#colt seavers/reader

[happy74827]

“I watch movies for the plot”

The ✨plot✨:

[that-one-fangirl69]

you ever read a fic so good you just gotta sit there and contemplate your entire existence and everything you’ve ever read before?

[luveline]

Maybe colt comforting reader when things for her film aren’t going right 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Colt comes to your rescue (clumsily) when you have a hard day. fem!reader, 1k words

Very minor plot spoilers for The Fall Guy (2024) if any

“I think he’s mad at you.” 

You pause where you’d been scrubbing your eyes with your hands, though you don’t look at him. Colt Seavers seems to follow you everywhere you go, and consequently plays witness to your many breakdowns. “Thanks, Colt. That’s astute.” 

“Are you mad at me? Why are you mad at me? It’s been ten seconds,” he complains. He has a unique talent for sounding flirty and needy at once. 

“No, Colt. I’m tired, it’s been a long day.” 

Colt is grinning when you meet his eyes. He has blood, fake or real undetermined, drying in the scruff of his facial hair. You gesture to yourself in a slow circle in the approximate area, to which Colt smiles again. 

“You look perfect,” he says confidently. 

“You have blood in your beard.” 

“Oh, right.” 

You sigh heavily, taking the few paces back to a stack of safety mattresses for a quick break. You’ll get up and help whoever needs helping as soon as you can feel your toes. Colt stays where he is, squinting against the sun, strands of blonde ends kissing his tan forehead. The summer shoots are good for him, he always looks so beachy. You’re exhausted all the time. 

As he notices. “Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“‘Cos I was sleeping badly and then I got this new mattress that has four hybrid layers, there’s a foam layer, and then there’s titanium springs,” —he sees your distant expression and his own flickers— “anyways, you could try it if you want. Test it out with me. Or– Not with me. With me if you want. We’d have fun. But not with me if you don’t want to.” 

You’d laugh if you had the energy. “Do you wanna sit down?” you ask. 

“God, yes, please.” 

He has another talent for being insanely handsome no matter the day. You look like you’ve been badly rewarmed before serving, where he looks like he rolled out of bed with a smile. He’s smiling at you now, the foolish kind that’ll fluster you if you let him do it for too long. “Stop,” you say quietly. 

“You’re doing amazing.” 

“Thank you. You’re the only person who thinks so, unfortunately.” 

You smile at him weakly. Worried you look pathetic, you turn your face to your lap and clasp your fingers together. 

“That’s not true. Mayview is old-fashioned, that’s all, he was around when they were still killing horses on TV.” 

You grimace. “Yikes.”

“But it’s the modern era. He doesn’t get to make you feel like shit, or I’ll make him feel like shit.” He pretends to charge a sucker punch. 

You lean forward a touch, not quite hugging your knees but tempted to fold in on yourself nonetheless, the heat of the sun a memory on your neck as the evening begins and cloud cover floods in. 

The safety mattresses beneath you squeak and shush against each other. Your weight and Colt’s slides together slowly. He might be pushing himself a little with his boot, but you pretend not to notice as his hand comes to rest between your shoulders. 

“I just can’t do anything right,” you mumble. 

As soon as you’ve said it you’re hoping he can’t hear you, but he does. He might have injured pretty much anything that can be fractured, sprained, or just plain broken, but he has stellar hearing. “You do everything right. You do!” he says, quietly and passionately at once, “They don’t realise it, but you’re the glue keeping this whole thing together.” 

“What are you?” you ask, bemused.

His hand is warm on your shoulder, unafraid where he hesitates to answer, “I don’t know. The test dummy? The guy who gets set on fire a lot?” 

“How is that?” 

“Warm,” he says, beaming, his face so unexpectedly close that you can see the glucose shining in the blood on his cheek. Fake blood. “You wanna try it? I’m sure I could convince the guys.” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

His voice turns silky. “Good, I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.” 

“Let me?” 

“You could get hurt.”

You give in, melted maybe by his warm tones, or exhausted by a day of playing mom for a director who can barely tell his left from his right. Your face presses to his shoulder and your spine sags under his hand, prompting Colt to pull you flush against his side. He always waits for your signals for stuff like this, no matter how desperate he might confess to being. “Can you make them all leave me alone?” you mumble into his jacket, the fabric rough against your nose. 

“Obviously I can, but… We could run away.” 

“Where would we go?” 

“I don’t know. Somewhere sunny. You can rub sunblock on my back, I can hold the umbrella over your head while you read.” 

“They have stands for that sort of stuff. Or you can shove it in the sand, you know.”

“I wanna do something nice for you,” he interrupts, the sound of a smile in his voice as he gives you a friendly jostle. “That’s the point.” 

“You’re plenty nice, Colt.” 

And he is. He saw you were upset and he came jogging upto you valiantly, and your side-armed cuddle is really pushing the pep back into your life. You take a few deep breaths under the weight of his arm before turning to him, brave, ready to go back to work if it means he’s gonna drive you home tonight. “Thank you for caring.” You kiss his cheek, careful of the fake blood. “You’re super nice.” 

You miss the heat of him the second you stand, but there really is work to do. 

“I’m super nice?” he calls. “How nice is super? Nice enough to get another one of those, or what? Are they by the metre?” 

You bite back a smile. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” He must catch someone’s eye. “She can’t hear me. It’s cool. We like each other.” 

Nobody saves face quite like Colt. 

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

[ken-dom]

Stay Quiet, Stay Near, Stay Close

Colt Seavers x gn!reader

2.2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: You help Colt unwind with a hot bath and a massage.

Can be read as a part two to my previous Colt fic or can be standalone.

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I don’t know what it is about Colt Seavers (particularly with long hair) that makes me desperately want to soothe him via handjob but here you have the second version of exactly that — unlikely to be the last! @heresthestorymorningglory was my partner in crime as usual and gave me the perfect Colt song for the title, from Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, hot bath, hair washing, massage, handjob, praise, crying, before during and aftercare!! Long hair Colt!

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Even beneath the shimmering softness of warm, soapy bath water, Colt’s body lays heavily against yours as he sinks further into your safe, massaging hands.

With your legs either side of his waist and his back to your chest, you can feel every breath he takes, slow and steady. It’s kind of like a physical meditation that soothes you from the outside in, and you wonder how heavy you’ve become, too, while you’ve been soothing his aches away.

His head rests, lolling in the crook of your neck with long damp strands of blonde sticking to your flesh among the rising steam, slightly darker where the tips have met the water.

Kneading the flesh at his broad shoulders in a soothing rhythm, you bite your lip to resist the urge to let your fingers wander. You want to slide them further down his muscular arms and caress those firm contours, but that would be purely for your own pleasure and this is about Colt.

You can’t quite see his face from here, just a glimpse of his handsome profile out of the corner of your eye, but you can hear the infrequent little catches of breath and feel the way he tenses up for a moment every time he bites back a moan.

You can see the rest of his body clearly enough though, golden in the warmth of the candlelight. His slowly rising and falling chest, his knees protruding from beneath the bubbles where his legs are spread, feet planted firmly beside yours. And you can see the way his body is reacting to your touch; as your eyes drag over his form again, you notice his fingers tighten their grip around the rim of the bathtub.

‘Huhng-’ he grunts, knuckles turning white.

‘Sorry,’ you breathe, withdrawing your fingers and gradually resuming the more measured pace you’d set before letting yourself get carried away with his big strong arms carrying you and the way his muscles might flex as he touches you, and accidentally pressed your thumbs just a little too sharply into his shoulders.

‘S’alright,’ he slurs, dropped against you again, far too relaxed to bother much about separating words unnecessarily. ‘Felt good.’

Oh.

Despite sharing a hot bathtub, your naked bodies pressed together under hot, steamy water, you’re very aware that you’re here because you’re trying to help him relax, to ease his pain and hopefully to get a good night’s sleep. But the way your body reacted to those two innocent words that dripped off his tongue like warm honey — Felt good —  isn’t exactly conducive to focussing solely on Colt’s shoulder tension.

You close your eyes and recompose yourself.

‘You… want me to do that again?’ you offer, hands hovering, and Colt nods his approval with a quiet hum.

Watching his hands closely, you dig the pads of your thumbs firmly above his shoulder blades, loosening the knots you can feel there with a little more force than before. You feel him jolt as you work them out, and see his knuckles turn white again as his fingers grip the edge of the tub.

And you hear him moan.

Oh no.

You know Colt’s moans exceptionally well. They’re always so loud and unrestrained, and you’re surprised he’s lasted this long through a massage without one or two escaping until now. No mistake, you want to hear them – of course you do! But you’re not sure how good of a job you’ll make of soothing him for a restful night when all you can think about is the way he sounds when you pleasure him.

Please him, you correct yourself.

Then again. Perhaps that would help…

You slow the rhythmic circles to a stop. It’s reluctant, but necessary if you’re going to at least attempt to concentrate. You can always return to rubbing steady patterns into his supple flesh as he lays in bed beside you later. With that in mind, you grab the shampoo bottle to move things along.

‘Scalp next, handsome,’ you say softly, mindful that he’s already somewhat of a puddle and the last thing he needs is a bolt of your over-enthusiasm at getting your fingers tangled in his luscious hair.

‘Mmmh,’ he hums, not even bothering to nod this time. He can feel himself melting against you, feel how heavy he must be becoming while he actually feels like he’s floating.

You wonder if washing his hair will finally send him off to sleep and you’ll have to drag him out of the bath after somehow managing to slide yourself out from underneath his burly frame… but whatever. He needs it, it’s working, let him have it. Worry about the rest later, post-hair wash and scalp massage.

You squeeze out a dollop of shampoo, warming it between your palms, sliding your fingers from the nape of his neck and up, deliberate and so sensual that Colt begins to hum again. It’s a little more high pitched this time. Whiny.

He shivers against you, skin prickling with tingles, and with some effort, he lifts his head to allow you the space to continue exactly what you’re doing. Don’t stop, he thinks, but he isn’t sure how to say it out loud. Maybe he is saying it? He can’t quite tell. It doesn’t matter. You’re not stopping. He knows you won’t stop as long as he needs it. 

A low groan drags from his throat, though, head as heavy in your hands now as his torso feels against yours, and his hair tangles around your fingers as they drag, slow and mesmerising, over his scalp. Another little moan.

You allow your eyes to drag over what you can see of his body again. As a treat. The way the light dances on the contours of his chest, those husky arms, the tip of his thick cock appearing from beneath the bathwater…

Oh.

‘B-blended… ice…’

You’re brought back to your senses by Colt’s incoherent muttering, realising that your fingernails are scraping quite harshly against his scalp, but he mustn’t mind it too much because there’s still a low groan lacing his stuttered words.

‘Spicy…’

Margaritas. He’s putty in your hands, achingly hard, and muttering about margaritas. 

This is the man you adore. And he needs you.

You rinse the shampoo away as best you can at this angle, and reach for the conditioner, squeezing a helping onto your palm.

‘Wanna make margaritas later?’ he drawls. It's the most coherent he’s sounded since insisting that you use the neroli and amber bath bubbles he likes, but that was before climbing into the tub and immediately melting, mind and body, against you.

Even Colt isn’t sure where his question came from because all he can think about now is how he wants your hands, soft, clever, precise hands, between his thighs now instead. Another question he isn’t sure how to translate from hazy thought to speech. But margaritas, sure. That appears out of nowhere.

Maybe he isn’t sleepy at all but just… zen? Random thoughts he matches up with feeling close to you spilling out while he feels safe enough to let them?

‘I think we can stretch to margaritas if you’re not too relaxed to sit up,’ you appease him.

‘Mmh. I’ll manage.’

‘You sure about that?’

You finally allow a hand to glide down over his chest, soft from the steam, and rest it at his belly where the water gently laps against your movements.

Your breath catches in your throat at how firm he feels under your palm, the way he trembles just slightly as your hand travels lower. The way he whines.

His breath catches at the exact same moment; your touch sending tingles coursing down to his core. The hazy air thickens in the split second that you both freeze, and he grits his teeth, seeming to regain some coherence now you’re doing exactly what he wanted. Kind of embarrassing though, right? To get a hardon from a scalp massage and the way your fingers pulled at the long strands in the process…

‘Was kinda hoping you wouldn’t notice.’

‘Pretty hard not to,’ you reply under your breath, but he hears you and you can practically feel his smirk. ‘You know, I’ve heard that hair conditioner has some excellent… other uses.’

‘Oh?’

You slide your other arm around his waist, revealing your palmful of the silky product.

‘Trust me?’

‘Yeah-hhhnnng-’

Your fingers close around his length, conditioner-covered palm coating the half of him visible above the water. He shifts to reveal more and you begin to stroke, long and slow, kneading lightly, just as you had with his aching muscles.

But it’s easier to massage with the addition of this impromptu aid, the thick, glossy liquid allowing your hand to glide over his skin with ease.

