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itsgrimeytime · 4 months

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he's such a pretty liar || Rick Grimes (TWD) × gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz @deadgirlrin

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Dialogue Prompts: 8 + 2

Inspiration: my boy by Billie Eilish

Summary: You and Rick had gotten along at some point, at the farm and prison. You were friends even. Until the Governor killed Hershel, which you believed to be perfectly preventable. Because of his inaction then, you'd gotten a bitter taste in your mouth at the thought of him and eventually, he started to reciprocate the behavior. But as time passes, and you experience more and more with him, is it really hate that you feel?

TWs: enemies to lovers (like fr though), yelling, mentions of death (Shane, Lori, Beth, and Hershel), mention of the Claimers scene, cursing, anger, nosebleed, bruising, love confessions, injuries, blood, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: This is based on Carl being mad at Rick after the prison. Rick do be stressed out, and he do be saying some terrible stuff, but like so are you. This gif is so 🫣💞🤭💞🤪. Anyway, enjoy :))) ]]

You weren't a bad person, and in that regard, you wouldn't say Rick was either. Honestly, you respected him as a leader -you just didn't agree with all his choices. That's where it all started, after all, isn't it?

You'd seen what a wrong choice could do, you'd watched Hershel die right in front of your eyes. You'd seen it all.

And, sure, maybe you were grieving a little but you still largely disagreed with Rick's actions on the matter. It was preventable.

It started there, and only really got worse. It was like once you identified one flaw, suddenly you were second-guessing his every move. The two of you couldn't be in a room without arguing, couldn't be put on shifts together, nothing. Daryl, for one, wouldn't let you be alone together at all. And if it wasn't him, it was someone else.

"Rick, seriously," you spoke once, almost sternly, "-that can't be your decision."

"Why?" he responded -pointed and short, "-Ya got a better idea? Go right fuckin' ahead."

You knew that since the prison, Rick had been strung thin. You knew that he had been harder on himself than you could ever be about Hershel. But, you still were angry. Sometimes, sometimes it felt like maybe he was just a target for everything that you'd been through. And you were trying to change your behavior, change your ways.

You'd known him for so long, and you were going to be stuck with him. The group, even though the two of you weren't on the best terms, was like family to you.

And then, it started getting personal.

This argument stemmed from something small, trivial, you can't even remember it now. Maybe a decision on a run? You can't-

"Ya act like ya ain't made mistakes of your own," he added, "-all high and damn mighty-"

"When did I say that?" You interrupted, more cold than anything, "-You're putting words in my mouth, Grimes."

"-Because I seem to remember ya tellin' me about your family," he continued, not even pausing to listen to you.

You stilled in place.

"Rick," you warned (voice slightly shaking), "-don't... don't go there."

Your family. At the beginning of all this, you'd froze -scared. Watched one of them get bitten, and then everyone just followed after -not willing to grieve. You regretted not being quicker, not being more aware, but you weren't used to it. You weren't-

"Ya fucked up," Rick continued, as if he wasn't bringing up what he was, "-We all do, why do you-"

"No, no," you shook your head, voice shaking, "-Rick, that is not fair. You can't bring up my family-"

You had hated yourself for that, hated yourself. Still did. You would never forgive yourself for not saving them, even though you really didn't have an idea how to then, you should have-

God, he was bringing this up? Really?

"-over a goddamn run strategy."

"Well, you pick apart every damn thing I do," he retorted, "-'Thought I'd do the same for once."

"Oh, fuck you, Rick," you seethed, tears burning the backs of your eyes, "-you want me to poke at your wounds? Talk about who you could've saved?"

He pursed his lips, and you saw something flash through his eyes (they were trailing the now shake of your hands) that looked a little like regret. Like maybe he was understanding what he said. You felt like your skin was on fire.

"Do you want me to start from the beginning?" You tsked, a fire burning in your chest, "-Shane? Or maybe Lori? Beth? Hershel-"

"Stop," he stated, quieter than before.

"-Why, Rick?" you hissed, and you felt the tears now, "-Is this not what we're talking about? Oh, do you not want me to bring that up? Over a run?"

"I get it," he spoke, softer, and something in you sharpened, "-I get it, Y/N."

"Do you?" you responded, frustrated and just... angry, "-Do you, Rick?"

"I shouldn't 'ave-"

"Can it," you interrupted -short, "-Let's just get the fucking supplies and go."

Rick frowned, blue eyes far more emotive (all you could see was regret and pity), "Y/N, I didn't-"

"You didn't what?" You countered, and your voice was cracking, "-You didn't mean to bring up the fact that I watched my family die, right in front of me? Do you think that I don't hate myself every day for not doing anything then?"

Rick didn't say a word.

"-Hate to break it to you, sheriff, but I fucking do."

"Y/N..." he trailed off, blue eyes much calmer, the rage from before dissipating out of his voice.

"No, just-" you cleared your throat, wiping mindlessly at your frustratingly red eyes, "-Let's get this shit done and leave."

From then on, it had been much deeper.

You couldn't stand him, you hadn't been alone with him since. He made your skin crawl and your mind flare up in anger, and sometimes, just sometimes, it would shake your respect for him. Because you did have some, you probably wouldn't even be here, if you didn't.

The funny thing about it all was that you were close to Carl, very close to him. At the prison, after Lori's death, you'd nearly been inseparable. It was kind of like a parent relationship, but at the same time a little like a friend. It made you want to reconcile sometimes, but all you and Rick did was clash.

So much that you started to wonder what a normal conversation was like with him.

And then, you had the run-in with the Claimers.

God, what they'd threatened to do to Carl? You personally would've snapped their spine yourself if you had the chance. But what Rick had done? You couldn't imagine it yourself.

But you knew that he did what he had to. And some part of you wanted to tell him that, despite... despite all of your problems, you knew he needed it.

It was late that night when you decided to talk to him. It was just the two of you awake. You, on purpose, and you just knew Rick would be. Doing that was probably still rattling through his skull, he probably couldn't even close his eyes without-

Your steps were slow and careful, trying not to startle him -he just seemed to be staring. Endlessly staring, and just pacing. Despite it all, you felt something in your chest swirl with worry.

"Rick?" you spoke, gently. Even still, you saw his whole body tense up.

"Please," he muttered, voice low and gravelly -blue eyes heavy on you, "-I don't need your shit right now. I kno' 'at I did somethin' bad, really damn bad. But I just can't deal wit' ya-"

"No, Rick," you interrupted, "-that's not why I'm... That's not what I want to say."

"What do ya want to say, then?"

"You made the right decision," you responded, tone sturdy and unmoving, "-you... you did what you had to."

Rick stilled, something flickering through his face -a flutter of emotions.

"I know, we aren't on the best terms, but-" you rolled your lip around your teeth, "-you're not a monster, Rick."

The silence was loud then, as his blue eyes skimmed over you -carefully. Maybe like he was seeing a new you, or maybe an old one he'd forgotten about. One you'd forgotten about.

"Trust me, I know it feels like it," you added (mind flashing with what you'd done over the years), "-but you did what you had to. You saved your son, and that's all that matters."

He didn't say anything for a moment, trying to process your words. And if you really looked, you might've seen his eyes fogging up a little and the slight drop of tension in his shoulders. A little like he was waiting for someone to tell him that.

And then, he replied, "Thank ya."

You pursed your lips a moment, fidgeting with your hands. You weren't sure what else to say. This was all so new. With a succinct nod, you moved to spin on your heel and lay down for the night.

"Wait," he called, and you turned back to him -eyes inquisitive.

There was a beat.

"-'At day, on the run," he continued, slow and regretful, "-I'm... I'm sorry. I never should 'ave said somethin' like 'at. I never should 'ave brought it up at all. 'Wasn't right of me to."

"Thanks, Rick," you responded, brief but genuine, grateful. You could tell he understood.

Before you could fully turn around though, he added -softer, with something you couldn't quite name, "Goodnight, Y/N."

There was a pleasant hum in your mind at the way he said your name, but you shoved it away. You'd locked all of that far away, a long time ago.

"Night, Grimes," you chimed back, lighter in tone.

He smiled at you then, and something in you gleamed a little from it. Not that you would ever say it out loud.

There was something different after that, a sort of trust or respect. Or maybe something else, you didn't really know. It was there, though.

When you found Alexandria, things shifted a little. Mostly because it was your group against another one, you and Rick were profoundly on the same side. That being said, you still clashed. You weren't sure if it was just the authority of it all, or what? (It might've had a little to do with a blonde wife that he was spending some time with, but you'd never say that out loud.)

"You're seriously not going to let me lead the run?"

"I got Daryl on it," he responded, eyes solely sat on you.

"He's been on all the runs lately," you continued, trying to explain your case, "-Shouldn't this shit be evenly distributed? Have you even talked to Daryl about what he wants? Or are you just assigning us like it's some dictatorship-"

"'Course I damn talked to 'im," he snapped back, and you could see something tired in his eyes, "-everybody gets a say in what 'ey're doin', ya know 'at."

"Except for me," you contradicted, "-you keep giving me the same fucking chores, when I'm useful in other places-"

And he was, he kept you in Alexandria -washing clothes, making dinner, keeping an eye on the people. He made you some kind of mediator between Deanna's people and your own. But you were useful, you shouldn't be locked inside like you couldn't handle yourself. Because you could, and you had before.

"-You know, I scavenged for months before I met you, right? I was alone, and I figured it out."

"I know 'at," he confirmed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You could nearly see the stress radiating off him, but you couldn't stop, not then.

"So, so what-" you asked, "-you don't trust me? You don't think I can do it?"

Rick sighed, big and loud -fully facing you, "It ain't 'at, Y/N. I know ya can handle yourself, I've seen it."

"Then, what is the problem, Grimes? I don't get it-"

"Just take the goddamn next run," he groaned, something in his tone broken (and something a little like guilt curled up in your stomach), "-I'll tell Daryl he's switchin'."

You stopped in place, words faltering off your lips. Your will and the fire in your gut extinguished, you suddenly felt very out of place, and a little like the bad guy. You knew you weren't though, but he just looked so tired-

"Okay," you finally responded, a little dumbfounded, "-thanks."

He nodded in your direction and didn't say a word. You took it as a motion to move along, so you did.

Apparently, he might've had a good reason to worry.

It wasn't that first run, or even the second or third, it was the fourth after that conversation that you were stupid. Well, it really wasn't your fault. You thought someone had your back, and they didn't; so, one of the walkers had clawed pretty deep into your arm.

It was bleeding a lot (maybe too much) and probably needed stitches, but you didn't worry about it. Denise could handle it, and you, as a community, were pretty good on medical supplies at this point.

What you didn't expect, was after Denise patched you up for one Rick Grimes to be on your ass.

You were still sitting in her doctor's space (you had no idea what to call it) then, silently trailing your fingers over the bandaging. You could already see some of the blood through the white of it. It made you a little nervous, you won't lie.

And then, the door swung open.

At first, you nearly grabbed for the knife you hid on you -alarmed, assuming it was someone coming to hurt you. Instead, you were met with one Rick Grimes -his face was all scrunched up in that way he always got when he was frustrated.

If there was one thing you could recognize, it was that.

"Rick?" you questioned -carefully, a little shocked by him bursting into the room. Did you do something to him recently?

"'At's why ya can't go on fuckin' runs," he grumbled out -suddenly so angry, it made your head spin.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What?"

"You're always makin' damn bad decisions," he continued, and something in you bristled. Your defenses were up in an instant.

"What the fuck, Rick?" you countered, "-You don't even know what happened, how the hell do you know it's on me?"

"You're injured," he clarified, a little like he was talking to himself, "-ya made a stupid mistake-"

"How the hell do you know that?" you hissed, "-Do you just think everything that goes wrong has to be my fucking fault, Grimes?"

"-and you're damn hurt."

There was something there in his tone, something different. Your frustration twisted into a little bit of curiosity. What was that?

"I can’t leave ya alone for one second without ya hurting yourself, can I?" He started up again, and it was there again, angry but also... but also-

Your eyes swam over him, and you recognized it then, worry. He was worried about you, you felt something in you stall. It was so different from what you knew from him-

"I mean," you responded, a little awkwardly -unsure (since when did he care so much?), "-I’m fine so it’s okay-"

"No, it’s not okay," he suddenly shot his eyes to you, blue eyes heavy with worry (so much, it shot to your core), "-Not when I feel like I’m goin' to go batshit fuckin' crazy, thinkin' you’ve hurt yourself."

It was silent for a moment, as your mind processed the words. Skimming along his face, as he seemed to do the same -frustration dissipating along his features.

That... That was new.

"It's just some scratches," you spoke -a little lost, you weren't sure exactly what to say. He cared about you that much? Thought about you that much?

Rick's eyes darted to the bandages, which were just about as dark as before -which was just a little, the stitches seemed to stop it mostly. Something in him relaxed, you could tell in his shoulders -the drop of the tension. You couldn't believe that was because of you. When-

"Ya had to get stitches, yeah?" He spoke, suddenly and a bit awkwardly too (like he wasn't sure what to do).

"I did," you confirmed, just looking and something in you felt like you needed to tell him more, so you did, "-Uh, five in one, and three in the other."

He pursed his lips (like he was debating something), before shattering out a breath, "Can I see it?"

"It's already wrapped up," you responded, blankly -you were running a little on autopilot, "-She already-"

"Denise can rewrap it," he offered, stepping closer. Something in your stomach stirred.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "You want to waste medical supplies, just so you can see my wound?"

Rick's lips pressed into a thin line, something in him firing back up, "I'll replace the supplies my damn self, if I 'ave to, just let me see."

You couldn't really say anything, it felt like all the words had washed from your head. Like you couldn't speak if your life was on the line.

He faltered a second, sighing, and his eyes shifted to something softer (a little like pleading), "I... I need to see if ya are alright."

You felt like you were stone -frozen.

"Please."

Your heart lept into your throat (and you let your mind drift somewhere you'd never let it before), "Yeah, okay."

That started the shift.

And he started checking over you after every run, you thought it would've been annoying but... you got used to it. And something in you liked helping him calm down, although you'd never say it out loud.

Things were a little different. You clashed but it wasn't as fiery anymore. Because you knew he cared about you, and somewhere you could acknowledge you cared about him. (More than you'd ever admit.)

This time it wasn't even Rick you were arguing with. It was someone originally from Alexandria. You couldn't even remember their name, but they'd said something about you and you let it slide. But then, they kept going.

"You made a shit call," the guy remarked, sauntering up to your side.

You were a little startled, but you stayed composed, "What are you talking about?"

"We could've gotten more supplies," he continued, "-that gun store was right there, and you called the whole fucking thing off."

You soured -something steeling in your gut, "You mean the one that was swarmed? Hate to break it to you, but we were outnumbered."

"We could've done it," he added -persistent, something frustrated in his tone, "-we had the manpower."

