#i've been finding it a lot of fun and a good break from all of my longer projects

[backtothechurch]

"yeah it broke" john walker x super soldier!reader

smut +18, minors please don't

warnings: no mentions of y/n, reader genitals and genre not specified, pet names used, smut, comedy, cursing, switch!reader and switch!walker, blood as a turn on

note: first, thanks for the likes and reposts on the other post, it gave me inspiration for more dirty things hehe. second, I've been obsessed with "one thing" by lola young and I was wondering how fun would've be breaking the bed.

like, comment and reblog, let's go

you needed him. and oh shit that was consuming you.

you and John were assigned to a very quick mission on a fake company that was possibly making drugs.

you don't have idea if it is the summer heat in new york those days or just your been too many days without sex, but he never looked so good.

"still don't know why val thought the mission needed two super soldiers" walker said looking down to the people at the fake company.

he was on his suit, but thanks god he left his helmet at the tower, his hair was bigger now, and he just did his beard, he was stunning.

you always thought he was an attractive guy, even when you two met two years ago when he was captain america. maybe was the way you met him, all beaten up, crawling away after a fight with bucky and sam, his arm broke and his face bleeding everywhere, you had a thing for beaten blonde bloody men. you helped him that day, he didn't know you were one of the flag smashers until weeks after when your picture was all over the country, rough days.

but now you two are on the same team, at the beginning it was easy to not feel anything, he is an asshole so wanting to shoot him was a good distraction, but today you wanted to shoot him with another thing, way more liquid than a bullet.

"hey! did you even listened to me?!" walker asked and got you out of your thoughts

"yeah of course" no, definitely not. every time you looked at him all you could hear is "bla bla blah"

"I know you didn't, you're not subtle when you're staring" damn it, he was not supposed to know you were staring. "so, we should knock out the people here and just call the police and let them do the rest, I'm not in the mood to arrest drug dealers and possible terrorists tonight" you nod, you wasn't on that mood either, you just needed to get back to the tower and use the vibrator on the back of your drawer for the whole night.

"okay, let's go" he said you two got inside, kicked some asses, deviated from some bullets and got a few punches. more specifically walker got punched on the face, his nose and eyebrow were bleeding and that was bad, because he managed to look hotter.

after finding the proofs and files and when police arrived you two left the scene, you were worried.

"that's a bad cut, john, we should go to the hospital" he groaned and shook his head.

"I'm fine" yeah he was "I just need... I need to go home"

"they won't let you walk away with this bloodied face without going to the med bay" you kept walking still looking at his face, the blood had dripped and his lips had a bit of blood too.

"im not talking about the tower" he looked at you, more of a glare, he was probably on a lot of pain but damn your legs were weak.

"so what you're talking about?" he just stay in silence and walked.

"you have an apartment and never told any of us?!" you asked when he opened the door, the place was... actually very pretty, you always thought that if walker lived alone he would have a 'masculine house', with horses and military random stuff, just like his dorm. but no. that was a very normal home.

"it's the place I had before, well everything" he walked directly to the kitchen and got an ice bag to place on his nose.

"it's a very nice place" you said smiling softly, you took off the heavy material of you suit and placed on the counter that separate you two. now you could breath better and feel less hot.

he nods and smiled a bit sad.

"yeah, it is" he walked to sit on the bench at your side, he sighed. "olivia did a good job at decorating it" besides the sad remark you chuckled and he lift his look to you "why the laugh?"

"because its obvious that a woman decorated that" now was his time to chuckle and scoff

"why? I'm a very good decorator okay?" you laughed and walked to be in front of him, you started to clean his eyebrow cut and the blood from his nose, he looked up at you smiling, that was killing you slowly, you needed him.

"you have a poster of a horse above you bed at the tower" his smile got wider, he placed the ice bag on the counter behind him "alright you won"

then silence, he was still looking up at you, the smile became a smirk, but not the cocky smirk, was a happy smirk, a smirk as if he was admiring you, then he chuckled.

"you have a neon light sign above your bed saying 'where the magic happens'" you laugh hard when says it.

"better than a horse"

for some reason that back up line was the trigger for both of you and he kissed you, slowly.

maybe he was on the romantic slowly vibes, but you were burning waiting for this time all of your life, so you kissed him back hard.

your hands went directly to his suit and he holds your hands and pulled away.

"look I don't wanna mess what we have" you groans and pull him closer

"can you just live a little?" you caressed him hair "Nobody will ever know" he nods and took you to the bedroom.

he walked taking off his boots while you were taking off yours, when you and him crashed the bed his pants were somewhere else, his cock rock hard under his boxer, you groaned, that was exactly what you wanted.

you take off the rest of his upper suit and he freed his cock.

"you look so good with no clothes on" you said with a sign and he grinned, there was that cocky grin you loved to hate.

when he went down to kiss you you switched positions and got on top of him, he moaned when you sat over his cock.

he helped you remove the rest of your clothes and you pushed him further on the bed. you got the condom box and put on him while he watched with his eyes dripping lust

when he got inside you, the room was filled with loud moans, you could feel his cock stretching you and you clenched your walls.

you started riding him hard, the noise of skin slapping skin was loud and dirty. you hold the headboard and he hold your hips so tight you knew you would have bruises next day, he was moving you as hard as you were riding.

right before your first orgasm you two hear a loud crack and almost fell.

you were holding pieces of the headboard, and the bed just broke in half, you two share looks of shock.

"did we-" you said looking around you two

"yeah we broke the bed" you chuckled still in shock and covered your mouth

"oh my god" he chuckled with you and lift you both from the bed

"so that's what happens when two super soldiers decide to fuck rough on an ordinary bed" you hugged his neck and he got up with a groan "at least we always have the old good sofa" he got a sheet and put under you and him, now he was on top.

after a quick break to breath he started moving again, he didn't lost the pace and started pounding you, you could feel him breaking your back, while you scream moans and call his name out loud to everyone hear.

one of his hands were on top on your head caressing and gripping your hair while the other one was on the arm of the couch above you two. your hands were on his hair and back so you could hold on him.

after a few minutes of rough pounding you two moans loud and cum together, your fluids wetting the sheets under you two.

he was catching his breath while admiring your face, then he move his hand from the arm of the couch and kissed you, slowly this time.

that was when the arm of the couch crashes the floor making another loud noise that scare you two, you are another confused and shocked look before looking up seeing the couch armless and the arm on the floor.

walker chuckles hiding his face on your neck, he takes his cock out of you and rest his whole weight on top of you. "you're destroying my house, sweetheart"

you laugh hugging his neck and kissing his shoulder "you needed a you needed an aoartment renovation anyways"

he shake his head you two stayed like this for the rest of the night.

[allylikethecat]

Would you mind reblogging the prompts again? Please 💕I love what you have written and I love all your fics so much, currently (not so) patiently waiting for the ear infection fic and maybe an update to Make Way for Ducklings? 😍 your writing is so dear to my heart

Yes of course! The Kiss Prompts list has been reblogged! The prompts list can also be found here.

(I'm trying to be fancy and link everything in this answer- I have no idea if it's going to work or if I'm doing it right, but just know I am trying!)

So far I have filled:

4. Write a Kiss ... where it hurts

14. Write a Kiss ... casually

36. Write a Kiss ... to give up control

44. Write a Kiss ... out of lust

49. Write a Kiss ... out of necessity

And I have a request for 9. Write a Kiss ... in public and for 19. Write a Kiss ... for luck that I am working on!

Thank you so much for your kind words about my writing and my fics, I'm so glad that you are enjoying them! The Ear Infection Fic™️ has run into some technical difficulties but please know I am working on it! I feel like I've been hyping it up (too much) and I want to be proud of it when I put it out, therefore it's taking a little longer! I am also working on the next chapter of Make Way for Ducklings (honestly at the rate I'm going that one might be done sooner) I had decided to split the previous chapter into two chunks, so I have a good amount of it written, I just need to clean it up a bit more! Thank you again so much for reading! I hope you continue to enjoy my fics!!

❤️Ally

[senascoop]

SENA’S FAVOURITES ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 TAG GAME

Ꮺ by @iovestuck and I might've added-edited some questions to my liking. all of these answers are genuine and not with the bias of some of them being my moots. also, extremely sorry if I didn't add you on here. most of them are nsfw so... minors please do not interact. (💌)

001. WHAT ARE YOUR FAVOURITE FANFICS?

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER — @i2sunric

i already yapped a lot when I first read her fic but this was personally really really cute to read and I loved heeseung’s and the reader’s bickering a lot.

THE PERFECT COPY — @florestalio

if this fanfic was a person I'd date them lol. this was something new and easily secured a seat in my favs.

STILL INTO YOU — @i2sunric

another one of casey’s work that I love a lot.

COULD I BE MORE OBVIOUS? — @rkvriki

this was written like a year ago and is still really good. especially the way it actually captured the “rich ceo husband” vibes.

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM — @heechwe

what were you thinking when you wrote that lexi? i couldn't find a single bad thing about the fic when i first read it and ngl it still remains as one of my fav.

FIXED COMFORT — @paarksunghoon

coming back to read this after a bad day and this never fails to bring a smile on my face even if I've already re-read this a lot of times.

002. FANFICS YOU'VE READ RECENTLY?

haven't read much lately but this has to be my list — heehoon jerking off together while thinking of the reader. part one, part two not sure if there's more parts, sharing = caring , and then this mind-blowing fic by casey, heavenly , i personally found this one cute, and then I've read this smtg about toxic situationship heeseung, then this one from mochiwonz which made me laugh, this from yuvany, reader is mean in this one but it's good, little lamb ... I have more but I can't exactly add all of them here—so if you're looking for fic recs, you should check @senascoooop

003. WHAT FANFICS DO YOU THINK SHOULD GET MORE RECOGNITION?

PUPPY ANTICS — @florestalio

I always re-read this because well... no reason-just the descriptions and the scene (though I hate angel for cutting it short...)