‘Feel good?’ You press your mouth to his neck, keeping the pace of your slicked up hand steady as your tongue slips from between your lips and drags over the sensitive flesh, lips closing now and again to nip at his skin and feel him shudder.

His cock twitches inside your grip, strong enough that you can feel it begging you to jerk him faster before his blissed out brain catches up and he moans, ‘Please- please-’

He’s bucking his hips enough that the gentle lapping of the water escalates to loud sloshing against the sides of the tub and hot, scented water splashes over onto the floor, steaming puddles quickly cooling against the tiles.

Every laboured breath Colt takes in is exhaled laced with a grunt or a low whimper, echoing around the room and surrounding you both with the sounds of his pleasure. It’s turning desperate though, and you don’t want him desperate. You want him to enjoy the journey, ride it out with nothing but bliss.

‘Shhh,’ you soothe him, working the heel of your other palm over his shoulder again as you stroke his cock in the same rhythm. ‘It’s ok. Tell me what you need.’

The combination of the soothing touch at his shoulder and the electric touch lower down – the one setting something ablaze in his gut – is driving Colt wild.

You can feel it radiating from his pores and don’t require a verbal response to decipher what he needs. He needs exactly this, until he doesn’t anymore. And then he’ll need you.

‘You need to cum, don’t you, baby? Is that it?’

Colt’s head drops back against your shoulder, heavy again as the tension that’s been coiling, hot in his gut, subsides with the increased speed of your hand and the languid swipes of your thumb over his steadily leaking tip.

He manages a low hum, and you don’t push it. You could carry on, slow your hand back down and force him to use words, to beg, before you’ll allow his release. But that’s not the point of this, and it’s not what you want. You want him sated and comforted and safe. 

‘It’s alright, let go for me,’ you coo, and without a beat, he does, a thick creamy rope splattering up over his chest and dripping down, mingling into the bath water.

A growl tears from his throat as his peak hits, tapering off into a weak little whimper, and he slumps, his weight almost crushing you if it wasn’t for the small volume of water still in the tub with you. Colt wonders if you’ll notice the tears dropping into it.

You do, but you say nothing. In another position, you’d have wiped his cheeks, so instead you file it away.

You manage to release the bath plug with your foot, letting the water drain as you hoist him forward and upward, clumsily reaching around for a jug of fresh, warm water to rinse the both of you off. Untangling your bodies, already sweaty from shared heat, you climb out and wrap yourself and then him in a fluffy towel and help him climb out of the tub.

Colt’s legs feel wobbly, and his head is spinning a little as his blood finds its way back from his core to his extremities. The heat of the water he’s been soaking in for probably too long isn’t doing much to help matters. He feels woozy, but still safe.

Before he knows it, you’ve dried him off, guided him onto his bed, plumped his pillows to support his back, and slipped his favorite joggers on for him. He can’t remember if he saw you bothering with underwear, and he doesn’t care. He can feel aftershocks in his soft cock, and it’s reassuring, somehow.

You realise as you sit on the edge of the bed that you didn’t actually condition his hair. You’re careful not to cause any knots where it’s still wet as you brush through it for him. It doesn’t matter. Next time, you will, if the feel or smell of it doesn’t get him too excited and distract you both again.

Colts whole body feels incredibly silky against the fabrics, and he can’t remember ever feeling quite this good as he wriggles against the sheets, settling in. 

‘Still want that margarita?’ you tease, and with his eyelids too heavy to keep open now, he just huffs a gentle laugh and lets sleep wash over him.

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

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Marvel

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Another Love- You meet Wanda at a grief group, as she’s struggling to heal after Vision’s death. Will you help her heal? Will your friendship grow into something more?

Under the Weather- You’re not feeling the greatest, but your girlfriend is there to nurse you back to health.

A Happy Ending- Wanda has to choose between you and Vision. But will she make the right choice?

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Keep You Warm- You are stuck in a freezing cold safe-house in Alaska, but luckily Nat is there to provide you with some warmth.

Not a Monster- After coming home from Wakanda, you meet a certain red head recovering from rejection and show her she’s capable of being loved.

Rocky Road- After Bruce disappears, abandoning Nat, you help put the pieces of her broken heart back together. When Bruce comes back from Ragnarok and professes his love for Nat, will she reject him? Or will she break your heart and run back into his arms?

No More Hiding- You’re a super soldier fresh out of the ice, so it’s your first pride month. And you get to spend it with your girlfriend.

Enough- After Wanda cheats on you, you’re heartbroken. Luckily Nat is there to pick up the pieces.

All I Ever Asked- Promises are hard to keep as an avenger.

Yelena Belova x Reader

Always- You have a nightmare about your days in the Red Room, but Yelena is there to comfort you.

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x reader

Proud- After a not so pleasant dinner with your homophobic mother, your girlfriends are there to give you the support you need.

When They Remembered- Wanda and Nat forget your birthday. But will they remember before it’s too late?

Part 2

Take Care of You- You’re sick, but luckily your girlfriends are there to help.

Deserve- Sometimes your doubts and insecurities become too much to handle. But your girlfriends will always be there to remind you how much you mean to them.

Invisible- You feel invisible, and your powers don’t help with that fact. Can two redheads and a team of superheroes change that feeling?

Wanda Maximoff x Yelena Belova x reader

Starting Anew- You lost your mom. Yelena and Wanda lost a mentor figure. But can something good come from all this loss?

Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova x Reader

Festivities- Yelena has never had a normal Christmas before. Time for her girlfriends to give her the best one yet!

Soteria- You struggle with being kept a secret by the team and the insecurities of not being good enough. After a hostage situation, your girlfriends reassure you of your worth.

Rio Vidal x Reader

Gentle Love- She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Home- She's fading away from you. Is the love you two share enough?

Part 2

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Lavender- Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Miscellaneous

Colt Seavers x Reader

Danger- you have an issue with your boyfriend’s addiction to danger. he doesn’t see the problem. but will he see it when the shoe is on the other foot?

Colt Seavers x Jody Moreno x Reader

Sane- You’re going crazy on a miserable set with a miserable director. Thank goodness you have two wonderful things that keep you sane.

Shelby Goodkind x Toni Shalifoe x Reader

Calm in the Storm- You are not okay. But you are also not alone.

Calliope Burns x Reader

Only You- you and Calliope had something going on that had yet to be labeled. so when your friend Juliette starts to take a liking to the girl, should you be concerned?

[ynscrazylife]

trouble (colt seavers x stunt double!reader)

Colt considers himself a pretty laid back man. He gets along well with a lot of people. Most people. It’s been a while, since his work with Tom, that he has had to deal with someone who really irked him. Until he meets you. The both of you are stunt doubles for the leads of a new, fast-paced action movie.

At first, he thinks you’re cute (well, as much as he tries to convince himself otherwise, he still does). The first stunt he does for the movie is one with you and that’s what gets you all in trouble. You don’t like what you see as a careless attitude he has when it came to stunts and he makes the mistake of joking that you should “take things more easily”. From then on, you guys are always squabbling over something.

It doesn’t help that when he finds out that you have a cool motorcycle stunt, he talks to the director in hopes that he’ll get the stunt instead. You find out about that and you’re not happy.

Well, the motorcycle stunt gets done. He can’t deny that you look great wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, expertly performing the stunt in one take.

Now, he’s watching from behind the cameras as you perform another stunt, this time a car one. Your character’s involved in a car chase on a beach and you’re supposed to go barreling down the dock, only to stop right before the end of it.

The stunt’s going great, you’re getting on the dock, and then—

“It won’t stop. The brakes won’t—!” You yell into your mic, before the car pummels into the water and disappears.

For a split second, everything seems to be going in slow motion. Colt looks up from the camera to the actual dock—and you’re just gone. His heart begins to hammer as it sets in what really has happened. He can hardly think before he’s sprinting off, along with the medics on the set and other professionals, who are on standby in case anything goes wrong. And something has gone really, really wrong.

Someone grabs his arm, pulling him back to let the guys do what they have to do. They’re gathering equipment together, one person tying a rope around another person’s waist.

Colt feels sick to his stomach as he watches the man dive into the water, your panicked voice replaying in his mind. He’s heard you annoyed, exasperated, but never this. He’s seen stunts go wrong, but not to this extent.

He’ll save the thinking about whatever brake thing went wrong for later. His mind’s filled with you, your image, your fear.

The man with the rope resurfaces and there’s commotion about the angle the car’s at. He needs something that enables him to breathe longer underwater. Colt wants to scream as they fumble around with goddamn snorkeling equipment — you’re sinking underwater! He’ll go in himself if he has to.

Finally, the man dives in again, and after a tense minute, he emerges, carrying you.

He runs with the medics, unable to do much aside from stand there. One of the medics pounds on your chest and, when he sees that you aren’t breathing, he begins to feel like he can’t either. Colt snatches a blanket out of someone’s hands and kneels down beside you, begging for you silently to wake up.

After the second round of rescue breaths and CPR, you wake with a desperate gasp for air, for life. It’s the most beautiful sound Colt has ever heard. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders, helping you sit up as you focus on getting as much the air in as possible.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. Nothing needs to be said in this moment. Colt rubs your back with the towel as a gurney is brought to you. “Up you go,” he murmurs, lifting you onto the gurney.

Your eyes stick on him as you’re strapped onto the gurney, a silent plea to not be left alone. Colt understands, he’s not about to leave you alone for a second. He follows the gurney towards the ambulance, as paramedics have now arrived.

He helps them lift the gurney into the ambulance and sits down inside, watching as the paramedics flock around you. One takes your vitals, the other places an oxygen mask over your mouth. He hears them talk about the possibility of hypothermia and takes a hold of your hand.

“I know you’re scared, but you’re gonna be just fine and I’m going to be here for you,” he whispers. He pushed people away when he had his back injury, but he’s not going to let you be alone while you recover. He promises himself that.

The ambulance arrives at the hospital and you’re whisked away. Despite knowing that you’re awake, Colt still worries. He tries to distract himself by updating the movie crew and talking to the hospital staff, continuously asking for any updates they might have on you.

Eventually a nurse out comes out and tells him that you’re asking for him. He practically runs to your room, having to force himself to slow down right before he enters. He has to be collected.

He’s not, at all, collected on the inside.

“Hey, troublemaker,” Colt greets as he saunters in, smiling because you’re all bundled up in blankets and you look absolutely adorable. He sits down in a chair next to you.

“Hi,” you say quietly, mustering up a smile.

He asks you about how you’re feeling, if you’re okay, about the monitors, practically interrogating you. He eases up when he sees you start to get overwhelmed with all the questions, though.

“God, that . . . That was scary,” he finally admits.

“I know,” you agree, gazing at him. How could a man you found to be so annoying be so sweet at the same time?

“That’s never gonna happen again. They’re gonna investigate and see what went wrong,” he assures you. He’d sent a very demanding text to the director about that.

You nod and he can see that you’re tired, which you have every right to be.

“You know, they say that body heat is the best way to warm someone up,” he says, smirking and only half-joking.

You roll your eyes at him. “Just sit with me, okay?” You ask him, patting the empty space on your bed.

He nods, taking his place. He stays until the nurses come to kick him out, and even then, with his charm, manages to negotiate a few more minutes. When you doze off on his shoulder, the nurses don’t have the heart to make him leave. He’s not gonna leave your side again.

[elusivewildflower]

Never Leaving You Again | Colt Seavers x GN! Reader

Pairing: Colt Seavers x GN! Reader

Summary: After getting into a car accident and being unconscious for several days, Reader wakes up to find their ex-boyfriend Colt in their hospital room. They haven't spoken since his own accident over a year ago and Reader isn't exactly thrilled to see him.

Warnings: Hospitals, mention of injuries, very angsty as reader was ghosted by Colt a year ago and now he's shown back up. Ends happily, though!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: As always, thanks to the Goose Groupies for the help with ideas and encouragement!! This is loosely based off of this idea that @hederasgarden reblogged the other day! I've still got another Colt fic that is nearly finished, as this idea was a nice surprise to take over my muse! I hope you all enjoy! Please like and reblog!

As you regain consciousness, the first thing you notice is the sound of rhythmic beeping. Your eyelids feel heavy and your mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert. It takes a few attempts of opening your eyes before you’re finally successful. When you do, you’re greeted by the sight of a tiled ceiling. A few moments later and you begin to become aware of the rest of your body. Your head is pounding, you have a sharp pain in your ribs every time you breathe, and you’re pretty certain one of your legs is broken. There’s other aches and pains radiating throughout your body, but you’re unable to pinpoint exactly where quite yet. 

You’ve deduced that you’re in the hospital. The sound of machines beeping, the familiar weight of an I.V. needle in your arm, and the harsh lighting made that easy to figure out. Now, you just needed to remember how you had gotten here. As you push yourself up into a sitting position, which causes your ribs to ache in protest, you let out a hiss of pain. Suddenly, you’re aware that you’re not in the room alone. 