"Are you serious?" you laughed a little incredulously, "-There were three of us, and about 30, 40 maybe, walkers. That is-"

"Maybe you couldn't have done it," he tsked, lips falling in a flat line.

You flexed your jaw, trying to stay composed, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a sorry fucking excuse for a lead," he gritted through his teeth, "-You don't know shit about-"

"Next time, just go right ahead and do it yourself then," you shot back but stayed still in your space (composed, composed, composed), "-and I don't know about you, but I value life more than something we already fucking have-"

"It's ammunition," he seethed, stepping much closer to you -something sparking behind his eyes, "-Don't know if you fucking know this, but it's pretty damn important to survival-"

"No," you disagreed, voice calm and collected, "-it's not. You don't need to walk into a situation that you can't handle-"

Without warning, a fist flew at your face -right at the nose.

"Shit," you hissed, and you felt the thrum of pain under your skin and could almost immediately taste the coppery taste of blood, "-What the fuck? Why did you-"

"What the hell is goin' on 'ere?"

It was Rick, and his tone was something you'd only heard a few times -blue eyes flickering over you. They held onto your, now bleeding, nose which you were now trying to soothe, and something in his jaw tightened.

The guy was the first one to speak, mostly because you were trying to stop the bleeding. Luckily, Maggie rushed up to your side with paper towels -doing her best to help too.

"They made a mistake on the run-"

Rick didn't let him get far, "So, you punched 'em in the damn face?"

"Well," the guy fell quieter, "-we were arguing-"

Maggie snapped back, shifting her focus for a moment, "You were arguin'."

"No-"

"They were just trying to talk some sense into ya," she continued, tone cold, "-You were the one who took it personally-"

Rick put a hand on her shoulder, eyes flickering toward you -something swimming through them that you recognized from a different day, and Maggie took the notion to stop talking. She turned back to you, and gently guided you to tilt your head forward. On instinct, you pinched your nostrils shut -breathing out of your mouth.

"Even if it was a fuckin' argument," Rick tsked, something cold in his tone, "-there's no damn reason to do 'at. They weren't gettin' violent with ya-"

"How do you know that?"

"Because I kno' 'em," he retorted, "-an' if 'ey got their hands on ya, you wouldn't be standin' in front of me."

You laughed a little and could feel his eyes shoot to you for a second. It made something in your chest flutter, something you were trying desperately to ignore.

"We need to get ya some ice," Maggie spoke, mostly to herself, "-It's already bruisin' up pretty bad."

"'S leave 'is for another day," Rick seemed to exit the conversation with the man, tone unshakable, "-but if I 'ear anythin' else from ya, 'ere's gonna be a problem. Ya got 'at?"

You could almost visually see the way Rick shifted as he made his way over to you. Composure slipping into something more worried, eyebrows furrowing and eyes shining in an entirely different way. Like he couldn't help it, his hands frantically found themselves along your shoulders. It made your skin buzz a little, and made you feel a little woozy. Well, you guessed there could be more than one reason for that.

On that note, you stumbled in place a little, and Rick's hands immediately slid to your sides -stabilizing you. Your heart skipped a beat, stupid fucking handsome men with big fucking hands.

"'Ey, can ya bring a chair over 'ere, please?"

Before you could so much as blink, he was pushing you into it -gently, mind you. Ever-so-gently. And almost on instinct, he fell onto one knee in front of you, trying to hold your eye contact with your head slightly forward, you guessed. His eyes were the same as that day, but there was something else there too, something fuzzier.

"Maggie, ya go get the ice," he turned to her, "-I'll stay with 'em."

She seemed to scamper off because you could tell it was just the two of you. Maybe he'd warded off everyone else, Rick had this... aura to him when he wanted to -a dangerous one. Sometimes you thought it was to balance out his natural nature as a leader.

Quietly, you heard Rick tear off another paper towel and gently wipe at your mouth (where you imagined blood was staining at this point). It was strangely intimate, as you just skimmed over his face.

He was entirely focused on the task, so your eyes roamed along the creases along his face, the blue of his eyes, the sharp line of his nose, the little curls that peeked behind his ears-

You blinked, clearing your thoughts. He was always handsome, you knew that.

"What even is that dick's name?" you questioned, testing to see if your nose had stopped bleeding as much. It had.

Rick smiled a little, looking up at your eyes from where he was focused before (he seemed to be done), "I 'ave no fuckin' clue."

You laughed at that, and if you were honest with yourself thought you saw something shoot through his eyes. Something warm. You ignored it.

"'S hurt?" he spoke, softer.

You responded, simply, "I've had worse."

Rick smiled a little at that, but fell into something more serious, "So, yeah?"

"Like a bitch," you admitted, and he let out a low sort of chuckle.

It made something in you relax, something warm lighting up in your chest. You let yourself feel it this time, just once.

"Just so ya know," he interrupted your thought process, "-'at ain't happenin' again."

You frowned, furrowing your eyebrows -warmth dissipating, "Are you- Are you chastising me right now?"

"No," he quickly responded, but didn't explain further, "-'M just tellin' ya I ain't lettin' it happen again."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Rick paused a second, ripping another paper towel off and dabbing at your nose. It was probably still bleeding a little bit.

You just watched him, waiting for an explanation. Even though, you weren't entirely sure he was going to give you one.

"Anyone touches ya, says anythin' to ya, so much as looks at ya the wrong way-" he listed, tone deadly serious (it shook through your skull), "-ya come get me, and I��ll set 'em straight. Understand?"

Your mouth moved before you could stop it, "What?"

"I'll handle it," he repeated, pulling away the paper towel and locking eyes with yours, "-It ain't happenin' again."

"Rick," you laughed -incredulously, and maybe a little defensive, "-I don't need a fucking guard dog. I can handle myself."

"'Didn’t say 'at," he hummed, carefully, eyes skimming along your face -a little like he was in wonder (it made your head spin a second), "-'S for me, not ya."

"How does that-"

"If 'ey're fuckin' with ya, 'ey're fuckin' with me," he interrupted, eyes so solid that you couldn't really look away, "-you can handle it how ya want, but Imma 'ave some choice words of my own. So, send 'em my way too."

The words faltered in your throat, something swirling around your heart. He was just so-

The coppery taste again.

You shriveled up your nose in disgust, and Rick laughed at it (something gleaming in his eye), as you reacted -spitting the taste out into the dirt.

"Yeah, keep laughing, Grimes," you tsked, but there was no bite, not really. Not like there used to be, "-I'll beat the shit out of you."

"'Ere's no doubt in my mind," he retorted back, smiling in a way that crinkled at the eyes. You thought for a spare second it was a beautiful one, that maybe he was beautiful.

After that day, you'd say that everything was a little confusing.

These feelings towards Rick were far from new, very far. They'd always kind of been in the very back of your mind. Part of you was actually pretty sure that hating him had in some way distanced you from what you felt otherwise. Now, that is to say, you had definitely hated him at one point. That just didn't mean that it erased the... other thing.

You and Rick were off-kilter. Or at least you were. You guessed you couldn't say anything about him, he was very much a mystery to you at this point.

He just kept doing things. Like the scratch and nosebleed. And every time he'd smile at you a bit warmer, say something you couldn't really avoid. Not anymore. (And you weren't sure you wanted to avoid, honestly.)

And he'd looked at you a lot more, searched you out (when before you used to shun each other, avoid each other), and just smiled at you sometimes for no reason. The thing was you didn't mind it. You wanted him to. Because you... because it was all different.

You were confused, but you weren't going to be the one to encroach on it. It all felt so surreal, that one day something would happen and you'd just snap right back into place -just like before. To be fair, you still argued. But, it was moreso bickering now. And even if it wasn't, before you could get as heated as you used to, you compromised -easily.

You slotted together perfectly and bounced off each other with ease. Hell, he started coming to you about running Alexandria, about problems he couldn't quite get. And the two of you would talk until you worked out a solution. Because you always did.

It made no sense why you'd even clashed in the first place.

You were confused, beyond confused. And you wanted things, wanted to ask things, but they seemed dangerous. Far away-

That brought you here, on a night when you couldn't sleep. Which were more frequent nowadays, if you were completely honest. This whole situation made your mind run for a lot of different reasons, and when it wasn't that, it was nightmares. Alexandria was safe, you knew that, but it didn't necessarily stop your fight or flight -the urge to constantly be on edge, protect.

So, sometimes you sat here on the steps of your porch in the night -the chill and silence of it soothed you. It wouldn't always get you back to sleep, but it would make you feel better. Remind yourself that you're breathing. That you're alive.

You exhaled, trailing your finger along the wood of the railing beside you -absorbing the low buzz of bugs in the air and the strangely familiar groans of walkers outside the walls. It was kinda fucked up that it calmed you down, but you gave yourself a pass.

"Funny seein' ya 'ere."

Your eyes shot up and latched onto his.

The Grimes house was just a couple of houses down, diagonal to yours. So, you could see him, but not entirely clearly.

He was leaning on the porch railing, you could see the sleeves of his jacket against the starch white, and his hair seemed a little messy -your eyes trailed over a particular curl. It was hanging slightly down in front of his face. (You got the urge to fix it, comb it back into place.)

"'Could say the same to you, Grimes," you replied.

You saw him smile, dropping his head to look at the ground. It made something in your chest flutter. But, before you could say anything else, he was stepping down from his porch and making his way to you.

As he got closer you recognized that he was in pajamas with just a jacket thrown over.

He stood just at the bottom of the stairs, leaning onto the railing slightly and just looking at you. Like he always did these days. With worry and... something else.

"Nightmare?" he questioned, genuinely.

You rolled your lip around your teeth, deciding to say, "Kind of."

Rick's lips pressed into a frown, eyes glazing along your face (you didn't look back at him), "Can I sit?"

You were wordless, but moved slightly to the left (despite not really needing to) as unspoken acceptance. He stared at you for a second longer, before slowly but surely making his way to the steps. He sat closer to you than you thought he would've, but it was almost in character of him to do something that surprises you so.

"Ya cold?"

On cue, you shivered slightly, "I've had worse."

Rick let out a low sigh (he knew you well now), nudging off his jacket and hanging it squarely on your shoulders without hesitation. His eyes trailed over you wearing it for a moment, a small look in his eyes that you couldn't name. All shiny as his lips quirked up just a smidgen.

"You don't have to do that," you objected, but it was quiet and weak.

"I want to," he replied, simply.

You couldn't argue with that. Hell, you didn't think you could argue with him anymore-

Rick interrupted the thought, eyebrows furrowed in that kind of way you knew to be worried, "What do ya mean 'kinda'?"

You took a second, staring out into the night -listening to the silence.

"My mind won't stop," you clarified, "-sometimes it's... things I've done, and other times it's... things that I just can't seem to figure out."

"What's it today?"

You pursed your lips a minute, before answering, "Something I can't figure out."

He stared at you, blue eyes flickering along your face in a hazy sort of way. It made something unfurl in your chest that you'd tried to keep shoved down, "Is 'ere anythin' I can do to help?"

You ran the idea through your head a few times, and let your eyes match him a few more. You aren't entirely sure why, but talking to Rick fel a little like he'd never judge you. Even though he had before, it was... it was now. Things were very different.

"Can I ask you a question?" you spoke, then, deflecting a little.

"Shoot," he responded, almost instantly. ( A little like he'd do anything you'd ask.)

"What happened to us?"

Rick's eyebrows furrowed, and you took it as a motion to keep talking, to explain. So, you did.

"We used to-" you dropped your hands on your lap, and stared out into the Alexandrian streets, "-We used to scream at each other until our faces turned red. We couldn't stand each other, and now..."

"'At ain't a good thing?" he questioned, something in his tone a little disappointed (it made your head swirl a little), "-'At it changed, I mean."

"It is," you reassured, facing him a second, "-but I just... Isn't it confusing?"

Rick stayed silent a second, eyes smoothing along your face. Just looking, like maybe he thought you were beautiful (just like you did on that day), or maybe like he never wanted to forget what you looked like.

"No."

You pressed your lips together.

"Don't get me wrong," he clarified with a smile, "-I hated ya once, a long time ago. But 'is? Now? It makes sense."

You asked before you could think about it, "What is 'this'?"

He just stared at you a second, something flickering through his eyes, careful and considerate. Something warm. The warmth you kept seeing now, the one you tried to avoid.

"You," he answered, vaguely, "-Us."

"What does that mean?" you asked, your confusion was ever-so-clear. This was all things you didn't understand.

He didn't say anything, as you stared out into the streets -watching some of the porch lights flicker. The night sky was still dark, so you weren't really worried about the hour.

And then, you felt calloused fingers on your chin -guiding you back to his eyes. The thoughts cleared out of your head.

"Y/N, you drive me fuckin' crazy," he laughed a little, and you felt your eyebrows furrow, "-not just in a frustratin' sorta way. You... I worry about ya like crazy, I think of ya like crazy... I care 'bout ya like crazy-"

Your heart skipped a beat.

"-an' I... I love ya like crazy."

Your lips felt stitched shut, as he just smiled at you -something in his eyes that you could see now. You could identify.

"Ya poke and prod at me until I'm reelin', yeah, but-" he pressed his lips together, eyes shimmering across your face, "-I wouldn't 'ave it any other fuckin' way. An' I mean 'at. I just... I'm not me without ya annoyin' the shit out of me. Without ya callin' me out on my shit."

You laughed, something burning the backs of your eyes, "I am the only one who would do that, huh?"

"Ya are," he grinned at you, and you felt something in your chest squeeze tight.

It felt clear then, abundantly clear.

"I love you too, Grimes."

He grinned, the big kind that crinkled at the eyes, "Thought so."

You rolled your eyes, with no bite, "Oh shut up, sheriff. I could still kick your ass, and you would deserve it."

He laughed, the genuine kind -hand coming to cradle your cheek, "Still, don't doubt it, sweetheart."

You smiled, and noticed just how close the two of you were. He only seemed to be roaming closer, and it made your heartbeat pick up in your chest a little. Before you could stop it, your eyes dipped down to his lips.

He grinned again, the kind that rattle down to your core, all handsome and shiny white teeth. And then, he started moving closer, his own eyes dipping to your lips.

"Ya kno', I can think of a way to get me to shut up."

"Can you?" you teased, quiet between the two of you.

He just hummed, distracted. It made something in your stomach stir.

"I am pretty desperate for you to," you remarked -playfully.

Rick busted into laughter, a loud kind that you barely ever heard from him. It made something in your chest shimmer, proud. You kind of wanted to hear that forever. And now, maybe you could.

The thought made you grin, as you leaned forward, impatiently, and connected your lips to his. It was just a press of lips, but you did feel him lean into it. Before you could get far, he laughed even more, breaking off the kiss, and it made you laugh.