YOU’RE LOSING ME — @i2sunric

y'all are missing out on a lot of good stuff if you haven't read this angsty angst fic.

CORPSE BRIDE — @yuvany

start to end-just perfection.

BEWITCHED — @p4ranormaluv

to describe this fic in one word would be #wtfdidijustread? In a good way ofc. this deserves way more notes than it has right now.

TIL DEATH DO US PART — sena

TIED UP IN YOU — sena

self promo lol but I actually like these two of my works and they might as well be my best ones till now.

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS — @flwrstqr

a really fun fic to read, especially with the way both the reader and heeseung’s goal was definitely not to fall in love... but the two anyways did so.

VENOM — @gyuuberryy

the tension in this one and half way transformation of jay was just wowwww.

HORROR — @starryjake

the smut was rather really... cute alongside the ending...

666 — @simpjaes

a big fan of dark fics. and this was absolutely flawless!!

Not really a fanfic but rather sfw niki audio by @vanesycho part one, part two, part three, part four. I usually listen to these when I'm feeling down or can't fall asleep.

004. FAVOURITE AUTHORS?

all of my moots ofc lol but other than that ,

@i2sunric — all of her fics are hits and i personally really really really love them.

@florestalio — first found out about her through the fic “human or not” and I liked it from the go. and nevertheless-even if it's been a little time, I think we match the freak nonetheless.

@yuvany — she was in my favs the second i read corpse bride. then there's miss ugly duckling and her recent jay fic... absolutely amazing.

@p4ranormaluv — do I even need to have a reason for her to be here? she's really talented with the way she writes. Though I hope she's enjoying her break <3

@heechwe — every time you think someone can't get more sweet... lexi replies. even her fics are chefs kiss.

@gyuuberryy — she's my hype girl (ofc I'll add her on here and also bcz her fics are a big mwahh)

@mochiwonz — we aren't moots or anything but her works (smaus) randomly came in my for you page and i actually enjoyed a lot of them (so I'm adding her here too)

@paarksunghoon — every time a hard thought of hers comes into my for you-i know my evening's not gonna be so boring. y’all should read her fixed comfort and you plus me fic. 100% recommended.

@starryjake — another author who's also really good at making hard thoughts and fics :)

005. WHICH AUTHOR/READER DO YOU ADMIRE/ADORE THE MOST AND WHY?

all of my readers and moots ^^

but aside from them, i admire casey (i2sunric) & jazmine (p4ranormaluv) a lot and sort of started to write after reading their works <3

now I adore a lot of authors and readers but angel (florestalio) and ady (gyuuberry) have a special place in my heart. and I've actually gotten used to seeing some frequent readers which I absolutely notice and adore but the loud ones so far would be @zyvlxqht @flowerwinds (thank you so much for showing nothing other than love to me and my works) 🫶🏻💗

NOTE FROM SENA , i don't really read a lot which might explain why I don't have some more popular fics or authors in the recs. I'm also very sorry if I've forgotten someone (totally not intentional) this was really fun to make...thank you rain (iovestuck) you're another sweetie I found on blr :)

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 tagging anyone who wants to join

[sirfrogsworth]

I've been thinking deeply about "good people" and "bad people" and how those labels don't work for me anymore except in rare cases (Elon, Trump, MTG, etc).

I've switched to good and bad behaviors as much as I can.

Jay Leno the comedian was just bad behaviors all the way down. He literally made Monica Lewinsky's life nearly intolerable. He was in some part responsible for her brush with suicide. Not only did he make jokes about her every night, but he has kept those jokes in his act TO THIS DAY.

He was probably the first mainstream transphobic comedian. When Cher's son Chaz Bono came out as a trans man, Jay did jokes for months. To his credit, he later did an interview with Chaz and you could see in real time Jay thinking, "Oh, this isn't what I thought." It seemed like meeting an actual trans person changed his perspective a bit. (Imagine that.)

And, of course, the entire saga screwing over Conan was just peak bad behavior. Conan's 60 Minutes interview is the perfect thing to watch if you want to know more.

HOWEVER...

Jay Leno the boss is a solid dude. He was the Anti-Ellen. Got along with everyone. Took an interest in their lives. He'd give them extra jobs like paying the art department to recreate vintage car advertisements for his car museum.

He rewarded loyalty and took care of his crew for the run of his show. He'd give them bonuses and expensive gifts for years of service. When there were strikes he would pay their salaries. He was so loved as a boss, that many of his crew members stuck with him for the entire run of his Tonight Show. They once did a thing where they showed the crew babies born during the Tonight Show and it looked like they brought in the entire student body of a grade school.

Jay Leno the car historian is a sweet old grandpa doing important work in conservation. Cars are a part of our history and I think it is important to have a robust historical sample. Jay does not just collect expensive cars just to have them and show off his wealth. He collects cars throughout history, preserves them as they were (to the best of his ability), and he *drives* them.

So many museums will do this historical pausing thing where they take an old thing, stop any current degradation, and then preserve it from that point forward. Or they might restore the car to its former glory and then do the pause. Keeping it on display and never driving it again.

But I find this problematic with cars for a couple of reasons. First, when you do that, you lose the context of how the cars needed to be maintained. You can lose access to mechanics that can work on them and create parts for them. Cars are not just visual objects, they are mechanisms with thousands of moving parts and the history of those moving parts is important too. Cars need to be driven to be maintained. The longer you let them sit, the more they will break down, the harder it will be to keep them in working order for preservation. Perhaps one paused and one driven would be a better approach due to the risk of accidents.

But also, the experience of driving these cars is important historically. How fast were they? How good was the acceleration? How did they corner? What did all the buttons and dials do? Were they fun to drive? Were they scary death traps? (Looking at you Dodge Viper. How many dentists did you kill?) The actual driving of the cars has important historical context. I think car museums should be next to a track and people should be allowed to experience riding in them.

Jay is an amazing historian and has a wonderful sampling of important cars going back to steam. He even has a steam fire engine from the early 1900s. He is a gracious host and gives lots of people access to his collection. He does weekly videos so there is a great visual record of this history and anyone can watch and learn about these old (and new but inaccessible) cars.

If you were to poke me with a stick, I'd say Jay Leno the comedian is a giant asshole. And Jay Leno the boss and historian is a solid dude.

And holding those two ideas in my head breaks my brain a little.

But I think there is merit in thinking of people as collections of good and bad behaviors rather than just giving them a singular verdict of good or bad person.

Jimmy Kimmel is another interesting study in good vs bad behavior.

He started doing comedy in the misogynistic manosphere genre. Famously, he did "The Man Show" with Adam Corolla. What's funny about that is I think Jimmy thought it was mostly satire (though he was absolutely problematic) and Adam was a true believer who thought he was really sticking it to those feminist bitches.

Jimmy Kimmel might be one of the most public examples of genuine, authentic growth. A person who analyzed his bad behaviors and decided to limit or replace them with good behaviors. I'm guessing his marriage and family helped push him along. But he started this journey long before that. He learned he could still push the limits of crude humor and even satirize his misogynistic past while generally being a solid dude. Slowly he became one of celebrities' favorite shows to go on. And, because of his growth, he started making friends with tons of them. You would not believe how many big stars are good friends with Jimmy Kimmel outside his show.

And when Trump came along, Jimmy got fucking WOKE. (The OG usage) His empathetic side came out in a big way. He couldn't hold it back with his crude man humor facade. He started caring about the world and what his kids were going to grow up in, and he added scathing political humor to his repertoire.

Jay Leno remains apolitical as much as possible with some mildly shitty conservative views popping out every once in a while. He is into old school WWII style patriotism and thinks everything should be made in America. Like, when someone says a car part is made in America, I worry Jay is just going to jizz in his pants right on camera.

Is Jay Leno a bad person? Sometimes. Absolutely.

Was Jimmy Kimmel a bad person? Sometimes. Absolutely.

Is Jimmy still a bad person? Not as far as I can tell.

Is Adam Corolla a piece of shit? Absolutely. Absolutely.

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[linearities]

ᅟᅟᅟ☆ ｡⁠ UNDER THE MISTLETOE ～ !!

a mistletoe hanging above your bed? surely your roommate is just getting into the Christmas Spirit... right?

pairing: roommate!seonghwa x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT!!! +18 MINORS DNI!!!! oral (fem receiving), pussy drunk seonghwa, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cursing, kinda perv!seonghwa (?), not proofread!!!

notes: why hello there my loves :3 it's been a long while since i've written smut so please forgive me if this is bad :/ merry (late) christmas and happy new years to all of you!!!!

taglist form. · masterlist.

divider here.

you should've suspected something when you got home from work and found a mistletoe hanging above your bed. you thought it was just a cute little detail your roommate did, a cheeky little thing as a lot of others he had a habit to do. sliding into the christmas spirit, you know?

walking inside the apartment, seonghwa was quick to take your bags and help you out of your coat, even going as far as kneeling in front of you to help you take off your shoes. you found it suspicious, yet didn't say anything, knowing that sometimes he'd go overboard on the pampering and all of that, catering to your every whim. according to him, he just wanted to "be a good roommate". you shrugged the thought away, letting him guide you to the bedroom, chuckling as soon as you saw the garment hanging on the wall.

