his throat. It was so easy to get him worked up, his erection making his Nike shorts taut. His eyes rolled back in his head when your hips shifted against his, allowing for some release.

"Mmm, Art," You breathlessly mumbled, even though the denim shorts barely helped you, the feeling of his hands touching all over your back and rear was still pleasant.

Your hips became more vigour, and Art became louder. "No, no, no..." He seemed to catch on to what you were trying to do, his hands flew to your hips and ripped you off, making you hover. Arms strong from his years of tennis. "You're not gonna make me cum in my pants again."

You smirked at this. "You're no fun," You shook your head, Art rolled over, now having your back against the bed, and your legs dangle off the sides. You wasted no time, grabbing the front of his shirt and bringing him to you, reconnecting your lips together.

Art kissed you back passionately, his tongue entering your mouth as he took it all in. His hands traveled over your body, trying to memorize it as he felt your curves and your skin. He continued to kiss and nibble down your neck, leaving small hickeys in his path. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, slowly and carefully pulling it off of you to reveal your exposed breasts.

Art couldn't help but admire your body. He took a moment to drink in the view, his eyes traveling up and down your frame. He reached out and gently ran a hand over your skin, tracing your curves with his fingers. His calloused fingers went to your nipple, you shuddered when he gave it a gentle tug before letting it settle back into place.

He smiled, a hint of desire in his eyes. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips loving down and finding your neck and nibbling gently.

"Art, take your clothes off," You whine, hand grasping the back of his shirt to pull at it. "It's unfair how I'm half naked while you're fully."

Art let out a bemused chuckle at your impatience, his smile widening. "Anything for you," he teased, his voice dripping with desire. He stood up straight, pulling his shirt off and discarding it on the floor before going for his pants, he then quickly bent at the waist and turned on the lamp, "Wanna see you."

You watched his expose his torso, now stripped down to his underwear before going back to you, his fingers moved forwards and dug into the waistband of your shorts before yanking them, you had already undone the button, with some not-so-fluid motion, they came off. His hands went to your hips but you were so eager to kiss him again, leaning forward and smashing your lips against his.

One of your hands went to steady yourself on his arm with the other was feeling the muscles and flesh of his torso, pinkie finger grazing over his black underpants until your whole hand was  grasping his hard cock, even through the material, you felt the ridges and veins, the small wet patch grew the longer you touched him.

"That feels good," Art admitted against your hips, his hips pressing further into your touch. "Really fucking good."

"I know, my baby," Your words sent a flutter through his chest. You moved your hand up before it slipped underneath his boxers, now nestled in your palm as you stroked him. You had to momentarily break the kiss, pushing his boxers down and spitting on the head of his cock, throbbing red, lubricating it as you jerked him off slowly.

"Mmf— fuck!" He hissed when your thumb brushed his leaky slit, hips bucking up into your hand.

You continued this motion, jerking your hand and rubbing his tip, moments before your name spilled from his lips like a mantra, white spurts of his thick cum spilling onto your hand. You continued until he rode out his high until bringing your hand to your lips and licking majority of his cum off with a satisfied hum.

Art grabbed your hand unexpectedly and moved it to his lips, his mouth opening, letting his tongue lap up the rest of his cum on your hand in languid strokes, eyes boring into yours. "You tasted so good," You told him, his eyelashes quivered and his cheeks flushed further at your praise.

He let your hand fall when he finished, you dug your hand into the bedding and shifted upwards until your back hit the bed frame. He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over you, blonde locks sticking to his forehead with perspiration.

His head ducked forward to kiss your collar bone and up, trailing over your neck as he peppered it with kisses before his nose nudged your ear. "God, I need you so bad."

"You have me, Art," Your hands pressed against his shoulders, pushing him to the side and then onto his back, allowing for you to kick your leg over and straddle him, the only thing in your way was your own underwear. "All of me."

Art looked exactly that, like an art piece. His blue eyes contrast to his pink cheeks and pale hair, lips red and swollen from the numerous kisses, his chest heaving up and down and his heart thundering away, waiting for your next move. His hands went to your hips, thumb rubbing along any groove you had, his hands now warm. "All of you," He echoed.

You raised your lips, your fingers pushing your underwear to the side, not even off, your eyes flickered to his. He gulped when he saw how wet you were, arousal dripping down into him. He moved his hand to grab his cock, positioning it in a way that was easy for you to slip him inside.

First was the tip, it set you up for the anticipation of all of hi , the further you sunk down onto him, the more it hurt, but you weren't gonna complain, not after pining to Tashi about this boy. Art let out a whimper when he was fully sheathed, already tender from his previous orgasm.

You planted both hands on his chest before lifting your hips, and dropping them down. Arts hands tightened their hold as he assisted, having you lift them plummet onto his cock, his blonde eyebrows scrunching in pleasure. The movements got faster, and the euphoria expanded. "You're making me feel so good," You told him, hips doing a combination of grinding on and riding his cock

Arts eyes shone upon your words, pride sweeping in his chest and a warm feeling settling in his tummy. "Yeah?" He asked and you nodded, taking one hand of his and arranging g his fingers in a way that pressed against your throbbing clit, Art new immediately what you wanted and fervently rubbing circles on the aching nub, your pussy squeezing him at the added pleasure. "Ah fuck, feels so good, so so good."

Art didn't shut up as you rode him. He'd moan, groan and whimper your name. Telling you how good you felt around him. "Am I doing good?” His voice was soft and shaky.

"Yes Art, shit! You’re doing so good, baby. I'm so proud," and your words were even shakier. Arts fingers rubbed faster against your clit, he bent his knees which made you shift forward, his cock now repeatedly bumping against that one spot that had you seeing stars and galaxies beyond.

That sent Art toppling over the edge, his hands squeezed harder around your waist, head thrown back and his back arched as he came, buried deep in your pussy. You felt his warm load full you up, and his hips stop moving against yours, a loud moan of your name falling from his lips.

You couldn't beat the small ounce of disappointment you felt when he lifted you, soft cock slipping out, and your orgasm vaporise. "Did you enjoy?"

He nodded, eyes blinking up at the ceiling. His lips then parted before shutting, before ultimately opening again. "You didn't cum, did you?"

You sucked in a short breath. "No."

Arts eyes screwed shut like your words pained him. "I'm sorry," He mumbled.

You were going to say something but he beat you to it.

“Sit on my face."

"What?" You asked, astonished.

"You heard me, sit on my face."

You blinked once before swallowing, moving up now face to face with the wall as your pussy hovered over his face, slick with arousal and his own cum. He wasted no time, fingers pushing you firm against him, clit bumping his nose before his tongue dove into your pussy.

His own previous, salty release washed over his tongue, before it moved to your clit, where it began to flick at it. Your fingers sighting out his hair, pulling on it as you ground yourself further against his face. Even though your eyes were fighting to roll back into your skull and your tongue was threatening to fall out, you still made effort to look down at him.

His own eyes shut as he focused on his movements, you'd feel small vibrations against your clit, once he'd wrapped his lips around them, as he whimpered, savouring the way you tasted. Your body fell forward, head smushed against the wall at one particular flick on the tongue.

His long fingers sought out your puckering hole that clenched around nothing, until two fingers filled you up. You had to bite down on your forearm, when he split his fingers open, scissoring inside you. "I-I'm not gonna last any longer," You moaned.

Art mumbled something against you, his tongue lapping faster like a starved man, and that was it. You felt your release rip from you like a tidal wave, legs clamping around his head, drowning him in your fluids.

When you lifted your hips, you saw how the bottom half of his face was drenched in cum, his lips open and panting. You swung your leg around so you could lay next to him. You couldn't help your fingers that wiped away at his face, his pink tongue sticking out to lick your release from your fingers. "How was I? Truly?"

You let out a tired smile. "You were great, Art."

He nodded, tilting his head to look at you. "So were you."

You let out an exhausted chuckle before curling yourself into him, Art's hand went to stroke your hair, lips pressing a kiss against your hairline.

"Will I get to see you again? L-Like other than sex?" His words vibrated against your head.

"If this is a way of asking me on a date, then yes."

You felt him slowly nod. "Okay, yes. Good."

"Good."

"Good..."

[part 2]

[mcdynamite]

Kissing has never done all that much for Steve, if he’s honest.

It's just not really something he's ever given much thought to before - the way someone kisses - despite the fact that he's locked lips with plenty of people. For him, kissing has always been something nice, but not particularly special. It's never been earth-shattering. Never taken his breath away, the way people talk about in movies and books. It's just a way to be closer to someone, and it's nice, but it's never anything more than that.

Then, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time, and suddenly he gets it.

They're high when it happens, laying side by side in Eddie's unmade bed while the weed sinks into their bones. Steve loves the way it seems to slow down the world around them - makes everything syrupy and sweet, so he feels every brush of Eddie's fingers against his own in every inch of his body as they pass the joint back and forth.

The casual contact makes him long for more, and when he's high, Steve just...gives into the longing. He lets himself drift closer until they're pressed together so closely that Eddie can hide his face in Steve's uncharacteristically messy hair when he's trying to cover up a snort of laughter in response to Steve's deranged weed-induced musings.