"'Course ya can't wait for one second," he chuckled -playfully, "-You've always been so damn impatient."

"Oh, fuck you, Grimes," you laughed into the night, "-You're lucky I don't-"

And this time, he shut you up.

#its griming time #rick grimes #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #twd rick grimes #rick grimes fanfiction #he's such a pretty liar

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writing-funsies · 1 year

Text

OP characters as besties p.5

p.1 | p.2 | p.3 | p.4 | p.5

characters: Ace, Shanks, Mihawk

warnings: mentions of alcohol, light cussing

notes: all platonic hc's

Ace

will share his food with you

but won't let you take any off his plate

falls asleep on you all the time

uses you as his personal pillow

and will make fun of you if you freak out when riding with him on Striker

despite the fact that it's designed for only one person

but I digress

also uses you as a napkin if needed

sometimes shoots little flames at you to see your reaction

talks about Luffy nonstop

like that's the only thing he ever talks about

by the time you actually meet his little brother

you're ready to strangle both of them

not really

but you could spot the kid a mile away

before you ever actually got to know him

Ace and you working together to become more confident

always teasing each other

you having to fish him out of the ocean when he falls in

drinking contests

staring contests

fighting contests

eating contests

just competing over everything and anything possible

training together

he may be really strong and have a devil fruit power

but he won't hesitate to practice his hand-to-hand combat with you

especially if you need it

will tease you about it though

so you just push him overboard again

long talks about your lives

your pasts

your families

where you see yourselves in a year

five years

maybe even ten years

your goals

and aspirations

just talks about life

he tells you about his dad

and is relieved when you tell him that just because he was his father's son doesn't mean that'll be his legacy

you two would die for each other

nothing will ever tear you apart

besties for the resties

9/10

super sweet and funny

but won't bathe no matter how much you beg

Shanks

party boy™

genuinely doesn't give a fuck

he's here to have fun

and protect his family

that's it

tells you the corniest jokes you've ever heard

also laughs at everything you say

like Luffy, laughs even when you're being serious

uses his missing arm as an excuse if you ever try to get him to do his duties as captain

sometimes struggles with phantom pains

but assures you they'll go away on their own

drinking contests

if he's got a drink in hand

then everyone's gonna have a good time

100% threw up on your shoes once before passing out

laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard when you told him

quickly stifles his laughter when he sees how mad you are

offers to let you throw up on his shoes to make it even

you just stare at his sandals for a moment before walking away

watching Luffy's progress through the news together

bragging about the kid as if he were your own

the antics you two get up to guarantee that Ben will have a constant headache

the rest of the crew finds your dynamic duo to be hilarious

the sheer power of this crew is near unimaginable

so if the two of you ever actually fight enemies

they don't stand a chance

if anyone ever targeted you

and hurt you

Shanks would have his crew capture your attacker

and then show them exactly why no one messes with the Red Hair Pirates

8/10

always provides a good time

but will laugh at you if you fall

Mihawk

I ain't ever seen two pretty best friends

until now

you are probably a little more lively than this warlord

he just doesn't care for drama

which means it's up to you to keep him in the loop

yet somehow he has the truly juicy details you could only wish to find on your own

y'all have a small book club

it's just the two of you

you tried to invite Perona to join

but she thought that your reading selection was so not cute

you even tried to invite Shanks once

all that accomplished was you gaining a new drinking buddy

which Mihawk begrudgingly allowed to happen

basically, the book club is just you two sipping on wine while discussing every mistake that the author made while writing your current read

salty bitches™

you're one of the only people alive who can get Mihawk to laugh

which is your favorite party trick

except that he's never laughed at the parties you both went to

(ie visiting Shanks and getting roped into a night of drinking)

he airs out all of the other warlords' dirty laundry to you

will talk mad shit about them

well at least most of them

he finds that no matter how powerful they may be

they're all idiots in his eyes

they can't see the big picture

he trusts that you have enough common sense to use the information sparingly

and you do

for the most part

it's giving rich single wine aunt meets vodka mom (but without the kids)

9/10

knows how to relax in style

but will not let you play with his sword no matter how many times you ask

#one piece headcanons #one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece imagines #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates #ace x reader #ace x y/n #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader

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phoward89 · 5 months

Text

Masterlist

Dark!Coryo, Dark!Peacekeeper Coryo, Innocent!Reader, Delulu!Coryo, obsession, manipulation, toxic relationship, drinking, cussing, oral (f receiving), p in v, squirting, creampie, dubcon, breeding kink, degradation, uh that's about it

Chapter 5:

According to the clock tacked up behind the bar it was past midnight. Your brother was still perched at the bar, knocking back moonshine and staring at you and Coryo. He's been watching the two of you all night go back and forth between the dance floor and a wall side table. Seeing you so enchanted by Private Snow along with being introduced to his fellow Peacekeepers pissed him off.

If it wasn't for Ashlie plying him with moonshine and reminding him with harsh whispers that he can't make a scene because she can't afford to lose her job, well, he would've started shit with Coryo. But, since he had booze flowing freely at his beck and call he decided to stay put on his bar stool. Plus, he has to admit, even in his inebriated state, that the family couldn't afford Ashlie to lose her job. Hell, it was bad enough that you lost your job.

And now your brother's starting to think that maybe the Doula running the apothecary shop fired you because she felt uneasy with Private Snow hanging around you. Hey, Rein knows that you had to meet him somewhere; it only makes sense that you met him in town. In the Merchant's Sector while working.

Your brother was over everything. He did his best to raise you, but you seem to be cut from the same cloth as your mother. Rein never liked his stepfather, Colonel Javanis Halvir, and he never told you about him or the truth about how he died. About how both of your parents died.

But if you keep hanging on Private Snow as if the sun shines out of his damn asshole then he might have to tell you the truth. As a scare tactic. A warning to stay away from the pretty boy peacekeeper that's wooing you with twisted words and pretty pearly white smiles.

“Stop staring at that peacekeeper like you want him to drop dead, Rein.” Ashlie ordered her longtime boyfriend in a long, drawn out huff. When her only reply from him was a squint of his Seam grey eyes, she sighed. Looking between your brother and you, as you sat on Coryo's lap sipping on moonshine, Ashlie told your brother, “I'll have a talk with her in the morning about him.” Patting his arm before going over to a customer, she added in, “I'm sure this is just a passing fancy.”

“If she's anything like my mom, well, it ain't just a passing fancy.” Rein slurred, knocking back his shine.

His eyes narrowed disapprovingly as he watched Coriolanus motioning for you to stand up; setting your shine jar down only to stand up after you. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it looks like Coriolanus and you are saying your goodbyes to a couple of his peacekeeper friends.

Goddamnit, he hopes you don't do anything stupid tonight.

You and Coryo walked back to your place from the Hobb side by side. In fact, he had his arm snaked around you; keeping you tightly glued to his hip. The smell of smoke and shine heavily lingered on the two of you. Even in the fresh summer's night air, the stench of the Hobb was heavily stained on you.

“Look, that's the North Star.” You pointed out the star that is used by sailor's and such for navigation. “I read that sailors and military men use it like a compass, if they don't have one, during the dead of night.” You explained, looking at Coriolanus with a smile as he looked up at the bright star shining in the black velvet sky. “It's also known as Polaris.”

“I've never seen it before, darling. The bright lights of the Capitol doesn't make stargazing very easy.”

“We can always lay in the meadow and stargaze sometime if you want.” You offered as you and Coryo continued on your way to your house.

“We'll do it one night, but not tonight.” Coriolanus told you. His breath was hot against your ear as he huskily said, “Tonight I'm going to show you how much I love you.” Pressing his lips to your temple, he crudely promised, “I'm going to fuck you so good tonight, baby.” Giving you a wide, eccentric grin, he added, “And it's all because I love you.”

You felt your heart racing a mile a minute in your chest at the implication of his words, his promise. Were you ready for that? To be fucked. Honestly, you weren't sure.

Coryo was so charming and nice to you. He’s also so devoted despite not being with you that long. And he claims to love you.

So why are you so nervous about his plans for tonight? Is it because you've never done that before or is it something else?

A sloppy wet kiss on your jawline, near your ear, accompanied by a deep husky question of, “You ready for me to make you mine tonight, baby girl?”, shook you out of your mental musings.

Worrying your lip, you slightly pulled away from your platinum blonde peacekeeper and honestly told him in a small nervous voice, “I dunno, Coryo. I've never…you know…been with anyone or been in love before.”

The peacekeeper stopped you both dead in your tracks, only to spin you around and take hold of your face. Squishing your cheeks in his large, calloused hands- his long fingers brushing into your hair, Coriolanus firmly told you with lust in his deep baritone, “I love you, Y/N, and you love me too. I'll always love you; tonight’s time for us to act on our feelings.” Pressing his forehead against yours, he promised, “If you're scared of me fucking you and leaving, don't be. I swear, I'll never leave you. Death itself can't even separate us.”

You still felt nervous, but his romantic words had you giving into his desire. Albeit relentlessly, you agreed to let him make you his tonight in every sense of the word. Your easy cooperation had Coriolanus grinning triumphantly from ear to ear.

Gesturing to your nearby house with a tilt of his head, your boyfriend suggested, “Let's get inside; make ourselves comfortable in your room.”

“Okay.” You simply nodded, although your heart was heavily beating against your ribcage.

You knew that as soon as you walked into your house and entered your room with Coryo that things between the two of you would never be the same again. That things would be serious and binding since he swore to never leave your side once he made love to you.

Well, he said the word fuck, but you'd prefer to say making love since it sounds better. Or at least to you it sounds less crude.

But in time Coryo’ll have you saying fuck too, cause he's not a ‘making love' type of man.

The only light in your small room came from the moonlight streaming in from the window. The silver light cast a glow on your naked body as you lay in bed, chest heaving as you wither under Coryo's touch. His head was between your shaky legs, which were slung haphazardly over his squared shoulders.

The only sound in the room was that of your wet pussy squelching obscenely as he fingered you, faster and faster, while using his tongue to flick and lick your clit.

“Coryo…” You mewled, feeling the coil tighten in your lower belly, as you fisted your faded white sheets.

Resting his head against your inner thigh, while continuing to pump his long fingers in and out of your cunt, he told you, “You're close, baby.” In between placing open mouth kisses along your inner thigh, he asked, “You want me to make you cum? Hmm, darling?”

Of course you want him to make you cum. Your head's spinning and your core’s throbbing. There's an itch inside of you that you desperately need scratched; Coryo's the only one that can do that for you. He's the one that has you teetering at the edge of an intense feeling you've never felt before. Of course you want, no need, him to tip you over the edge into nirvana.

“Yes.” You whine. Nodding your head rapidly, you babble, “Please, Coryo, please make me cum.”

Coriolanus' hot breath fans over the soft skin of your inner thigh as he chuckles, hearty and deep, at your response to his question. It amuses him how he has you, a sweet and innocent girl, squirming and begging under him like a seasoned wanton whore. Only for him tho.

Only for him.

Coriolanus moved his fingers faster inside of your tight wet hole while bringing his lips back to your clit. He sucked hard on the swollen bundle of nerves before using his prominent nose to press against it, hard, while running his tongue sloppily over your folds. He was lewdly eating your cunt with such hunger, such vigor.

Your sweet juices tasted heavenly to him. God, he swears you're the best pussy he's ever tasted; he can't get enough of you. He's literally inhaling you as he laps at your folds, sucking your nectar into his mouth as if it’s a magical elixir to cure everything wrong with him. His nose continues to press into your pearl, making friction that sets your nerves on fire. That paired with the curl of his rough fingers hard and fast against the special spongy spot inside of you and his tongue messily passing thru your puffy petals has you seeing stars.

You cum with his name falling from your lips like a prayer, legs quaking and squeezing around his head. Your head thrashes around on your pillow as he continues to eat your cunt while you ride out your high. Coryo's got his hand, the one that's not stuck inside of your pussy, firmly holding down your lower stomach; preventing you from bucking your hips.

As your breathing steadily evens out, the platinum peacekeeper pulls his fingers out of your cunt and lifts his head. Pressing a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, he tells you, “You've got such a sweet cunt, darling.” Pushing himself up, he raunchily smirks, “Sweeter than honey.”, before sucking your juices off of his fingers.

Your eyes are blown wide by lust and intrigue as you watch Coryo, kneeling between your spread legs in nothing, but his white boxers (which has a wet patch of pre-cum staining them), sucking on two of his long fingers with such erotic fervor. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat and your pussy grew wetter while watching Coryo's eyes flutter as his tongue swirled around his fingers; gathering up all of your juices.

Coriolanus pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a loud, wet pop. Moving off the bed and pulling down his boxers, he smirked, “You're so wet and ready for me, my darling.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head as you took in the sight of Coryo's cock. You've never seen one before, but by the looks of it, well, you knew his was big. It had to be at least 8 inches; was thick too with veins running alongside it. His tip was angry and red, leaking precum.

Coriolanus saw you warily eying up his cock as he took his place kneeling on the bed between your spread legs. Using his hand to spread his pre-cum on his length, to use as lube, he began to give himself a few prep pumps. All while darkly smirking, “Gonna split you open with my big cock, baby.”

Since Coryo's the only man you've ever been with, you're not used to dirty talk. It did turn you on, but you do feel a bit- dunno- flustered by it too. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. Yes, everything you're doing with him feels good, but…still…everything seems so rushed.

As if Coryo has to have you. Has to stake his claim on you.

Well, he does have a primal need to possess you; to own you, but you don't need to know that.

No…

All you need to know is that your boyfriend loves you; wants to show you how much by fucking your brains out and taking your virginity.

“Coryo, is this gonna hurt? I've heard it hurts the girl for the first time.” You ask, looking up into icy blue eyes with apprehension in yours; killing the mood for dirty talk.

Seeing you worried about him hurting you was like a dagger to Coriolanus' heart. He'd never hurt you (not intentionally that is) and he really wants you to enjoy sex. He doesn't want you shying away from it. Hell, he wants you to be comfortable with him fucking you 7 ways til Sunday.

Coryo stopped stroking his cock, only to take your wrists in his hands and place them on his shoulders, all the while giving you assurances of, “Y/N, baby, I won't hurt you. I know I'm big, but I prepped you; your wet enough so I'll just slide on in.”

Nodding, you ask, “Can you go slow?”

“Yea. I'll go slow, baby.” Coryo promised with a kiss before teasingly sliding his cockhead up and down your folds; bumping your clit once or twice too. Lining himself up with your tight hole, he said, “Just hold onto me and try not to be too loud. Yea?”

“Okay.” You nod with a timid smile, hands resting on his shoulders, as he holds onto your hip with his free hand.

Coryo pressed a lingering kiss to your lips before pushing his cock into your tight cunt. The feeling of his tip entering you and stretching you out for the first time stung. But it also felt good in a way that you couldn't describe. Your wet hole greedily sucked in his length as he slowly pushed into you.