“Oh thank God, you’re awake!” A cry of relief came from a voice that sounded all too familiar. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion at first, and then with anger. Sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair was none other than your ex, Colt Seavers. He certainly looked worse for wear. His short blond hair was all disheveled, he had bags under his eyes, and his clothes were wrinkled. 

What the hell was he doing here?

You opened your mouth to ask that very question, but no sound came out. A hand rose to your throat as you realized you desperately needed something to drink. 

Sensing what you needed, Colt rushed to your bedside table to pour you a cup of water from the pitcher that sat there. Wordlessly, you accepted the drink and gulped it down in record time. Colt took the empty cup from you and sat it back down. 

“How are you feeling? Would you like more water? Do you remember anything?” Colt fired questions rapidly as he worried over you. 

He was acting as if everything was completely normal between you. As if he had never ghosted you over a year ago and broke your heart. It was bad enough that you were still trying to piece together what landed you in the hospital in the first place, but for him to be here too? You were beyond confused and you were livid. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Colt?” Your words didn’t hold as much menace in them as you felt, but you chalked that up to the fact that your voicebox felt strained.

Colt’s face fell drastically. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. His blue eyes darted back and forth as he tried to find his words. “I….I was your emergency contact.” He spoke softly, sounding deflated. 

You sat there in silence for a moment as that information sank in. Fuck, did you really forget to change that? You shook your head, just because he was your contact and he showed up doesn’t make everything alright. He nearly died over a year ago from a stunt gone wrong and he didn’t let you sit at his bedside, so why did he deserve to sit at yours? 

“You shouldn’t have come, Colt. You need to leave.” You finally broke the silence with your firm words. 

Somehow Colt’s face fell even further. You didn’t understand why he looked so devastated. Neither of you had spoken since his accident, and it wasn’t from lack of trying – at least on your part. He ignored every single phone call and text message you sent. After a while, you had to give up. It wasn’t healthy to continue begging a man to let you take care of him – to be there for him. 

Tears began to well up in Colt’s eyes as he looked away from you. He sniffled and chuckled ruefully before speaking. “I thought if you still had me as your contact, then that meant you would want me here…” 

Your mouth dropped open for a moment as you were at a loss for words. You stared at him in disbelief. “We haven’t spoken in over a year, Colt! You….you ghosted me!” Colt flinched as your voice raised, but you continued on. “You ignored me!” Your arms flailed around wildly as you shouted. “You shut me out!” By now, tears had welled up in your own eyes and were trailing down your cheeks. “Why would I want you here?!” 

Colt didn’t have a chance to respond as the volume of your voice must’ve alerted the nurses you were finally awake. Seconds later, one popped in with a concerned look. “Is everything alright in here?” 

You glanced between the nurse and Colt with a heavy sigh, but nodded. Colt remained silent and his gaze was now glued to the floor. Every so often you could hear him sniffle and his hand would raise to wipe at his nose. You tried your best to blink back your tears as the nurse came over to check your vitals. 

The air in the room was heavy and uncomfortable as the nurse asked you various questions about what you remembered. It started with your name, your birthday, where you worked, and ended with what you recalled from your accident. Thankfully, in the last ten minutes of arguing with Colt, the memory of the car crash had come back to you. What you didn’t realize, however, was that you had been unconscious for several days. The nurse took her time explaining to you the extent of your injuries and that you’d be staying in the hospital for at least a few more days. She refilled your cup with water and told you the doctor would be in to see you shortly before leaving. She shot one last glance towards Colt on her way out. 

Now, the two of you were alone again. After you reached over to grab your cup of water and take a few sips from it, your attention settled on Colt. God, he really looked like shit. Even more so now that his eyes were red and puffy from crying. He still refused to look up from the tiled floor, but you could see the tears that continued to fall down his face. You let out another heavy sigh, ignoring the sharp pain in your ribs. He was crying because of you. While a part of you rejoiced to know that he felt at least a fraction of the hurt you felt when he left you, the other part of you ached with regret. 

You set your cup back on the bedside table. “Have you been here the whole time?” You asked softly.

Colt finally lifted his gaze to meet yours and nodded. “I came as soon as I got the call.” He then chuckled wetly as he brushed away a few tears and sniffled. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

The ache in your heart only worsened at his admission and tears were blurring your vision. But there was still one nagging question you had to ask. “Why didn’t you let me be there for you?” 

Now it was Colt’s turn to sigh heavily. His hands rubbed up and down his thighs as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I…was embarrassed and felt like a failure.” His eyes refused to meet yours as he continued. “I nearly killed myself in front of you and the whole crew because I made a miscalculation– which turns out, wasn’t a miscalculation at all.” His words confused you, but he didn’t leave any time for you to speak. “But, at the time I thought I had screwed up. I didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of the….serious stuff.” 

All you could do was shake your head as Colt rambled on. “You know, the surgeries, the rehab, the…bathroom stuff.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders. “After a while, I realized my mistake. But I thought it was too late….That you had probably moved on.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “When I got that call…” He trailed off for a moment, wiping away fresh tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I finally knew how you felt that day and I am so sorry for shutting you out.” Colt finally let his baby blues meet yours as he apologized. 

“I thought that if I was your emergency contact, that maybe I hadn’t missed my chance.” His eyes fell from yours once more as he shook his head solemnly. “I see now that I was wrong…” Colt pushed himself up from his seat and heaved a sigh, glancing towards the door before speaking once more. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m still in love with you.” 

As you watched him walk towards the door, your heart felt as if it was breaking into two all over again. You knew deep down that you couldn’t let him leave. “Colt, wait–.” 

He halted in his tracks and looked at you expectantly. You could see it written all over his face – the hope that you would tell him what he desperately wanted to hear. 

More tears cascaded down your cheeks and your lips trembled as you drew in a shaky breath. “I’m still in love with you too.” You admitted softly.

A beaming smile spread across Colt’s face as he laughed with relief. He was happier than you had seen him in a very long time. In mere seconds he crossed the room and crashed his lips against yours. His large, calloused, hand reached for your jaw and held you in place. He didn’t want you pulling away from him any time soon, but you had no plans of doing that anyway. One of your hands threaded through his messy hair as you passionately devoured each other. His thick beard scratched across your skin, but you loved every second of it. Your heart rate was increasing by the minute, the rhythmic beeping kicking up in tempo, but neither of you cared. It had been far too long since your last kiss. When you absolutely had to pull away for air, there was hardly a gap between you. Your breaths mingled and noses nuzzled against each other gently. 

After a moment of having full oxygen in your brain again, your confusion from earlier returned. Your brows furrowed as you posed your question. “What did you mean by your accident wasn’t a miscalculation?” 

Colt chuckled softly, planting another kiss on your lips. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve got a lot to catch up on.” 

This time, you couldn’t help but laugh too. “Mm, eighteen months is a long time to be apart.” Your mind is briefly filled with all of the things you would have to catch him up on. For the first time in a long time, you feel giddy.

“And I’m never leaving you again.” He murmured confidently, the tears in his blue eyes finally drying up as a light now shined within them.

You captured his lips in a tender kiss and he responded eagerly. It wasn’t long before his tongue was licking into your mouth and exploring every inch that he had missed in your time apart. You knew there was much for you to discuss, and you had a lengthy road to recovery, but there was no one else in the world you’d rather be with than Colt.

The two of you would figure it out – and that gave you hope for the first time in over a year.

[the-marshals-wife]

Cinnamon Sugar (Colt Seavers x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: A spontaneous Colt fic because I saw The Fall Guy again and I'm hopelessly in love. Someone needs to get this man his coffee, and it might as well be you. ♥

Description: Colt Seavers x Fem!Reader, flirty fluff | Warnings: nada, just Colt being the supportive sunshine he is | Setting: before Jody (or AU without) | Word count: 2,129 | Gif credit: user tay-swifts

Imagine being Colt's old flame and reuniting under unexpectedly sweet circumstances

As it turns out, production assistant was just a fancy name for errand girl. At least that seemed to be the case for you in the nearly two years you'd held the title. Yet after everything you'd been through to get here, you couldn't lose this job. Nearly an hour after you were supposed to, you haphazardly assembled the daily morning coffees for the sound crew on Stage B, and were now rushing like mad across set to make the first of many apologetic appearances for the day.

"Excuse me, sorry," you repeat nervously as you duck around people.

You'd overslept your alarm after staying up nearly all night printing a mountain of forms for the design director. Having never even eaten breakfast, you calculated if you also skipped lunch, you might be able to catch up to your usual routine. You weave between the tents as fast as your legs will carry you, trying not to bump into anyone and lose your cargo of caffeine.

As you cut the corner around a camera truck, you're fixated on the tray of beverages in your hands, and you don't see the person right in front of you. You collide at full speed.

The tray flies back into your chest. You gasp as the lids of two of the cups pop off and pour coffee all down the front of you and the poor soul you collided with. You recoil and frantically try to catch the other two cups, but you're unsteady from the impact. A strong hand grasps your arm and keeps you from tumbling completely to the ground as you attempt to regain your balance and find purchase in the loose gravel. Despite your efforts to recover, the tray and all its contents falls at your feet. You're left drenched and clinging to the arm that's gripping yours.

You gape down at the mess, frozen in horror.

"I am SO sorry," you begin shakily, "Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry! I'm such a-"

The second you look up, it feels like time stops, along with your pounding heart. You would know those baby blues anywhere, even through the narrow visor of a helmet. He removes his headgear, and you stare in complete disbelief at the rugged, all-too-familiar face before you.

"Colt?"

"Y/N?"

He sounds equally stunned, his eyes filled with recognition.

"It's you," you breathe.

"It's you," he says, flashing a bewildered smile, "Are you alright? Did you get burned?"

"I'm fine. It was lukewarm anyway" you reply, embarrassed, "Are you okay?"

"Perfect," he nods distantly, "Long time."

"Yeah. Furious Seven set, right?"

"Close. Fate of the Furious," he recalls, "Summer 2016. Havana, and Atlanta."

"That's right. I can never keep the order straight."

"No one can," he laughs, lips twisting into a grin, "You look great."

"So do you," you smile.

Somehow, he'd gotten more handsome than the last time you met. Memories come flooding to the front of your dizzied mind. Many of hot summer nights spent by the pool, and even more of sneaking off together to the hotel rooftops to be alone. Even now, you could still feel the warmth of his strong arms wrapped around you while you talked for hours beneath the stars, sharing your dreams and imagining the future. You'd hoped desperately that he would be in both. And here he was, crashing back into your life and looking at you as if he'd never left.

Knowing you were already slipping back under the spell of his lovesome stare, the coffee dripping off your cheek and down your neck brings you back to reality.

"Oh, look at your suit," you despair at the splatters, attempting to wipe them away with your shirt sleeve, "I'm so sorry, Colt. You know me, always the klutz."

"Don't worry about it. It looks like it's water and coffee resistant," he dismisses, gesturing to the helmet in his hand, "I'm the idiot walking around with this thing on. Just trying to slip away for five minutes without someone yelling at me. Director's got a stick up so far up his backside today, I think it's stabbing his brain, if you know what I mean."

"Oh I definitely do," you grin, followed with a sigh, "I think the whole art department has it out for me at this point."

As you swipe away the last of the obvious drops, your hand lingers on his chest. Blinking, you remember yourself and quickly step back.

"Unfortunately, I don't think my getup is as resistant as yours. Probably should swing by costuming next," you laugh, looking down at your soiled, previously white blouse.

"What am I doing?" Colt admonishes himself before shouting over his shoulder, "Uh, can we get a towel over here, please? Or two? Thank you."

Much to your gratitude, another assistant walking by hands you each a towel a moment later, the studio logo emblazoned on the corner. You hurriedly rub the black linen over your face and turn your focus to your ruined clothes.

"Great service around here," he remarks.

"Coffee delivery notwithstanding," you add.

As he brushes the remaining droplets off his shoulders, his expression turns hesitant. "Oh, you uh, missed a spot. May I?"

You pause wiping at your sleeves and nod to him. He delicately brushes away your hair to dab your temple with his towel, and his touch is almost as soft as his gaze upon you.

"There. Good as new," he declares.

"Thank you," you say, proceeding to wipe at your java-stained jeans in an effort hide your flushed cheeks. "I had no idea they brought you on."

"I've only been here about a week," he explains, clearing his throat, "The last guy's wife just had a baby. I'm just filling in 'til he gets back."

Your stomach sinks at the news, and you try to conceal your disappointment as he continues.

"But yeah, we started the shoot for the big chase scene today. Just wrapped up the opening shots."

"Wow, that's great. I can't believe I haven't seen you around before now. Then again, I don't see the set much while the cameras are rolling. I'm mostly behind the scenes, running all over creation bringing this and that. Speaking of which..." You toss the towel around your neck and squat down to clean up your accident. "I know some people on Stage B who are probably wondering where their drinks are right about now."