"what's this?" you asked, looking at him with a playful undertone in your voice. he shrugged with that cheeky smile of his, looking at you with soft pleading eyes as he brought his hands to the first button of your blouse. "fuck it, why not?" you thought, nodding at him in encouragement. slowly, he started unbuttoning your blouse, taking his time popping every button. you could hear his breath hitching as the fabric slid off your arms, falling on the bed.

in your defense, you had always found seonghwa pretty cute, and having him undress you like that after a long fucking day of work was almost a dream come true. he was that boy who's jacked and kind Sabrina Carpenter had talked about, so you wouldn't complain at all. he laid you on the bed, softly brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"you're so beautiful…" he murmured, admiring your features like you were his dream come true. his christmas miracle, "can i kiss you? since we're under the mistletoe and all?"

that got a giggle out of you, and you nodded, joining your lips in a sweet kiss. it was christmas, after all. what could possibly go wrong? except his kisses grew hungrier, greedier, and his hands slowly started to roam over your upper body. you held his wrists, breaking the kiss to properly look at him, only to find pure and raw adoration and desire in his gaze. where the fuck did this come from?

"hwa, i don't know if that's a good idea-"

"please," he interrupted you, burying his face on the crook of your neck, "i promise i'll be good for you." you sighed softly, thinking about it. again, what could go wrong? it was just harmless fun between roommates, under the excuse of a mistletoe.

little did you know you were in for a long night.

"tasting so good, my christmas gift," seonghwa groaned, your legs hooked on his shoulders as he kept relentlessly making out with your pussy, licking, sucking and kissing your clenching core like it was his death row meal.

you, on the other hand, already had tears in your eyes, coming out of your third orgasm of the night. you couldn't get him out of you at all. you had pushed him only to have him place your legs on his shoulders. you had tried to crawl away, only to have him grab you by your hips and drag you closer, burying his face on your sweet cunt again. seonghwa was completely pussy drunk, pushing you over the edge again and again and again until you were a shivering mess, whimpering and sobbing in overstimulation.

"hwa… hwa, f-fuck, 's too much… too much…" you cried out, hands on his head trying to push him away, your protests falling in deaf ears since he was too far gone to even register what you were saying, murmuring praises on how good you were for him, how beautiful you were, how sweet you tasted, how divine you smelled.

"so perfect f' me… so sweet… so wet, so tasty…." he kept praising, not even realizing how your legs were shaking and ready to give out.

he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, only stopping when he was satisfied, your clit swollen and your legs spasming on his shoulders. sweet little kisses trailed up your body, worshipping your soft skin in pure adoration. his eyes roamed over your face, admiring your fucked out features and the tear streaks on your face.

"so beautiful…" he murmured, peckering his sweet little kisses all over your face, capturing your lips and making you taste yourself on his tongue.

"you're insane," was the only thing you could get out, panting and sweating under him, "and a pervert."

he giggled, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, "don't act as if you didn't enjoy it."

that earned a smack on his shoulder and a chuckle out of him, "shut up."

"merry christmas to you too, roomie," he murmured, laying on top of you and pecking your lips.

"merry christmas, seonghwa," you chuckled, wrapping your legs around him and finally surrendering to the feeling, allowing yourself to relax under his weight.

hi hello it's your girl meggie :3

if you read until the end thank you so much i literally love you mwah mwah mwah

merry christmas and happy new years, babes <3 gonna bring more treats to y'all soon, just you wait.

xoxo, meggie.

[redeemingvillains]

the playlist - mattheo riddle

summary: enzo overhears something about you he shouldn't have and when he tells his friends, all hell breaks loose.

word count: 1.5k

soundtrack: dress - taylor swift

a/n: just some fun, sweet and silly banter with our favorite boys! i made enzo italian? not sure if that's a thing. and i definitely took some liberties with italian, so please forgive me!

warning: the group is lowkey mean to enzo about his english not being very good; this in no way reflects my personal views about that. anyone that even attempts to speak or learn more than one language (esp english!) is amazing ♡

"Alright, I've got another one"

Pansy's voice carried from your bedroom into the bathroom where you were curling your hair, getting ready for your girls' night. She was fiddling with your phone, playing music through your bluetooth speaker.

"Fuck, marry, kill: Blaise, Mattheo, Theo."

"What is the actual matter with you?" you responded, laughing. "I'm not answering that, none of them" you said resolutely about your best friends, even as your heart trilled in your chest at the very obvious answer you had in your head.

She laughed deeply, "Gods they would simply die. Any of them would be on their knees to marry you, I swear to Salazar... or fuck you for that matter."

"Pansy!!"

"Ok, ok, I give up."

"Anyway, how are things with you and Draco?" you asked, looking to quickly change the subject.

A heartbeat. No response.

"Pans?" you asked, your ears listening intently for her answer before you became worried. "You okay?" you asked, concerned as you carefully set down your curler and peered around the doorframe to find her with a shit-eating grin on her face, staring at your phone.

"Pansy..." you said cautiously as you slowly approached her.

"I just found a very interesting playlist on your phone. 'M.R.'? Gee, wonder what that could be?" she said slyly.

Your feet started moving quickly towards her. "Nonono, nope that's not what you think –"

Now she was on her feet, running away from you. "Oh, GIRL, ohhhhh my goddddssss!"

"Give it back!" you shouted, lunging for your phone as she dodged out of your grasp.

"This is all Taylor Swift! Down Bad, But Daddy I Love Him, DRESS!?! I KNEW IT, I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!!" she shouted as she scrambled on top of your bed and jumped up and down. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me, please, Mattheo is going to lose his mind!!!"

"Oh gods, Pans, please, please you cannot say anything, not to Draco, not to anyone."

Her eyes flicked from you to over your shoulder and your heart dropped into your stomach as you turned to see Lorenzo standing in your doorway.

"...Ciao bellas..." he said hesitantly, eyebrows raised as he took in the scene in front of him, Pansy, out of breath, standing on your bed, you clambering up beside her as you were both shouting at each other.

"Uhh, hey Enz, what's up?" you said as casually as possible as you climbed off your bed.

"I'm here to borrow your potions textbook, you said I could?–"

"–Yes, gods, yes I did" you said, scrambling to search for it from the pile on your desk before brandishing it at him.

"Thank you bella" he said as he left, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Fuck how much of that do you think he heard?" you said, looking up at Pansy.

"Babe, he barely speaks English, you're fine" she said nonchalantly. "But as for me, you have a lot of explaining to do."

Enzo made his way into the common room where the rest of his friends were gathered around the TV playing a video game as he plopped down onto the couch beside them.

"Where the hell have you been?" Draco asked without breaking his concentration on the screen.

"I was with la dolce e la piccante, eh, I needed her book" he said, using his affectionate nicknames for you (sweet) and Pansy (spicy). "Amico, she was talking about you" he said suggestively, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Yeah, what did she say?" Draco asked, his curiosity piqued.

"No, not you, la dolce, she was talking about Mattheo."

Mattheo had been sprawled in a large armchair with his hood over his head and eyes closed, but they fluttered open at that. Be cool he thought to himself, even as his heart raced in his chest. Enzo immediately registered his reaction and smirked.

"Care to share?" Theo grunted, jamming the buttons on his controller.

"She has music for you" Enzo said, his eyes never leaving Mattheo.

Mattheo's heartrate slowed.

"She sends me songs all the time, we have a shared playlist, Enz" he said, waving him off as he pulled his hood back up.

"No, no, it was not for sharing, it was a secret."

"You mean a surprise?" Blaise tried.

"No, no, la picante, she found it and la dolce was upset, it was a secret playlist."

Mattheo sat back up.

"A secret playlist... for me?" he asked.

"Yes!" Enzo said, happy to finally have gotten his attention and the message across.

Enzo's confirmation was met with some chuckles and ooohs and aahhs.

"Did you hear it?"

"What was on it?"

"I bet it was the same depressing alternative shit you two always listen to" Theo said.

"Shut the fuck up" Mattheo snapped back, narrowing his gaze at him.

"–It was Taylor Swift!" Enzo announced proudly, and four sets of eyes shifted to him, with three blank stares.

A pause.

"Ok, but like what era are we talking about here? Lover? Folklore? TPD?" Theo said and four sets of eyes shifted to him.

"What the fuck?"

"Bro, what are you talking about?"

"Am I supposed to know what any of this means?"

"Che cosa??"

"Taylor Swift is a fucking icon and anyone who says otherwise is either deaf or ignorant" Theo retorted before snapping his gaze back to Enzo, the video game in the background long forgotten now.

"Tell me exactly what you heard."

"Ehh, Down Bad, Daddy something something, and Dress" he said, nodding as he remembered each.

Theo's controller fell off his lap as he leaned forward intensely, eyes narrowed on Enzo, "You are fucking certain that's what you heard?"

"...Yes..?"

Theo let out a noise somewhere between a howl and a laugh.

"Oh my fucking gods Matty you lucky son of a bitch!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mattheo asked. He was sitting upright now on the edge of his seat and he could feel his pulse in his neck as he'd watched the conversation going back and forth between Theo and Enzo like a fucking tennis match.

"Dress by Taylor Swift? But Daddy I Love Him? Hellloooo???!!" Theo was cackling now, falling back on the couch, his hands on his stomach.

And then panic ensued.

"Put it on! Someone pull it up!" Blaise shouted, scrambling to his feet in search of his phone.

"Gods" Draco muttered, his hands on his head as he tried to process the information as tears streamed down Theo's face with laughter, and maybe a small bit of bitter jealousy.