Damn, does Coriolanus think that your tight cunt feels good around his cock. He wants nothing more than to just snap his hips and bottom out deep inside of your tight, wet canal, but he was holding back- barely- because you asked him to go slow. He'll do anything for you, because he's obsessed to the point where he wants to ball and chain you to him forever.

You feel every vein and very ridge of his hard cock as Coryo continues to push into you. Your hold on his shoulders tighten as you feel his tip press against your barrier. Biting your bottom lip, you brave yourself for the pain of having your barrier broken. But that pain never comes.

No, you just feel a sharp prick; a burning sting, as your cherry's popped. You do let out a strangled whine as Coryo pushes the rest of the way in; bottoming out and causing a large bulge to become visible in your lower stomach.

“You're such a good girl, darling. Taking me so well.” Coryo praised, looking down at where you're joined. “Look, baby.” He instructed. Pressing a hand to the bulge in your stomach; causing you to let out a throaty mewl, he proudly boasted, “Look how deep I am, how I'm in your womb.”

“Oh…” You trailed off, eyes wide with shock, as you listened to your boyfriend and looked down.

True enough, his cock was deep inside of you. You could see it protruding from your lower belly. It shocked you, mostly since you didn't know it was possible for him to be buried so deep inside of you.

“Fuck…” Coryo swore, his baritone heavy and thick with need. “You're cunt's so tight; feels so damn good around my cock.”

He tilted your chin up slightly, only to bend down and give you a kiss. A kiss that was fiery; full of passion and teeth. Pulling away, he grabbed a hold of your leg and hiked it up over his hip, only to slowly drag his cock out of your tight hole and push it back in again- starting the first movements of your fucking.

Coryo's pace was measured, but his thrusts were deep. With every move that he made, you're feeling pleasure start to bubble up inside of you. At some point, in an attempt to get him to go deeper, you hike up your other leg on his hip.

“Does my cock feel good pounding this pussy, baby? Hmm?” Coryo asked, grabbing a hold of your legs and folding them tightly into your chest. “Huh, baby? Am I fucking you good?” He asked, plunging in and out of you at a hard, fast pace.

Coryo knows, even if you don't, by the way your cunt’s twitching and clenching around his cock that you’re gonna be cumming soon. That your pussy’s fluttering cause she needs pounding; needs fucked hard and raw to drool and squirt out an orgasm.

“Yes, Coryo.” You nod, nails digging into his biceps as you feel your core ache with desire. “Yes, you're fucking me so good.”

“Your cunt's so greedy for my cock, baby.” He huskily told you. Leaning his head down, close to your ear, he whispers in a smug, but filthy tone, “Fuck, you're close again. I can feel that pussy clenching my cock, desperate to milk me dry.”

“Yea.” You desperately agree with him. Feeling the coil start to tighten in your lower belly, for the second time tonight, you plead, “Please, Coryo, make me cum again. Please.”

“Fuck, I love it when you beg for my cock like a wanton whore.” Coriolanus admitted, his tone hoarse with lust, as he looked down at you with undying desire in his blown pupils.

The only sounds in the room are your moans, the obscene sound of your wet squelching cunt, skin slapping against skin, and the creaking of your bed’s metal headboard banging against the wall as your boyfriend bends you like a pretzel. Coryo's pistoning in and out of your cunt so fast that his dog tags are starting to bounce between your chests; even smacking you in the face. Feeling bold, you grab his dog tags in your hand and pull him forward by them, only to lean up slightly and capture his lips in a needy kiss.

A kiss that you didn't even know you craved until you planted it on his lush lips.

Coriolanus let out a groan before hungrily kissing you back. Your kiss soon becomes a heated open mouth mess full of spittle trailing down your chins as he plows faster and faster into your cunt. Your lips trace over his, letting out a high pitch moan as you cum hard around his cock.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck, that's so hot.” Coryo moans at the sight of you squirting, soaking his dick, thighs, and the sheets.

Coriolanus has heard of squirting, but has never seen it before. And now that he knows you're a squirter, well he loves you even more than he did before.

“Coryo, please, it's too much.” You begged, starting to feel overstimulation kick in for such an intense orgasm during your first time.

Coryo’s eyes narrowed as he snarled, “I'm not stopping and getting blue balls, Y/N. Just be a good girl and take it til I cum.”

His reaction took you aback. You honestly wasn't expecting it. You really thought that he'd pull out after you told him that it's getting to be too much for you.

“Coryo, I can't take it. It's too much; I’m too sensitive.” You try to reason with him.

But one thing you'll quickly learn is that there's no reasoning with Coryo. And that's a lesson you're learning right now.

Coryo rolled his icy eyes at you and shook his head before pausing his movements and pulling out of you. You thought that it was over, that he'd take care of himself or maybe even have you touch him, but you're wrong about that.

So wrong.

Instead, Coriolanus grabs you and roughly flips you over onto your stomach. Confused, your try to lift yourself up and look at him over your shoulder. “Coryo-” You begin to ask, only to be roughly shoved down into the mattress face first.

“Don't whine, baby.” The platinum blonde peacekeeper gruffly instruction while pulling up your hips. “I told you, Y/N, that you'll just have to take what I give you cause I'm not fucking getting blue balls tonight.” He sneered while roughly entering your oversensitive pussy in one sharp thrust.

You let out a loud cry, one that Coryo's afraid will wake up the entire neighborhood full of scumbags and gutter rats; send them running over to the sorry excuse of a wooden shack you're in. Bending down, causing the cool metal of his dog tags to brush against your bare back, he hisses right into your ear, “Shut up, bitch. We don't wanna get caught, now do we?”

Coryo didn't bother to straighten up his back. No, he just began pounding into you rough, hard, and fast. His cock was throbbing and he needed to cum. Badly. Right now he was pissed that you tried to push him off of you before he got the chance to shoot his load into your perfect, tight cunt and knock you up.

Hell, he knows you're a virgin, but he wasn't expecting you to get all whiny and panicky at overstimulation. Gods, he hopes you learn your lesson tonight when it comes to his dominance in bed- well while fucking in general cause he knows it's not going to be contained to just the bedroom.

You sobbed into your pillow, hair fanning you like a halo, and hands twisting into your sheets as Coryo pistons in and out of you at a brutal pace. You feel the tip of his cock bruising your cervix with every move he makes along with his cum heavy balls slapping against your puffy, swollen clit, making your cunt burn and ache.

“For whining about not being able to take it, your greedy lil tight cunt's clenching around my cock again.” Your boyfriend mockingky grunts in your ear, his fingers digging painfully into your hips. No doubt you'll have bruises marring them in the morning.

“Coryo…please…please…” You cried desperately into your pillow. Honestly, you're not even sure what you're begging for. Maybe some kind of relief from the intense pressure you're feeling? Yes, that has to be it.

You need relief from what you're currently feeling. The intense push-pull inside of you; the electricity coursing thru your core.

“Shut the fuck up. Damn, bitch, you want your brother to bust in here and pull me off ya ‘fore we both cum?” Coryo sneered, his deep timbre rough, heavy, and dripping with sin.

Fearing that you'd get him caught, since he had no idea if your family's home or not, he pulled you up by the nap of your neck and ordered in a whisper hiss, “Hold onto the headboard, now.”

You did as you're told, stretching your arms out and grabbing the metal rails of your headboard. Before you could even register what was going on, one of Coryo's large, calloused hands wrapped around one of yours while his other hand roughly covered your mouth- literally smothering you.

Your eyes are wide at the new position you find yourself in. Your mind’s overloaded by everything as Coryo picks up his fast, punishing pace pounding your pussy.

Everytime you try to whine or moan, your boyfriend clamps his hand down hard, muffling your cries and causing your jaw to ache. Your body's being jolted back and forth rapidly by Coryo's fast paced movements. Oh God, if you weren't bracing yourself by holding onto your bed frame your head would've been driven thru the thin wooden wall by now.

The cool metal of his dog tags dangles against your back as Coryo hunches over you, possessing your body for his pleasure. He's plowing roughly into you from behind, working both of you up to your orgasms.

He's panting and sweat’s beading his brow as he grits out, “I'm gonna cum, baby.” Feeling your cunt clamping and clenching around his cock, he orders, "You better cum too.”

One, two, three more rough thrusts and Coryo's biting into the crook of your neck, causing you to cry out a strangled sob as your final orgasm of the night hits you hard. His hand falls from your mouth and slips down to lightly squeeze your throat, as he shoots thick, hot ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

Instead of pulling out, he languidly snaps his hips; lazily fucking his seed into your womb.

“Shit, baby, think I just knocked you up?” He asks while gently strumming his thumb against the side of your throat while still keeping a loose grip around it. “You're gonna look so sexy, full and swollen with my baby.”

What the hell? He wants a baby?! Oh boy…Oh no…Oh boy…You weren't expecting to hear that. Suddenly you feel like you're sinking, that everything’s too much and you can't keep yourself afloat. Tears start to spill down your cheeks since you feel overwhelmed by everything.

Coryo stops his lazy movements and lets his now softening cock (which is still big) slip out of your abused hole. He smugly smirks as he watches a slight trickle of red tinted cum slowly falling from your cunt. His chest burns with pride as he sees the red smears on your thighs and his cock- the proof that he took your innocence. That you belong to him and only him from this moment forward.

Coriolanus realized that he pushed you too hard for your first time as he watched your body shaking with sobs. Sighing, he pries your hands off of your headboard and positions the two of you to lay on your bed under the thin blanket, your body tucked into his with your head resting on his chest.

“I know, baby. I know, it was a bit intense, but don't cry.” Coryo told you, wiping your tears away with the rough pad of this thumb. Rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back, he lovingly cooed, “You did such a good job taking what I gave, baby girl.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he did some damage control with a half-hearted apology of, “I'm sorry I pushed you so hard, Y/N. I just love you so much; got caught in the moment.” Softly stroking your cheek, he assured you, “I'll never do anything to purposely hurt you, my darling rose. I've just never been with a virgin before; forgot that you needed a softer touch once things got heated.”

You just nod your head and let Coryo calm you down; lull you into a dreamless sleep wrapped up in his arms.

Your brother, Rein, passed out a few feet from the door as soon as he stumbled into the house. He was so drunk on moonshine that it's a miracle he even made it home before passing out on the street. Which he's done a handful of times before.

Ashlie on the other hand was as sober as a judge and made her way to the bedroom she shares with your brother just fine. Only problem is that her bed’s pressed up against the wall that separates your bedrooms. Hell, your bed and her bed are actually against the same wall.

So, while your brother, Rein, was passed out on the floor snoring in a pile of his own drool (and most likely puke) his girlfriend, Ashlie, was stuck lying awake in bed listening to your platinum blonde peacekeeper boyfriend roughly fuck you and degrade you. It made the barmaid uncomfortable; made her feel bad for you. She feels like you deserve someone better than a peacekeeper that just views you as an easy piece of ass. So, she knows that tomorrow morning she needs to confront you about Coryo; make you a cup of bitter herb tea too- cause gods forbid you fall pregnant with Private Snow's bastard.

Except there's just one problem with Ashlie's assumption. Private Coriolanus Snow doesn't view you as an easy piece of ass; instead he views you as his soulmate. As the future mother of his children; the beautiful girl that he's going to marry and make his First Lady Snow.

To Coryo you're his girl and nothing's going to change that. Now that he's popped your cherry he's never letting you go. The devil himself couldn't tear the two of you apart.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @preteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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somethingvicked · 5 months

Text

When Love and Hate Collide

Eddie Munson song-fic.

Song lyrics belong to the band Def Leppard!

warnings: female reader, cruel Eddie, angst!

Eddie walked out of his trailer, seeing you sitting on your own porch in the opposite lot with your boombox beside you, listening to your music. Usually your music taste was similar to his, but when you were in a low mood you always went for power ballads. He used to teased you about that but right now he felt like someone had punched him when he saw you refusing to look in his direction, writing in your notebook, silently lip-syncing to the song.

You could have a change of heart If you would only change your mind Instead of slamming down the phone, girl For the hundredth time

He had tried calling you, reasoning with you, begging your forgiveness but it was plain to see that this time you've had enough.

I got your number on my wall But I ain't gonna make that call When divided we stand, baby United we fall

You two had been best friends forever. Your parents had rented the trailer in the lot opposite his and Wayne's when you were barely four years old and you had hit it off immediately.

He couldn't say when those feelings had developed into love. Maybe when your parents had sent you to camp the whole summer and you hadn't seen each other for two months? Maybe it was when Gareth Heath had commented on how you had come back from summer camp with a 'rack of lamb'? Maybe it was when you said that you had a small crush on Patrick Swayze and he got furious because Swayze was a pretty boy, nothing like him and he wanted you to think of only him.

Yet, he never acted on those feelings, despite the hints you dropped. He was scared that if it didn't work out he would lose you forever. That was his worst nightmare. He'd rather stay just friends then.

Got the time, got a chance, gonna make it Got my hands on your heart, gonna take it All I know I can't fight this flame

It was plain to see that it hurt you. Especially when he got drunk and flirted with other girls - maybe just to see how jealous you got, to ensure him you still loved him and only him - or when he sold weed to cheerleaders and they flirted with him, wearing their short skirts and scratching his arm with their painted nails to get a reduced price.

You never did anything of the sort. You were in love with Eddie and wanted no one else. Good thing you didn't because he might have punched the guy you showed the slighest bit of interest in.

It was only because Patrick Swayze was a hundred miles away in Hollywood - and too old for you - that Eddie hadn't killed him.

Not really, but still.

You could have a change of heart If you would only change your mind 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout you, baby Time after time

But last night at the Hideout when some skank (your words, not his) had all but draped herself over him and he had done nothing to prevent it, despite talking to you merely seconds before, you had slammed down your glass on the bar counter top and walked out.

He had pushed the girl off of him and raced after you wondering what was wrong and you had turned around, looking at him with such hatred in your eyes that he had to take a step back. Your voice was colder than ice when you said: "I'm done. Done, Munson (not Eddie. Munson.). You've been hurting me for years. Friends don't do that. And since you claim that's the only thing we are, then I say it's a shitty friendship and I'm better off without it. We're done. Don't call me. Don't visit. Don't talk to me. Never again."

Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you baby Do you have a heart of stone? Without you Can't stop the hurt inside When love and hate collide

He had been struck by surprise, then paralyzing fear before he shook himself out of it. You couldn't mean it... right? No, you were just angry. You would get over it and understand he didn't mean anything by it. You always did.

He had cursed himself a million times over for not going after you when you walked off. He had gone back inside, thinking a little distance would make you cool down.

It was merely hours later that he realized what a mistake he had made.

When he got home he had tried calling you, but you didn't answer. When your parents answered the phone they didn't even bother lying to him - they said you didn't want to talk to him and that was that.