Tonight, they meander their way through a directionless conversation - as they so often do when they get high together - until the joint is so small it nearly singes their fingertips. When Eddie finally sits up to stamp it out in the ashtray on the bedside table, Steve tries not to miss the feeling of Eddie's body against his own too much, knowing it'll be back soon enough.

"I'm thinking of handing over the DM throne to Will for the next oneshot, after we finish this campaign," Eddie says, speech slow and thoughtful as he puts out the blunt. "Think he'll be good at it."

Steve just hums, eyes heavy-lidded, gaze fixed on the curls he wants so badly to run his fingers through, just to know what it feels like. He's high enough to not care about the consequences when he decides fuck it, and reaches out to feel the soft ringlets beneath his fingertips.

"You're good at it," he muses - a delayed response to Eddie's comment. If Eddie is bothered by the way Steve is carefully petting his hair, he doesn't show it. Instead, he turns back to look down at Steve with a soft smile that makes Steve's insides feel all gooey.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, a hint of a smirk overtaking the softness. "You ready to admit that you like watching me play my little nerd game, Harrington?"

Steve blames the quiet whine that escapes his throat on the weed, along with the way he honest-to-God pouts in response to Eddie's words. He tugs on a lock of Eddie's hair petulantly. "Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie's face does something strange then, and Steve can't quite parse out what it means with the weed making his brain all foggy. He looks...surprised? Fond? Maybe both?

"Sorry, Stevie," he replies, teasing but somehow genuine at the same time. Steve smiles dopily, an expression that Eddie returns. "That better?"

Satisfied, Steve nods. Hums in affirmation. "Yeah. I like that one."

And it's true. Steve loves when Eddie calls him Stevie, because Eddie always sounds so fond when he does, and it makes Steve's heart feel too big for his chest.

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, still grinning as he leans down until he's propped up on one elbow, hovering just over Steve on the bed. "What else do you want me to call you, hm? Stevie? Steve? M'lord?"

The last one makes Steve laugh and close his eyes, happy to bask in the sound of Eddie's voice as he floats along with their conversation.

"Sir Steven? Sweetheart?" Eddie continues, and Steve's heart jumps just a bit at the second one. Then, Eddie murmurs, "Baby?" 

And Steve's eyes fly open.

Steve stares at his friend with wide eyes - lips parted as a soft, punched-out oh escapes him - and it's weird, is the thing. Because Steve has been called baby before, lovingly by his grandmother when he was still a little boy causing mischief while his parents weren't watching, meanly by boys on the playground when he cried over something silly like a scraped knee…and when he got older, teasingly by the girls he took on dates.

It's not a new name for him, but it feels groundbreaking nonetheless.

Because the word sounds so much better coming from Eddie's mouth than anyone else's. It's soft, and fond, and knowing, and...

It's longing.

"Yeah,” Steve croaks. "Yeah."

"Which one? Sir Steven?" Eddie asks playfully, cocking his head to the side like a puppy. He grins maniacally when Steve huffs and shakes his head in disappointment. "No? Which one was it, then, that you liked the most?"

"Eddieeee," Steve complains, burying his flushed face into the pillow and avoiding his friend's gaze. "You know which one."

Eddie shakes his head in an almost scolding manner and Steve is convinced he must've moved closer, because Steve can feel Eddie's breath against his skin, and the air in the room feels about a hundred degrees hotter.

"Nuh-uh, Stevie," Eddie says, poking him playfully in the ribs. "You gotta tell me which one."

Steve hesitates, feeling more and more self-conscious by the second. He sort of wants to hide, but he also really wants Eddie to call him that again. It's probably thanks to his intoxicated brain that he allows himself to answer truthfully. "Baby," he murmurs, uncharacteristically shy.

"Yeah?" Eddie says, voice and smile softening in tandem. "You like when I call you baby, Stevie?"

Steve stares up at him with wide eyes, hardly able to believe this is really happening, and nods. "Yeah. That one."

Eddie is so close, now, that Steve can feel the warmth that emanates from his skin; can see the flecks of gold in his eyes amongst the molten chocolate brown. He's got freckles - Steve realizes. Tiny little dots across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks that form constellations on his skin. Steve thinks, maybe a bit deliriously, that he would be perfectly happy spending hours tracing them, the way astronomers of old once traced the stars.

"Eddie..." he breathes, heart pounding as he begins to feel more and more desperate for...for something. Anything to let him know that he's not the only one succumbing to the gravitational pull between them.

Eddie blinks slowly, and his eyes widen as though he's just realized something important. Steve watches his throat bob nervously before Eddie finally whispers, "Yeah, baby?"

Steve inhales sharply through parted lips - a soft, plaintive gasp that draws Eddie's eyes to his lips, and-

Oh.

That's what Steve wants, isn't it?

"I-" Steve tries, helpless to stop his own gaze from falling on Eddie's lips - pink and parted and just a little bit chapped, and so, so close.

"Baby," Eddie says again, and this time it's different. Unintentional. Like Eddie said it without meaning to. And maybe it's just the weed, but Steve swears he can feel the word burrowing its way into his chest and settling around his heart like a blanket. It makes his whole body feel warm - something only made worse by the hot coal of desire that begins smoldering low in his gut.

He's so lost in it all that he can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed when he whispers, "Please."

Steve waits with bated breath until finally, any remaining nervousness retreats from Eddie's eyes, and Eddie smiles in that way that makes Steve's stomach flutter. It's such a pretty smile. Steve can only watch as it grows closer, going cross-eyed for the briefest moment in his quest to to stare at Eddie's lips until suddenly his eyes are fluttering shut, because...because...

Because Eddie kisses him with lips still curled into a smile, and Steve thinks - utterly nonsensically - that feeling Eddie's lips against his own is so much better than just looking at them. The thought makes him giggle, just a bit, and he finds himself grinning into the kiss, too.

They part for a moment so Steve can let out another quiet giggle, and Eddie seems to pause for a moment, smiling down at Steve with poorly concealed affection. "Baby," he murmurs reverently, and then he's leaning down to capture Steve's lips in another kiss.

This time, Steve is ready for it, but it draws a muffled whimper out of him nonetheless. His nose fills with the scent of weed and cigarettes and cheap cologne - the smell of Eddie - and it's so overwhelmingly good. He lets his lips fall open on a gasp...doesn't close them when Eddie tentatively brushes his tongue against Steve's own. He shuts his eyes, because the press of Eddie's hand to his cheek and Eddie's chest to his own feel like so much more like that.

Eddie breaks the kiss to gasp in a breath, and inexplicably, that's what really sends every last bit of restraint in Steve's brain packing. It's so simple, so ordinary - the soft, quick sip of air Eddie takes in. It's a breathy little sound that Steve has heard from countless others before, but maybe that's why it puts him in this unfamiliar chokehold of wanting.

This isn't just anyone.

This is Eddie.

And Eddie is making those quiet, lovely little sounds because he's kissing Steve, and Steve is very rapidly realizing that he is utterly incapable of being normal about any of this.

He feels his cheeks go hot as he forces his heavy limbs to move so he can tangle his fingers in Eddie's curls, holding him close (because Steve thinks he might die if Eddie stops kissing him, now). And it's bliss. It's addictive. It's ruinously tender, and Steve feels himself unraveling from within. Feels the knots in his heart - left behind by absent parents, cruel friends, and distant girlfriends - turn to dust at the gentlest brush of Eddie's lips.

He whimpers into Eddie's mouth and clings to him even tighter, feeling his throat grow strangely tight as his eyes sting at the corners, and when Eddie pulls away he's got a small furrow in his brow, just under his bangs. 

"Stevie?" Eddie murmurs. His eyes dart to Steve's cheeks, and when he brushes his thumb along the skin just under Steve's eye, it drags a bit of wetness with it. Only then does Steve realize...he's crying.

And Eddie is wiping away his tears.

"I..." Steve croaks, eyes wide and spilling more tears with every blink. He drags his hands down from Eddie's hair to rest on his chest, beginning to curl into himself as the embarrassment sinks in.

Christ, he's crying. And all they've done is kiss.

Eddie's frown deepens, but he doesn't pull away completely. Instead, he lets their noses brush and breathes, "Baby..."

Steve's breath hitches.

"You're shaking, sweetheart," Eddie continues, still brushing Steve's tears away with gentle fingers. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Steve gasps hurriedly, because as far as he understands, it's the truth. "Nothing's wrong, I just..." He closes his eyes. Swallows the lump in his throat and admits with a trembling voice, "I didn't know it could be like this."

He opens his eyes and sees Eddie's expression soften, but the concern remains. "What do you mean?"

"I just..." Steve tries, sniffling and letting out a quiet, distressed laugh. He slams his eyes shut again and rubs them roughly with his palms, trying to force the tears back into his body. "Jesus, this is fucking embarrassing, man."

"Steve..." Eddie murmurs. He sounds sad. Conflicted. Like he's not sure what to do or how to help - if he should stay or go - and that just won't do, because Steve is certain he'll drift away on the breeze without Eddie to ground him. He's got to try to explain, even with his thoughts still feeling syrupy slow from the weed.