Enzo looked around with wide eyes at their reaction, somehow more dramatic than the girls'.

"No!" Mattheo said finally, standing up and grabbing Blaise by the arm as he was frantically trying to find the songs. "All of you, just shut. the. fuck. up" he said firmly, his voice low and serious as he enunciated every word, causing each of them to stop what they were doing and look at him.

"This is bullshit, he doesn't even speak English" he continued harshly, gesturing halfheartedly to Enzo. "I'm not wasting my time with this shit, can we please just get back to the game?"

He sat down resolutely, picked a controller up off the floor and moved to restart their game.

The group exchanged quiet glances with one another before settling back into their places.

Mattheo had been able to project a semblance of controlled anger the rest of the night, despite the sideways glances he received, but on the inside, he felt like a kettle full of boiling water, ready to scream.

He was fuming that Enzo repeated what he'd heard in front of everyone, furious at the way Theo laughed and annoyed at everyone else's reactions. His life, his feelings, and especially his friendship with you were private; it was none of their godsdamn business.

He also didn't like the idea that Theo knew your music better than he did, music was something the two of you had always shared with each other... since when did you listen to Taylor Swift anyway? And why was her music such a big deal?

He was tossing and turning in bed now, playing and replaying the evening's events in his head until finally he reached for his headphones, shoving them in his ears as he grabbed his phone. He needed to know, needed to understand why Theo was making such a big deal out of it. Theo's voice echoed in his head: "Matty you lucky son of a bitch!" and excitement and jealousy stirred in his stomach in equal measures.

It doesn't mean anything he told himself, tampering his expectations. The last thing he wanted to do was get excited, like one song was going to change anything anyway.

Dress he typed - tapping play.

Decent beat he thought, she's got a nice voice...

And then he hit the bridge.

Say my name and everything just stops I don't want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off

He had stopped breathing.

Everyone thinks that they know us But they don't know nothing about All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation My hands are shaking from holding back from you –

He ripped his headphones out of his ears and sat straight up in bed, his hand falling subconsciously to his beating chest as he tried to catch his breath. He swallowed. He blinked several times, trying to register what he'd just heard.

I don't want you like a best friend?

Well fuck he thought, me either.

T H E P L A Y L I S T

🏷️ tagging a few of my beautiful mutuals: @girllblogging777 @draco-dormiens @dracosbabygirl8 @leona-hawthorne @noble-serpent @sectumsempraaa @reys-letters

[khywren]

it's time for some more astarion analysis~

making this a separate post in case people wanted to reblog just the gifs on their own and don't care about the extra fluff. i'm certain this scene has been analyzed to the hells and back by this point, but when i was making this set something really stuck out to me and i wanted to throw my two cents in anyway.

this is the tail end of the mirror scene from act 1, where you catch astarion looking in the mirror and lamenting about not being able to see his reflection or knowing what he looks like anymore. and while that alone is sad enough, it gets SO MUCH WORSE.

if you express genuine interest in his predicament (i.e. asking him if he misses his reflection and what color his eyes were before he was turned), you get to see the mask slip. it's one of the first times in the game that he's not hiding behind his quick wit and silver tongue.

if you tell him you'll be his mirror, you can see the change in his demeanor immediately. his face softens, the cadence of his voice changes; you can literally hear the vulnerability in every word he says. huge props to neil and the rest of larian for making the distinction between these dialogue options, of course. it's the little details that really make moments like these shine.

but there was something else i noticed in the footage i recorded as well that i hadn't picked up on any of my other playthroughs. i've spent a lot of time staring at this man's face, especially while capturing idle animations for gifs and wallpapers, and most of the time it's what you'd expect, with minimal face movement, expressions changing, etc. most companions i record seem to behave the same way, with similar expressions/blinking/eye movement.

but just look at astarion's face here. this feels deliberately unique. he is SO anxious, so worried how you'll perceive him. the rapid blinking, the nervous darting of his eyes… it genuinely breaks my heart.

(tumblr will only let me upload one video per post, but just look at any other idle footage of him and you'll see the difference)

and the second you tell him what he thinks he wants to hear? that he's very attractive? he slips right back into his suave, flirtatious persona, and even praises you for complimenting his looks. even if you eventually ask him if all he wants is shallow praise, he still deflects and isn't completely honest with you.

note that if you choose to take the less compassionate route and simply tell them that he has a "very good face," he will still prompt you to tell him what you see when you look at him, and the delivery of the line is subtly but noticeably different and more guarded. similarly, if you poke a little too much fun at him by calling him old and draw too much attention to his mole, he gets very flustered and ends the conversation immediately. understandable, since he's relied on his appearance for so long, and hearing (even jokingly) that even that might not be something he can use anymore must be at least a little terrifying for him.

so naturally, you might think that by being truthful with him would perhaps net you a better result -- after all, you're telling him what he asked for, what you really see, that you see him as more than just someone to lust after -- but it doesn't. he actually seems a little upset if you choose those dialogue options. in that moment, he wants to know that you find him attractive, because he thinks that's all he's good for. because if you find him attractive, there's a chance that he could seduce you and use you for protection against cazador. i do think he also genuinely wants to know that there's so much more to him than just a pretty face, since that's a big theme of his entire story/romance arc, but that's not at the top of his priority list this early in the game. he's relying purely on instinct. he knows how to respond to people telling him he's attractive. accepting genuine compliments about the person beneath the mask? that's probably not something he's had much (if any) experience with in close to two centuries. he didn't have the luxury of being able to let anyone see who he really was.

all that to say that this interaction is really heartbreaking. he wants to be seen, wants to be understood and possibly loved, but at the same time he still thinks he needs to put on a front to ensure he can keep himself safe. watching him slowly start to unlearn those habits during the course of the game has been one of my favorite things about bg3 and a huge part of what's really endeared astarion to me as a character.

[luffydotcom]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader where they encounter an enemy who’s devil fruit makes people reveal the truth which ends up with Luffy confessing his feelings for the reader and leaves him all embarrassed and the rest of the crew in shock. maybe he even says something along the lines of “I think y/n looks cute when she’s wearing my straw hat” idk, I just had this thought I hope it makes sense cause I feel like it would be super adorable! thank you!!

this is so cute! i had a lot of fun writing this too. honestly... i did find this a bit of a challenge because luffy's so honest and not good at lying in general! but i tried to make it work anyhow. i hope this is alright!

also sorry that this is so overdue, i swear i didn't forget about your request anon!! i've been so busy with college assignments but i swear i kept thinking of writing up your request when i got the chance the entire time 😭

truth be told

pairing: luffy x female! reader warnings: none! word count: 778

you know luffy is honest to a fault - always speaking his mind and it's like you always know what he's thinking. yet there is one thing he hasn't told you - that he likes you. seriously, too. and it's because well... for someone so to-the-point and forward with his words... even he isn't sure how to say it to you.

you've just arrived on a new island, and once again he's already managed to stir up trouble by attracting a big number of marines towards the crew when they recognised his straw hat.

while you're busy fighting off some of the marines, you miss one of them in particular - the captain. his expression is cunning and dark... and you don't even see how quickly he is approaching luffy from behind until he's inches away from him.

"LUFFY!" you call out to warn him as you see him knock a straight punch into a whole line of marines with ease. but when luffy whips around to face you, the captain clenches his hand on luffy's shoulder.

"HEY! what're you doing, you -" luffy manages to break free of his grip without much trouble, but he's interrupted when he feels chills all over his body.

the captain lets out a dark laugh. "you'll see soon..."

luffy still hasn't moved from his place, as if he's completely stuck, and his face is empty of any kind of readable expression. you run over to him, afraid he'll get hurt, but within seconds you see zoro is already there and has cut the enemy down as he falls to the ground in pain.

"oi, luffy! what's gotten into you? snap out of it!" he grabs luffy by the shoulders and starts shaking him. by now, all of the enemies are on the ground and you and the rest of the crew rush to join their side, looking concerned for your captain.

luffy doesn't say anything at all, dead-silent. until suddenly the light returns to his eyes.

"what happened? i just got a funny feeling all over my body!" luffy looks down at his hands as zoro releases him and breathes a sigh of relief.

"that guy must have done something to you," nami says, thinking back to what happened just moments ago.

"maybe he had some kind of devil fruit... do you feel any different, luffy?" you ask, looking worried.

luffy turns to face you as if he's just noticed you were there. "about you? no, i still love you."

everyone's jaws practically fall to the floor, even luffy's.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?" the whole crew, including you, gasps in unison.

"CRAP! WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT? IT WAS MEANT TO BE A SECRET!" luffy yelps and covers his mouth with both hands.

"WHAT? between who?" you move away in complete shock, hands shaking.

"MYSELF!"

you want to laugh but you're absolutely blown away by how straight-forward that confession was, even for luffy. heck, you just wanted to know if he was OK. you weren't expecting him to say that he loves you.

"sanji, i just wanted to say i ate all the ingredients for today's lunch," luffy says, deadpan, before covering his mouth again in surprise. "also, nami, i used some of our money to buy more meat -"

"WHAT? HEY!" sanji and nami have to get held back by usopp.

"something's clearly wrong." zoro steps forward, tapping luffy's forehead with his finger. "it's like he can't stop saying the truth. and that guy definitely has something to do with it." he looks down at the collapsed marine on the ground.

"wait, so luffy... does that mean you're serious about what you said about y/n?" chopper's eyes shine with eagerness.

you glance at luffy, but he hesitantly looks away from you, attempting not to meet your eyes. you couldn't believe it. for the first time in your life, your captain actually looks... embarrassed?