He went over to your place the next day but you didn't come to the door. He knew you were home because once again your mom refused to lie to him, she simply said that you didn't want to see him and that he had to respect your choice.

When Monday rolled around you took the bus to school from the trailer park. You hadn't done that in years, always riding with him in his van. In school you avoided him like the plague, sitting with Robin instead of the Hellfire table. When the guys heard what had happened they all looked at him as if he had killed someone. Or rather, killed you.

I don't wanna fight no more I don't know what we're fighting for When we treat each other, baby Like an act of war

Now he didn't know what to do. It was like someone had reached into his chest and cut his heart out. He had tried saying sorry, even put letters underneath your door, saying he would do better. You still didn't talk to him.

Deep inside he hoped you would again, that you would realize that you missed him, just like he missed you. But for every day that passed he slowly realized that whatever feelings you had for him, he had fucked up one time too many and the pan of the scale had tipped over.

I could tell a million lies And it would come as no surprise When the truth is like a stranger Hits you right between the eyes

"You got to make this right," Wayne said when Eddie all but cried for help. "You obviously don't see her as a friend. Not to mention you hurt her so many times - trying to have your cake and eat it too! That's such a cruel thing to do, Eddie! I've not raised you to act like that! So tell her how you feel. For real. And you better spend the rest of your time making it up to her!"

There's a time and a place and a reason And I know I got a love to believe in All I know Got to win this time

So that same night he showed up on your porch with his acoustic guitar, strumming out the tones to the song you had played just the other day. Not caring whether your parents heard him or even called the cops on him.

Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you, baby Do you have a heart of stone? Without you Can't stop the hurt inside When love and hate collide

You could have a change of heart If you would only change your mind 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout you, baby Crazy, crazy

You opened the door, meeting his gaze for the first time in days.

"I... I love you, sweetheart," Eddie whispered. "I'm so sorry. So sorry for how I behaved. Please... please give me a chance to make this right. I can't live without you."

You shook your head. "I'm so goddamn angry at you, Eddie Munson. But... I love you too I thought it would be easier, living without you. It's not! I miss you so much!"

Eddie smiled and ran up to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly, both of them crying.

"But I'm telling you now - I'll castrate you if you ever hurt me again!" Y/N whispered and Eddie chuckled.

"I'll hand you the knife, baby."

"Don't bother - I'll use a spoon."

Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you, baby Do you have a heart of stone? Without you, one night alone Is like a year without you, baby If you have a heart at all Without you I can't stop the hurt inside When love and hate collide

@eddiemunsonfuxks

(please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful, but reblogs expand my reading circle!)

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson angst #with a happy ending #joseph quinn #stranger things #Spotify

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orbitariums · 9 days

Note

( in the accent of a suburban blk girlie ) dhmu just thinking ab being art and patrick's joint pretty little thing and they're both like hah ! art/patrick could never score a girl like this, she's different from every woman ive ever met ( black as hell, boujie as hell, BUILT as hell ), he doesn't have it like me. and then all of a sudden they both find themselves at a mostly black club she frequents and posts ab on myspace a lot and they both find themselves giving her flirty, llustful looks across the dance floor at her, go to give eachother a 'hah you could never pull all that' look and realize they're both doing the same thing and then realizing that you could pull any little frat-esque, trust funded white boy you wanted and they LOCK TF IN on proving they could treat and fuck you best

- 🎹

all that | artrick + black reader

literally obsessed with this request piano anon ... thissss is universe-building and i LOVEEEE to cross cultures >:-) also, made this playlist to fit the vibe (tried to keep it 2006 themed but haddd to throw some cash cobain in there — his new album is also perfect to listen to for this)

contains: a FINE black GYAL, art + patrick feening they ain't never BEEN with a baddie, smut: fingering, oral (f! receiving), threesome i realize i could've made this a drabble but i'm a writer. so imma write. so i hope y'all fw this! word count: 7.7k and not proofread

It's giving Stanford era Art and Patrick — Art feels like he has dibs on you because he met you first and takes a few classes with you. Unlike Patrick, Art prides himself on being your friend — even though you've really only interacted through class projects, and Art hardly has the courage to talk to you outside of class.

You're different from anybody Art or Patrick have wanted in the past. Stanford opened up a door to a whole new world for them — a world outside of rich white girls who spent their summers in the Hamptons or elite tennis camps. and you were the key holder. you were hands-down the most stunning girl they'd ever seen. For Art, it was the Marley twists that reached your butt (a staple hairstyle of yours when you weren't rotating from lace fronts to sew-ins to natural), the way your brown eyes glimmered when a ray of sun shone over you through the window.

For Patrick it was your lips, thick and glossy or perfectly painted with a brown lip combo — gawking at you in the cafeteria when he visits and watching you reapply your lip gloss after you eat might be his favorite pastime.

Once, Patrick literally groaned, throwing his head back with a hand on his forehead when you bent over to pick up your lip liner, then readjusted your jeans and did that little jump trying to fit your ass properly back in the pants. Art couldn't even call him out on it because it took everything in him to hold back a whimper.

Your skin was supple and a rich brown, soft like a pillow they wanted to sink into. everything about you was something to admire — your laugh, the certainty in your voice whenever you spoke, your graceful yet assertive demeanor. You knew who you were, and that was something lacking from all the Sarahs and Kaylors and Brittanys they had been with. And, satisfying their basest desires, was your stallion body. tall, thick, and fit.

"She's so pretty," Art blinked slowly, the two of them watching you from a distance in the library as you gathered with a group of friends, standing around a table and giggling softly.

"Her ass is so fat. I've never seen anything like that shit before," Patrick murmured, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were concerned— really he was just incredulous.

A beat as Art swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. Ignoring the way his pants grew tighter. Patrick doing the same.

"Yeah," he exhaled after a moment of silence and low-eyed ogling from the two of them.

It was weeks of that — just gawking at you and getting themselves worked up thinking about you. At that point, there was more sexual tension between Art and Patrick than either of the two lusting boys had managed to work up with you. Tashi found their fantasizing aggravating and berated them for not just going up to you and talking to you — secretly, Art and Patrick praised the fact that Tashi has a girlfriend, otherwise she'd be competition too.

Art practically fainted when he saw you in the hallway talking to Patrick— Patrick leaning against the wall with his hand just above his head, towering over you with the confidence of a sly dog. He could just make out the murmurs of your conversation, the warm ringing of your laugh, Patrick's flirtatious chuckling overlapping just a few seconds later. He was laying it on thick, and Art felt like he might go into cardiac arrest with how angry he was.

Art strode up to the two of you with determination, slowing down once he gets closer so he doesn't come off as defensive as he felt. He gave Patrick an icy, tight-lipped grin that made Patrick smirk ever-so-slightly, his eyes wandering to some spot just above Art's head.

"Pat," Art bleated. He turned to you, his eyes softening along with his brain and everything else in his body except his dick. He smiled gently, locking eyes with you. "YN. It's nice to see you. I'm Art, by the way."

You shook your head and chuckled, one of your braids drifting over your shoulder. You pushed it back, and Art and Patrick went numb at the simple maneuver. You bit down softly on your bottom lip, grinning bemusedly,

"I know who you are. We did like two chem projects together, don't you remember?"

"Yeah, remember?" Patrick echoed, glancing over smugly at Art, who was too enamored by you to side-eye Patrick in return.

"Yeah. Yeah of course I remember. You were the backbone of our projects," Art trailed off into a genuine laugh, one full of appreciation.

"Well, I am pre-med, so," a slight laugh bubbled up in your throat and it was so attractive and confident, Art couldn't help but grin at you dazedly.

"Smart girl," Patrick inserted himself, catching your eye as soon as you turned your head to him again.

You didn't miss the way he held eye contact, the way he was so comfortable giving you a name to hold on to, like it was something he was used to doing with you. There's some sort of intimacy to a nickname like that, suggesting something provocative yet impossible to name. You're well aware of the fact that they're both attracted to you — you couldn't possibly miss them staring at you even when you knew they thought they were being discreet.

Seeing them now, up close and personal, finally actually talking to you instead of checking you out and avoiding eye contact, you saw their strategies, their archetypes. Art, the charming and unassuming rabbit — assumed timid by most but smart and eventually crafty — and Patrick, the rakish, bold fox, unabashed in his cunning and willing to show out. Both types that you'd seen before, but not quite in this form. And both intrigued you deeply. You, the snake. Letting them have their glory in this game now, but plotting just how you would leer over them soon enough, evaluating your prey.

"Gotta be. I only get one chance," you replied to Patrick's comment.

You could tell he was used to having girls stuck, and you weren't that type. But with you, their eagerness and need to prove themselves was strong right away.

You could tell they were trying to figure out what to say. You figured they were used to girls giggling and blushing over them. Maybe they expected a thank you, complete with hair twirling and bashfulness, like you didn't already know you were smart, fine, and everything in between.

"Mkay," you hummed, smiling precociously up at them. "I'm gonna hit the library, got a bio exam next week. I'll see you both later?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you'll see us," Art assured you immediately, on top of Patrick drawling,

"We'll be on the lookout."

You chuckled, giving them one last look over your lashes before you turned around. You could feel their eyes on you as they left, tracking all the way down to your hips which swayed as you walked.

They watched you like that all the way out the double doors, in a trance. When the door finally closed, Art swiveled on his feet and jabbed Patrick in the shoulder, walking off dramatically. Patrick caught up to him quickly.

"What the fuck? What's that for?" he whined.

"What the hell man, you can't just talk to her," Art frowned.

Patrick paused, staring at Art like he was a middle schooler,

"I just did. Besides, it's not like you were talking to her anyway, I did us both a favor."

Art knew he was being petulant but he couldn't himself — he didn't mind admiring you with Patrick, but sharing you was a whole 'nother thing. He wasn't ready to admit that the thought turned him on, and the attraction was still fresh enough that he was possessive. Maybe the doors would open once he knew he could get you.

"Yeah, well I was gonna."

"Ha!" Patrick barked out a cold laugh. "Like that'd get you anywhere."

"Fuck does that mean?" Art scoffed, glaring at his best friend and lamenting the luscious mop of overgrown dark curls brushing against his forehead.

Patrick tapped the underbrim of Art's red hat, which Art quickly readjusted,

"Look at you. You're dressed like a skinny white cuck. You don't even know what to do with all that." Patrick was growing more and more defensive and loud by the minute. He shook his head and glared off into the distance like he was thinking of just how he'd handle "all that," then continued. "She wants a big dog."

Art actually laughed — he genuinely doubled over laughing, and Patrick marched along while Art was cackling a few feet behind. He caught up to Patrick, red in the face,

"And you're a big dog? You're a rich white Jew from Rochester, New York."

Patrick smirked, like he knew something Art didn't — but when does he not know everything before Art has even gotten a hint? Or at least, he pretends to know everything. Art wasn't sure if it was too late to come out from under Patrick's wing, it's all he knew.

"Exactly," Patrick responded quietly.

Art, miffed but trying not to show it, switched the trajectory of the conversation and shook his head. He offered the first reality check ever since this little crush had formed,

"Don't sound too sure of yourself. I don't think either of us are her type."

"C'mon Art, don't be racist. You think she only likes black guys?"

Art was ruffled— he retorted,

"I didn't say that!"

"Whatever, I got her Myspace. I'll give it to you so you can stalk her but don't actually follow her like a creep. You're welcome, dumbass. You can thank me for bringing you a step forward from jerking your tiny little dick while you think of her alone in your dorm room."

How the fuck did he get her Myspace?

| | |

Patrick was back again by next week, fooling around on the computer while Art laid back on his bed and bounced a tennis ball against the ceiling.

"Oh shit," Patrick muttered to himself, a toothpick wiggling in the corner of his mouth. Art perked up, sitting up on his elbows.

"What?"

"Come look," Patrick waved Art over.

On the computer screen was your Myspace, which you just updated few minutes ago.

[ YN ] Can't wait to hit up Nebula later tonight!

"What's Nebula?" Art asked, his voice quiet and curious as he squinted at the glowing screen.

Patrick wordlessly pulled up another tab and typed up Nebula. It was a club a few miles north of campus. It had no description but a bunch of pictures. It was different from what they were used to — frat parties consisting of fist bumping and neon necklaces, a sea of white crashed against the floor and someone shotgunning a can of Budweiser. Instead, they're looking at photos of a nightclub with flashy lights and graffiti decor, and not a single hint of white — at least, not in any of the pictures. But it looks busy, and as far as they can tell, it actually looks fun.

Patrick and Art scanned the page of images meticulously, it was like their brains were reconfiguring. After some time, they both speak at once:

"Should we go?"

"We're fucking going."

The boys spent the next few hours getting ready. Or at least, Art did. Patrick didn't have a change of clothes, so he was going as he was — untucked Ralph polo, khaki shorts and all. Art on the other hand, showered and rotated through multiple outfits. By his third shirt, Patrick was fatigued,

"What are you doing?"

Art held up a white t-shirt to the mirror and angled it against his body,

"I don't wanna show up looking like an asshole. Look at you, what are you wearing?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Patrick griped, though he did a double take at himself behind Art in the mirror.

"Did you not see how everyone was dressed in the pictures? We're gonna look like idiots if we show up like a bunch of tennis douchebags," Art retorted, finally deciding on a white shirt and ripped blue jeans.

"We are tennis douchebags," Patrick said to himself. "Got a pair of black jeans I can wear?"

Art smirked wordlessly, throwing a pair over to Patrick.

The club is packed, to say the least. But it's huge. The bouncer took a long, hard look at the two boys before graciously deciding to let them in. They did look painfully out of place — the club seemed not to have a white person in sight for miles. They were tokens here, not oblivious to the curious looks and outright glares. Chingy's Right Thurr was blasting from the club speakers, booming over the sound of Air Force 1s and chunky heels scuffling across the floor. Art and Patrick stood in the front, taking in the view of the dance floor like a pair of birds overlooking the sea from the shore.

"What if she's not even here?" Art muttered.

"She's here dude, trust me. No way she's staying in on a Friday night after exams and this is clearly the place to go," Patrick shouted over the music. The two silently scanned over the crowd, desperate to pick her out in a sea of people. Then, Patrick laid eyes on her. He jabbed Art's side, who immediately snapped his vision to focus on you, so far away on the dance floor, unaware of their presence.

You were in a tight-fitting short pink dress that hugged every inch of your body — it seemed like it was made for you. Your tits sat pretty and your ass jiggled with even the slightest move. Your brown skin glinted under the flashing lights, and reflections shimmered off of your golden bracelets. You were with a group of friends, laughing and rolling your body to the beat, hips swaying with the motion of water. Patrick and Art were absolutely stuck, staring at you with dry mouths.

"Fuck," Art mouthed, and Patrick found his lips pulled beneath his teeth.