He wants to tell Eddie that he's kissed dozens of people before, but kissing them never felt like this. He wants to explain that he's used to taking the lead, and that it's nice having someone else set the pace, for once. He wants to tell Eddie about the way most people he's kissed have done so - frantically...lustfully. Kissing has always been a simple means to an end. And it's never made Steve feel like this.

What he actually manages to say is slightly different, though.

"No one's ever kissed me like they love me, before."

His eyes are still covered by his own hands, so he can't see what is surely a stunned expression on Eddie's face, but he can hear the way Eddie gasps in response to Steve's words.

It’s too much, he thinks. He's said too much, fast-forwarded too far into the movie. It's too early to be talking about love. Steve knows this. It's just...

His stupid, floaty little brain can't envision a world where someone kisses the way Eddie does without being hopelessly, irrevocably in love.

"Shit," Steve breathes after several minutes of silence. Or maybe it's several seconds. He really doesn't know. Time feels funny, when he's high. "I know that's, like, way too much. I'm too much. I don't know why I-"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts, and Steve snaps his mouth shut. He feels Eddie's hands wrap carefully around his wrists to pull them from his eyes. Eddie is being so careful with him...like he can't see that his tenderness is exactly the thing that’s ripping Steve apart at the seams.

Steve wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to drag Eddie back down and kiss him until he can't breathe. Until Eddie's sweetness becomes warm and comforting instead of feeling like the scalding heat of jumping into a hot tub after a dip in the cold waters of the pool.

"Baby, look at me," Eddie says softly.

Steve is helpless but to obey.

Eddie's gaze is sad but kind when Steve finally meets it with his own. He's got the barest hint of a smile on his pretty lips - the same ones Steve so desperately wants to feel against his own, again - and Steve feels his stomach swirl with something he can't quite describe.

"It's not too much," Eddie continues, voice steady. "And neither are you, okay? You, Steve Harrington, are never too much. Not to me."

The words settle over Steve like a blanket, and he can't decide whether it's comforting or suffocating. He just wants to stop talking about things so they can move on. He just wants Eddie.

"Eds..." he rasps desperately. "I don't- I just want-" He cuts himself off with the hitching breath of what may be a sob. He's not really sure, at this point.

"What can I do, honey?" Eddie says, and he really needs to stop with the pet names, or Steve might genuinely fracture into pieces. "What do you want?"

Steve is sunk too deep into the syrupy slow feeling of the weed - too desperate to feel Eddie pressed against him again - to do anything but tell the truth.

"Just want you," he says.

Eddie smiles - eyes crinkling at the corners - and Steve breathes the sight in like oxygen. "You have me, baby," Eddie murmurs. He's rubbing small, comforting circle into the sensitive skin of Steve's wrists now, and it's perfect. It's wonderfully, disgustingly perfect.

"I do?" Steve asks dumbly. His brain feels fifteen seconds behind everything, but he thinks that's probably okay. Eddie seems to be just fine waiting for him to catch up.

"Yeah, Stevie," Eddie chuckles quietly. "Had me for a long time, now. Just wasn't sure if you would want me the way I wanted you."

"You want me," Steve says breathlessly, more to himself than to Eddie. "You wanna kiss me."

Eddie's resulting laugh is a bit louder, a bit brighter, this time. "I do," he says. The sadness is fading from his eyes, giving way to something that looks an awful lot like elation. Steve remains still and watches, entranced, as Eddie carefully hauls himself up until he can swing a leg over Steve's to straddle him.

Still smiling broadly, Eddie leans down until their faces are mere inches apart, studying Steve with those big, brown eyes. "You gonna let me?" he asks Steve, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Steve nods, lips parted in surprise he can't quite seem to shake, and Eddie's expression softens.

"Gonna let me kiss you like I love you, Stevie?" Eddie whispers.

Steve's not sure when, exactly, his tears had begun to dry up, but he knows they must have at some point, because they're returning with a vengeance, now. "Please," he breathes.

Eddie shifts, and Steve expects Eddie to go right back to kissing him, but that's not what he does.

Instead, Eddie releases one of Steve's wrists and cups his cheek tenderly. This time, the feeling of his thumb brushing the tears away is a familiar one, and it makes Steve smile dopily.

"You know the reason I kiss you like I love you?" Eddie asks. Steve shakes his head and tracks Eddie's gaze as it drifts towards the place where his fingers are still wrapped around Steve's wrist. His lips quirk into a smile as he uses his grip to pin Steve's hand to the mattress, right beside Steve's head, and laces their fingers together.

Their noses are brushing, now, and Eddie's hips are resting on Steve's, and Eddie's hair has fallen around them like a curtain to keep the rest of the world out, and it's so much. Eddie is everywhere, and he's everything, and Steve is completely, unquestioningly in love with him - probably has been in love with him for ages, now, and just never let himself think too hard about it.

"I kiss you like I love you, Steve Harrington," Eddie breathes, and their lips brush as he speaks. "Because I love you."

And the thing is…Steve has spent his entire life wondering what it would feel like to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was loved. It's something that's eluded him for twenty years.

So it's all the more miraculous when Eddie kisses him again, and suddenly, Steve knows. He knows that Eddie Munson loves him. He feels it in the way Eddie kisses him slowly and deliberately, like it would never have crossed Eddie's mind not to. He feels it in their linked hands, in the way Eddie squeezes his hand when Steve makes a desperate, wanton sound into his mouth.

He feels it when Eddie brushes the hair out of his eyes and smiles before kissing Steve's forehead, then his nose, and then his lips again.

Feels it when Eddie's lips begin to wander down his neck.

When Eddie sucks a mark into the thin skin above his collar bone, just because Steve begs him too.

When Eddie pulls Steve's shirt over his head with careful hands, then lets Steve do the same, because Steve needs the intimacy of skin on skin.

He feels it when Eddie stops Steve's wandering hands from venturing too far south with a firm grip and apologetic eyes, because Eddie wants him - of course he does - but not when they've been smoking. Not when there's even the slightest chance that Steve might wake up and regret it in the morning.

And he hears it, too, later that night when they're laying in Eddie's bed exchanging soft, sleepy kisses, unwilling to drift off and let the night end, just yet.

Their legs are woven together - bare, aside from their boxers - and Steve has lost track of how long they've been tangled up in each other like this. He doesn't particularly care, though. He's pretty sure he could happily spend the rest of his life exactly like this.

"Love you, Stevie," Eddie whispers against his lips. They both smile into the next kiss, and Steve's heart is full to bursting, because he believes it. He knows, now, what it feels like to be loved...to be adored.

"I love you," he murmurs in reply, relishing in Eddie's sharp intake of breath. He giggles a bit, for no reason other than the pure joy that's been coursing through his body all night. "God," he laughs. "I fucking love you, Eddie Munson.

Eddie is quiet for a moment before his face splits into a grin that could rival Steve's own, and he's so goddamn beautiful that Steve almost feels like crying again.

He doesn't cry, though. He just watches adoringly as Eddie smiles and nudges Steve's nose with his own. "Yeah, baby?" Eddie teases.

"Yeah, Eds," he answers simply.

And he's pretty sure Eddie knows - is pretty sure Eddie can feel it - because Steve kisses him for the umpteenth time that night, and he pours every ounce of his heart into it. 

Steve kisses Eddie like he loves him, because he does. God, help him, he does.

And Eddie?

Eddie kisses Steve like he loves him back, and Steve gets it now, because it’s more than just a kiss.

It’s perfect.

It’s earth-shattering.

It’s everything.

--

Shout-out to @lyphyshard for the beta!

For more of my Steddie blurbs and one-shots, check out my masterlist!

[aniesvision]

let's find out! (matt x chris x f! reader)

warnings: NOT incest (matt and chris barely even look at each other in this one), drinking, smoking, sexual/+18 card game, dirty talk, dirty jokes, pet names (princess, sweetheart), making out, fingering, oral (f! receiving), masturbation, choking, spanking, praising, overstimulation, squirting. (I might be forgetting something)

a/n: omg this is such an alarming amount of warnings I'm scared?? I'm sorry if anything's wrong, english is not my first language!

synopsis: when you were supposed to have a sleepover with Nick, but he forgot to warn you that he was out with Madi, causing you to have a few hours alone with Matt and Chris.

🪻🪻🪻

-I'm here!! —I yell, passing through the front door.

I look around confused when I didn't hear any response, my eyes only meeting Matt's figure on the couch.

-Hey, where's Nick? —I ask, letting my backpack fall to the ground.

-Out with Madi. —He finally looks back at me.

-Oh, he told me to come over, we're supposed to have a sleepover. —I explain, furrowing my eyebrows and taking a seat next to Matt.

-He'll probably be back soon. —He assures me with a gentle smile.

-LOOK WHAT I FOUND.

I turn around, seeing Chris holding some sort of card game.

-Hey, I didn't know you were here. —He walks towards me, playfully messing with my hair. I giggle, shoving his hand away.

-What's that? —Matt asks, curious with the game Chris was still holding.

-Oh, yeah, I was trying to find my belt but I found this instead, it's a game we got as a present on tour, it's called 'Can You?'.

Matt quickly grabs the game and starts reading the instructions. Apparently it has three different parts, one of questions for girls, another one of questions for boys and the last one being questions for everyone.