"...i just think y/n looks cute when she's wearing my straw hat..." luffy mumbles so that you can just about hear him.

"how long have you been hiding this...?" your mouth parts slightly in surprise, although you feel flustered by the unexpected compliment.

luffy starts to count on his fingers. "i don't know, but definitely a while now." he almost looks guilty. "i just didn't know how to say it!"

"perhaps it doesn't matter how you were meant to say it," robin chuckles. "you've said it now, haven't you? even if it was by strange circumstances."

luffy takes in what robin has said, then looks at you with his confidence returned. he smiles widely. "i'm glad... i don't know how much longer i could keep that to myself!"

© luffydotcom

[deermurdock]

poor thing | m. murdock

NSFW a/n: this is kindaaa a full version of the blurb i posted a couple of days ago because i've been in a mood so uhm. just a lot of horny stuff. the reader is very touch starved and also uses hearing aids. so! have fun with this :)) uhm this got super self indulgent at the end but i think it's pretty good-- not to toot my own horn or anything but uhmmmm enjoy!! warnings: dom/sub dynamics, nicknames, Matt flipflopping between being a soft dom and a hard dom bc i couldnt make up my mind, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, uhhh dirty talk, cursing, reader is suuuuper touch starved wordcount: 4.3k

You have brunch plans for tomorrow morning.

You, Matt, Karen, Foggy and Marci—Nothing but mimosas and French toast.

If you can make it through the night, of course.

Okay, fine, it’s not that dramatic. But sometimes, you think you might die—Right then and there, cause of death? Matt Murdock.

You had planned to stay the night, bringing an overnight bag with you to work. And at around 1 a.m., after a homecooked meal, a movie and sitting curled against his side, the two of you realized you should probably get some sleep.

You brush your teeth in his bathroom, take your medication in his kitchen, and then you go to get changed. You dig through your bag, trying to find your pajamas—Your shorts are here, but not the tee shirt you were planning to wear.

Not in any of the little pockets of your overnight bag.

You twist the shorts in your hands awkwardly, watching as Matt pulls out sweatpants from his drawer to wear.

“Matthew?” You say softly, tilting your head.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He wonders, tilting his head back to you.

“Could.. I borrow a tee shirt? I guess I forgot mine.” You see a smile form on his face.

He shuffles through his drawers, fingers running over tags. Then, he turns back to you, and hands you a black tee shirt. You look at it for a second, reading the text on the front of the shirt. Then you grin.

“My Chemical Romance?” You read. Matt’s face flushes a bit.

“I had.. a bit of an emo phase in High School, okay?”

“That’s all I get? You’re gonna drop that on me and not give me anymore details?” You wonder.

“Let’s just say for a blind man, I am.. very good at doing eyeliner.”

You giggle.

“You’re probably better than I am.” You’re not big on makeup.

“Just go get changed.” He tells you, turning back to his drawer.

You oblige, heading into his bathroom to change. When you slip the tee shirt over your head, you pick the fabric up and put it up to your nose, inhaling his scent. You can’t help yourself. He’s got this very subtle vanilla smell to him. Then, you make your way back to his bedroom, tossing your clothes over your duffle bag.

You stand by the doorway, sort of.. taken back by the look of him. He’s sprawled out in his bed, just in a pair of fuzzy socks and sweatpants. Your face flushes. You’re about to sleep in a boy’s bed—With him in it!

You shake your head, chasing the silly thought out of it.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” He doesn’t even have his glasses on. When you realize this, your heartbeat picks up. You’ve only been going out for about two weeks, just enough for you to become curious about his eyes.

“This is weird..” You mumble, and his head tilts curiously.

“What do you mean?”

A smile breaks out on your face.

“I don’t know,” You confess, “It’s just.. I can barely handle it when you kiss me in front of our friends, I’m overwhelmed at the idea of like.. cuddling all night.”

“Well, this isn’t in front of our friends.” He reminds. He pats the bed next to him. “Come sit,” He offers. He stays still, as if he’s scared you’ll run off like a skittish animal.

You move to sit on the bed, an inch or two away from each other. Matt’s hand finds yours. You lean your head against his shoulder. Then, you remember something, tilting your head to face him, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

“Matt, I won’t be able to hear your alarm clock go off,” You remind. Your hearing aids will be out while you sleep, and you’re not likely to hear his alarm clock. “We’ll be late and—”

Matt kisses your forehead.

“I’ll wake you up,” he says.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You smile and press a soft kiss onto his lips. He stops, basking in the initiated affection.

You take out your hearing aids, and then melt into the bed, waiting for Matt to wrap his arms around you. He does, his arms snaking around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your next. Then, he says, right into your good ear so you could hear him,

“This okay?”

You smile.

“Yeah.” You promise, your hand wrapping around his arm, squeezing it tightly. You’re kept warm all night. There’s this moment at around three a.m., and your eyes flutter open as you wake up.. rather randomly.

You take a minute to admire Matt’s sleeping figure in the dark. His face is.. peaceful. Your lips twitch up. Then, you lean in and press a soft kiss on his jaw. You’re not used to physical affection.. But you’re doing your best to change that.

-

In the morning, Matt keeps his promise.

He removes his hand from your skin to turn off the alarm clock blaring,

’10:00 a.m.’

His hand runs over your back, since you’re now laying on your stomach, hugging Matt and a pillow. You breath deep, and for a moment, Matt tries to imagine what you’re dreaming about.

Your family?

Your job?

Him?

But, he knows you have to get up soon, so he begins to kiss you—

He starts at your cheek, before moving to your neck, and then, when he reaches your clothed shoulder, he moves your sleeve up your arm, beginning to kiss your arm, as his fingers tease the hem of your shirt, unsure if you’d kill him if that’s how you wake up, when your eyes flutter open.

“Good morning,” he smiles. He talks at just the right level so you can understand him.

“What’re you doing, Matthew?”

“Just waking you up,” He leans down and kisses your arm again. A shiver runs through your body.

“Okay, I’m awake now.” You grin.

“Okay, great,” You lean over and grab your hearing aids, putting them on. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” he requests, “My treat.”

“Like.. a fancy dinner or just something casual?”

“Fancy.” He confirms. “Fancy clothes and everything.”

Your heartbeat quickens.

“Kay.”

Matt leans forward and kisses your cheek.

He almost moves to get up, but he stops to ask,

“What were you dreaming about?”

You smile a bit.

“The Taj Mahal.” He laughs.

“The Taj Mahal?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re so..”

“Weird? Annoying? Nerdy?”

“Fascinating.”

He takes note at the way your heart races when he says that.

-

After brunch that morning, you and Matt split up to go get ready for your date, and you’re mostly successful.

But, you struggle with your eyeliner.. And then you remember something Matt told you last night. So you wait for Matt to get to your apartment. When he does, he comes with flowers. You smile as he kisses you hello, and you take the flowers.

You come back to him as you’re slipping on your shoes.

“I have a favor to ask,”

“Anything,” He smiles.

“Do my eyeliner?” You offer him your eyeliner pen, and he smiles.

“Sit on the couch,” he gestures, taking the pen from you. You sit on the couch, and Matt kneels down a bit, leaning in to feel around your face, getting a good feel of where your features are. Then, he grips the pencil in his hand and uses those handy heightened senses to delicately do your eyeliner.

He smiles when he finishes.

“Okay, all done. Do mine?” He asks, and you smile.

“Sure, how do you want to—” and before you can finish, Matt has moved quickly to sit on the chair before pulling you onto his lap. You let out a squeak, your face red. He grins.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He feigns innocence.

“You’re such a pain.” You huff, and he just smiles, leaning into kiss your cheek. You blush, avoiding looking at him now.

“C’mon, just do my eyeliner for me,” he requests, and you let out a huff as you gently tilt his head up towards you.

“You know you need to take your glasses off, right?”

“I know,” he smiles, and his hand is removed briefly from your waist to take off his glasses. Then, slowly and methodically, you begin applying the eyeliner, trying to ignore how nervous this whole thing is making you.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast,” He smirks. You bite back a sarcastic comment, and his hand begins to rub up and down your side. You pause your application of the eyeliner to squirm a bit in his lap. “What’s the matter, baby?” he coos.

“Oh, you’re such a dick.” You mumble, your grip on his chin tightening as you finish applying his eyeliner. He smiles and slips his glasses back on, as you climb off his lap. “C’mon, I’m starving—”

“Me too,” he says before grabbing your arm, and pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. His tongue brushes against your lip before slipping inside your mouth. After the initial urge to run away dissipates, you lean into the kiss, only for Matthew to pull away. “Alright, let’s head out.”

You try to find words, but you’re breathless from that kiss. Instead, you betray yourself. You let out this needy little whine, and Matt just smirks.

“What? If you’re whining over one kiss, I can’t imagine how you’ll be later.”

You tilt your head, cautiously. Matt wants to tell you how dog like that is, how it’s easily one of his favorite things about you.

“What do you mean, later?”

He kisses your head, and opens the door to your apartment, gesturing for you to walk out.

“Use that pretty head of yours. What do you think I mean?”

Your face flushes as you take a few steps out of the apartment.

“I don’t know.”

He closes the door behind him, and then his arm takes yours.

“Guess.”

-

To you, Dinner feels like it takes a million damn years.

You suspect that’s partially because of the way Matthew insatiably teases you.

His hand stays on your thigh throughout all of dinner.

When he wants you to try something, he gathers the food on a fork and glances to you.

“Open,” he says, and when he puts the fork in your mouth, you bite the food off the fork. “Good pup,” He hums, and of course, you blush.