You didn't have a care in the world. You weren't drunk, but you had a few drinks in you and the bass was thudding against your eardrums just right. And you knew you looked good. Everything felt right — but the last thing you expected to see when you turned your head was two white boys, especially not two white boys who you knew. They seemed to realize that they were caught once you made eye contact with them, squinting at first in confusion.

Then, you saw it, the lustful look in both of their eyes. Patrick was unabashedly checking you out — you were sure he was doing it before, but now it was like he wanted you to know. And Art had this look in his eyes, so deep and watchful that you could tell he was simply drinking you in. Arms tucked over his chest, his tongue swiping slowly over his lip.

You giggled, returning their gazes with a subtly flirtatious cock of your head, and a bemused grin. Patrick smiled and nodded, and Art cocked his head in unison with you. Like he was playing. And you liked this game. You turned to your friends for just a moment and quickly excused yourself, then turned back to face the two boys, glancing towards the bar.

You didn't wait for them, just started slowly sauntering over, knowing they would follow you.

Once you broke their gaze, they turned to each other, smirking. On the one hand, they knew they had an in. But they were challenging each other too, with a competitive spark in their eyes that said, "you wish."

They rushed over to the bar, practically skidding across the bar and even bumping into each other. They got there just seconds before you did, still catching their breaths by the time you got close enough. Before you could even open your mouth, both of them were panting. In unison, they spouted,

"Hey—"

"Hi."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

They glared at each other, and you laughed, shaking your head. They were practically brothers, the way they were so in sync with each other and seemed to bounce off of one another. It was fun analyzing their characters, and even more fun because they were trust fund babies without a care in the world, and you couldn't be any more different. But one thing was for certain — you could get anything from them.

"That's y'all's favorite question, isn't it?" you grinned up at them slowly, batting your lashes.

They both laughed weakly, not used to being called out so bluntly. They were so set on having you, but now that you were in front of them, it was clear you made the rules. The way you assessed them both silently, letting your eyes observe the both of them from head to toe, slowly but surely, they had no choice but to stand at your feet.

"How about this," you started, and they perked up like dogs, hanging on to your every word. "Whoever guesses my drink of choice can buy me a drink."

"Sex on the beach," Patrick blurted, mainly because he was thinking about sex.

"Vodka cran?" Art offered hesitantly.

You squint at them, shaking your head.

"Cognac, neat."

Patrick snorted, and you looked over at him with a curious grin. He explained himself,

"Sorry, it's just... that's dark liquor."

"Duh. I don't waste my money on watered down cocktails." A pause. "So...?"

They fought to get drinks, but ultimately, Art was the one who flagged the bartender down first. You told them that you should talk somewhere a bit more quiet, and led them to a couch beneath the stairs, where the music was slightly muffled. You knew that their eyes were on you as you were walking, you could tell by the way they went silent while behind you.

You sat between them on the couch, one leg over the other. Both their mouths went dry over the sight of your thigh pooling and expanding as you placed it on top of your other one. Your brown skin contrasted deliciously with the pink fabric of your dress.

You sipped your drink and leaned back just a bit against the couch. Basking in their intent eye contact.

"So," you smirked.

"So..." Patrick grinned at you, unafraid to show all his teeth.

You glance between the two of them,

"It's your first time here, isn't it?"

"Whaaat?" Patrick feigned offense, shaking his head and waving his hand. He sips his drink, leaning back just a bit to align his body more with yours. "Psshh, no, we come here all the time."

"Really?" you challenged him, and he just nodded silently with that fucking smirk on his face, his eyes boring into yours with an impish sparkle. "'Cuz I come here all the time, and I haven't seen you two before. Like, ever."

"Guess you weren't looking for us hard enough," in comes Art, quiet as ever but still so strikingly present — it's impossible to forget him, the way he sneaks up on you every time with some suggestive comment or smart remark.

You turned your head towards him now, your smile growing bigger by the minute, thoroughly enthralled by this delicious dialogue.

"Oh, I should be looking for you two?'' you raised your chin up, humored.

"Nah, but I mean... you might find something you like," Patrick replied, coolly as ever, never looking away from you even when you weren't looking at him. It was how you found yourself face to face with him when you turned your head away from Art.

"Yeah? And what's that?" you mastered your most innocent voice possible, rubbing your glossy lips together. Patrick's eyes lowered down to your lips, and he let them stay there for a while before he spoke again,

"You gonna let us find out what you like?"

No smirk this time, accompanied by unshaken eye contact. It got your heart jumping, but you played it cool, chuckling and sipping your drink,

"Y'all play too much."

"Who says we're playing?" Art interjected then, and you're met with a charming, slow-appearing smile.

“Messy. You usually have the same taste in girls?"

"I mean, yeah, we do," the boys glanced at each other and nodded good-naturedly as if assessing the question together before providing you with an answer. "But you're just... better," Art replied, and Patrick nodded.

"Better? Better how?"

"I mean... you're incredibly sexy," Patrick said as if it were self-explanatory.

"Yeah? Tell me more," you bared your teeth in a slick-mouthed smile, leaning your chin on your hand and blinking softly up at Patrick. You turned your head slowly when Art spoke.

"Your lips. They look soft," he licked his lips when you looked at him. It was like he was a completely different entity now, shrouded by the thick cloud of desire he had for you. His voice had dropped an octave lower and his lids seemed heavier. He took a sip of Cognac and leaned back just a tad.

"Got a pretty voice," you turned this time to Patrick, whose lips were turning up in a slow smile, his teeth glinting in the dark club.

"Beautiful eyes," now Art — you knew you had them right around your finger but they were proving to be more than you'd bargained for — you wondered how often they moved like this to a girl, together.

"Your body's absolutely insane," Patrick divulged.

"Personality takes the cake, too," Art chimes in.

By the time they'd finished, it felt like they were inches closer to you, encasing you in their body heat. And they had inched closer to you, the both of them cocking their head in your direction, studying your face. It all felt so practiced, yet natural. They knew just what they were doing, and that's why you didn't move a muscle. But you'd be lying if you said it didn't have an effect on you.

You didn't reply, you just sat back and slowly swallowed down the rest of your drink. All eyes were on you, the boys both leaning back against the couch and just admiring you. You set the glass down on the table in front of you and got up to stand, wiggling your dress down to readjust it.

"Let's dance."

That's how you found yourself sandwiched between Art and Patrick while a song by Miguel played. Your breaths, hot and smelling of liquor, floated against each other, bodies pressed into yours. Patrick was behind you with his hands on your waist, towering over you and looking down at you in awe. He kept it respectful, but you could feel him against your ass, poking through his ripped black jeans. Art was in front of you, your arms around his neck, just inches of space between all of you. The club was dark bar for a strobe light rotating across your faces periodically, so you could hardly see the desire in their eyes, but you could feel it. You swayed your hips to the rhythm of the song and let your head fall back against Patrick's shoulder, swaying your whole body now. Art was pressed into you, his face dipping into your neck. He nearly whimpered— you smelled like caramelized vanilla and a hint of coconut oil. He imagined you lathering your damp body in creams and oils after getting out of the shower, and had to fight an erection from forming directly against you. Meanwhile, Patrick was already half-hard.

All they felt was bliss — Patrick had more of a sense of certainty that the night would end up somewhat like this, but Art doubted they'd even be able to find you. You could sense the way they held back, waiting for you to shut it down or take it an inch further. You paused when you felt your cellphone vibrate in your purse. You pulled away gracefully from Art and Patrick, who stood there dumbly waiting for you to pull them back in. You grinned when you read the text from your friends, who knew of your whereabouts, telling you to pull up to Alicia's apartment for afters, and "bring your little white boys."

You let the boys usher you out of the club, Art with his hand on your waist trailing behind you, and Patrick taking your hand as he pushed through the crowd and out the door.

"You smell amazing," Art mentioned the minute the fresh air hit you, re-surging the scent that drove him near ballistic in the club.

You giggled at Art's sudden outburst, and the genuine admiration in his tone,

"Thank you, babe. Now, are y'all good to drive?"

| | |

Alicia's apartment was huge — her dad paid for everything, to say the least. The moment you walked in, Alicia, Nessa and Tiana crowded around you, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing over Patrick and Art.

"This your lil shit right here? Go head, then YN," Tiana stuck her tongue out raucously and you shook your head, laughing.

Before you knew it, you were pouring shots of Hennessy down each other's throats, playing a vicious game of Uno, and blasting Me & U by Cassie. Art and Patrick had some settling in to do at first, since they weren't used to being around mostly black girls — the most fun they knew how to have at parties was fist-bumping to dubstep. But they fit right in, and your friends had no trouble making them feel welcome. As the night went on, you lost some of that mysterious enigma, but it didn't make them want you any less.

Art nearly melted beneath you when you stood up above him and poured Ciroc down his throat, holding his chin up with your fresh French tips. Patrick was next, putting on a brave face, unwavering against the screeches and pointing from your friends. He made sure to keep eye contact with you, swallowing boisterously with an "ahh!" sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You grinned and took a swig yourself, then ran to your friends to dance with them, swaying your hips and shaking your ass in a way they hadn't seen just yet. It was like they weren't even there, it was just about you and your friends now.

"Fuck, man," Patrick blinked slow, standing beside Art just feet away from you.

Art ran his hands through his hair, in disbelief at the way your ass moved in your dress,

"I'm gonna be honest, Pat. I don't think either of us could handle that."

For the first time, Patrick nodded, wordlessly agreeing.

It didn't take long for your friends to disperse about the apartment, most of them heading out to the balcony to smoke. You decided to stay behind inside ("For your guests, right?" Nessa had snickered, smirking over at Art and Patrick).

"Are you bored to death yet? You're the only two dudes here," you sauntered over to the two boys, who were leaning against the kitchen counter. All three of you were just a bit more than tipsy, eyes bleared over and heat fanned against your cheeks, drifting about in that pleasantly warm dreamscape.

"Bored? You just baby birded both of us with Ciroc," Art guffawed, and you cocked your head to the side, looking up at him with those low, drunk eyes,

"Yeah, you want more?"

"I want whatever you have to give me," Art replied with quickness, simply entranced by your eyes and that sweet voice. You chuckled, shaking your head.

A smattering of shrieking sounded from outside on the balcony. You scoffed, swiping a joint that Alicia had rolled from off the kitchen table. You started walking down the hall, back faced to them as you said,

"They're so loud. Let's go somewhere quieter."

Art and Patrick both gave each other a glance— they weren't sure if the night would ever actually come to this, but still they didn't quite know what to expect. All they knew was that whether or not either of them could "pull" you, you were the one in charge. Your hips swung more freely from side to side as you walked loosened by the Henny and Ciroc concoctions of the night. Art and Patrick's eyes were like pendulums following your hips.

You turned into the guest bedroom, plopping down onto the bed.

"Close the door," you gestured to Art. Heart pounding, he closed it behind him.

Art and Patrick stood stupidly in front of you. You shook your head at them, laughing quietly,

"Are y'all gonna sit?"

They might as well have tripped over themselves zooming to sit next to you on the bed, one on either side of you. You had the whole world in your hands. It was silent bar for the muffled R&B music from outside. For boys who were so flirtatious, they were awfully quiet now. You shifted to place your legs underneath you, sitting on your knees, your dress riding up your thighs just so. If they looked behind you, they'd see your ass poking out a bit too.

"So. Who's idea was it, hmm?" you hummed. "I mean, you must've wanted to come find me. I'm impressed."

You lit the joint, pressing it to your lips.

"Saw your Myspace post. Thought we'd keep you company," Patrick admitted, coolly as ever, though you saw the bulge forming in his jeans, saw the way his eyes drifted down to your lips around the joint.

You tossed your head back to exhale, giggling up at the ceiling and covering your mouth with your hand.

"You thought you'd keep me company. Y'all are too good."

You passed the joint over to Art, who took a drag and exhaled while keeping it perched in the corner of his mouth, voice half-muffled as he continued,

"We just wanted to make sure you weren't lonely, that's all."

"Yeah," Patrick took the joint from Art, doing the same. "Since you don't have a boyfriend or anything."

This time, Patrick lifted the joint up to your lips for you. You leaned into it, slowly wrapping your lips around it and sucking for just a second longer than you usually would, never breaking eye contact while Patrick's smirk grew wider and wider with each passing second. You blew the smoke out and it fanned against his face.

"And how would you two know if I don't have a boyfriend?"

Art sniffed, humored, as you passed the joint to him. It was starting to hit now — a haze rose up just so slightly in the air. You relaxed into it, feeling emboldened.

"Don't think we'd be here if you did," Art shot back.

You snaked forward, taking the joint from Art's lips and putting it to your own. He let out a sharp breath at the casual dominance such an action exuded. Your face was just inches away from his— you didn't know if it was the weed, or how turned on you were after exercising the utmost self-control for the better part of the night, but you noticed that his eyes had such a gleaming strike of blue in them.

"Think you got me, is that it?" you questioned, so close to Art that if you inched any further, your nose would brush against his. He swallowed, unsure of whether he should be turned on or scared, but either way, his pants were getting tighter. Your voice was so tantalizingly quiet as if you were sharing a secret just for him and Patrick. You huffed out a humored breath. "I'm not gonna fuck you, you know."

The way you were looking at him begged to differ. You felt the strap of your dress slide down ever so gently over your left shoulder. Before you could push it up, Patrick's hand, strong and firm, was grazing against your shoulder, pushing your dress strap up. You let your gaze on Art linger for just a moment longer before you turned to Patrick, smirking. You handed him the joint, which had gone out. He placed it on the bed beside him. You were leaning in, an unmistakably seductive twinkle in your eyes as you got even closer to Patrick, murmuring under your breath,

"'M not gonna fuck you either."

“Not gonna fuck me?” Patrick smirked, looking from your hazey eyes to your lips. You pressed your lips into his, letting your eyes flutter closed as you hummed your response into his mouth,

“Mm-mm.”

A slight breath escaped Patrick, keeping his mouth open so you could slip your tongue against his. Patrick kissed you hard and slow, his hands immediately wrapping around your back as you lifted your leg over his lap and straddled him. You could feel how much he’d been wanting this by the way his tongue curved effortlessly against yours and his grip on your hips got stronger. He kissed the way he talked. Rough and hard, but with effortless ease, like he knew exactly what you liked. Maybe it was his confidence that made the kiss so good, his lips locked in perfectly with yours. You reached behind, pulling Art in as you simultaneously pushed Patrick down so his back was against the mattress.

You pulled away from Patrick and in one fluid motion turned your head to kiss him, letting your hand wrap against his neck and run up through his hair. Patrick, who was watching from the pillow, groaned and let his head fall against the pillow. Art kissed you needily, but gentler than Patrick. He kissed you like he was parched and your lips were a fountain of water found in a barren land— like he needed to explore more. As you kissed Art, you felt Patrick’s hands kneading your ass, and you moaned — which made them both moan. It took everything in Patrick not to just lift your dress over your ass. But you must have been reading his mind because you wiggled your dress over your ass so it was finally exposed.