Colt takes a knee and retrieves the tray for you, and you begin to stack the empty cups and sticky lids.

"You're not going to get in trouble, are you?" he asks, worry in this voice.

You flinch at the thought, "Not much if I hurry up and remake these."

"Let me help you then."

"You don't have to do that, Colt. I'm sure you're busy."

"I'm on break, and you only dropped them because of me," he insists, "Even if I wasn't, what are they gonna do? Start without me?"

You smile to yourself. There was no arguing with him. He was just as charming as you remembered, and twice as stubborn.

"Alright, you win, Mr. Bigtime Stuntman," you tease.

He holds up the last cup and he raises his eyebrow suspiciously at the letters scribbled in marker on the side.

"What does the 'C.S.' stand for? Colt Seavers?"

"Cinnamon sugar, actually," you chuckle, "Vanilla latte with exactly six shakes of cinnamon sugar on top. Executive producer's favorite. He orders it every single day, no joke."

"That sounds good. I might have to try that myself," he smirks, "Is there like a coffee list I need to put my name on? Or do I just...swing by your trailer?"

"Like they give trailers to production assistants," you scoff, standing up.

Before you can pick up the loaded tray, he snatches it off the ground and jumps to his feet. You know better than to try to take it back from him.

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he gives a little bow. "Lead on, milady."

"The machine's in the catering tent," you giggle, walking in that direction.

"Why are you running around getting coffee for people anyway?" Colt asks, following alongside you, "I thought you were writing the greatest paranormal, pseudo-thriller mystery romance movie of all time? 'Lovers of Lives Past.' What happened with that?"

"You remembered," you say, blushing.

"Of course I remember! I love that story! Did you finish it?"

You frown, reminiscing on the hand that fate had dealt you since you were last together. "My mom had a bad fall, and I took off a year to take care of her. She's better now, but when I got back, I couldn't find any work. The studio wouldn't take me back in my old role. Said they 'downsized the crew.' That included the writer's room. I couldn't even get a spot as a proofreader. When this position finally opened up, I had to take it. It was that or quit the filmmaking world altogether," you sigh, crossing your arms, "I don't know, after being away so long, working on the script didn't seem to matter anymore."

"It does matter. If it means something to even just one person, it matters," he states emphatically, "It matters to you, and it matters to me, so that's already two people right there. Look at you go, Miss Bigtime Hollywood Screenwriter."

His words get a snicker out of you. You'd missed that unbridled enthusiasm of his so very much.

"Oh Colt," you say, shaking your head, "I don't think I have it in me to write a real movie. Besides, you know how quick the landscape changes in this business. No one wants the stupidly optimistic, cheesy stuff I write. They all want gritty, dark scripts or things they can make ten-year franchises out of."

He stops in his tracks and immediately faces you. "Now that's where you're wrong. People want the cheesy. They want the hope, even if they don't know they want it. They need it," he insists, "I know you can do it. I believe in you. But that doesn't matter unless you believe in you."

You stare at him thoughtfully, heart swelling. He was wasting no time reminding you of all the reasons you fell for him in the first place. As if you could ever forget.

"You're sweet," you say.

Sweet. Warm. Inviting. Comforting. Your cinnamon sugar.

He smirks. "It's the vanilla latte."

You start walking once again. The catering tent was close up ahead, and the butterflies in your chest were building up with every step.

"So um, where are you heading next? When the other guy gets back, I mean," you stammer.

"I'm not sure. My schedule is actually pretty open after this," he answers, giving you a coy look, "Why?"

"Just wondering," you say, biting your lip.

"I was thinking of maybe hanging around here a bit. Slow down, take in the scenery, see the sights," he suggests, "You know anyone who could show me around town?"

"I might." You fight to suppress your excitement as you sense his meaning.

"Colt!" someone calls out from behind you, "Pyro wants to talk to you about the ramp launch! They're worried about the impact of explosion on the car with you in it!"

Colt comes to a halt and groans, bowing his head.

"This is why I had the helmet on," he says under his breath.

You look over your shoulder and see that the voice belongs to the stunt coordinator. He had been friendly the few times you'd spoken to him while handing out donuts to the crew, but at present, he looked less-than-thrilled to be delivering that message.

"I see you, man! I know you can hear me!"

He finally turns on his heel to shout back. "Alright, just gimme a minute!"

"Chief wants to see you now. They're almost done prepping the next shot!"

Colt pivots back to you, wincing. "I'm sorry. He always gets intense over fire stuff."

You laugh and take the tray from his hands. "You better go. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble either."

"I'll be back for that coffee. Cinnamon sugar, six shakes exactly," he says with a wink as he steps in the other direction.

You give him a thumbs up. "I'll keep the machine running."

Mere seconds after you turn your back, he calls your name, and you're spinning around again.

"Hey, Y/N?"

"Yes, Colt?"

"Promise me you won't give up on your story?"

"Okay," you agree.

"Say you promise," he points a finger at you, walking backwards, "Say the words."

"I promise I won't give up," you concede, grinning, "Promise me you won't blow up?"

"Cross my heart."

[wokeupinmars]

Forever Flowers and a Perfect Night

Pairing: Colt Seavers x Medic!Reader

Summary: Colt finally addresses the lingering feelings between him and his favorite medic

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3K

Please comment and/or reblog if you enjoyed this!!

RG Masterlist

Colt winced as you cleaned the cut right on his cheek. “Oh quit being a baby, you’ve had worse,” you hush him. 

“Are you this mean to all the other stuntmen?” he asks, as you apply antiseptic cream to the wound. “The other stunt guys aren’t as crabby as you are.” 

He pouts, “I am not crabby.”

“You’re right, you aren’t, at least not normally,” you admit, covering the cut with a bandaid. “Chin up, Honey,” you instruct. Colt obliges, giving you access to the abrasions on his chin and jaw. You apply a layer of Vaseline to the scrapes. “If I’m not crabby then what am I?” he questions.

You let out a hum, “Normally? You’re real sweet.” You hand him a thermos, “Thought you could use this,” you murmur, taking off your gloves and tossing them in the trash.

Colt unscrews the top and is immediately met with the smell of coffee. He lets out a slight groan, “Have I told you I loved you today?” he asks before taking a sip. 

You shake your head and turn away not wanting him to see the amused look on your face. “I saw that!” he says, excitedly. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, putting away your supplies. 

“C’mon, don’t do that to me, Sunshine…depriving me of your smile is just cruel.” You roll your eyes at him and plop down next to him, “Laying it on thick today, huh?” Colt has a dopey smile on his face as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, “How long are we going to do this dance?” 

You allow him to pull you close, “What dance?” 

“You pretending that you don’t have feelings for me and me pretending that I can’t see right through your little act,” Colt answers. “Sounds like you’ve taken too many blows to the head. Didn’t check for a concussion this time, probably should have” You muse, as Colt’s hand falls from your shoulder to your hip, rubbing circles against the fabric of your pants. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like me,” he tells you. 

“I tolerate you at best,” you quip. 

“That’s a lie and you know it, the only person you tolerate is Tom, and you barely do that as is. You like me, you like like me,” he replies. 

“Like like? What are we in? The third grade?” 

Colt grins, “You’re not denying it.” 

You pause for a moment, “Okay, I’ll bite. Suppose I did like you. Then what? What happens next?” You question. “All hypothetical, of course,” you add. 

His smile widens and he pulls you in a little closer, happy that you were entertaining him instead of shutting it down. “Hypothetically speaking…if you did like me, romantically, then I’d ask why you haven’t let me take you out yet?” 

“Well that’s simple, you never asked,” you reply. 

Colt takes a sip of coffee and then speaks, “So if I were to ask, you would say yes?” You rest your head on his chest, “There's only one way to find out.”

He opens his mouth to say something but he stops when Dan’s voice blares through the walkie-talkie. “Colt! Ryder left the set for lunch and never came back. The director wants you to stand in as a body double for the shot.” 

You take a deep breath and exhale, patting his shoulder as you get up, “Sounds like duty calls.” He catches your hand before you walk away, “You get off at seven today, right?” 

“Keeping tabs on me, Seavers?” you tease. 

Colt smirks, “Just observant…is it alright if I drop by your place later?” 

“It is,” you tell him, “Got something planned?” He hums, “Something like that, I gotta make a quick stop or two and then I’ll be over at yours by nine?”

“Works for me, Honey,” you say softly, caressing his cheek. 

“Wrap it up lovebirds,” Dan’s voice, tears Colt’s focus from you. “You can put the moves on your girl later, but for right now, you're needed on set.” You try to ignore the way your cheeks heat up at being referred to as Colt’s girl. 

Dan claps Colt on the back as they walk back to set. Colt glances back, shooting you a wink and the same smile you’ve grown all too familiar with, before putting his sunglasses on. You smile back and watch them go. 

————

A set of rhythmic knocks hit the door to your apartment, at nine o'clock on the dot. 

You open up the door after glancing through the peephole. “Hi, Colt” 

“Hi,” he says with a sweet smile. “I come bearing gifts,” he adds holding up the two bags, one which was a plain green reusable shopping bag and the other was a white plastic bag with the logo of your favorite takeout spot. You step aside and open the door wider for him, “Come in, Hon.” 

Colt walks in and he sets both bags down on your coffee table. “I got your favorite and,” he takes a box out of the green bag, “Flowers” 

A smile graces my face, “Legos.” Colt nods, “I wanted to get you flowers, but then I thought about that saying about how flowers given out of love last longer so I figured why not give you ones that do last forever.” His words make your heart melt. 

You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him, “You’re really living up to your nickname.” His arms snake around your waist and hold you close, “Wanna put on a movie? We can eat and watch while we build the flowers, and talk about going on a date.” 

“I think this counts as a date,” you state. Colt pulls away slightly to look down at you, “Yeah? You’re happy with this being our first date and not being wined and dined at a fancy restaurant?”

You hum contently, “Sounds like a perfect first date to me…we can wine and dine another time.” 

So there you two were, seated on the floor of your living room, building the legos and taking bites of food every so often while Meet the Robinsons plays absentmindedly in the background. 

“Would you really have said yes if I asked you out earlier?” he asks. 

You nod your head, chewing and swallowing the food in your mouth before answering, “Yeah, I would have said something but I wasn’t sure if you actually liked me or it was just friendly flirting.” 

He attaches the head of the last rose to the stem, “Just friendly flirting over the past three years? Sweetheart, I think I was one kiss on the cheek away from losing my mind.” You hold an egg roll up to his mouth and he takes a bite, “And here I thought you liked it when I kissed you better,” you tease.

“That was the problem,” he says with his mouth full. You grin and bite into the other half of the eggroll. 

The night carries on and the two of you end up snuggling on the couch watching reruns of The Nanny. You laid on his chest, his heart was thumping under your ear. You tilt your head up to look at him, he’s already looking at you. “I’d say this is a pretty good first date," he mumbles.

“Almost perfect,” you affirm. 

Colt raises an eyebrow, “Almost? What can I do to make it perfect?” His fingers run up and down your back, tracing your spine. You shift up and lean down, “Everyone knows any good date ends with a kiss.” A smirk spreads across his face, he puts his hand on the back of your neck, “Can I?” 

“Please,” you whisper, leaning in further. He meets you halfway and presses a tender kiss to his lips.

“You’re blushing,” you whisper, taking a good look at him after you both pull away. “So are you,” Colt whispers before going in for another.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Colt Seavers x fem!reader

&

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: When Tom Ryder cockily asks Colt if he can share you with him, your boyfriend is initially disgusted. You? You're less disgusted—

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: it's a LONG one, threesome, p in v, unprotected sex (only in fiction where babies or STDs don't have to exist 💖☺️), oral sex (m receiving), Eiffel Tower? kinda, praise, slight spanking, degradation, good cop and bad cop dynamic, sweet and stupid pet names, daddy kink, Colt and Tom low-key high-key dislike each other in the beginning, polyamorous relationship implied in the end if you squint, FILTHY SMUT (i don't know what came over me i just can't get them both out of my head)

~ ✨ something for my ryan gosling and atj girlies ✨ ~

TOM RYDER MASTERLIST

Colt leans against the steps of Tom's trailer, his back against the door as he bandages his arm. He'd just been blown out of a building, thrown around, and now his entire body hurts.

The only good thing right now is that he sees you. 

"Colt," you say, running up to him, careful not to trip over the gravel, and as you sit next to him, you look him over, "you okay?" you whisper, your eyes round as you take in his appearance and touch his cheek. He smiles at you, looking completely love-sick as he tucks some hair behind your ear.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft.

You smile at him, "Hi," you lean in and kiss his lips. When you pull away, you run your hand in his hair. "You did so well in your scene. Did it hurt?" you ask him seriously. 