He licks his lips like he’s quietly begging for a taste, and at some point during the dinner, he leans over the table and asks you quietly,

“Do you think I can’t smell how wet you are, kid?”

So by the time you two get home, it’s all you can do not to get on your hands and knees and beg him for something more than just a couple of teasing words. Maybe that’s what he wants. You’re not sure—Your brain is fuzzy.

You step into Matt’s apartment and toss the jacket that he wrapped around your shoulders onto the couch as he steps in, putting his cane and glasses down first.

“Can I ask you a question?” You finally blurt out.

He smiles, sensing your anticipation.

“Sure.”

“Are we.. are we gonna sleep together tonight?” You can’t help but ask. Matt chuckles gently.

“Do you want to sleep together?”

“Yes, please,” you finally answer.

“Go sit on the couch.” He orders softly, and he hears no objections as you take off your heels before sitting on the couch. He breathes deep and cracks the bones in his neck. He knows you have no idea what you’re in for.

He runs a hand over his jaw, trying to decide how he’ll start. He knows no matter how he does it, he’ll absolutely torture you, poor thing. So, he starts with sitting down next to you, placing his hand on your thigh.

He smirks as you squirm.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He coos softly.

“Oh, you know damn well what’s—”

Matt moves his hand from your thigh to grip your chin.

“Shh..” He starts, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re going to have to knock off the attitude,” He demands gently.

“Can’t help it—”

“You haven’t even tried.” He scoffs. “Come on, just be good for me and I’ll make all the thoughts disappear from your pretty little head.” His grip on your chin tightens, and he leans forward to brush his lips against yours. “Answer me.”

“Okay,” You breath out, “Okay, sure, I’ll be good,” You promise, and Matt kisses you in approval. But he doesn’t pull away after a moment. Instead, his hands move to cup your cheeks. He deepens the kiss and doesn’t stop you as you reposition yourself, now sitting on his lap.

His hand trails down, beginning to massage your thighs as you kiss him. He can smell how wet you are, hear how fast your heart is beating.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips again, so that he can explore your mouth. He studies it like its his damn job, and he relishes in the tiny gasps and moans that he’s able to draw out of you.

You begin rocking your hips against him, and his hands move to your hips, holding you in place. He pulls away from the kiss, and is met with your whining.

“What’d I tell you about the attitude?” He wonders, and you bite your lip, just desperate for him to continue. One hand releases your hip and reaches up to tug your hair. You let out a whimper. “Answer me.” His voice is steady, but deep—He knows exactly the effect he has over you.

“To stop it,” You answer, and he clicks his tongue. You try not to react, but Matt smirks at your attempt at self-control.

“Poor thing,” He coos, “You just need someone to take care of you, huh? Order you around, fuck you dumb..” He hums. When you squirm a bit in his lap, Matt decides to kiss you again, wanting you as brainless as he can get you.

He slowly pulls away, and he takes a second to stop, to catch his breath. He knows you need the second too, so he just inhales as he listens to the sound of your heartbeat, anxiously awaiting his next move.

“If you want to stop, you just say ‘Lava’. Got it?”

“Lava, got it.” You know he’s looking for verbal affirmation, that you understand what’s about to happen might get.. less than vanilla. He nods, and places an uncharacteristically soft kiss to your lips.

“Take your dress off,” He commands softly, “And then get on your knees for me.”

For a moment, you contemplate being bratty. You contemplate not following his order. But, you decide against it. You stand and slip out of your dress, left in just your jewelry, underwear and pretty makeup.

You kneel between his legs and watch as his lips form this smile that makes your stomach churn.

“Good dog,” and he chuckles when you lean your head against his thigh. “Poor thing,” He repeats his early sentiment, before he stands up. He takes a step towards his bedroom, and then, his hand comes down to pet your hair—

Before he grips it, starting to pull you by your hair all the way to his bedroom, listening as you whimper, trying to keep up with him. When he releases your hair, you pant softly from the pain as you sit next to his bed, watching as Matt unties his tie, wrapping it around his hand like you would a bandage.

“Sorry, honey,” he coos, suddenly soft, “That was mean, wasn’t it?” He wonders, and you pause, not sure if he wants you to actually answer. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Go ahead, you can answer.”

“Yeah, it was,” You finally answer, “The fuck did you do that for?” Matt lets out this dry chuckle.

“There’s that attitude again,” He hums. He leans down and effortlessly scoops you up with his arms and puts you on his bed, “Yeah. I was mean.” He nods, “Let me make it up to you?” He’s not really asking for your permission, and he proves that by grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to stop being mean to me?” You wonder, and he can’t help the smile that forms on his face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He moves to lean closer to you, before unwrapping the tie from his hand and then, he ties it around your head, making sure to lay it right over your eyes. “I never promised that. I just promised I’d make it up to you. Ask how I’ll do that.”

You inhale and exhale, a little thrown out of the moment.

“How?” You ask, desperately in love with him either way.

“I’m gonna ruin that pretty eyeliner,” He kneels between your legs.

“How are you—” You gasp when he pulls down your underwear quickly, slipping it down to your ankles, and then throwing them to the side.

“You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.” He says, before leaning in to lick a stripe across your cunt. Then, he starts to lick and suck on your folds, devouring you. You moan loudly, hands finding his hair as you try to get used to the feeling.

And after a couple of moments of eating you out, You do get used to it, and you absolutely melt into the bed, suddenly forgiving him for all his mean moments earlier. You’d forgive anything he did if he just stays on his knees, eating you out.

His fingers come up to your clit to gently rub circles into it, before moving his fingers to slip right between your folds, relishing in the way you whine, in the sound of your moans. His fingers begin to pump in and out of you.

He licks stripe after stripe into your cunt, his scruff scratching your thighs as he eats you out. You pull and tug at his hair.

“I’m—I’m close,” You finally manage to gasp out,

Matt just hums out an, ‘Mhm’, too busy lapping up your juices on his tongue. His nose brushes against your clit, and you’re suddenly coming undone as his licks your juices up. You ride out your high with Matt’s face between your thighs.

After a couple of minutes, he slowly comes up for air, head tilting upwards.

“Feeling okay?” his voice is soft now.

“Yeah,” You breath with a breathy sigh. “Just.. thinking.” Your hands absentmindedly comb through his hair.

“’Bout what, baby?” He asks, and leans in, pressing a kiss to your clit. When you whine, he coos mockingly, “Aw, poor thing.. Answer the question.”

“..You.” You try, and he scoffs, before biting your thigh.

“Try again, brat.”

You blush.

“It’s embarrassing!”

“I just buried my face in your pretty pussy and you’re worried about an embarrassing thought?” Matt asks, and you huff.

“Well, when you put it that way—” He bites your thigh again. “Fine! Fine,” You huff. “I’m thinking about the seven wonders of the world.”

A beat.

Matt lets out a low chuckle, and your face flushes.

“Matthew!”

“What? I can’t help it,” He giggles, and as you start to move away, but he grips your thighs and pulls you closer, “Okay, okay. What about the seven wonders of the world?”

“I’ll tell you if you take off the blindfold.”

“Oh,” He lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, poor thing, this isn’t a negotiation.”

“Seems like it is—” He scoffs at this, “It is! You’re the one on your knees, I’ve already came, seems like I have a bit of leverage here—”

Matt rolls his eyes, and stands up, his hand coming up to your head to the blindfold. He pulls it off and takes just a second to brush hair from your face. Then, he wraps the tie around your neck. He pulls a bit, just snuggly tugging and applying a bit of pressure. He towers over you now, and he pulls the tie up a bit so that you’re looking at him.

“Listen to me, you little brat,” He growls, “What did I say about the attitude?” You just let out a whimper, and he clicks his tongue again. “I bet I can fuck the attitude out of you. Or at least, I can try.” He snaps, tightening the tie around your neck.

Then, he works on his pants and tugs his dress pants down just enough for him to pull his cock out. Then, he shifts the two of you so that you’re sitting on his lap, his tip teasing your folds.

He tugs on the tie, pulling you forward so he can bite and suck on your neck, and you begin to moan, whine at the feeling of. Matt just bites down, marking you in every way he can.

“Not used to all this attention, huh?” And then, Matt says his phrase of the night, “Poor thing,” He hums. His hand comes up to uncharacteristically kindly move the hair from your ear, and then begins to kiss every inch of your skin.

You’re like puddy in his hands. Mendable, soft.

He guides his cock to your folds, and then, as he distracts you with kisses and hickeys, guides you to sink down onto his cock. When you do, you let out a breathy moan, unused to the feeling of being so full..

After giving you a minute to adjust, Matt begins to thrust into you, encourages by your moans and egging you on with whispers of encouragement,

“Taking my cock so well for me,” He praises, planting kisses down your neck, “Like you’re made for me to fuck you like this,” He gasps as he feels you clench around him. “Fuck, So good for me,” He says. It’s like he’s addicted to kissing you, to kissing your neck and shoulders and every inch of skin he can get his lips on.

He fucks you intensely, and you feel every single thrust as it echoes through your body, and the longer he goes, the more he whispers in your ear, (“Come on, pretty thing, just keep taking my cock, just like that—Oh, god—Fuck, Baby, you feel so good,”) the closer you get to your climax.

“’m gonna—”

“I know, I know,” He hums, and then he smirks as he smells salty tears in the air. Tears run down your face, and Matt knows he’s won. “Aw, baby.. Did you ruin your eyeliner?” When you don’t respond, Matt pulls your hips down, commanding you to answer.

“Yes!” You whimper, a sob escaping your lips.