“That’s it,” Patrick groaned in approval, his hands finding new purchase against your bare skin, squeezing your ass with a tender grip.

Your kiss with Art grew sloppier, spit threatening to spill out from the side of your mouth as Art pressed himself against you. You let your hand wander down to his black jeans and gripped the hard bulge that was poking out, running your hand up and down it. Patrick, not one to be left behind, took the liberty of lifting your dress a little higher so he could see the black, lacy panties you wore. He let out a low whistle, his firm on your hips grew firmer, keeping them in place as he ground his up into you, rolling up directly against your clit through your underwear. You gasped when you felt how big Patrick was, pulling away from Art to look down at the sight of Patrick’s hips snapping slowly into you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, tilting your head gently to the side so Art could press his lips against your neck.

Patrick chuckled, but he was unable to hold back the groan that lodged in his throat. He could feel your clit pulsing through your underwear.

“Take it off, baby,” you gestured down to Art, who scrambled to take your dress off, throwing it carelessly to the side once it was over your head. Both the boys nearly busted on the spot, because instead of being greeted with a black, lacy bra, your tits simply tumbled out of your dress, perfectly plump and brown and sitting pretty.

“Oh my god,” Patrick groaned at the sight of your tits above him. He sat up immediately, attaching his mouth immediately to your tits. Art, a whimpering mess by this point, followed quickly, his lips wrapping around your stiff, brown nipple. They both sucked on your tits lasciviously, reserving one for each of them. The lewd sounds of their tongues sucking your plush skin as their hands fondled and squeezed you filled the room. Art was gentle, shifting from reaching a hand underneath your tit and cupping you softly to circling a gentle finger around your nipple. Patrick was more direct, grabbing you with closed hands.

If you weren’t so turned on, you would honestly giggle at the sight— these two boys who’d been fiending for you for so long, showing you just how long they’d been waiting for this very thing. It was a wonder — the school’s prestigious tennis players who attended every frat party and had enough money to be set for life (Patrick at least), reduced to a melting puddle beneath you. At your beck and call, your mercy, even as the grind of Patrick’s dick against your clit made you soak through the panties.

You looked down at them with a cunning smile playing on your lips, cupping both their chins softly,

“You’ve been wanting this real bad, haven’t you?”

Two pairs of needy, blissed-out eyes looked up at you immediately, their heads nodding insistently as they moaned around your nipples. You chuckled, your laugh ringing like bells in their ears. You tasted so divine and they hadn’t even tasted you where it really counts. Art decides he wants to get a head start. You felt his hand, his fingers long and spindly, travel down your body, past your soft stomach and down your thigh, until it looped back up to the waistband of your panties. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, pulling at the stretchy fabric until he let it snap against your waist.

He pulled away, his lips warm and wet against your ear as he whispered,

“Can I?”

You bit down on your lip and nodded, gazing at him as he let his hand travel back down until it crept into your panties, never breaking eye contact even as he dipped two fingers against your soaked slit. You trembled at his touch and he smirked, cocking his head gently as he brought his fingers to his lips, tasting you on his fingers.

“She tastes so good, Pat, you gotta try,” Art said, leaning down — Patrick, dazed, lifted his head and looked up at Art with glazed-over eyes.

You watched, rendered speechless for the first time that night as Art dipped his fingers back just slightly against you again, and placed them at Patrick’s wanting lips. Patrick sucked the taste of you off Art’s fingers like it was nothing, like he’d done it before and would do it a thousand times more. The sight of him, lifting his head up to meet Art’s fingers, made you stir above him.

“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Patrick practically moaned, his lips hovering at Art’s fingers. He wasn’t even looking at you, still holding Art’s gaze as he dipped his hand into your panties and prodded at your slit, the pad of his finger tapping against all the arousal that’s gathered there, making wet sounds like fat raindrops collecting in a puddle. “She’s so wet already, shit.” He held Art’s gaze for a moment longer before he turned to you.

“Can we taste you?” Art asked, his voice soft and lilted.

You lifted yourself off of Patrick’s lap and kneeled between the two of them, taking their shirts off one by one. Art went to take off his cap, You embraced Art in a kiss first, then Patrick, until it was lost on you which was which— it was all a blur, mouths sloppily entangled and meeting in the middle, kissing each other all at once and you were certain Art and Patrick’s lips met more than a few times. Somewhere in the middle, they had pushed you back against the mattress. You whined as their lips suctioned against your body, down down down until they stopped between your thighs.

You couldn’t see whose lips were on you first, but you were sure it was Patrick, the way he dove right in without hesitation and started sucking expertly at your clit. You cried out, your back arching slightly off the bed at the sudden jolt of pleasure from the contact. You saw Patrick’s tuft of black curls right in between your thighs, and Art’s golden-orange locks just beside him, placing chaste kisses on your inner thighs, his hand massaging the plush skin there too.

Patrick moaned from in between your legs, sending vibrations through your core and up your chest. You relaxed into his touch, pushing his head in and burying your fingers in his curls. He made sure to drag his tongue along every inch of you, pointing it into your slit and thrusting it into you, and flattening his whole tongue against you as he gave kitten licks to your pussy.

His grecian nose poked deliciously against your clit and he used it to his advantage, bobbing his head up and down each time you moaned at the point of contact. He sucked your clit gently with his lips, toyed at your slit with his finger and glanced up at you to gauge your reaction. The moan that fell from your lips as you locked eyes with him from between your legs was almost pornographic, and enough for him to slide one thick finger inside of you.

You were writhing above him and Art, moaning ever so softly. Your tits were splayed perfectly against your chest and your face was constantly contorted in the sweetest expressions. They’d both imagined you like this, mouth open and eyes rolling back into your head, trapped in bliss. Then another finger, fucking into you deep and slow as he continued lapping up all your arousal, all while Art kissed your thighs with increasing hunger, his once soft kisses becoming wet and crazed.

“Fuck,” Patrick pulled away, his mouth and chin glistening wet with spit and your arousal. “Art, taste her pussy. Want you to feel what I did to her.”

Art whimpered and assumed position immediately.

“Wait,” you said, shifting and turning yourself around so you were on your knees, your pussy pulsing right in front of Art’s face while Patrick pulled down his shorts and boxers, wrapping a hand around his shaft and starting to tug slowly, groaning under his breath. Meanwhile, Art’s eyebrows rose up so far he thought they’d get stuck there, his mouth dropping slightly at the sight of your pussy throbbing around nothing, your folds dripping with a mixture of your own arousal and Patrick’s spit.

You placed your head on the pillow, craning your neck to look back at the two boys. You liked the juxtaposition that was happening — the two of them in full control of your pleasure, while you were granting them the only thing they’d been thinking of for weeks now.

“Oh fuck,” Art whispered to himself, and Patrick chuckled darkly, squeezing the base of his cock.

You wouldn’t admit it, but their faces in this moment were seared in your mind permanently – Art’s gaze of pure amazement, and Patrick’s wicked smirk snaking across his entire face, glaring down at your pussy. It was enough to make a shiver run down your spine, how readily they consumed you — the feeling of being wanted wasn’t new to you, but with them, it was just… different.

“Her pussy looks so pretty after it’s been ate, doesn’t it?” Patrick noted to Art, who nodded with a broken whimper before shoving his face into your pussy, his button nose dancing against your clit as he put his tongue to work.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your head dropping down against the pillow. Art might have been gentler, but that did not mean worse by any means.

If anything, he was passionate, noting every slight movement and sound you made and following in your stead. His tongue lappd against your clit, pleasure climbing up your spine. The new angle had you struggling to keep your legs up, but Patrick was sure to keep you in check.

“This is what you wanted right?” he proclaimed, one hand on your thigh to hold you steady, the other still stroking his cock, a bit faster now. A guttural moan surged from your throat as you nodded weakly. “Yeah? So take it. Take Art’s tongue in your pussy, fuck.”

Patrick looked down, his mouth hanging open as he watched the way Art slurped away. He detached his lips only to slide a finger in, kissing you gently as he fucked his finger into you, slow and deep and relishing the way you stretched over his finger.

“So fucking warm,” he muttered, talking to your pussy like you and him were the only two in the room. He slipped another finger inside you, which made you cry out, pussy throbbing around his fingers. “There you go, squeeze my fingers.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, delirious. Art was rutting against the bed now, chasing his high along with you, and Patrick’s hand was working overtime on his cock, spreaidng the precum leaking from his tip along the shaft. His hand reached up to smack your ass, groaning at the way it reveberated beneath his touch.

“You’re so fucking hot, oh my god.”

Inadvertently, you started to catch the rhythm of Art’s fingers, throwing your hips back against his fingers and his face. The sight of your ass practically covering Art’s face was almost too much for Patrick to handle — he actually glanced away for a second, hoping he could hold off on his swift-approaching orgasm.

“Yeah, fuck back onto my face, I want you to use me,” Art moaned, muffled by your thighs wrapped around his head.

You weren’t sure when it all happened, you just knew that you were moaning both their names as you’re sent over the edge, Patrick and Art deftly following — Patrick in his hands, Art in his jeans, hips stuttering against the bed. You squeezed around Art's fingers as you dripped down onto the bed, soaking Art's tongue and chin. It took a while for all of you to gain some semblance of reality, pushing past the haze of pleasure and smoke and bitter alcohol that you were floating in.

“Did you come in your jeans?” Patrick’s voice cut through the foggy silence, and Art slapped his chest.

“Shut up, look what you did to the sheets.”

You were lying on your back, gazing up at the two boys with a sated grin, resting your hands on your stomach.

“Aren’t you glad we found you?” Patrick teased.

You didn’t have to answer, he already knew.

i think i’m gonna have a part two for this you guys have no idea how much i was debating whether or not they should fuck in this but i feel like reader is the type to make them wait… plus it would've actually been a novel if i added that and i wanted to get this out cuz i don't wanna keep y'all waiting!! so when they fuck they'll fuck NYASTY.

#challengers #x black reader #x reader #challengers fic #challengers smut #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x black reader #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x black reader #art donaldson #artick #artrick x reader #artrick x black reader #art donaldson smut

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parkourpanda · 2 years

Text

I ain't never seen two pretty best friends, it's always one of them that gotta die.

FUCK JJK 0, THEY BOTH DESERVED BETTER-

*not funny, cried*

#呪術廻戦 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk 0 movie #gojo satoru #getou suguru #satosugu #art #artists on tumblr

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todoroki-waifu · 1 year

Note

Can i request a story about the reader being in another school that is a rival of easton even though reader and rayne are a couple? Thanks💞 (im sorry if this is a weird idea i just thought it up in my head😅)

Note: Thank you for this! And it's not weird at all! It was a cute idea. Not sure how I feel about how I wrote this, but I hope you still like it. Also, Luke is a random character I made up.

Rayne x Reader

Warning: Female reader, cursing, and a guy hitting on/bothering the reader to be his.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count:828

------

Your excitement was increasing with every step as you approached Easton Academy. Your dorm mate is beside you, talking about today's event. There was a duelo match at Easton and your school was playing against them. Schoolwork had kept you and Rayne from physically seeing each other, but you still found ways to communicate.

You and Rayne have been together for a little over a year now, but only a select few knew this. You both weren't ashamed of your relationship, but you agreed it was best to not announce it so loudly. You couldn't deal with people digging deep into your personal business and you knew it'd only fuel rumors and gossip since your boyfriend was from Easton. Despite your schools having history with each other, it didn't stop the two of you from falling for each other.

"I have a feeling the match is gonna go into overtime." You hear your roommate as you search for your boyfriend. You planned on sitting beside each other to watch the game.

"Yeah? You think?"

"I'm pretty sure! Both teams are at the top this season."

"You're not wrong there." It didn't matter to you who won, you were more focused on being able to hug Rayne again. A voice shouts your name and your eyes target its source. You groan at the approaching male with his friends not too far behind, your roommate cursing at his presence.

"Hey there, ___(y/n)! You ready to cheer me on?"

"Hey, Luke..." You forced out a polite smile.

"We gotta go and grab some seats. Bye!" __(r/n) links her arm with yours, attempting to pull you away from Luke and his team.

"Oh c'mon, stop cockblocking. I wanna talk to my girlfriend." Luke interferes with your escape route.

"Don't call me that. I already told you that I have a boyfriend." You glare, your patience thinning rapidly the more you are around the duelo captain.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're just playing hard to get." He slips between you and __(r/n), draping his arm over your shoulders. You immediately create distance between the two of you, your eyebrows knitting together.

"No, I'm not. Just like how I've told you many, many times before, I'm happily taken."

"That's just a lie." Luke steps closer to you once again. "You're always saying that."

"And I'm going to keep saying it." You were praying that someone would just date this idiot so he'd finally leave you alone. But all the other girls knew better.

"It's just that I've never seen or heard about him before." You feel your hand being taken in his and lures you close to his body. "If you really have a boyfriend, then where is he?"

"Right here." Fingers grip tightly on Luke's wrist, granting you freedom. You automatically knew who it was because only one voice made your heart jump. You whisper his name, your blonde and black haired boyfriend now blocking Luke's view from you. Scum like him didn't deserve to lay eyes on his girlfriend.

"Hey man, let go!" Luke's shout attracts a large audience from both academies. “Who the hell are you?”

"I’m ___(y/n)’s boyfriend.”

“What? Yeah right! I’ve never seen you two together!”

“It is none of your concern whether you have seen us together or not. If she has told you that she was already dating someone, you should have ceased your annoying advances from the beginning.”

It was almost as if Ranye’s golden orbs were eerily glowing the longer he held his gaze at the duelo captain.

“Che, whatever! I ain't wasting any more time with you. I got a match to win.” Luke pulls his hand back, trying to rub the pain away without seeming affected by the Sword Cane’s strength. Rayne ignores his comment, for now, and tends to you immediately.

"Are you alright?" He inspects for any physical injuries and distress in your eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Rayne gently rests his hand on your cheek, rubbing the soft skin under his thumb. You smile into his touch, leaning into it. His lips slightly tug downard at the thought of you having gone through that boy's pestering for quite some time. Rayne heard you complain about your multiple rejections. He couldn't blame you since you respected the promise you both made in regards to hiding each other's identity. Also, knowing you, you didn't want to worry the magic blade user.

Well, he couldn't allow that to continue. He breathes out your name, his other hand claiming your free cheek.

"I think it's time to let everyone know our little secret." Rayne lays his lips over yours delicately, ignoring the various noises from the onlookers. You couldn't help but melt into his kiss, pressing yourself a bit closer to him. It felt so liberating and exciting now that you both can show each other off. He wanted it to be clear who exactly your mystery boyfriend was.