Colt shakes his head and with a pained chuckle, he lifts his arm and gives you a thumbs up. "It's the job, cupcake," he smiles and grunts when he moves his arm. You caress your hand down his cheek, your concern evident.

"I'm gonna find you some water," you say, determined, and jump up, smiling at him as you walk away. Colt's enamored gaze lingers on you for a moment until his peace is broken by Tom Ryder's presence. 

"Is that your girl?" he asks, emerging from his trailer dressed in only the pants of his costume and a towel wrapped around his shoulders as if he'd just done the most strenuous exercise of his life—which he hadn't because Tom Ryder doesn't do his own stunts.

Tom whistles and brings the straw of his juice box into his mouth. He says, "How'd you secure a girl like that, Colt? She's way too hot for someone like you." 

"Charming as always, Tom," Colt groans and stares up at his coworker, "Don't you have anything better to do than creep around? Go sign some posters or something. Learn your lines, I dunno, just stop bothering me or my girl."

Tom chuckles. "You're the one leaning against my trailer looking like a broken-down rat."

"And whose fault is that?" Colt hisses. He stands and rotates his shoulder around.

"Take it up with Gail! 'M not in charge of those things." Tom raises his hand in defense, and then his small smile turns into a smirk.

 "But, we're friends, hm, Colt?" 

Colt glares at him, his tone deadpanned. "Sure, Tom. We're friends," he says sarcastically.

"And friends share, don't they?" Tom leans against his trailer and crosses his arms, a dangerously arrogant gaze in his eyes. "You wouldn't mind sharing your girl, would you? She's cute."

Colt's frown deepens and he hears you walk back to him. He narrows his eyes and points at Tom menacingly. "In your fucking dreams," he says and then turns to you as you hand him the glass of water you'd found.

He thanks you and then his smile vanishes when he sees you look up at Tom, your gaze on his toned abs. Tom seems over the moon that you're staring. 

"Hi, doll," he says, sounding cocky.  

"Hi," you answer him, clearly flustered that you're speaking with the Tom Ryder and Tom clearly knows this. He opens his mouth to answer you but Colt isn't having any of this. Your boyfriend hooks his arm around your shoulders and guides you away from Tom. 

"That's enough movie stars, sweetness, let's go home," he whispers in your ear. 

"Think about what I said, will you, Colt," Tom calls out, his tone light and you feel your boyfriend's hand tighten around your shoulder instinctively.

In Colt's truck, he's quiet as he grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. He doesn't even ask if you want to do donuts, which is uncommon for him. 

"Are you okay?" you ask him, moving to the center and putting your hand on his thigh. "Is it because of what Tom Ryder said? What did he mean?" 

Colt's jaw clenches and he dismisses your concern. "Don't worry about it, cupcake," he says but you do worry. 

"I am worrying. Please tell me," you say, in a tone you know Colt can usually never resist. Only this time, he does. 

"No."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Well, now I'm thinking of the worst possible scenario."

"It is the worst possible scenario."

"What is?"

"Tom Ryder getting his filthy hands on you—wait," Colt's head snaps to you, his eyes round, realizing what you just did and you crack a remorseful smile. 

"Why would Tom Ryder get his hands on me, Colt?" you whisper, ignoring how your mind plays every possible scenario of Tom Ryder having you in your head and you don't hate them. 

Colt lets out a sigh and rubs his eyes. "He just said some stupid stuff—as usual," he pauses for a moment, "He asked if I could share you with him."

You stare at Colt, confused. "What?"

Colt senses your confusion and puts a hand on your thigh. "It was an awful thing to say, don't worry about him. I told him no, of course."

You blink at him, taking in what he'd just told you. Tom Ryder wanted you? He'd asked Colt to share you. You know you shouldn't, but you feel flattered. The Tom Ryder had the nerve to ask your boyfriend to have you?! Did Tom desire you that much?

"Oh," you say, your voice fading at the end, because what else could you say? 

Colt turns his head back at the road, but he gives you a side-eye. "Oh?" His voice sounds tense. 

You snap out of your daze and immediately shake your hands in the air. "I mean, oh–as in–gross. I'm not interested or anything! I only want you! Why would he even ask that, he's such a creep!" you say, meaning it. 

Colt's shoulders untense a moment and he sighs. "Yeah, I know baby," he says, "I trust you—it's just a weird thing to imagine, y'know?" 

You nod but your mind wanders to the image in question and you feel warm. 

"Yeah, but you don't have to worry! I don't want Tom Ryder. He's a dick," you say. It's true. Tom Ryder is a dick and you would never even think of cheating on Colt.

Colt Seavers is lovely and he treats you well and you mean every word you've said to him—you love him.

But Tom Ryder is still Tom Ryder. 

* * *

Over the next weeks or so, you visit Colt more often than usual. You don't even realize you're doing it but you start putting more attention into your outfits, your hair, and your makeup. Of course, while you don't seek out interactions with Tom Ryder, they do tend to happen more frequently. 

Colt seems to notice this too and his blood runs cold when he sees Tom wink at you as he leans over you to grab a prop from behind you.

It isn't Tom's wink that annoys him as much as it is the way you look at Tom. Colt feels like someone just punched him directly in the stomach and it makes him feel so stupid.  

He needs to talk to you.

On his way over, Tom walks by him and smirks at him. "She's even cuter when she's trying to be," he taunts and Colt restrains himself from socking him.

"Y/n." Colt's hand skims your arm when he approaches you and you turn to him, smiling so innocently he almost feels ashamed. "Hi, baby," he whispers, his voice soothing as he pulls you into him and kisses your forehead. You wrap your arm around his torso and kiss his nose. 

"Hi, Colt," you say happily, "I saw your stunt. It was absolutely amazing!"

Your boyfriend smiles and he hears the sincerity in your voice. He caresses a hand down your cheek and his tone is kind when he says, "I need to talk to you." 

Your smile disappears. "Is everything okay?" 

Colt takes your hand and leads you further from the crowd of crew members around you and his thumb strokes across your palm. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine I've just noticed you've been slightly distracted lately." 

You tilt your head. "Distracted?" 

He nods. "Yeah. Distracted. With Tom." His eyes drift to your exposed thigh. 

Your stomach drops and you make a face. You look confused and Colt can almost see the wheels turning in your head. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice a little shaky as you pull down your skirt to cover more of your thigh subconsciously. 

"Do you remember when I said Tom wanted me to share you with him?" Colt asks bluntly and he sees your eyes widen in realization. 

"N-no," you lie. 

Colt frowns. "Liar," he says calmly and crosses his arms. He sees your hurt expression and his eyes soften. "Okay, listen, baby, I just want you to be honest with me. If you're suddenly all attracted to Tom Ryder, I think I deserve to know because I love you, and if y-you want to explore something with someone like Ryder—"

You panic and cut him off, holding onto his arms. "Colt, I don't want anyone else. I love you," you say, your hands moving up his arms so you can cup his cheeks and you kiss him.

You pull away and bite your lip, deciding to be honest with him because you can't deny what you're doing anymore. "But," you pause and Colt's blue eyes bounce from your features with panic. 

"But, I- I am slightly—turned on by the idea of um—Tom."

Colt sees the embarrassment on your face after you say this and his breathing picks up. At first, he doesn't quite know what to do about this information. He stares at you and when he sees you squirm under his gaze, he takes your hand in his. 

"Thank you for being honest with me," he whispers and then pauses, contemplating what to say next. "So, what do we do from here, baby? I-Is um—sharing—something you would really want to try?" 

You nod, looking up at him with wide eyes. "But, only if you're comfortable, Colt. It can stay a fantasy otherwise. I promise." 

Fantasy. 

That word hits him hard. So this is something you really want, something you've actually spent time thinking about—something you've fantasized about.

The thought alone makes Colt's cheeks turn pink as blood rushes to his dick. He sighs and brings his hand up to your cheek again. 

"I don't want to deprive you of want you want, especially if the third party is so fucking willing," he mentions Tom with a slight spike in his tone but bites his tongue, "but I don't know if I can handle watching you be with him. Of him having you completely. I don't know if I can deal with that asshole getting to have you like that," he says honestly. 

You nod. "I understand," you say. 

Colt lets out another sigh and twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "But, I suppose we could find a compromise. On my terms, not his." He sees the look in your eye shift from slight disappointment to excitement as you imagine the possibilities. Colt's chest burns and he can't deny his temptation at the thought.

He's so fucked. 

* * * 

Tom Ryder's bedroom is dimly lit and there is a faint smell of cologne and aftershave in the air as steam comes from his bathroom. 

You're sitting on his King bed, the satin sheets feel soft under your fingers and against the exposed skin of your bare thighs. Colt stands in front of you, his arms crossed and his expression hard as he watches Tom come out of the bathroom. 

Tom's wearing a blue and white robe with nothing but a pair of blue slacks, his toned abs on full display. His curly blond hair sprawled messily across his forehead and he smirks at you. Then, his eyes shift to Colt. "Loosen up there, man. You're making me nervous. Sit," he says and points to a modern-looking armchair in the corner. 

"Don't tell me what to do," Colt snaps back and Tom raises his hand in mock surrender. You look between them, moving your hands to rest between your knees as you hold your breath. 

Colt stares at Tom, his jaw clenched. "Okay, Y/n and I discussed some rules beforehand," he says and he doesn't like the way​ Tom rolls his eyes but he doesn't address it. "If you don't follow them, it just gives me a reason to beat your ass, capeesh?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Tom nods and sits on the bed next to you, not touching you yet but your skin prickles at the closeness anyway. "Get on with it then." 

"Firstly, I don't want to see a single bruise or mark on her," he says sternly, "she's not yours to mark. Secondly, her safe word is red and if she says it, you stop immediately no ifs or buts, and lastly, you can do whatever foreplay you want but no fucking." 

Tom frowns, narrowing his eyes. "Excuse me?" 

"No. Fucking. Her," Colt says again. 

You listen to them, feeling like your entire body is on fire as you try and ignore how soaked your panties already are.

The feeling only worsens when Tom turns to you and asks, "Is that right? You don't want me to fuck you, sweetie?" His voice sounds like velvet and you squirm under his gaze.

"Hey," Colt snaps his fingers and Tom turns to look at him again, "Do not speak to her yet, you fucking dick." 

"Fuck, alright, no need to get your panties in a twist, man," Tom grumbles and runs a hand in his hair. "I understand, okay? No fucking the pretty girl. Can we just do this? I'm getting fucking blue balls over here." He adjusts his pants and you can't help the way your eyes drift to the outline of his dick. 

He's already hard. 

"You okay, baby?" Colt asks you, his voice much softer now, "You still wanna do this, yeah?" 

You nod. 

Colt waits for a verbal reply. 

"Yes, I still want to do this," you say, looking between Tom and Colt, your cheeks burning. Tom smirks at this and his attention turns to you, his blue eyes sparkling as he takes in your appearance. 

"You're so sweet," he murmurs as he leans in, his lips attaching to the skin behind your ear. You gasp, feeling his hands around your waist as the fabric of your skirt accidentally bunches up a little. Colt inhales, hesitating but ultimately relenting as he sits on the armchair and his gaze fixes on you and Tom. 

You make a small little squeak as Tom lifts you up and gently tosses you further up onto his bed, the soft mattress bouncing as you hit the multiple pillows Tom keeps on his bed. In seconds, his knee slots between your thighs as he hovers over you, and his lips find your neck, gently kissing your skin.

Your hands find the sleeves of his robe instinctively, accidentally pulling them down in your haze as you arch into him, the feeling of his lips overwhelming you. 

Tom chuckles when he feels the rob slide down his shoulders and he hums into your neck, "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he says as the robe falls down until he's now completely shirtless. 

Colt feels his stomach tighten as his hands clamp around the armchair. The sound of your pretty moans—the ones you used to make only for him fill the room and it takes everything in him not to rip the velvet armrest of Tom's stupid chair. 

Tom's lips trail down your neck, his hand coming up your arm as he hooks his finger in one of the straps of your tank top, pulling it down your shoulder. You moan, arching into him again as his other hand finds your thigh and he positions your leg around him, his hips lowering to grind into yours.    

Your skirt is now bunched around your waist, your wet panties very visible to anyone who looks—and both Tom and Colt are definitely looking. 

"So fucking pretty," Tom groans, stroking your thigh as he moves to hover his mouth over yours, "Such a good girl," he says and then his lips crash into yours, kissing you passionately. 

Colt feels hot and cold at the same time as he shifts in his seat. He wants to stop this, to tell Tom to get the fuck off of you, and to stop kissing you. You're his. His heart skips when he hears your small little whimper and he sees your eyes watching him from behind Tom's shoulder.

Instantly, he recognizes the look of arousal on your face, and something inside him shifts. He can't help the way his dick twitches in his jeans. 