-Looks like a drinking game. We answer or drink. —He continues reading the box quietly, me and Chris exchanging a look.

They are not drinkers, and honestly, I'm not either. I only like to drink in special occasions and sometimes socially just to get in the vibe, but not much, and definitely not shots. I'm more of a fruity cocktail kind of girl.

Matt opens the box and stands up, shuffling the cards as he walked to the kitchen. He suddenly takes a bottle of vodka out of the fridge, looking at both me and Chris.

-Are we playing or not? —He asks, impatient, making me raise an eyebrow at his tone.

Chris walks to the kitchen and I follow behind, not really in the mood to drink. I watch as Matt sets two shot cups on the counter, looking up at me.

-Wanna smoke instead of drink? —He asks, making my eyes shine a bit.

Although I'm not into drinking, smoking is one of my favorite activities. I love the way the weed makes me feel so calm and connected to the world. Everything feels so incredibly real.

I nod, smiling when he hands me a lighter. I quickly open one of the zippers on my backpack, grabbing a small bag that I use to carry my smoking utensils around. Gladly I already had rolled one and I just light it up, feeling the smoke and blowing it slowly.

Matt and Chris decided to take a small shot before we start the game, and I laugh at their faces as they opened up cans of pepsis to get rid off the taste of pure alcohol.

-Right, let's start. —Chris says.

We all go back to the living room, deciding to make a circle around the coffee table. Chris takes the first card of the deck of questions for boys, reading it out loud as I slowly roll another joint.

-Can you make someone beg for you?

He giggles with his eyes glued on the card, Matt's quiet "what the fuck" makes me laugh as I set the joint on the coffee table and light up the other one I was already smoking before.

-I though it was +18 because it's a drinking game, I didn't know it was about sex. —Matt rests the back of his head on the couch, shaking his head.

-Well, we're already playing and it's only us three, so don't be a bitch. —Chris teases, placing his card aside. -And my answer is yes, I can definitely make someone beg. —He winks with a cocky smile.

Matt takes another shot, announcing that he needs to drink if he is going to sit still and listen to his brother lying. I just simply stay silent, laughing at their bickering and taking hits of my joint, enjoying the feeling.

Matt was next, taking a card from the same deck as Chris and reading it.

-Can you make someone finish more than once in one night?

I look at his cheeks getting slightly red and a shy smirk on his lips.

-For sure. —He shrugs, throwing the card on the ground to separate it from the others.

It was a bit odd to sit and listen to my friends talking about sex. We never really talked about our sex lives before, so I wasn't really sure what to expect.

Both of them look at me and I take a hit of the joint before picking up my card from the girl's deck.

-Can you handle overstimulation?

I tilt my head to the side, setting the card on the floor and taking a deep breath before responding.

-Yeah, I guess. —I shrug.

Matt smiles and Chris just takes another shot, followed by sips of his pepsi.

Things escalated quickly. The boys were already a bit drunk, considering they're not used to drink and a few cards were just way too explicit to even talk about. And I was already getting high, lighting up the third joint I rolled. We were all laughing at nothing.

I wanted to get comfortable so I was now sitting next to Matt on the couch, my legs on top of his.

-You really expect us to believe you don't like to be praised? —Chris pointed between him and Matt, his tone sarcastic as he looked at me like I was crazy.

I laugh, shrugging and throwing my head back to rest it on the back of the couch, blowing the smoke and feeling like I couldn't stop smiling. I was so high by now that my mind couldn't even process my own words, I was just spilling them.

-I don't know, dude. —I respond, closing my eyes and feeling Matt's hands on my legs, holding me so I wouldn't fall from the couch.

-Right. So if, hypothetically speaking, we were fucking and I praised you, you wouldn't like it? —Chris continued, propping himself on his palms behind his body.

I giggle, putting out the joint and laying on the couch, keeping my legs on Matt's. His hands slide up to my knees, thumbs rubbing my skin gently.

-I mean, probably would, but I don't know, I haven't been with anyone who praised me during sex, all I've heard was degrading shit.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of Matt's thumb caressing my knees and the comfortable position I am. Also, my body feels so light, like I'm floating, the soft tingles on my skin whenever I imagine visuals in my mind of what we're currently talking about makes it harder to concentrate on anything else but how hot the room feels.

Matt probably notices how my body was turning hot, his fingers slowly moving to my thighs. I open my eyes when I hear a weird noise, trying to ignore Matt's hands, and I watch as Chris walks towards me and kneels in front of my face with a grin.

I thought he was going to do something, my heart already beating fast, but all he did was hand me a new card, sitting normally.

-Your turn, princess. —He says, the pet name making my stomach swirl.

I just nod, taking the card and licking my lips before reading it out loud.

-Can you squirt?

There's a moment of silence when Matt and Chris just looked at me and I basically got in a trance thinking about this question.

-I think I can, but I never did. —I give the card back to Chris, who looked at me confused.

Before he could even ask, Matt cuts the silence to do it himself.

-What do you mean?

Once again, I laugh. It was somehow funny to me that this conversation was actually happening.

-I mean, sometimes when I'm like, you know, trying to make myself feel good, I feel like if I keep going for just a bit longer I'd probably squirt, but I never do, I'm actually kind of scared to try, so I don't know. –I explain.

It was weird to say it out loud, but I wasn't lying. Matt and Chris both exchange a look, then they look back at me, making me feel a bit nervous. Matt's hands continued their way up my thighs, slightly squeezing them, making me sigh quietly and prop myself on my elbows. Our eyes meet in a deep stare, his pupils dilated, making the blue almost disappear.

-Wanna find out? —I hear Chris' voice, his tone hoarse and deeper than usual.

My eyes widen at his words, but Matt didn't seem to care at all, he didn't yell at his brother, in fact, he only moved his hands further up and smirked at me.

I turn my head to see Chris, confused if he was joking, but he clearly wasn't.

-What? —I ask, furrowing my eyebrows and laughing out of nervousness.

Maybe I was too high to understand what was happening, but his intentions were exactly what I thought initially. I realize that when he moved closer to me, his eyes staring at my lips.

-I mean, I can help you find out if you want.

He didn't sound so drunk, but it was obvious that he wasn't sober. He'd never say that if he was. And even though I was high and definitely not thinking straight, my mind couldn't process that he was actually offering something entirely different than anything we ever did. And that Matt was silently watching it without interrupting or trying to shove his brother off.

It was weird. And the weirdest part was that something inside me didn't want to deny his offer. Probably not the sober part.

I was feeling so many things at once. I was confused, nervous, my heart was beating so fast, my mind was foggy and my body felt so heavy but so light at the same time, my mouth and throat were dry.

Matt takes my silence as I sign, squeezing my inner thigh lightly, getting my attention back.

-He asked you a question, sweetheart. —His voice echoed around the room.

I watch as he keeps slowly moving his hands, his fingertips brushing against my skin making me shiver. Why the fuck am I wet right now? They're my friends, this is definitely not a good idea.

As Matt's fingers get closer to my clothed pussy, I feel Chris leaning to press gentle kisses on my neck. I sigh in surprise, closing my eyes and automatically tilting my head to give him more access.

I couldn't even believe it was real until Chris placed his hand on my jaw and turned my head to face him, brushing his lips against mine. Still propped on my elbows, I raise my hand that was closer to him and tug on his shirt, pulling him closer.

Matt's hands were quick to unbutton my jeans, slipping them down to my ankles. Feeling the cool breeze against my skin makes me sigh, witch Chris sees as an opportunity to slide his tongue in my mouth.

I can feel Matt's fingertips running up and down my thighs, exploring my body. He leans slightly just to press kisses along my legs, teasing me as Chris kissed me.

Ending the kiss, breathless, I pull away, meeting Chris' eyes already on mine. He smiles at me, his hand still on my jaw, thumb caressing my cheek. He pulls me into another kiss just about the same time as Matt's fingers starts rubbing circles on my clothed clit.

I squirm under his touch, moaning softly against Chris' lips. Chris uses his free hand to lift my shirt over my head, throwing it aside and lowering his kisses to my neck once more.

I keep my eyes closed, biting my lips when I feel Matt sliding my panties down and discarding it with the rest of my clothes.

-You okay, sweetheart? —Matt asks. I could sense his smirk just by his tone.

I simply hum in response, still wondering how did we get in this situation, how did I let myself get in this situation. Chris was still showering my body with kisses, snicking his hand under my back to unclip my bra, when Matt's tongue suddenly makes contact with my wetness.

A loud gasp escapes my lips, one of my hands immediately finding his hair. As if this new stimulation wasn't enough, Chris moves one hand to my squeeze one of my tits and the other to choke me lightly.

-Tell me if it's too much, princess, just wanna make you feel good, yeah? —Chris's words only fueled my desire, making me even wetter than I already was.

I open my eyes to take in the situation, the sight of Matt's face in between my legs and Chris's hands all over my body is definitely something I've never thought I'd see. Noticing my gaze, Chris starts to swirl his tongue around my nipple, the pressure on my neck tightening.