“Poor thing,” he coos, and his thrusts are particularly intent as he continues, “Poor, poor baby,” He hums, kissing your shoulder before biting down on it. And without another word, you grip his arm as you clench around him, cumming around his cock. He thrusts a few more times, “Gotta pull out before—”

“No!” You whine, “Just come inside, it’s fine—”

“Are you sure, I don’t want to—”

“Matt,” you whine, beginning to roll your hips, desperate to feel him come inside you. You whimper softly, as Matt thrusts into you, finally coming inside you. He rides out his own high before his thrusts come to a slow.

“Fuck,” He gasps, sweat dripping down his neck. “You were even better than I could imagine..” he confesses.

For a moment, the pair of you just breath. His hands slowly rub up and down your sides. Thoughts seem far away.. in the best way possible.

He knows you need a bath. He knows he needs to clean you and himself up. He knows he needs to teach you to suck him off. He should ask you how that was, what he should do again, what you would’ve preferred. He has a damn list, but all he can think to ask is—

“What were you thinking about earlier?”

“What?” you ask, cock still buried deep inside you.

“After I ate you out,” He starts, “You were thinking about the seven wonders of the world. What about them?”

You study his face. There’s no mocking intent, no malice in his voice.

“I was thinking about The Gardens of Babylon. How deeply I relate to them.”

“What? How can you relate to ancient architecture?”

“Well, we don’t know if they were even real. Maybe they were, but there are theories that it was all just.. poetic. That they weren’t real, and that the story is just.. something we choose to believe.”

His face twitches in confusion, trying to process what you mean, how can you relate to ancient architecture, especially ancient architecture that you don’t even know the certainty of.

“So, which one would I be?”

He expects you to ask questions for confirmation.

Instead, you answer almost immediately.

“The Roman Colosseum.” You grin.

“The colosseum?” He questions.

“Strong. Stable. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.” You pause, a smirk on your face. Your finger comes up to his nose. You run it down the shape of his nose, “Roman.” He grins.

“So, we’re the Gardens of Babylon and the Roman Colosseum?”

“No, no,” You shake your head, “we’re not the Gardens of Babylon and the Roman Colosseum! We’re the wonder of the world that’s built out of white marble, a wonder made because death doesn’t stop love-- We are the Taj Mahal.” You offer.

“Oh, my mistake.” He grins. “We’re the Taj Mahal.”

“See? You get it.” You smile back.

Matt thinks for a moment.

“So this morning, when I asked you what you were dreaming about this morning.. Technically, you were dreaming about us?”

You smile.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Matt just kisses you deep, pushing you back onto the bed as he begins to unbutton his shirt, tossing it off to the side.

The two of you spend your night intermittently going back and forth between passionate lovemaking—Part of Matt’s love language and talking and expressing how much you love him in an abstract way—Part of your love language.

Neither of you get much sleep that night.

[wafflefries13]

Something There That Wasn't There Before (Ace x Reader)

Summary: Five times other people noticed Ace was hopelessly in love with you, and one time you did.

AN: I've had a couple other WIPs that have absolutely been kicking my butt, so I needed a break to write something fun and short. I remember early on in TWST a lot of people had a theory that Ace was going to be a traitor or something, and then book 7 happened.

Warnings: AFAB reader she/her pronouns, menstration and blood briefly, fluff, best friends to lovers, does this count as a song fic?

Cross posted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Light streamed in through the large windows of Ramshackle dorm, catching the delicately floating dust mots in the air. It probably would have been considered a peaceful morning, if not for the loud banging on the front door that immediately shattered the blissful quiet. 

“Seriously, Ace? Again?” (Y/N) huffed without any real malice, hands on her hips. “You’re going to get a permanent mark around your neck at this point.” 

Ace scowled and looked away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the evidence of Riddle’s signature spell locked firmly around his neck. 

“I’m going to transfer dorms this time, I mean it,” Ace said, waltzing into Ramshackle without waiting for an invitation. Not that it really mattered, anyway. Everyone in Night Raven College knew that if you were trying to find Ace Trappola, the Prefect’s dilapidated dorm was a good place to start. 

(Y/N) followed Ace as he strode purposefully through the hall to the sitting room, flopping down on the couch with his hands behind his head. “Seriously,” She said. “You get collared so often I think your kids are going to be born with one around their neck.” 

Ace smirked up at her. “Do you think about my kids a lot, (Y/N)?” He laughed as (Y/N) scowled and kicked his crossed legs.  

“Whatever. I’ll make some more eggs. Do you want juice or coffee?” 

With a winning smirk, Ace jumped up and followed her, not unlike a particularly fond puppy, into the kitchen. 

“He better not eat all my eggs,” Grim grumbled from the banister where he and the Ramshackle ghosts had been watching the exchange. “Last time he came for breakfast he took my waffles!” 

“Hadn’t you already had five by that point?” Ezra, the thin and almost skeletal ghost, asked. 

“That’s not the point!” 

“Oh, it’s best to leave them be,” Phineas, the midsized ghost, said. 

Gus, the rotund ghost, picked up Grim, not without due complaints, and the group hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, spying on the two. Ace said something that made (Y/N) laugh, grinning victoriously as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. She thumped his chest with her spatula. The observant ghosts noticed that she had made Ace’s plate of breakfast different according to his specific tastes without having needed to ask. 

“Ah,” Phineas said. “It’s it a joy to watch it bloom right in front of your eyes? I’d almost forgotten what it’s like.” 

“Oh, of course, of course,” Gus said, holding Grim and scratching behind his ears to distract him. “I can see it clear as day.” 

“Mra?” Grim asked, trying not to lose himself in the pleasant scratching sensation. “See what?” 

“There’s something sweet,” Ezra said. “And almost kind.” 

“There’s certainly something there that wasn’t there before,” Phineas concluded with a definitive nod. 

“What?” Grim shouted, extracting himself from the ghost’s arms. “What’s there?” 

The three gave each other knowing looks. “We’ll tell you when you’re older, Grimmie.” 

~~~ 

Ace gnashed his teeth as the basketball bounced uselessly off the basket rim. It was his fourth time missing an easy basket during club practice that day and the annoying itch of being off his game was starting to get at him. 

Coach Vargus blew his whistle, waving everyone off the court for a water break. Ace drank in large gulps from his water bottle, rolling his shoulders to try and shake off whatever funk he was stuck in. He jumped as a freezing cold and wet sensation pressed against his neck. He whipped around his see Floyd glaring down at him, his normal sharp toothed grin pulled into an annoyed frown. 

“Geez, Crabby,” Floyd said. “You’re making a mess out there, and not the fun kind.” 

Ace shoved Floyd’s water bottle away. “Lay off, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not,” Jamil said, sitting down on the bleachers and looking at the two sideways. “And it’s affecting the rest of us. So whatever’s going on, get it together.” 

Ace swatted at the air as if trying to bat away their comments like flies. “I told you I’m fine! It’s not my fault some people just want to fly off the handle at every little joke.” He frowned and muttered under this breath, “She knew I was just joking, right?” 

Jamil and Floyd shared a look, both knowing there was really only one ‘she’ Ace could be referring to. 

“Girl trouble?” Floyd teased. 

“Knock it off! It’s not like that!” 

“So then what is it ‘like,’ then?” Jamil asked, crossing his arms. 

“It’s just a misunderstanding, stop prying.” 

“Well, if it’s that easy, you have a chance to clear it up now. “ Jamil pointed to the door of the gym. Ace jumped straight to attention as he saw (Y/N) walk in, looking around. She caught his eye and smiled shyly, lifting her hand in an uncertain wave. 

Floyd slapped Ace on the back. “Go get ‘em, Crabby!” 

Ace rubbed his sore shoulder, glaring back at the two while jogging over to (Y/N). “Uh, hi.” 

“Hi,” She said back. “Practice going well?” 

“It’s… fine.” 

They both didn’t say anything for a second, before speaking at the same time. 

“Look, I wanted to-”

“I just wanted to tell you that-” 

They both stopped trying to allow the other to speak first. “Go - go ahead,” Ace said nervously. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said, fiddling with her fingers and looking down. “It’s just - I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I’m making a ton of progress with classes and everything, and then someone says something that makes me remember I don’t even know the most basic information of this world, and then it all comes crashing down and I feel like I haven’t made any progress at all. But I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was childish and I know you weren’t trying to be mean or anything. I’m sorry.” 

Ace’s already flushed face turned even redder. He looked away, pulling up the collar of his jersey to cover the lower half of his face, pretending like he was wiping sweat away. “I, uh, yeah, no, I get it. I’m, uh, I’m sorry too. I keep forgetting you’re not, like, from here and don’t know everything. You know I don’t really mean it when I say that kind of stuff, right? Not to you, anyway.” 

“Right, I get it. I guess I need to get thicker skin.” 

“No, it was my fault, totally! You’re doing great with everything, more than great! Seriously, you got to just ignore me half the time.” Ace bit his tongue before he could feel himself start to babble more. 

She smiled at him and he felt his heart speed up like he was in the middle of practice again. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, no problem.” 

From back at the bleachers, Floyd and Jamil eavesdropped on the pair’s conversation. “Aww,” Floyd teased, elbowing Jamil. “You think they’re going to kiss and make up?” 

Jamil pushed his hand away. “Don’t get in the middle of stuff that doesn't involve you.”  

“It’s cute though, right? Look how embarrassed Crabby is getting.” 

“Yes,” Jamil said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “He’s a dear.” 

“Come on, look at them!” Floyd waved his hand, the subject of their observation oblivious. They were standing just an inch too close to each other given the situation, both locked on the other as if they were the only people in the gym, on campus, on Sage’s Island, in the world. (Y/N) laughed at something he said, snapping Ace out of his focus. He blushed hard again, looking away and covering his face with his hand to try and disguise it. “Poor Crabby’s so unsure.” 

Jamil sat up straighter, mouth dropping slightly open and eyes wide. He shook his head, ignoring Floyd’s knowing look. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it there before.” 

For the second half of practice, Ace scored six baskets. 