You moan into Tom's mouth, feeling his other hand now lower the second strap of your shirt until it's also bunched at your waist. Tom disconnects your lips just to see you in your bra and he licks his lips. You stare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly as your body tingles all over and your pussy aches for him. 

Tom unhooks your leg from his body and then effortlessly shifts you so that you're straddling his lap. His muscles flex as he holds your waist and unhooks your bra. As soon as your breasts are revealed, Tom's mouth finds your nipples as he sucks. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into him as your cheeks press against his head, his soft curls caressing your skin. 

"Tom," you whimper, feeling like you're in heaven as he makes you feel good. "Tom," you whine.

Tom squeezes your ass, disconnecting his mouth from your hardened nipples and he looks up at you through his lashes."Mm, I love it when you say my name, sweetheart," he moans and kisses between your breasts, "Say it again. Louder. I want him to hear you say it."

Colt hadn't even realized he's started to palm himself through his jeans until Tom's voice jolts him and he frowns when he hears you again. 

"Tom!" you groan, chanting his name like a prayer, "Tom, Tom, Tom," you plead, tears brimming in your eyes as the entire sensation overwhelms you. "Please," you whimper. 

"Please?" Tom taunts, his hand finding your hair as he pulls on the strands so you can look down into his eyes. He sees how lidded your eyelids are and how blissed out you look and his chest swells with pride, "Fuck, you're such a slut." 

Colt's jaw clenches at the degrading name but he doesn't move, his hand only working harder on his dick. 

You whine, "Tom, please, please, please," you beg, "I need you." 

"Hear that, Colt? Your girl wants me—no sorry, she needs me," he taunts and then shifts you again, his hand still in your hair.

You squeal, his movement causing you to lift from his lap and shift to your knees as Tom does the same. He presses your back against his chest, holding you so you're looking at your boyfriend and then his other hand grips your jaw. 

"Tell him how good I'm making you feel," he whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe. 

Colt sits up, staring at you as his hand still moves over his dick. Fuck. He sees Tom's hold on you and while he's slightly worried, he also trusts that you'd use your safe word if he was hurting you. 

Plus, he can see how much you like this from the expression you're wearing. "H-he's making me feel s-so good," you whimper in a small voice, looking at Colt with teary eyes. 

Tom laughs and then he lifts your hips, sliding down your dress and tank top so you're only in your panties. You groan, suddenly feeling Tom's hand press on your back. You whimper as you bend down, your ass pressed right to his crotch.

Tom moves his hand from your back to your hair again, pressing you into the mattress as his thumb soothes circles on your scalp. You can see Colt from the position you're in, your eyes lidded as you feel Tom's other thumb trace over your panties. 

"Shit, man, she's so fucking wet," he chuckles, looking at Colt directly as he taunts him, "So fucking needy all for me." 

Colt lets out a groan, wanting to unbuckle his jeans and make his own ache go away. 

You whine as Tom presses his fingers against you, teasing you with his thumb as he presses you further into the sheets, muffling your sounds. He slaps your ass before resuming his movements. "Be still," he reprimands, slapping your ass again as he presses one of his fingers into you. 

You cry, feeling so good as you look at Colt. Tom's fully fingering you now, his thumb adding pressure to your clit as he pumps his finger in and out. 

"Colt," you whimper, watching your boyfriend as he rubs himself over his jeans. You can tell he's aroused to the point where it must be painful and you desperately want to please him. You whine again as Tom continues his movements, his other hand gripping your ass. "Colt, come here, please," you manage to say between your breathy whimpers and you sense Tom hesitate at your words, a little confused. 

Colt stands, his eyes blown wide with lust as he walks over to you and looks down at you, your hair spilling over the bed as you look up at him. Tom has slowed down his movements, which makes you whimper and Colt strokes a hand in your hair. He looks at Tom. "Don't stop making her feel good," he demands sternly.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?" Tom grunts, staring daggers at Colt now as he completely pauses all movement, "Get the fuck off. You said she was mine for tonight," he sounds almost whiny and Colt rolls his eyes. 

"I never said she was yours," Colt corrects him, "you can always fucking leave." 

"You're at my house!" 

"Please," your voice cuts into their arguing, your eyes still teary as you try and push back against Tom's fingers. You can barely form coherent sentences. "Colt, T-Tom, please," you whimper, needing them to do something. 

They fall silent and look at each other, hatred still simmering underneath but in the end, they both decide you're more important.

Tom grunts and he continues to finger you as he strokes a hand over your back. "Yeah, yeah, no need to beg me, sweetie," he says, his voice unusually soft. He pulls out his fingers and then goes to pull down his pants. 

"Woah," Colt says and Tom sends him a glare. 

"Relax," Tom says as he pumps his cock a few times, positioning his dick over your panties and sliding it up and down. "Daddy needs to feel good too," he grunts and you gasp, loving the new feeling as wetness slides down your thigh.

Colt stares at Tom like he's gone insane but his thoughts quickly drift to you when he hears your small whimpers. He looks down, his thumb still stroking in your hair. You look so pretty like this, all at his mercy. He slides his hand down to hook his thumb in your mouth. 

"Wanna make me feel good, baby?" he asks, his voice smooth. ‘

You nod, looking up at him with anticipation as he pulls out his thumb with a pop. He goes to unbuckle his jeans, looking at you with a smile as he sees your mouth open automatically as he prepares himself for you. 

Colt brings the tip to your lips, asking for entrance and you part your lips. You feel him grip his hand in your hair, encouraging you. "My good girl," he whispers as you hollow your cheeks around him, taking him in. You try your best not to be distracted by the feeling of Tom's cock against your pussy as you focus on pleasing Colt. 

You whine around Colt when Tom slaps your ass, "Dirty fucking slut," he grunts. 

Colt snaps his hips into yours, fully fucking into your face now and watching how drool pools at the corner of your mouth. He likes the sounds you're making for him. His cock drags across your tongue and you can taste his pre-cum. You whimper when Tom picks up the pace behind you, holding onto your hips for support. 

Colt pulls out of your mouth just in time to hear your pleas. "Please–I-I want him to fuck me," you whimper, your voice strained from just having his dick in your mouth. "I wanna be fucked, please, please, Colt." Tears spill from your eyes. 

Tom chuckles from behind you, his hand gripping your hips harder, and before he can make any snarky remark, Colt snaps, "Shut up," and then holds your chin. 

"You wanna be fucked, baby? Alright. Tom, switch with me."

For once, Tom doesn't protest Colt's demand. 

He's just happy that he can put his dick into something now. 

You feel them move around but you don't look up, your breathing harshening as you prepare for what's coming. You feelColt's familiar hands on your waist as he hooks his thumb in your panties and pulls them down. You gasp as his dick teases your pussy and Colt leans over, pressing a reassuring kiss to your shoulder blade as he praises, "You're doing so well my baby," he praises as he moves forwards and you groan, clutching the sheets. 

You're so lost in the pleasure Colt's providing that when Tom's hand holds onto your chin, his dick bobbing near your mouth, your eyes widen in surprise. You look up at him, sticking out your tongue for him and Tom smirks as places his dick in your mouth, immediately using you. 

The feeling of Colt's dick dragging in and out of your walls is tortuous but oh-so-good. Every thrust of his hips sends you further into Tom's cock and you gag, feeling so degraded and used but in the best way. 

Colt's soft praises as he fucks you mix with Tom's lewd comments as he fucks your mouth hard. If this is heaven, you never want to leave. 

After a while, you start to feel slightly lightheaded because of Tom's dick clogging your airflow. You've already come twice around Colt's dick and your pussy is feeling so overwhelmed. You hear Colt groan in the way he does when he'sclose and you clench around him, wanting to make him feel as good as you feel. 

When he finally comes, you moan too, and feel him spill inside you. At the same time, you reach for Tom's thighs and tap them, telling him to pull out. When he does, you gasp for breath.

Tom wipes his thumb across your lips, wiping the drool, and then he smirks. "I know you said no fucking, but c'mon," he says, his voice low and hoarse. "I want a piece of her too." 

Colt grunts and shakes his head, riding out his high inside you. "Fuck off, Ryder."

You moan, your body rocking back and forth from Colt's thrusts. 

"One fuck won't kill you," Tom hisses, holding your chin, "Sweetheart, you want me to fuck you, don't you?" he asks you, looking into your eyes. 

You can't help but nod, "Y-yes," you whimper, "Please," you whine, needing this. 

Colt senses the desperation in your voice and he can't exactly blame you. You must be so overwhelmed with pleasure. He strokes your neck and then pulls out. You whine at the loss. "You want him to fuck you?" he repeats, his voice strained. 

"Yes, yes, please, I need him too. Colt, please," you say, desperately. "I wanna feel him too." 

Colt knows he can't deny you anything as he nods and Tom's smug smile returns. You feel like you're stuck in a hazy cloud of pleasure as your body is manipulated. Your eyelids flutter and the next thing you feel is Tom's hard cock against your pussy as you feel yourself being lowered onto his lap. 

You whimper, falling forwards onto Tom's chest as you make small breathy sounds and his cock stretches you open even more. 

"Be gentle with her," Colt warns him, his voice slightly tense, "She's tired." 

Tom holds in a grunt, his cock twitching inside you as he fully sits you down onto his cock and then lifts you again, repeating the movement.

He presses his lips to your ear. "Just sit there like a good whore for me, okay? Daddy'll do all the work for you," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, resting your cheek against his chest and you can hear his heartbeat as he fucks up into you. 

"Good girl," he soothes, his large hand over your hair as his pace picks up. "Making me feel so fucking good."

Your legs tremble, letting out pants and whine as the core aches. It doesn't take very long for you to come around Tom's cock, your third orgasm of the night, your body feeling warm and limp as you finish. You aren't even sure how Tom still has the strength or the energy to continue moving you up and down as his hands grip your hips. He shifts you so his lips press against your ear, his grunts overwhelming your senses. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Colt asks from somewhere but you can't seem to pinpoint where, as you're too exhausted to think and your mind turns completely blank. 

Tom continues to drag you up and down his cock, his voice mocking in your ear. "We really fucked you dumb, didn't we?" he chuckles, groaning. "Shit, I'm gonna come," he bites down on your earlobe and calls you his slut as he spills himself inside you. You feel so full and dirty as his cum mixes with yours and Colt's. 

Your eyes roll and all your muscles relax. You slump forward even more, hitting your nose in the crook of his neck and making a whining sound. Tom holds you up, his touch uncharacterized gentle as his thumb strokes your cheek. He shifts you off of him, careful with you as your head hits the soft pillows. Your eyelids flutter, your chest heaving as you hear the mumbling of voices and feel the bed dip from around you. 

"She's okay, yeah?" you think it's Tom and you feel someone's fingertips on your skin. 

Another dip in the mattress. 

"Yeah, I think," Colt whispers, his voice soft and calm as he soothes you. "You're okay," he whispers and his voice eventually lulls you to sleep as the world around you turns dark. 

When you wake up again, you're tucked under the warm covers, your cheek pressed into silk pillows. You stir, blinking, and then shift onto your back. You feel clean—like someone had wiped away the cum and taken a warm cloth to your sensitive skin. You sit up halfway and look around Tom Ryder's dimly lit room and then you look down and realize you'rewearing one of Tom's shirts. 

You can hear low voices from the balcony of Tom's room and see Tom and Colt having what looks like an oddly friendly smoke for two men who seemingly hate each other. 

Tom's wearing his robe again, his blond curls still messily sprawled across his forehead, as a cigarette hangs between his lips and he lights it up.

Your boyfriend seems relaxed as he leans his forearms on the balcony and looks out into the cool night. He shifts his head and smiles like he does just after he'slaughed and you wonder what Tom had said.

"Colt?" you call out, your voice small, and immediately, both men walk back into the room—Tom's cigarette discarded on an ashtray on his balcony. 

"Hello, cupcake," Colt whispers as he stands beside you. When he sees you sitting up fully, he tuts and pushes you down a little as the mattress dips and his thigh touches yours. "Shh, how are you feeling?"

You look between them and sense no tension or arrogance from Tom as he stands at the end of the bed, a small smile curling his lips. He moves closer and sits on the other side of you, his tone light when he says, "You did so well for us." 

Colt nods, agreeing with Tom for once, and his hand finds your hair. "So well. You had fun yeah, pretty girl?"

You nod, looking between them once more as you look flustered. "Y-yeah," you admit. "It was really good."

Tom's smile widens and he sniffs. "Good," he turns to Colt, "Told ya she'd like it, man." 

You expect your boyfriend to be upset by Tom's quip, but instead, he chuckles and his thumb moves to stroke your cheek.

"Mhm, I suppose you were right, Ryder," Colt whispers and you feel like you've woken up in some alternative universe where Colt and Tom are now friends.

You wonder what they'd spoken about while you slept but whatever it was, they're on way better terms than they had ever been. Tom's much nicer to Colt on set—which isn't much but it's good because whenever you visit, he'll sometimes join you for lunch. As time goes on, you kind of feel like when Tom and Colt are around you, you have two boyfriends. 