I can't help but moan when I feel waves of pleasure taking over my body. Matt's tongue worked magically, it was clear that even drunk he knows how to use his mouth.

Chris kissed me again after a while, swallowing my moans and only pulling away to slap my face. It wasn't so hard, just enough pressure to make me whine with the mixture of pain and pleasure.

-Yeah? You like that, princess? Such a good girl for us, letting your friends help you out, so proud of you.

He immediately kisses me again, not giving me any time to process his words.

-Fuck... —My loud moan is muffled by Chris's lips when a knot starts forming in my stomach.

Matt, noticing I was getting close, inserts one finger in, thrusting it at the same pace his tongue moved. It was enough to drive me crazy, my moans filling the room.

-Close princess? —Chris asks, leaving hickeys on my neck.

-So close. —I whisper back, bucking my hips against Matt's face.

Chris only giggles against my skin, sliding his hand down to my stomach.

Not even a full minute later, the knot on my stomach snaps and I feel myself releasing on Matt's lips and chin. My grip in his hair was tight and even trying to push him away after my orgasm, he didn't stop.

-Matt... —I whine, breathly, my legs shaking and trying to close.

-Just a little bit more, you taste so good.

He only stops to mumble his words, pulling his finger out and gripping both my thighs with his hands, keeping me still.

-Can't... —I start to respond, but am interrupted by Chris.

-Yes, you can, you're doing so good. —He grabs my free hand, guiding it to the bulge in his sweatpants.

I turn my head to look at Chris, watching as he stands up, staying right in front of me. He takes both his pants and boxers down in one motion, my eyes widening when I see his free dick.

-C'mon, pretty girl, you know what to do.

I wrap my hand around his cock, rubbing my thumb against his tip, spreading precum. I slowly start to move my hand, stroking him. His groans were my motivation to increase the pace.

The overstimulation starts to feel too much, and I couldn't stop moving on the couch, squirming and rolling my hips against Matt's lips, trying to cope with the pleasure and slight pain.

-Fuck, can't... mhm shit too much. —I cry out.

Chris places one hand on top of mine, doing almost all the work as I focused on my second orgasm, quickly approaching.

Matt only stops to look up, caressing my inner thighs with his hands.

-Give it to me, sweetheart. Let it all go.

And as soon as he finishes talking, he was eating me out again, making me almost scream out of pleasure.

I could feel that this one was different, way more intense and it was similar to the feeling I get when I need to pee badly.

Chris's sounds only get louder and I feel his cock twitching against my hand, he moves faster and I turn my head to focus on him.

-You're so fucking pretty. —He breaths, a moan escaping his lips as he shoots his load over my stomach and boobs.

The sight of him, my hand still on his length, Matt in between my legs, it was all too much. My second orgasm hit me like a punch, a loud pitchy moan leave my lips as I feel myself squirting for the first time ever, right on Matt's face.

-Holy shit, that was so hot. —I hear Chris whispering next to me, slowly bending to pick up his boxers and pants and get dressed again.

-You did so good. —Matt praises, wiping his chin with the top of his hand and hovering over me to kiss me.

In the meantime, Chris collects all my clothes from the ground, waiting patiently to help me get dressed.

Matt pulls away after a few seconds, pecking my lips and helping me sit down on the couch. Both of them helps me dress up again as I only tried to catch my breath.

-Are you okay? —Matt asks, after we were all decently dressed.

I nod, taking a deep breath to fully recover.

-I am, that was... insane. —I giggle, not knowing exactly what to say.

-Insane is a good word to describe it. —Chris laughs.

When I was about to say something else, the front door opens and we all turn our heads to see Nick.

-What the FUCK happened here?

Nick's mouth opens in an 'o' shape, and just now I look around the room. There's cards everywhere, ashes and a half joint on the coffee table, two shot cups and a bottle of vodka next to the coffee table, and a huge wet spot on the couch. We probably all looked like a mess too.

-You don't wanna find out. —Chris is the only one that comes up with a response.

🪻🪻🪻

a/n: I loveee fics with card games!! also I have no idea if this one even exists, I just "created" it for the fic, but it was so fun to write! I hope you guys liked it too! (also, comment or send me a message if you want to be tagged whenever I post a new fic ✨)

tags 💕

@elsxz1 @ghostlythinggoingaround @zayyluvz @lovefromlilia @101sara

[heartsforhavik]

superfan! yandere oc x popstar! reader (yandere alphabet)

warnings: a little nsfw, mentions of murder and violence, kidnapping, breaking and entering, stalking, depression, masochistic yandere, kinda worshipper yandere, some mentions of "offing" himself, mentions of death and starvation, established relationship, lowercase intended, not proofread, reader is gender neutral, i do not condone yanderes irl.

a/n: i was gonna do a request but uhhh i felt lazy. i'll make an alphabet for victor next cuz i feel bad for not writing him. plus i'm gonna try to make a masterlist soon so yippee! (also i apologize to all my non-yandere-enjoying followers that like my mortal kombat works, i'll get back to those someday. i just look back on my old works and cringe. i really dislike all my stuff from 2023.)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

bayani loves you with all his heart. he is often overbearing and obsessive, treating you like you're the only thing that matters. he is always fussing over you and making sure you're okay. he constantly asks you how your day has been, if you've eaten yet, if there's anything he can do for you, etc. he is your little servant. please make him feel useful. please let him help you. his only purpose is to entertain and satisfy you in any way he can. whether you want him to cuddle and kiss you often, or you want him to cook and clean for you, whatever you want. he doesn't have a particular love language. even if he did, he would change it to cater to your taste.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

bayani believes violence is not the answer. he does not want to hurt anyone. but if it's for your safety, or if you order him to hurt or even kill someone, he would reluctantly do it. as much as he denounces violence, he cannot find it in his heart to disobey you. even if it is someone he knows, he'll do it for you. because if you think they should be dead, then you must be correct. bayani believes you can do no wrong, so he must act on your orders.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

bayani would not abduct you. he would never do anything that would hurt your feelings. as much as he gets off on being physically tortured and verbally berated by you, he cannot imagine a world where you dislike him or hate him in any way. he would never kidnap you. besides, even if he wanted to kidnap you, his apartment is too shitty to keep you there, and he wants you to live a life of luxury.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

bayani would absolutely not do anything against your will. he is nothing but your servant, and your fan. he does anything you want him to. he could never go against your will.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

bayani is yours. he has put his whole heart out for you ever since he first saw you. from being your biggest fan, to stalker, to boyfriend. since day one he has been (mostly) open and vulnerable.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

bayani would absolutely be turned on by your rage. kick him, spit on him, etc... the bulge in his pants would just grow harder and harder. however, as much as he enjoys being used as your personal punching bag, he doesn't want you to hate him. if you hated him, he might as well throw himself off a cliff. why should he live if you don't accept him? if he's not enough for you? he dedicated his life to following everything you did as a popstar, to dating you and doing everything you asked him to. so if you ended up hating him after everything he did for you, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

it is not a game to bayani, not one bit. i can't see him kidnapping you at all, but if he did it would probably be for your safety. he would hate to see you so sad and desperate to leave. he'd try to give you whatever food or gifts you ask for, to distract you from trying to escape. it's for your own good, please don't cry and scream at him.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

as much as bayani respects you, he often forgets your boundaries. he would break into your bedroom and watch you sleep, steal your clothes, or watch you while you shower. no matter how many times you try to tell him you're uncomfortable with his behavior and wish to have some alone time, he'd always claim that he would "respect you from now on" but the next day he'd go back to his perverted ways.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

bayani is hoping to get married and live happily ever after with you. he doesn't see himself having kids, he'd prefer to keep all his time and attention on you for the rest of his life. as much as he supports your career and music, a part of him hopes you retire early so you can give him more attention. but if you want to keep up your career for a few more decades, that's okay with him too. whatever makes you happy, makes him happy.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

bayani rarely gets jealous. but when he does, it's concerning. when he sees you hug or compliment a fan, he understands it's not romantic. he doesn't really care about it at all. however, if he sees a fellow popstar being a little too close to you or flirting with you, he immediately worries about himself. what if you leave him? he isn't attractive, or talented, or rich. you could easily leave him for a fellow popstar. bayani wouldn't blame you at all, or the popstar flirting with you. he only ends up looking in the mirror and picking himself apart for hours, wondering why you decided to date him. after that, he ends up being even more clingy than he was. he is basically glued to your hip, and doing everything you ask of him. he compliments you more and tries to make himself seem more energetic and loving. he even looks up ways to make himself more desirable to you, and trying out obscure skin care routines and putting lifts in his shoes. he tries to make himself better for you so you wouldn't leave him.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

bayani's basically a dog at your beck and call. he sits near you with hearts in his eyes, ready to tend to your needs. he usually talks to you nonstop, yapping about something he saw on the internet you might like or a bug he saw on the sidewalk. of course he'd stop if you ask him to, but he's just so nervous around you! even after you start dating and he's no longer just a superfan, his little crush on you never fades away. he covers up his anxieties by talking about anything and everything. if you were to engage in his little yapping sessions, or even laugh at his jokes or agree with his opinions, he'd get extremely flustered and shy. he'd try his best to hide it, but his tomato red face would give it away.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