#mashle x reader #rayne ames x reader #rayne x reader #rayne x you #rayne x y/n #Rayne Ames x you #Rayne Ames x y/n #Rayne fluff #Rayne Ames fluff #Rayne imagines #Rayne Ames imagines #mashle x you #mashle fluff #mashle imagines #rayne ames drabble #rayne drabble #mashle drabble

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bonezone44 · 3 months

Text

Pretty Is As Pretty Does (18+)

Uncle!Ezra x F!Reader x Uncle!Tommy

Summary: The best part about Uncle!Ezra and Uncle!Tommy is that they always smile when you walk in.

Word Count: 2883

tags: spitroast, double creampie, praise kink, southern accents, being called 'pretty', two men talking about you as if you aren't there. nicknames for Reader: angel, niece, baby, honey, sugar.

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

It's late at night and you can't sleep. Been tossing and turning for what feels like hours. You finally decide to get out of bed and do something, anything, rather than lie there counting endless sheep.

You make your way to the kitchen with sleepy bare footsteps. You hear murmuring out the back door--deep, smooth voices and soft laughter. You figure Ezra has a friend over. You bite your lip. You want Ezra to yourself for some quality time. Maybe if you let him know you're up, he'll send his friend home. It's worth a shot anyway. You've got nothing better to do.

When you step out onto the screened in back porch, you see Ezra reclining in one chair and his friend in the other. Theyre silhouetted by the blue light of a bug zapper hanging in the corner. It's been a hot summer, but tonight the air is cooler and drier than it has been in weeks. The wood floors creak as you step further onto the porch and both men go quiet and turn to you.

"Hey, angel," says Ezra with a wry smile on his face. "What're you doin up this late?"

"Can't sleep," you answer with a shrug.

"Aww, you poor thing." He holds his hand out towards you. "Me and Uncle Tommy are out here shootin the shit. Why don't you come sit with us for a while?"

That's when your whole body goes hot. You look over and realize it wasn't just any of Ezra’s friends. It was Tommy. And Tommy’s got a nice little smile on his face, too, as his eyes rake over you in your pajamas and bare feet.

" Damn, girl," says Tommy. "You get prettier and prettier every time I see you."

Your cheeks burn and you fidget. "I don't know about that--"

"Shit, I do. I bet you gotta beat them boys off you with a stick."

You wave him off. "No way."

"Aww, look at her bein shy," says Ezra, turning further toward you in his chair. "There is no need to be so timid around your uncles, angel."

"That's right, honey," says Tommy. "It's just us. You don't gotta worry bout nothin around us." He smiles. "We'll keep you safe from all them boys out there. We'll have 'em runnin off. Don't you worry about that."

You roll your eyes with a smile.

"What? You don't believe us?" asks Ezra with big, puppy dog lookin' eyes.

You shake your head. "Y'all are just sayin stuff."

"Oh, c'mere, honey," says Tommy as he reaches out and grabs your hand. "Why don't you come sit by Uncle Tommy and let him show you how pretty he thinks you are?"

Tommy's one of the most handsomest men you've ever seen in your entire life. He's got beautiful wavy hair that curls beneath his ears. His voice is so smooth and syrupy compared to Ezra's deep rasp. He's always wearing nice blue jeans and cleaned-up cowboy boots. Ezra almost never tries to dress nice to the point where you've given up on ever looking nice, too. And right now, you're standing in your sleep clothes and Tommy's offering you something that you weren't even trying for.

Your heart races in your chest and you gush between your legs. Your face is on fire--the whole situation makes you so nervous. What if they're lying? What if they're just playing tricks on you? What if this is all one big joke? Your history with Ezra didn't matter. He could change his mind at any minute and go running off leaving you all alone. You were tired of being abandoned by the people you trusted most.

Ezra rests his large hand on your hip. You can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your shorts. "Go on, angel. Uncle Tommy ain't gonna hurt you none." You glance at Ezra nervously and he nods. "Go on," he says again.

You decide to give in. Ezra's been around long enough. He knows you. He knows how anxious you get. And if he's there, it does feel safer. You've at least got one person on your side if Tommy doesn't treat you right.

You take two steps towards Tommy and the two men immediately relax. Tommy spreads his legs and guides you by your hips to sit between them. He pulls you back against his warm, broad chest. He feels so solid and sturdy behind you. And he smells like something clean and bright--waking you up even more, making you more aware of just how much of his body is touching yours. His hands slide up and down your bare shoulders.

"Now what's makin you think you're not the prettiest thing on two legs, sugar?" says Tommy.

"I-I don't know," you answer. You did know, though. It was all the movies and TV and magazines. All the clothing stores and boutiques where the clothes never quite fit you right. It felt like the whole world was telling you that you weren't pretty enough to be loved.

"Too much TV," says Ezra and you roll your eyes.

Tommy chuckles into your skin as he presses light kisses into your shoulder. Each one excites you and soothes you at the same time. "You know all that stuff is fake, don'tchu?" His hands slide down your arms, squeezing you just above your elbows. "You can't be thinkin ya ain't pretty just 'cause ya ain't fake, now, sugar. 'S not what men like anyway."

"Not any man worth a damn," adds Ezra.

"That's right," says Tommy. His hands move from your arms to your waist. "Men know a real thing when they see it, sugar." His hands slide up to your breasts and he gropes them in each hand. "And we got ourselves a real one right here."

Your hands grasp tight onto Tommy's knees next to your own. You glance over at Ezra with hazy eyes and Ezra sits so casually as if nothing unconventional is going on.

"'S about what's on the inside," says Ezra, flicking dirt off his ankle as he goes to cross his legs. "That's what counts."

"That's right," says Tommy. He squeezes your nipples through your shirt. "And I'm proud to say that our little niece here is pretty on the inside and out."

"She sure is, ain't she?" says Ezra.

You don't know how to respond. You're not sure what to do. All you know is that there's a pool of slickness growing between your legs and it's enough that you wonder if you're gonna leave a wet spot on the chair beneath you.

"What? You still don't believe us?" says Tommy.

"She can be real stubborn when she wants to be," says Ezra.

Tommy chuckles. "How 'bout this? Don't you feel this, sugar?" One of Tommy's hands slides down the front of you to cup you between your legs. He pulls you flush against him and that's when you feel it. That's when you feel how hard he is. You're not sure how you missed it before. It feels like a steel rod against your back. "You feelin' what you do to your Uncle Tommy, baby?" He rolls his hips against you. "'M about to burst and we ain't even done nothin, yet. We're just sittin here talkin."

Part of you wants to laugh at that. There's a hell of a lot more going on than just talking.

"I think she's grown weary of conversation, brother," says Ezra.

Tommy chuckles again. "Ya think?"

"Yeeeeep," Ezra groans and stands from his chair. "And you did promise to show her how pretty she was."

"I sure did, didn't I?"

Ezra walks over and stands in front of you. You feel surrounded--caged in. But not unsafe. "Whatchu thinkin', angel?" Ezra cradles your face in his big hands. He leans close enough to you that the whole rest of the back porch disappears. "Want me to get you ready for Uncle Tommy?"

Oh fuck. Does Ezra mean what you think he means? "O-Okay," you say.

"Good girl." He grins briefly before his eyes go wide and serious again. "Uncle Tommy's big. I don't want you gettin hurt."

You nod. "Okay."

Ezra sinks to his knees before you. He reaches for your waistband and you lift your hips as he tugs your shorts down and off your legs. "Mm-mmm," hums Ezra, staring between your thighs. "Our little niece is pretty everywhere." His large fingers poke and prod at your lips. "She's wet, too." He spreads your pussy apart with both hands. "Soakin," he says.

"Is she now?" Tommy says. His breathing's picked up. Both his hands back on your chest. You can feel his whole body rolling into you, even if just in the smallest way. Ezra's touch has you responding in kind.

Ezra's head tilts upward with his fingers still on you. "Remember that job on Breyer street? The house with all those cat paintings?"

Tommy stills a moment. "... y-yeah?"

"Remember how that faucet on the side of the house wouldn't stop leaking?"

"...yeah?"

"That's about what she looks like right now."

Tommy laughs and holds you close, grinding against you. "Fuck, man. You can't be sayin shit like that to me, man. What the hell?"

"I am merely trying to be honest with you," says Ezra with a shrug. He thrusts two thick fingers inside of you with one hand and with the other, he rests his thumb against your clit. Unmoving. Simply applying pressure as you and Tommy's bodies move together.

"Oh my god," you moan as Ezra's fingers stroke inside you and Tommy whispers in your ear.

"'S Uncle Ezra makin you feel good, sugar? 'S he touchin you just right?"

"Mm-hmm," you whimper. "So good. So good."

"You feel how pretty we think you are, honey?" asks Tommy.

"And it's not just because you're our favorite little niece," says Ezra.

"That's right," says Tommy. "'S because it's a fact, sugar." Tommy grunts. Ezra's fingers squelch inside your wet walls. "It's a fact that you're the prettiest goddamn thing we've ever seen."

"Our pretty little angel inside and out," Ezra says with a smirk as he adds a third finger inside you.

"Oh fuck" you moan and writhe.

Tommy chuckles. "Even if she got a dirty mouth on her."

Ezra laughs, too. "Oh she's filthy."

"Is that right?"

"I-I don't know." Your dizzy with desire. You're surprised you can register anything they're saying to you.

"How 'boutchu get that filthy mouth on Uncle Ezra's cock while Uncle Tommy gets inside this pussy, huh, sugar? How's that sound?"

"Yeah, okay," you slur.

Ezra pulls his fingers out of you and stands. Tommy scoots you forward so he can undo his jeans. He and Ezra situate you so that your feet are on the floor with your ass hovering above Tommy's lap. Your hands grip the arms of Tommy's chair. Ezra pulls his own cock out of his pants and it bobs in front of your face.

You and Tommy both hiss as he pierces your cunt. Ezra was right. Tommy is big.

"Shit, man. You didn't tell me it was like this--" Tommy chokes out through panting breaths.

You bite your lip and groan.

Ezra chuckles as he strokes himself. "I tried, brother, but some things are best experienced for yourself."

"You got that right," says Tommy. He moans and curses as he guides you up and down his shaft, providing you with the rhythm and speed.

Once you feel steady enough, you open your eyes and Ezra's cock is hard and ready for you. You open your mouth, eager to hold its weight on your tongue. He doesn't thrust or move--merely lets your rhythm on Tommy's lap provide all the back-and-forth action.

"You're doing perfect, angel," says Ezra as he caresses your cheek. You've given him much better blowjobs before but he's looking down at you like you're giving him the high of a lifetime. "You look so pretty."

"Prettiest fuckin thing we ever fucked," grunts out Tommy.

"Play with that clit and she'll cream all over ya," says Ezra.

"Goddamn," curses Tommy. And he does what Ezra says. He reaches one hand around and presses hard against your clit. Four fingers rubbing back and forth just above where his cock is thrusting in and out of you.

Syrupy warmth begins to flood between your legs and seconds later your spasming between the two men--thighs twitching and toes curling.

Tommy curses again. "If she wasn't my favorite niece before, she sure as shit would be now."

"Told ya," says Ezra.

Tommy continues to thrust into you as you bounce onto him. "Yeah, suck his cock. Suck Uncle Ezra's cock, sugar."

Ezra does his best to keep his cock inside your mouth, but he doesn't seem too concerned about your performance there. It seems to be enough to watch you getting fucked so hard by your Uncle Tommy. Hearing your thighs slap each other and his cock squelch inside you is like music to Ezra's ears and dick. And your whimpers--goddamn!--you got the prettiest little whimpers he's ever heard in his life. Add in Tommy's desperate grunts and Ezra's careening toward the edge and nearly sent over it. He has to take a step back to get control of himself.

Without Ezra's cock to muffle you, your whimpers turn into shouts and Tommy grits his teeth. "Where do I cum?" asks Tommy through strained breaths.

"Fill her up, brother." Ezra's eyes sparkle at you. "Then I'll take my turn inside our pretty little pussy."

Tommy curses some more. He wraps his arms around you and taps on your clit, hoping to make you come along with him. And you do, it's hard not to. His thrusts were hitting all the right spots in your inner walls and Ezra's standing in front of you and watching you with tender focus. Your legs twitch and your toes curl all over again.

"Alright, now, hold it all in, angel," says Ezra with a stern expression on his face and you know what he means. You reach between your legs as Tommy pulls out and you do your best to keep all his cum inside you.

Ezra sits and then lies down on the floor, his cock hard and at attention. He waves you over with the flick of his fingers. "Come ride your Uncle Ezra, baby. Come show me how it's done," he says.

And something animalistic has been triggered inside of you as Ezra casually reclines on the hard wood floor. His elbows are bent and his head rests in both hands. He dons a simple smile and it almost drives you crazy. You want him as desperate for you as you are for him. You want him aching and writhing for your touch. He's been too relaxed this whole time and you almost hate him for it.

Tommy's cum is beginning to seep from between your fingers so you hustle to sit on Ezra's cock. Ezra's facial expression doesn't change as you sink onto him--but you notice the way his hips curl ever so slightly into you. He's holding back and you wanna make him give in. But you know Ezra, just as much as he knows you. And riding him how he likes it isn't going to get you anywhere. He wants you to use him--make yourself come by whatever means necessary. And that is certainly something you can oblige by.

So you do. Your hands grip his chest and you find the right angle that allows you to roll your hips into him with your clit pressed against his skin. You decide to take. You take and take and take your pleasure from him--you don't give a shit what makes him feel good. This one's all about you. And eventually he does give in. You see the way he grits his teeth and bites his lip. His hands fly to your waist, but you don't let him guide you at all. This is your ride and your orgasm. Even if you've already had two and Ezra's yet to have one.

But it was just what Ezra wanted--he was getting off on you getting off and some kind of feedback loop developed into both of you getting off and your panting and he's snarling and then suddenly there's another burst of hot liquid inside of you and seeping out of you. And you don't know it, yet, but Ezra loves when all the juices and cum are soaking his lap and he's filthy with the remnants of a well-and-good fucking. And if he could suck his own dick after all of it, he would. But instead, he pulls you up his body and has you sit on his face and he gives your pussy the most tender and loving kiss with tongue and all. All while your trembling and dizzy from overstimulation.

Once you finally take a moment to breathe. You find Tommy watching with lazy, tired eyes from his chair, his own cock already tucked back in. But there's a smirk on his face that tells you he appreciated the show you and Ezra just gave him.

"Alright, angel," says Ezra with a messy mouth. "Let's go put you back to bed."

------

a/n: wow. so horny. jesus christ.

tagging: @neverwheremoonchild @xdaddysprincessxx 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

#uncle!Ezra #uncle!Tommy #i wrote this in like.... 1 day #i wonder if I can get back to writing the way that I used to be able to

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