And you can't say you dislike that. 

[happy74827]

I have to stop going to the movies because my obsession of fictional hot men just keeps growing…

That being said, who wants some Colt Seavers and Tom Ryder fics? 👀

[that-one-fangirl69]

if you ever see me reblog your fic twice, no you didnt. ignore the first one. i was just saving it for later. either as a lil snack or i wasnt ready for a full meal at the time

[youaintnothinbuta]

Please please please do a Colt Seavers x reader where they get married im in NEED to marry him sm he's so malewife <3

“This is it.” — Colt Seavers x reader

Summary: colt and you have the most perfect wedding, exactly the way you dreamed it would go <3

Pairing: colt seavers x reader

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: none!! Wedding Fluff <3 sorry if there’s typos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stand against the corner of the old castle-esque building, the sun casting comforting warmth over the meticulously tended gardens surrounding you. Your heart races as you press your back against the cool stone, gripping Colt's hand tightly. He’s just on the other side of the corner, you can’t see each other, but his strong, confident presence is relieving.

“I can’t believe it,” you say softly, squeezing his hand.

“I know, darlin',” Colt replies, his voice rich and steady. “This is it.”

“Don’t you dare pull some crazy stunt on me.” You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within you, easing some of the tension in your chest.

He laughs, “I promise, baby.”

Just then, your best friend and maid of honour, Emily, approaches, her dress swishing softly as she walks. “Alright, you two,” she says with a grin. “It’s time. Colt, you head to the altar. It’s almost showtime.”

“See you soon, beautiful. I love you,” Colt says, giving your hand one last squeeze before letting go. The absence of his touch feels strange and momentarily unsettling, but you take a deep breath, grounding yourself.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

Once he’s gone, Emily turns to you, her eyes shining with excitement. “Ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, a smile spreading across your face.

Your father appears then, his eyes misty with pride and emotion. He offers you his arm, and you take it. “You look amazing,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion.

“Let’s go give Colt a run for his money, huh?”

You laugh softly as you both step forward, and the double doors of the church open wide. The soft strains of the wedding march fill the air, and you see Colt standing at the altar, his eyes locked onto yours. He looks incredibly handsome in his suit. The moment he sees you, a visible shift happens. His strong features soften, and his eyes well up with tears. By the time you’re halfway down the aisle, those tears have spilled over, streaming down his cheeks. Your eyes blur with tears too, watching as he brings his hand over his mouth to stifle a cry.

You can’t feel the ground beneath you. You body is heavy, you move in slow motion against, hyper aware of all the eyes on you, yet the only thing in focus is Colt. When you reach him, your father places your hand in Colt’s and steps back, tearing up at the sight of you.

“Hi,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

The intensity of the moment hits you, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek as you whisper-laugh, “Hi.”

He reaches up to gently brush it away, his touch tender. The ceremony proceeds, a blur of words and emotions, but every moment is etched in your heart. When it’s time to say your vows, Colt is up first, his voice earnest as he speaks to you.

When the officiant finally pronounces you husband and wife, Colt holds you, one hand on your waist, the other on your back. He dips you, placing a gentle, passionate kiss on your lips.

The reception had been everything you’d dreamed of—laughter, dancing, and love filling every corner of the grand hall. But now, the lights are dimming, and the music has faded into a soft murmur as the last guests say their goodbyes. You stand by the door, your arm looped through Colt's, watching your families exchange hugs and parting words.

“Take care of each other,” your mom says, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she hugs you tightly.

“We always have, Mom,” you assure her, squeezing her back before turning to Colt’s parents. They embrace you warmly, their approval and happiness evident.

As the last of the well-wishers leave, Colt looks down at you, his eyes filled with tenderness. “Ready to go, Mrs. Seavers?”

A thrill runs through you, at the sound of your new name.

“Almost,” you say, glancing around the now-empty room. “Let’s just have one more moment here. Just us.”

Colt nods, understanding. He leads you to the center of the room where earlier you’d shared your first dance as husband and wife. The remnants of the celebration—a few scattered petals, empty chairs, and half-finished glasses of champagne—create a quiet, intimate atmosphere.

Without a word, Colt pulls you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he begins to sway gently. There’s no music now, just the sound of your footsteps and the faint hum of the night outside.

“Today was perfect,” you murmur, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the feel of his arms around you.

“It was,” he agrees softly. “But this—just you and me—this is what I’ll remember most.”

You smile against his chest, your heart swelling with love. "Me too. This is all I’ve ever wanted."

The two of you continue to sway, the room silent except for the rustle of your dress and his suit.

Colt tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “I promise to make every day feel like today,” he says, his voice wet with honesty.

It’s dark, but he can see your bright smile. He leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. When he pulls back, you’re both smiling, your foreheads resting together.

“Let’s go, Colt.”

The night is still and full of promise as Colt opens the car door for you, and you slip inside. As he joins you and starts the engine, you take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip. He turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wanna do some doughnuts?” he asks, a playful smile spreading across his face.

You laugh, shaking your head. Why aren’t you surprised? “Sure.”

With a grin, Colt revs the engine, and the his truck roars. The two of you share a quick, exhilarated glance before he maneuvers the car into an empty section of the parking lot. Then, with his stunt man expertise, he whips the steering wheel, and the car spins in tight circles, the tires screeching against the pavement.

You’re both laughing now, the rush of adrenaline making the moment even more thrilling. The night sky spins above you, the stars blurring into streaks of light as he wraps his free arm around you, holding you to his side.

When he finally brings the car to a stop, you’re both breathless, your cheeks flushed with excitement. Colt turns to you, his eyes shining. “I love you,” he says, his smile shining through his tone.

“I love you too,” you reply, leaning over to kiss him.

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 2

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The second time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — in which he thinks he might be losing his sanity.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer

Author’s Note: As the Colt obsession rages on, I hope y'all enjoy part 2, because it certainly was sizzling when I wrote it :D This one is more from Colt's POV, and it includes some of his inner monologue (which I loved in the film). I appreciate everyone's kind words so far and would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! Thank you all! <3

Part 1

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Ever since the little paint-smudging incident, Colt has been, well… off.

This never happens to him. He’s a professional, he’s been working on movie sets for years, he’s known hundreds and hundreds of coworkers. But something is different. You’re different.

As he leans against the hood of his truck after filming, one leg propped on the fender as he takes a deep breath of the midnight air, Colt can’t stop replaying the events of the day before. You painting a prop sign, you laughing at his dumb jokes, you smearing red paint across his face. The steadiness of your hands, the smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. The sunbeams luminescent in your hair. The way your hand felt for the few seconds it lingered on his cheek.

Get it together, man, his inner monologue scolds him.

Colt can’t deny that he has feelings for you. You’ve been on set together for about two months now, and he sees you practically every day. Every time he performs a stunt, you’re always there adjusting the furniture, dabbing color onto the walls, rearranging props with that magnificent touch that brings every setpiece to life. Colt is amazed by your talent in your job as a set decorator, and your skill pushes him to try harder stunts each time, to try to impress you with his own skills.

But there’s one major problem that he can’t get past — he’s just not good enough for you. Sure, Colt has all the confidence in the world when it comes to throwing himself from a moving car or flashing a dazzling smile at you across the set, but he’s destined to be an unknown stuntman for the rest of his career. Your talent and dedication promises great things for your future, and Colt has already made up his mind that he’s not going to stand in your way by coming on too strong.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Even when he’s trying to be noble and keep himself from getting you distracted from your career, he’s replaying the way your eyes fluttered shut for a moment when his thumb brushed your jaw.

I’m so screwed.

Colt has just agreed with his inner monologue that he will keep his distance from you and turn all his unfulfilled feelings into protein powder when you step out of a nearby trailer, one arm over your eyes as if you’ve been crying.

All thoughts of noble detachments shatter instantly, and Colt pushes off his truck to make his way toward you. He’s relieved when you lower your arm from your face and he can tell that you weren’t crying — just so dead tired that you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Van Gogh,” he calls to you, keeping a distance of about six feet as he reverts to his usual habit of artist-nicknames. Too familiar, too familiar, abort, abort. “Too much moonshine?”

Your eyes pop open in surprise to see him standing there, but a wearied smile crosses your face nonetheless. “Too much moonlighting,” you correct him, leaning back against the art trailer with a sigh. “Gordon has been on my back all day about the props for the train station scene. I got wooden benches for a rustic vibe, but he wants metal for a grittier vibe. I painted the graffiti mural in multi-colors, but he wants it red for a sharper contrast. I spent the last week distressing the station floor so it would look lived-in, but now he wants it clean. Clean, cold, and clinical.” You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your red-rimmed eyes. “I just finished making twenty neon signs for the depot, but I don’t know if he’ll even still want them by tomorrow.”

Colt’s heart tugs seeing you so exhausted and discouraged, and he elects to ignore his previous inner monologue and take a few steps in your direction. “Sounds like Gordon is trying to direct a hospital soap opera instead of an action thriller.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting your head loll to the side as you look at him through half-opened eyes. “I never want to see another paint roller again. Or at least not until tomorrow.”

Colt chuckles at that, taking another step closer. “It is tomorrow. It’s past midnight.” His brow furrows in concern as he watches your eyelids drift closed again. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.

“Right. I knew that,” you mumble. “I need some sleep.”

“I’d say you need a hibernation,” Colt says gently, cursing himself for the way he feels the urge to reach out and touch you. “When’s the last time you got any winks?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you try to recall. “Uhhh… Tuesday?”

Colt shakes his head. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

Your eyes open at that, and you automatically shake your head, swaying a little as you do so. “No, you don’t need to do that! I’ll be fine. My hotel is just a few blocks from here.”

“Good,” Colt agrees, reaching out to put his arm around your shoulders. “Then you won’t have to pay me back for gas money.”

You sigh in mock frustration but give in when he starts leading you to his truck. He can feel you leaning on him, drawing from his strength when he knows yours is depleted. Colt has to force himself to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by the intoxicating smell of oil paints and charcoal and wood chips emanating off your skin. He especially tries not to notice the way your head naturally falls against his shoulder while he leads you to the passenger door.

Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you immediately droop forward and rest your forehead on your knees. On an impulse, Colt pulls off his jacket — his most comfortable one: the brown one with the drawstrings — and drapes it across your shoulders. He suppresses a grin when you mumble something that sounds like “hmmk hmum” but probably was supposed to be “thank you.”

The drive to your hotel lasts all of three minutes, and he parks his truck under the portico so you’ll be closer to the door. Against the pitch black of the midnight sky, the hotel looks cozy and welcoming, street lamps bathing the sidewalk in a halo of golden light.

Colt opens the door to the passenger side, a smile crossing his lips when you turn your head from where it’s resting on your knees to peek up at him.

“Are we there yet?” you mumble, eyes fluttering between open and closed.

“Just a rest stop,” he informs you jokingly, holding out a hand to help you out of the truck. You gladly accept it, so exhausted that you can barely stand up straight. Colt feels another shimmer of worry at seeing you so worn out.

With his arm around your shoulder again, Colt walks you to the hotel door, which opens automatically to let you in. His thoughts are a jumble of worry, consternation, and elation at this situation, but he breaks out of his reverie halfway to the elevator, when you start giggling uncontrollably.

“What?” he asks, basking in the way your musical laugh wraps around him like a melody. Colt, get it together. Stop romanticizing this.

You snicker again, pressing the elevator button to your floor. “I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

Colt goes stock-still at that comment, only moving again when the elevator door opens and you enter the compartment together. Your sleep-deprived brain is so addled that you barely even register the implications of your remark, but Colt’s mind instantly starts racing with his own thoughts. Be professional, don’t make a saucy joke, just play it cool, play it cool, change the subject, change the SUBJECT—

“You should call Gordon,” he suggests, so enthralled with the feel of your head resting on his shoulder that he can barely get the sentence out. “Tell him you can’t make it tomorrow. You seriously need to get some sleep.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, one that flutters across his collarbone like an autumn breeze. He swallows and turns his head the other way, using all his willpower not to completely come undone right in front of you. You have no idea the effect you’re having on him, so sleep-deprived that you’re missing any cues that would clue you in normally.

“I have to be there tomorrow,” you insist drowsily. The elevator door dings open, and Colt leads you through the opening, his arm still tight around your shoulders as you point him in the right direction. “We’re filming the train station scene, and it has to be perfect.”

“What, at the cost of your health and sanity?” Colt quips, though he can’t deny that there’s a note of seriousness in his tone.

You shake your head stubbornly. “I’m fine. This is my job. I just have to do it.” You yawn widely, stumbling a little as you get closer to your hotel door. “I just need a few hours and I’ll be good as new.”