bayani wouldn't even try to ask you out. he thinks of himself as nothing but a broke, ugly, stalker guy in love with you and your career. he thinks you're way out of his league. you would have to be the one to notice him and strike up a conversation. even then, he'd evaporate the moment you lay your eyes on him. but the more you notice him at your shows and interact with him, you'd become friends and then you'd have to be the one to confess to him.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

bayani's true colors aren't too different from how he acts with others. he's truly a perverted, shy, stalker. his whole life, even in childhood, he was always shy and never really talked to anyone. he didn't have any friends, wasn't in any clubs and didn't go to a church of any sort, so he was always alone. of course, nobody knows he's a perverted stalker, but it's easy to tell he doesn't speak to anyone but you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

bayani would never punish you. he thinks you can do no wrong. whether you simply lashed out at someone, or committed a crime, he would always be on your side. even if you were to lash out at him, he'd accept it. he would never blame you, only himself.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

bayani would never harm you in any way because of how much he loves and worships you. he'd never take anything away from you.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

bayani would do anything for you, so of course he'd be very patient with you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

bayani would not be able to live without you. if you left him, he would understand, but be heartbroken. but if you died, he would immediately lock himself in his apartment and refuse to eat or drink anything, and soon succumb to his own death. a life without you is a life he cannot live.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

bayani, again, would not kidnap you. if he did, i can imagine he would feel severely guilty about it. he hates seeing you in pain. if you're in pain, so is he. he would let you go as soon as he knows it's safe for you. hell, he'd want you to be free more than you do.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

like i mentioned before, bayani had a very lonely childhood. his parents weren't present, he had no friends or siblings, so he was left all alone. even when he graduated highschool and was left to live alone with a shitty job, he was still antisocial and had quite a dull life for a few years. that's how he discovered you. he never knew what it was like to love or be loved until he saw you and heard your music for the first time. your performances were a safe place to him. your lyrics were like a warm hug to him. you saved him from his miserable life. he started dedicating his life to you since you were the first person he truly cared about.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

bayani hates to see you in pain. he wishes he could take it all away for you. that's why he's so attentive to your needs, in hopes that he'll never have to see you cry or hear your screams in pain.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

unlike the classic, stereotypical yandere, bayani does not want to inflict harm on anyone unless he has to, and he's a lot clumsier than a usual yandere. he does not want to kill or hurt anyone, but if you really wanted him to, he would. but there's no guarantee that it'll go well, considering how clumsy he is. but he's trying, for you!

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

bayani is a worshipper, through and through. you want to leave him? just tell him. he'd be heartbroken, and probably beg you not to leave him, but ultimately he wants you to be happy. however, if he ever kidnapped you, you could escape by distracting him. you could point somewhere in the distance and go "look over there!" and he'd look for a couple seconds, then look back at you- and aw shucks you already ran away

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

bayani. would. never. even. dream. of. hurting. you.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

bayani would literally commit war crimes for you if you asked him to. there is nothing he wouldn't do for you. he sees you as a hero that saved him, so he believes he should return the favor by doing anything for you. anything to keep you happy.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

after being your biggest fan and stalker for years, bayani is content with staying that way for the rest of his life. of course he would love to be yours, but he would be happy with simply watching you from afar for as long as he shall live. he would never snap.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

depends on your sanity, and how much you like bayani. if you're okay with his clingy, clumsy, yapping self for the rest of your life, then you'll be fine. but if you'd get sick of never having a lot of alone time, or having a guy that is attached to your hip... then maybe you'd break and he would be incredibly guilty. he would try to apologize by being even closer to you, which would make you feel worse. unless you end things with him, you're stuck forever.

template here

[angelbwrry]

( same person that sent the last request about ony btw!)

can u write bout how he’ll handle us if we have an attitude and start talking crazy to him

😭I feel like a slut rn imagining it but love ur writing though 💕💕!!

mdni,18

you stand in the doorway, arms crossed,staring at your dread-head fiancé.the tension in the room is palpable.you can feel your heart thundering in your chest, each beat sounding like your own undoing.ony sits on the couch, playing his playstation, unaware of the storm brewing inside of you. the continuous click of his fingers across the controller further ignites your anger.

“are you even fucking listening to me?” you snap, your voice is sharp and cutting.

ony sighs, pulling his eyes to look at his girlfriend. he doesn’t even know why you’re mad. recently, it seems like you’re always mad. last week it was because he forgot vinaigrette with your chipotle and now it’s this. ony was never the argument type, which was a bad combo because you always said what was on your mind. ony hated your attitude, and hated the way your mouth got when you had an attitude.

mhm, is all he musters out.

his nonchalance only fuels your anger. how can he be so indifferent? each time he doesn’t say anything, it’s like a slap to the face. you’re mad because he’d driven your car and didn’t put gas in it. yes, he’d given you the money after you confronted him, but it still irritated you that you had to do it.

"it’s a big deal to me," you retort, your voice trembling with emotion. "if i put my foot through this tv, maybe then you’ll pay attention.yeah?”

ony sighs, finally putting his controller down and giving you his full attention. "look,i just don't think it's worth getting this upset over," he says, trying to keep his tone calm and reasonable. "we can talk about it, but there's no need to blow it out of proportion."

but to you, it feels like he's minimizing your feelings, brushing them off as if they don't matter.the hurt and frustration bubble up inside you, threatening to spill over. you want him to understand, to see things from your perspective, but it feels like you're speaking different languages.

before you know it your feet are padding across the tan carpet,fingers snatching the plug from the wall.ony groans as his game powers off,there goes all his game progress.

“yo, y/n you’re tripping.”

“tripping? oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.have fun picking up your clothes, cause i’m about to throw all your shit off the balcony.”

you spin on your heels, ony hot on your tail as you enter the bedroom.you feel his hand grasp around your wrist and spin you around to face him, just when you open your mouth to spew the vilest things he presses his lips against yours.

you try to hold onto the anger, to remind yourself of why you’re mad, but his touch is rough and urgent, sending sparks through your body. your head starts spinning, the world around you fading away. his kiss is relentless, each movement making it harder to stay mad. you can feel your resolve weakening, your body betraying you as you melt into him, the anger slipping away with each passing second.

“finna fuck t’is attitude outta you.” he mutters against your lips, your mouth is dry as you try to think of a comeback.

“talk that shit now, girl,” ony demands, holding your hands tightly behind your back as he fucks you. you’re at a loss for words, the way his dick is prodding into your cervix has you quivering underneath him. he scoffs, “oh, now you’re quiet?” he switches over to restraining you with one hand. a breathy whine fumbles from your mouth, feeling his hand smack your ass repeatedly, each hit stinging more than the last. your face is a teary, drooling mess, cheek pressed into the pillow.

“o-ony please s-slow down!”

“nah, you gon’ take all of this.you so big and bad so take this dick.”

a shiver runs down your back as you feel his cool gold chain on your skin,followed by his soft lips.you’re a complete mess underneath him,the way he’s burying himself into your tight pussy has your legs shaking.each thrust is relentless and rough, the squelching of your wet cunt spurring him on.you wince as you feel his fingers wrap around your coils, forcing your head up and your back to arch even further.

“apologize. apologize for having an attitude.” ony grunts.

“i-i’m s-sorry-ughmfuck—“ your words catch in your throat as ony delivers a thrust that has you seeing stars.he hums, accepting your apology.ony retracts his hand from your hair and snakes it around your throat.the way your juicy ass is bouncing on him makes his stomach churn, “creamy ass pussy,” he moans softly,left hand still securing your hands behind you.

your stomach clenches each time he pushes back into you; you’re so fucking close. the pink vibrator ony’s attached to your clit has you in shambles, the vibration against your swollen bud making you shiver.you’re so damn wet, your fluids are leaking into the bedsheets. the sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel yourself pulling away from ony.he quickly puts a stop to that.

“uhnt uhnt, bring that ass back.”

fuck, why were you mad again?

[lxndonorris]

a special day in maranello - Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut Charles shows off his special black Monza suit x word count: 4880+ taglist: @game-set-canet @pitstopreality-f1 if you dont want to be tagged, or you want to be tagged, just let me know! requests are open for x-reader or ships :) EN: Went a little further than expected, but I hope you'll enjoy this"

It is the week of the Monza Grand Prix, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year, not just for the Tifosi but for the entire motorsport world.

The atmosphere is electric, with fans flocking to the region to witness Ferrari in action on home soil. But before the chaos of Monza can begin, there is an important stop to make at Maranello.

The Ferrari headquarter in Maranello is a place Charles and you have come to love. But this visit is different. This time, it isn't just about the preparations or meetings. There is something special planned, something that has been kept under wraps until now.

Charles invited you to join him for a photoshoot, something that is supposed to be "special." That's all he would say about it. No details, no hints, just that mischievous smile of his that both excites and unnerves you. 

You are used to surprises with Charles, but this one has you feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

You arrived at Maranello in the early afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. Ferrari reserved a private room for you, a place where you could prepare for the shoot in peace.

The room is simple yet elegant, with a large window that offers a stunning view at the headquarters. Inside, there are racks of clothing, a few chairs, and a full-length mirror on one side. The gear is neatly arranged, but the most striking piece of equipment is a large, black privacy screen that stands in the corner.

Charles leads you into the room with his hand gently placed on the small of your back.

"This is it," he says with a grin. "Our little secret hideaway for the day."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, but you are also burning with curiosity.

"So, what's this all about? You've been so mysterious lately."

He chuckles softly, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need to get ready."

You watch as he walks over to the privacy screen, picking up a neatly folded set of clothing on the way.

You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" You ask, crossing your arms with a playful pout.

"Nope," he replies with a wink, disappearing behind the screen. "But don't worry, you won't be disappointed."

You take a seat in one of the chairs, your eyes glued to the screen. Even though you can't see him, you can hear everything—the rustle of fabric, the soft hum of his voice as he starts to change—it all adds to the anticipation.

"So," Charles begins, his voice light and teasing, "you're probably wondering what I'm putting on first."

"Obviously," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.

He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting.

"Well, first comes the Nomex. You know, the fire-resistant underwear. It's essential for safety, but it's also surprisingly comfortable. Here, let me show you."

'He's putting on a racing suit', is the first thing that comes to your mind, making your heart race faster. You love seeing him in his red suit, but this visit means only one thing: a special suit for Monza.

And, of course, he isn't going to show you right away. Instead, he describes the feel of the fabric as he slides on the shirt and pants, his tone almost sensual as he runs his hands along his chest.

"It's soft, like a second skin," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It fits snugly, molding to every curve. You'd be surprised how something so thin can make you feel so safe."

You swallow hard, your imagination running wild.

"I bet it looks good on you."

"You'll have to wait and see," he teases, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.

Next, there is a pause, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled.

"Now, the racing suit," he announces, his tone turning playful again. "This is the real deal. It's custom made, fits like a glove, and when you put it on, you know you're ready for anything."

You lean forward in your chair, straining to hear every word.

"And how does it feel?"

Charles lets out a satisfied sigh, clearly enjoying himself.

"It feels powerful. When I zip it up, it's like I'm putting on armor. It's tight, but in a good way. Every movement feels controlled, precise. It's a part of me, and when I'm in the car, there is nothing else like it."

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some sembience of composure.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little," he admits, laughing softly. "But I'm also enjoying teasing you. It's fun seeing you squirm."

"Charles!" You exclaim, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

"All right, all right," he says, his tone turning a bit more serious. "I think it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"

Your heart skips a beat. 

"Yes."

"Good," he replies. "I'm going to count down from five, and when I get to one, I'll step out. But I want you to promise me something."

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.

"Promise me that whatever you see, you'll give me an honest reaction. No holding back."

You nod, even though he can't see you. 

"I promise."

"Okay, here we go," he says, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.

"Five."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

And then he steps out from behind the screen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He is dressed in a black racing suit, but this isn't just any suit. It is sleek, form-fitting, and accentuates every line of his body. The material shimmers slightly under the light, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Yellow accents trace the contours of the suit, adding a bold, striking contrast that makes the entire outfit pop.

But it isn't just the suit that takes your breath away. It is the way he carries himself, the confidence in his posture, the way he stands there with a slight smirk on his lips, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.

"So," he says, his voice low and velvety, "what do you think?"

Charles strikes a pose, his body angled in a way that showcases every contour of the racing suit. The black and yellow fabric clings to him perfectly, accentuating the sleek lines of his physique. His confidence is palpable, and the way he presents himself is nothing short of magnetic.

He holds the pose for a moment, his stance strong and assertive, his chest puffs out slightly as he tilts his head to the side. The suit gleams under the studio lights, the yellow accents highlighting the definition of his muscles and the tailored fit around his waist.

Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical movement, Charles begins to spin slowly. His movements are graceful and deliberate, allowing every angle of the suit to be seen. 

As he turns, the black fabric shifts and ripples, the yellow highlights catching the light and creating a stunning contrast. He spins with a kind of effortless elegance, each turn revealing a new aspect of the suit. and his physique.

The way he moves is mesmerizing.

His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful legs are on full display, each turn emphasizing the perfect fit of the racing suit. His smile is confident, and his eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and playful satisfaction.

It's clear he enjoys the attention, relishing the chance to show off how well the suit complemented his body.

As he completes another spin and faces you once more, he strikes another pose, his body perfectly angled to highlight the sleek lines of the suit.

His gaze meets yours, a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring you not to be completely captivated.

For a moment, you can't speak. 

You can only stare at him, taking in every detail.

Finally, you find your voice. 

"You look.... phenomenal."

His smirk widens into a full-blown smile."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I really do." You say, taking another look at him, all of him.

He looks absolutely stunning, almost unreal in his black and yellow racing suit. But it isn't just the suit that makes him so captivating.

His tousled hair, with that perfect, 'just out of bed' look, the slight stubble along his jawline, his soft, inviting lips, and those pretty green eyes—they all come together to create a sight that is simply irresistible.

As he walks toward you, his movements are slow and deliberate, almost like a predator closing in on his prey. 

His hands roam along his suit as if he can't resist touching the fabric himself. He runs them down his arms, across his chest, over his sides, and then down his abdomen, his fingers tracing the lines of his body.

You watch, completely entranced, as he licks his lips absentmindedly, his gaze locked onto yours.

There is an electric tension in the air, a palpable pull that you can't ignore. 

Your body moves on its own, your hand reaching out, fingertips grazing the fabric of the suit. The material feels incredible under your touch—smooth, almost like silk, but with a strength that is unmistakable. 

Your fingers roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric, and you can't help but marvel at how good it feels.

Charles smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

You nod, still running your fingers over his chest, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

"I do. It feels amazing."

He grins, a flash of pride lighting up his eyes.

"It's like carbon fiber. Ferrari put a lot of thought into it."

"You can tell," you reply, your fingers still exploring the suit, tracing the yellow accents that highlight his lean physique. "It looks good on you."

Charles's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer.

"I'm glad you think so. But you know, I could get used to hearing that a bit more."

You meet his gaze, and the playful challenge in his eyes sends a thrill through you.

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I think I deserve a few more compliments, don't you?"

You can't help but smile at his playful arrogance, but you are more than happy to indulge him.

"You look incredible, Charles. The suit fits you perfectly, and the way it shows off your body... it's almost unfair."

He hums softly in response, clearly enjoining every word. 

"Go on," he encouraged, his tone teasing.

"You've got that effortlessly sexy look going on," you continue, your voice soft but sincere. 

"Your hair, that stubble, those eyes... you're practically irresistible. And the way you wear this suit, like it's just an extension of you—it's like you are made for this."

Charles lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.

"I love it when you talk like that," he admits, his voice low and rough around the edges.

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest.

"I love making you feel good."

"You do," he replies, his tone filled with a mix of affection and hunger. 

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.

"You always do."

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside of the room fading away. 

Charles leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips bruhsing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and intense.

The sensation of his lips, warm and inviting, sends a spark of electricity through your body, and you melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.

As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, the fabric of his suit is cool and smooth against your skin. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, that makes you feel like you are the only thing that matters to him in that moment.

Then you notice the distinct, alluring scent of his cologne surrounding him. It is a rich, sphisticated fragrance, subtly blending with the fresh scent of the racing suit. The aroma is warm and comforting, with hints of cedarwood and a touch of citrus that lingers in the air, creating an intoxicating combination that is uniquely Charles.

The scent envelopes you as you get closer, creating a sensory experience that is both soothing and exhilarating. It's like being wrapped in a cloud of his presence, and you feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, the scent adding another layer of intimacy to the moment.

Charles seems to notice your reaction. 

His eyes soften with a mix of amusement and affection as he looks down at you. 

"You like my cologne?" he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.

You smile up at him, letting your fingers run down his chest again, savoring the feeling of the fabric and the scent that seems to blend perfectly with him.

"I do," you admit, your voice soft. "It's like an extra layer of you."

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your response.

Charles leans in closer, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire.

"Fuck, I'm getting so hard," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar confidence.

You meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips. 

"I can see that," you reply, your voice soft but laced with playfulness.

Your eyes begin their slow journey over him, taking in every detail once more.

The way the black racing suit hugs his body accentuates every muscle, every curve, in a way that is striking yet sensual. The suit seems almost to pulse with his energy.

His muscles are taut and defined, the fabric of his suit now straining slightly under the pressure, emphasizing the hard lines of his physique.

Charles grins, a pleased smile stretching across his lips.

"This feels so good."

You reach out slowly, your fingers grazing the surface of his suit, tracing a path along his chest, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as you move your hand down his sides and across his abdomen. 

Your touch is light but deliberate, savoring the warmth and firmness of his body.

Charles sighs contentedly, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the sensation of your fingers through his suit. His breath hitches slightly when your fingers trace the letters of his name along his waistline, the fabric stretching slightly as you move.

The intimacy of the moment, the way his body responded to your touch, makes your heart race.

Encouraged by his reaction, your fingers wander lower, exploring the contours of his body with newfound confidence.

You feel the tension in his muscles, the way the suit accentuates every movement. Each touch is met with a soft sigh or a subtle shift, and it is clear that he is thoroughly enjoying the attention.