Colt lifts his eyebrows skeptically but doesn’t argue with you. You’re pulling your room key out of your pocket, and he’s suddenly torn between the desire to run before he violates his vow of noble detachment, and the need to confess every passionate feeling coursing through his veins right now. He knows this isn’t the right time, though, and that there may never be a right time at all.

You unlock your door with a swipe but pause before going inside, leaning your back against the doorframe so you can look at Colt squarely. “Thank you for bringing me back.” Your smile steals his breath, makes him imagine a halo of stars around your face. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

Every muscle in his body is urging him to lean forward, to close the distance between you, to capture your lips against his so he can whisper every unconfessed feeling, every gentle passion, every overwhelming longing in this silent, dimly-lit hallway. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he thinks you must be able to hear it.

“Anytime,” Colt manages, his throat so tight that can barely rasp out the word. He has to clench his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you.

You reach up to shed his brown jacket and hand it back to him, but Colt stops you by holding up his hand. “Keep it,” he tells you. Shut up, shut up, shut UP— “It looks better on you anyway.”

The golden light from the street lamps outside must be playing tricks on his eyes, because he could swear that your eyes brighten at his words. Your fingers tighten around his jacket, and all he can imagine is your fingers entwined with his, your head on his shoulder again. The way it should be.

Your eyes flicker closed for a moment, and you sway against the doorway. Colt instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hand landing on your arm and holding you up for the moment it takes you to regain your balance. His skin feels like it’s on fire from this close proximity. He releases your arm so he doesn’t lose his sanity, but the touch lingers on his palm, making his heart race and his mouth go dry. His eyes flit down to glance at your lips again before he can stop them. Another moment, and he won’t have any self-control left.

You seem to feel the tension, too, lingering in the doorway when you should have said goodnight by now. He knows you’re struggling with it, and he knows it’s his responsibility as the clear-headed one to end this before it starts. His breath is rattling in his throat as he says, “Get some rest. Let me know if you need a ride over tomorrow morning.”

His voice seems to break the spell over you, and you give him a sleepy smile as you nod. “Thanks, Colt.” Your eyes linger on him for a moment more, and then you disappear behind the heavy hotel door.

Once you’re gone, Colt turns and leans heavily against the hallway wall, suddenly feeling breathless and exhausted from the intensity of what he just felt. He can’t believe he even let himself think about kissing you when you’re so dazed, but surely he wasn’t misreading those signals? Surely he felt the heat of your own gaze meeting his?

Colt sighs, trying to clear his head while he catches his breath. He can’t even entertain the idea of starting a fling with you, because his feelings have gone way too deep for a fling. He just needs to keep his distance and stop overanalyzing every moment he shares with you. He needs to get a grip on reality so he doesn’t completely ruin your friendship and burden you with any guilt. This has to stop. I’m going to stop right now, and I’m not going to think about it anymore, and I’m going to get hold of myself before it’s too late.

He hopes his inner monologue is right this time, because he knows he’s only falling harder for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 3

[ken-dom]

I’ll Do Anything You Say If You Say It With Your Hands

Colt Seavers x gn!reader

2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: You comb your fingertips through the wavy lengths of his soft hair, pausing when you find the perfect spot to wind a handful of strands tight around your fingers...

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: Thank you my wonderful K (@heresthestorymorningglory) for beta reading, finding me a Swift song for Colt, and allowing long hair Colt into the Geese Who Consume Us Club. This is my first time writing him and I know it won’t be my last! Title from Trecherous by Taylor Swift

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, long hair Colt, crying (both to Taylor Swift and from overstimulation), praise, hair pulling kink, a lot of cum, hand job, overstimulation, orgasm as pain relief, aftercare

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

With lips hot and wet at his neck, your nails scrape over Colt’s scalp, threading through his thick locks.

His head drops back into the feeling; it’s sensual and soothing in equal measure, every nerve tingling like a spread of lightning through his body and heat pooling like lava at his aching core.

You've been touching him like this, tender but teasing, for what feels to him like hours since finding him curled into a ball on his sofa with Taylor Swift playing from the kitchen, eyes and cheeks wet, back aching and head pounding. You offered to help him relax, slowly opening him up to you, and, although you didn’t tell him this, your plan was also designed to make him feel good about himself. He fell apart in your hands the moment you began to touch him and as ever, he’s content to let you put him back together however you see fit.

You comb your fingertips through the wavy lengths of his soft hair, pausing when you find the perfect spot to wind a handful of strands tight around your fingers until you’re holding his head still with a firm fistful of thick, luscious blonde.

There’s still one loose strand framing his face, but he looks so gorgeous, you leave it there.

He whimpers as you tug your fist lightly, his wet eyes glimmering before they slip closed.

He feels your free hand glide down the smooth expanse of his chest. You’re raking your nails over his soft flesh too, feeling him shiver under the warmth of your palm until you graze a nail directly over a nipple and he jolts at the sudden spark of pleasure. You continue there, pinching and rolling the soft nub lightly between your fingers, watching his face contort in pleasure that isn’t quite enough but is almost too much to bear.

Watching him unravel.

He's been hard for too long and the front of his loose fitting sweatpants are soaked through. Colt is strong and he has stamina for days, but he really can’t keep this up for much longer, not with the way you’re teasing and coaxing, being so soft and caring with him.

Your hip presses briefly against his cock the hen you reach up to stroke that loose strand of hair, and Colt writhes, biting his bottom lip to keep from letting out the hungry groan that’s been nagging to tear from his chest.

You brush against him deliberately now and again, watching his chest muscles tense while his cock throbs at the hint of contact, and this time he does let out a groan. It’s guttural and almost relieved, and the wet patch grows a little darker.

He’s delicious like this, you think, simmering on the edge of bliss, needy but not daring to ask for anything more than you’re giving him. He completely relinquishes control to you, giving you both his body, and the power to oversee his pleasure however you see fit.

He trusts you, and you take good care of him. It works.

‘Colt?’ you whisper, still massaging that perky, sensitive nipple, and he whines in response. He can’t formulate so much as a thought of anything worth saying, let alone turn the sound into a word. So he gives up and simply nods instead, face scrunching up in pain when the roots of his hair snag against your tight grip.

It’s not just pain, though; it’s pleasure too, and he shudders at the sensation it sends running down his spine. 

It’s almost too much. Every touch is bringing him dangerously close to the edge, and having his hair tugged was a factor he never expected would contribute.

Lips pulling into a smirk at his reaction, you whisper, ‘Do you need to cum?’

‘P-pl-’ he tries, resorting back to a nod, slower this time, gentle against your fist, trying not to let this new thrill he’s discovered overwhelm him too soon.

‘Then tell me you’re handsome.’

‘Wha-’

‘Tell me you’re handsome,’ you repeat, a clear and simple request, fingers finding the tip of his cock with your and tracing a featherlight touch over the pulsing bulge in his damp sweatpants.

Heat radiates through the fabric as you trace the outline of a vein running down the underside of his length, and he twitches against your finger, cock begging for more — or less, if you want this to continue for much longer.

‘I- I’m- handsome,’ he chokes out, hips stuttering as you circle his sensitive tip again.

‘Tell me you’re smart, too.’

He shakes his head. It’s too vigorous and it hurts, but a spark of bliss shoots down to his core and he grunts as he feels himself leak out another thick drop of precum. His head drops back against the wall, your fist there to cushion the blow.

‘Come on, Colt, you can do it. Tell me.’

Your finger slows to a stop and his breathing turns uneven and ragged.

‘No- no, please- I… I can’t- I’m not!’

‘Oh but you are, and I need you to believe it. I need to hear you say it.’

He dares to open his scrunched up eyes just enough to glance at you.

You mean it. He knows you mean it. And he will never not give you what you ask for, so he manages, somehow.

‘I’m… I’m smart,’ he mutters, embarrassment pricking at his cheeks.

‘Good boy,’ you coo, massaging his tip again, gentle and slow.

Oh, Colt thinks, lost in the sensation, absentmindedly rolling his hips in time with your fingers, worth it.

Because he likes praise. He likes doing right by you, even if he doesn’t always agree with what you want him to say about himself. If you believe it, that’s enough for him.

‘I think you really deserve to cum now.’

‘Oh- yeah, ok-’ he breathes, still trying to please you, to sound agreeable, but it comes out desperate and you smirk as you lean up to press your lips to his for a moment, his cock once again left to throb aimlessly inside his sweatpants in the empty space between you, untouched and leaking steadily.

He feels a sinking disappointment when you loosen your grip on his long hair, but then you dip your head and your lips wrap around the plump nipple you’d been teasing moments earlier, and he moans, loud and unrestrained, bucking his hips and grabbing your shoulders to seek something- anything you might be good enough to give him.

With one hand still loose in his hair, the other drags painfully slowly over his stomach, fingers grazing his happy trail, to hook under the waistband of his sweatpants, open a space big enough to slide your hand inside the fabric and press your palm flat against the underside of his cock.

It’s sticky with precum and he blushes again at how wet he feels.

His cock is thick and heavy, noticeable even just from resting against your palm, and you can feel every little throb of need it gives. Your eyes drag over his burly form, and absentmindedly, you lick your lips.

His jaw clenches at that. He’s trying so hard not to spill yet, forcing his hips still and concentrating on breathing. He needs you to tell him when, but it’s growing more difficult by the minute to wait for that command, even while there’s no friction, no movement.

‘Tell me one more thing?’

‘Anything!’ Colt cries out, voice weak, strangled and cracking, the vein in his cock throbbing against your palm.

‘Tell me what you need?’

‘I need- oh-’

You finally stroke his cock. A soft, gentle massage that, to him, feels like far too much at this point. He can’t hold off, his release is approaching rapidly and-

‘Oh, fuck- I can’t-’

‘That’s it baby, you can, I promise,’ you coo, and your fingers wrap around his length while your tongue resumes its work on his sensitive nipple.

‘I- I need to-’ he rasps, on the verge of more tears. But these are needy tears, not self pitying ones, and you both know that you’ll give him what he needs, eventually.

The tears pour, steaming down his cheeks, and as a reward for trying so hard, you begin to move your fist, pumping faster the more he attempts to spit the words out, and tightening the grip of your other hand to yank his hair, hard.

Colt growls at the combined sensations and your teeth catch on his nipple as he jerks forward. It’s so good, so overwhelming, he knows he’s done for, and every ounce of strength in him diminishes until there’s just your hand, your mouth, your warmth. He’s safe like this with you. Safe and handsome and smart. Fuck.

His vision blurs as the words continue to fall from his trembling lips; ‘I need to- cu-ohhh-oh!-ughhh-mmmnnn-gg-’ and he spills uncontrollably, hips snapping forward into your furiously pumping fist while his cock darkens the front of those sweatpants with a fresh layer of thick, hot seed, dripping down satisfyingly over your hand, too while his whole body turns limp.

You continue working his softening length with slower, softer strokes until he’s got nothing left to give and he’s softening inside your loose fist.

He’s a heap on the floor by now and you’re positioned over him, pushing your fingers through his hair and softly brushing it away from his face instead of pulling at it. The contrast soothes him and he whimpers, nuzzling his face into your shoulder as you settle beside him.

You wipe his release from your hand onto a dry patch of his pants — they’re going to need a thorough wash anyway, and Colt doesn’t even notice.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his over-sensitive cock relieved and soft and coated in his own cum, twitching with aftershocks.

Slowly, he begins to feel like he’s made of jelly, the feeling spreading from his core out to his limbs, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

He floats away on the haze of bliss while you play with his hair and press soft kisses to his cheek, whispering how good he was for you into his ear, the praise dripping like warm honey.

When he comes to, he first notices that your comforting weight is no longer pressed against his side, and then he recognises the calming trickle of the tap filling his bathtub and the scent of lavender floating through from the steamy room. 

Whatever you did to him has relieved his back pain, however temporary, and he shifts on the floor, seeing how it feels to have more ease in his movements.

There’s a cushion under his head and you’ve stripped him of his cum stained sweatpants, replacing them with a blanket for now.

It feels like you’ve brushed his hair.

He smiles to himself. A big, dumb grin that would make you want to kiss him (and pounce on him) if you were still beside him.

He looks over to where you were laid before he drifted off and sees that you’ve left him a glass of water.

His heart skips.

He’s not sure he can drag himself to the bathtub right now, weak from too much pleasure and somewhat overwhelmed at it, but he knows you’ll help him. And that it’s what he needs.

He knows you’ll massage his shoulders, and that you’ll wash his hair with tender, loving fingers, and gush about how pretty it is all the while. 

About how pretty he is. 

You’ll do it until he sees his worth, and as difficult as it may be to learn and accept that he’s as desirable as you seem to think he is, he’s not exactly complaining about hearing it from you. Especially when you choose this method — the one where he gets to cum.

He knows he’ll be hard again by the time you’re done washing and massaging him, too, but you’ll take mercy on him since he’s so overstimulated. Won’t you?