Charles's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you continue your exploration. The sensation of his body under your fingers, the way the suit clings and shifts, creates an intoxicating mix of excitement and intimacy.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" You murmur, your fingers tracing along his hips, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric.

His eyes flutter open, his gaze locked onto yours with desire.

"Absolutely," he says softly. "It feels amazing. But it's even better because you're the one doing this."

You smile, leaning in slightly, your fingers continuing their journey. 

"I'm glad I can make you feel this way."

He lets out a low, contented hum, almost a purr, his grip on your waist tightening as he revels in the closeness.

Your fingers trace a little lower, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The suit seems almost to come alive under your fingers, amplifying every sensation, every movement.

His reaction, the way his breath hitches and his body tenses, makes you feel like you are exploring a private, cherished part of him.

"Does this feel good?" You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"More than you can imagine," Charles replies, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how... good I feel right now."

Each sigh, each shift of his body, makes the moment feel even more special.

As you gently stroke his abdomen, Charles's eyes close again, his breathing deepening as he savors the sensation. He leans into your touch, his expression one of pure contentment. It is clear that this moment, this connection, is something he cherishes as much as you do.

The air between you crackles with anticipation as your hand slowly finds the zipper of his suit. His eyes dart open and follow your movements intently, every breath between you heavy with expectation.

You hesitate for just a moment, letting the tension build before you begin to slowly pull the zipper down.

As the zipper descends, the black fabric parts to reveal the Nomex underneath, hugging his body like a second skin.

The slightly damp fabric is smooth, taut, and incredibly form-fitting, showing off every muscle, every contour of his athletic physique. The red fabric contrasted sharply with his skin, making the sight even more captivating.

Charles sighs softly, the sound full of both relief and pleasure, his chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. You can't help but marvel at the sight before you—the tight Nomex accentuating his lean muscles, the way it clings to him, leaving little to the imagination.

Your heart races as you take it all in, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel the heat of his body beneath the fabric.

However, before you can make another move, Charles slips out of the upper half of his racing suit, letting the top half fall to his waist, revealing his torso.

Through the thin Nomex, you can see every line of his chest, the muscles of his abdomen flexing slightly as he moves. The material is so thin, so close to his skin, that it is almost as if nothing is there at all. It is an invitation you can't resist.

You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment, and place your hand on his chest.

The Nomex feels cool to the touch, but underneath, his skin is warm and firm. You feel his muscles shift under your fingertips, flexing subtly as he responds to your touch. 

All of him is intoxicating—the power, the strength, all right there under your hand.

Charles lets out a low, pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you are exploring him.

His hand slides to your waist again, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost touching. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm and sweet against your mouth. He is so close that you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, sense the way his chest expands and contracts with each inhale.

"How do I look?`" he asks, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

You are breathless, completely caught up in the moment, on him.

Your eyes roam over his face, his hair still tousled, his stubble giving him a rugged, irresistible edge, his green eyes dark with desire.

And his body, clad in the tight Nomex, is a sight that leaves you utterly speechless.

"Amazing," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean into him, your heart racing.

That is all he needed to hear.

Charles closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. The moment your lips meet, it's like everything else fades away—the room, the world outside—all of it ceases to exist. There is only him, only this.

His kiss is full of passion, but there is also something gentle, something reverent about the way he holds you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him. 

His hands on your waist tighten, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the hard lines of his muscles press against you.

You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts to your touch. His muscles tense firmly under your fingers, the sensation sending a rush of heat through you.

The kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands exploring every inch of him, reveling in the feel of his strong, powerful body under the thin fabric.

"Mhmm," he moans into your mouth as his hands move to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss even further.

You feel his breath quickening, matching the rapid beat of your own heart.

When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a small, satisfied smile playing on his face.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough and his accent coming through more.

You smile, your heart swelling with desire. 

"I think I do," you whisper back, your fingers still tracing the lines of his chest.

He opens his eyes then, looking at you with such intensity that it makes your knees weak.

That's when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your waist. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, a playful smile curving your lips.

"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," you murmur, your voice light and teasing as you raise an eyebrow at him.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich.

"Can you blame me?" He replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look at what I've got in front of me."

His playful response only makes you bolder; your hands begin their slow descent down his body, fingers tracing over the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, feeling the way his breath hitches slightly as you move lower. 

The closer you get to his waist, the more you can feel the tension building in him, the anticipation.

As your hands continue to roam, Charles lets out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. 

You let your fingers dip lower, stroking him through the racing suit, feeling the heat of his arousal against your hand.

Charles bites down on his lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazes down at you. The way he looks at you, the way he responds to your touch only fuel the fire inside you.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice strained, though still laced with that playful edge. "You're going to drive me insane."

You smile up at him, continuing to tease, enjoying every moment of his reaction.

"Isn't that the point?"

Charles let out a low, appreciative laugh, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

His breathing quickened as he let out another low sigh.

"I'm really close," he admits, his voice strained with desire and frustration. The evidence of his arousal presses firmly against you, growing more intense as your fingers continue to stroke him through the suit.

The fabric stretches, forming a visible tent, yet the black fabric is slightly hiding it. Still, you feel the warmth of his arousal growing, and you notice the fabric growing damp with his pre-cum. His breath hitches, and his eyes plead with you, showing just how close he is to the edge.

You look up at him; your expression a mixture of playful defiance and genuine affection.

"You can't ruin the suit yet," you tease softly, though the warmth in your tone reveals just how much you are enjoying this.

Charles's eyes widen slightly with frustration, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he tries to steady himself.

"I'm just so close," he says, his voice a desperate whisper, his body trembling as he fights to hold on.

You keep your touch light and teasing, drawing out the moment as much as you can.

"Patience," you murmur, your voice a gentle caress against his ear.

"The suit's not going anywhere. And neither are we."

Charles's grip on you tightens even more, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

"You're really driving me crazy," he whimpers, a soft groan escaping his lips as he struggles to keep his composure.

You smile at him, your fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress.

"That's the idea, I told you," you whisper, your voice full of playful affection. "But I promise, we'll have our time. Just a little longer."

The tension is almost unbearable, the heat of the moment making it clear how much you both want to give in to your desires. His eyes are dark with need, his body presses firmly against yours as he fights to maintain control.

"I'll be patient," he says finally, though his voice is thick with desire. "But only if you promise me that we'll finish this soon."

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips."You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I promise."

With a final, lingering kiss, Charles reluctantly steps back, his arousal still evident but his composure regained.

As Charles adjusts his suit in preparation for the photoshoot, his movements are deliberate and confident; his hands glide over the fabric, smoothing it out and ensuring everything is in place.

Yet, there is a clear focus on specific areas—his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, and the prominet bulge that is still slightly damp.

With a mixture of frustration and need, his hands linger on his chest, his fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath the Nomex. He then moved to his abdomen, his touch firm and almost possessive, as if trying to regain control over his body's reaction.

His gaze drops to the growing bulge at his waistline, and he sighs, his breath catching slightly as he feels the evidence of his arousal.

"Barely held on there," he murmurs, his voice thick with both relief and frustration as he glances at you, his expression a blend of desire and amusement.

You can't help but tease him, a playful smile spreading across your lips. 

"I can tell," you reply. "Looks like you're having a hard time keeping it together."

Charles's eyes sparkle with a mix of annoyance and amusement as he meets your gaze.

"You're really pushing your luck," he says, though there is an undeniable edge of affection in his tone.

"You make it so easy," you tease, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against the damp spot on his suit, feeling the warmth of his arousal through the fabric. The contact makes him shiver, his breath hitching again.

He gives a soft, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head.

"You're impossible," he says, though there is no real reproach in his voice. "But you're right. It's all your fault."

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Charles's lips twitch into a reluctant smile, his eyes dark with desire once more.

With one last, lingering look, he adjusts his suit one final time, making sure everything is perfectly in place before you have to leave for the photoshoot. 

His movements are more controlled now, though the lingering evidence of his earlier arousal is still apparent.

With a final glance in your direction, he reaches for his black ferrari cap on the nearby table. He flips it in his hand for a moment, as if considering something before sliding it onto his head, the bill casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of confident mystery.

He turns to the mirror, his eyes roaming over his reflection. Slowly, he licks his lips, his gaze focused on the way the cap and the racing suit completed the look. 

You watch him for a moment, the way he studies himself, clearly satisfied with how everything came together. Unable to resist, you smile and ask. 

"Are you satisfied with what you see?"

Charles chuckles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

"I think I am," he replies, his tone playful but with a hint if genuine appreciation for the way he looks.

He takes another moment to admire himself, running his fingers through his stubble and along his jawline, before letting his gaze linger on the way the suit fit his form, especially around the waist, before turning to dace you fully.

"You know," he adds, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, " I think I might even like it more with you standing next to me."

You blush slightly at his words, a soft laugh, escaping you as you shake your head.

"Always the charmer;" you tease, though you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his compliment.

"Only for you," he murmurs, his eyes softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture tender and full of affection.

With a final look in the mirror, Charles takes a deep breath, the playful edge returning to his expression as he turns to you.

"Alright," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go show them what this suit can do."