~~~ 

It was a perfect spring day. The sun was warm, the sky a robin’s egg blue, and a cool wind swirled around the campsite in the forest surrounding Night Raven College. The newly christened Camp Vargus was in full swing, students running from task to task to try and meet the requirements necessary to keep their club from being shut down. 

“Wait, wait! I think I’ve got it!” Deuce yelled in excitement. He was on his hands and knees, leaning down way too close to the base of an unlit campfire. Forbidden from using magic, their group had to start a fire themselves to get ready for the team that was fishing in the nearby lake. The tinder at the base of the pyramid shaped logs started to glow with faint orange sparks. 

“Wait, let me see!” Ace said, pushing over to crouch down. He formed a tunnel with his hands, blowing through to try and push more oxygen to the fire. 

“Wait, no!” Deuce protested. “You’re going to blow it out!” 

“No way, you do this to make it catch!” 

The two started shoving each other out of the way. The sparks fizzled and faded, the two boys slumping over in defeat. 

“How is this so hard?” Deuce groaned. 

“Seriously,” Ace said, rubbing the back of his head. “How do you even do this without magic?” 

“Done!” (Y/N) chirped. They whipped around to see a proud (Y/N) standing above a roaring campfire. Grim cheered, holding a skewer with a fish at the end over the blaze. 

“Wha-? How did you do that?” Ace said. 

“Ramshackle doesn't have any heating,” (Y/N) said. She put her hands around Grim’s shoulders, pushing him back a little away from the flames. “But we do have plenty of fireplaces. You learn new skills pretty quick when it means not freezing to death.” 

“That’s… useful?” Deuce said. 

“Hey, let us steal some of it!” Ace said. He poked a stick at her fire, sending up sparks as the logs were jostled out of place. 

“Pretty sure that’s cheating,” (Y/N) said. 

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask,” Ace replied with a smirk. The end of his stick caught fire and he quickly shoved it into the center of his and Deuce’s. They both watched it, enraptured, as the kindling started to smolder before smoking out. (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at their defeated expressions. 

“Come on,” She said, waving at her own fire. “I’ll tell Coach Vargus we all worked on this one.” 

“Isn’t that cheating, too?” Ace asked. 

“Oh, so now you have a conscience?” 

Ace waved her comment away. The small group huddled around the fire, holding their hands out to catch some of its warmth. 

“Man, I’m starting to get hungry,” Deuce said. “What I would give for one of those egg sandwiches from the cafeteria.” 

“I’d kill for an ice coffee,” Ace agreed. 

“Well, it’s nothing as fancy as that, but we can roast some of the fish we caught earlier. Wish we had some salt and lemon for it, but - wait, Grim!? When did you eat all our fish?” 

“Isn’t that what it’s there for?” Grim said, unrepentant, licking his paws. 

“We still needed that to prove to Coach that we caught some! Otherwise he won’t count our win for the fishing challenge.” 

“You should probably hurry,” Deuce said. “The sun’s starting to get low. With everyone else there all day the fish might be scared off.” 

“Well, twist my arm, why don’t you?” Ace said, pushing himself up. “Come on, I’ll help you fish.” 

(Y/N) took his outstretched hand as he helped her up. “Oh, what a noble sacrifice, Sir Trappola. Your gracious deed will be sung of in legends for generations to come.” 

Deuce looked after them. The sun caught around their hair, forming halos. Ace made some comment he couldn’t hear, (Y/N) smiling and shoving him. She looked up and away at something in the tree. But Ace’s gaze stayed on her. His sarcastic expression changed into something else, something harder to pin down. As (Y/N) turned back to him, he snapped back to his usual self, both of them disappearing behind the bend in the road to the lake. 

Deuce frowned, looking after them. “He looked her way and I thought I saw…” He shook his head. “That’s new and a bit… alarming.” 

~~~

The glittering windows of the indoor mall of Maquillaville proudly promoted all manner of luxury products. (Y/N) twirled around, admiring the jewel like displays as well as the new clothes Vil had acquired for all of them. 

“Isn’t this all amazing?” She said, clasping her hands together. 

“Yeah, a real scream.” 

(Y/N) turned to Ace’s grumbling tone, hiding her smile behind her hand at him. Ace was loaded down with a veritable mountain of colorful shopping bags, each emblazoned with logos from shops where a simple pair of socks would probably cost more than (Y/N) would ever make in a year.

“Ugh,” Ace complained. “I think my spine is permanently bent.” 

“Don’t let Coach Vargis hear that,” (Y/N) said. “He’ll give you a lecture on how you need to work on your core muscle strength.” 

Ace suddenly stood up straight, holding his bags out like free weights. “I was just kidding! I’m so strong stuff like this is nothing!” 

“Good to hear,” Vil said behind them, dumping another round on bags in Ace’s waiting arms. “We still have a few more stops before dinner. You’re able to keep up, aren’t you?” 

“Here, let me help,” (Y/N) said with a laugh, taking a stack of boxes Ace was struggling to keep upright. The two first years walked a few paces behind Vil, Azul, and Jamil, who were much less burdened. 

Every once and a while, a fan would come up, asking Vil for an autograph. He would graciously smile, sign whatever they had, then make pleasant excuses to usher the group away before a crowd of admirers had a chance to form. Surprisingly, the rest of them weren’t immune from this phenomenon. A pair of girls had tried to sneakily take a picture of Jamil as they stopped at a sweet shop, and Azul had been asked for an autograph as well. The magnetism of just being around a star like Vil, not to mention their new threads, made them seem like stars themselves. 

As the three upperclassmen went into a store, Ace unceremoniously dropped his bags. He exaggerated stretching his back out, looking sideways to make sure (Y/N) had laughed at his hyperbolic pain. 

“Excuse me,” A small voice came from behind them. Ace turned around to see too fashionably dressed girls standing in front of him. “Can we take a picture with you, please?” 

“Me?” Ace asked, pointing to himself. “I mean, yeah, sure, why not?” 

The two lit up. One of them grabbed Ace’s arm, pulling him in close, making him blush and look over for (Y/N)’s reaction. She was busy with the other girl who had shoved her phone at her, asking her to take the picture. 

“Alright,” (Y/N) said, awkwardly holding the phone up. “Say ‘Cheese.’” 

“Cheese!” The two girls said, pushing themselves close to Ace. (Y/N) could tell his smile was forced. He kept moving his hands, not quite knowing what to do with them, hovering in the air just above their shoulders. They girls giggled as they thanked Ace, not bothering to throw (Y/N) a second glance. 

“That was weird,” Ace said, running a hand through his hair. 

“Sort of,” (Y/N) said. “They probably thought you were a celebrity here for the movie premier. Or maybe they just wanted a picture with a cute boy.” 

“Cute-?!” Ace sputtered. “Come on, (Y/N) you can’t just say stuff like that out of nowhere.” 

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” She brushed her hand along his hair, pushing back a few locks that he had ruffled out of place. “It’s fun to see you dressed up to the nines every once and a while.” 

He pushed her hands away with a wide grin. “Yeah, well, I guess you clean up pretty good, too.” 

(Y/N) held up her ghost camera, holding it up at various angles and circling, mimicking the various paparazzi that had been waiting for Vil around town. “Mr. Trappola, Mr. Trappola! Over here! Can we get a picture? Give us an interview! Who are you wearing? Are you going with anyone to the premier?” Ace dropped the shopping bags, posing in dramatic and exaggerated poses. Both of them broke out into giggles between shots. 

From across the hall,  the three upperclassmen had just stepped out of the store, watching the two first years.“Honestly,” Vil said. “Is it too much to ask for focus while I step away for five minutes?” 

“Is it really that much of a surprise?” Jamil said. “We probably should have expected something like this after he, ahem, won the lottery.” 

“How touching,” Azul said with a hand to his chest.”You know, as upperclassmen, we should, how should I put it? Encourage those younger than us, yes?” 

Jamil matched Azul’s sly look. “I see what you mean. Maybe Ace deserves a little chat from his betters, yes?” 

Vil smacked them both with one of his shopping bags. “Oh, leave them alone. I’m more surprised (Y/N) is falling for any of this.” 

“Falling for it?” Jamil asked. 

“He’s mean and coarse and unrefined,” Vil said. Looking back at them, his face softened with something almost like adoration. “Although, I suppose there is something there that wasn’t there before.” 

“Oh?” Azul said, voice full of faux sympathy. “And what’s that, exactly?” 

Vil rolled his eyes. “I knew this was a mistake.” He waved over at Ace and (Y/N). “You two! Enough dawdling! We have plenty to do.” 

He watched as Ace exaggerated a sigh, hefting the bags up as if they were filled with bricks. (Y/N) giggled, taking a few of them from him to lighten the load. 

Turning, Vil couldn’t help smiling to himself. “Really, who would have ever thought that this could be?” 

~~~

Ace whistled as he cut a slice of cherry pie in the Heartstabuyl kitchen. He had begged his mom to send him her old recipe, the one she used to make pies for his birthday for years. He’d made it himself, with only a few tips and suggestions from Trey watching over his shoulder. He’d left (Y/N) in one of the dorm tea rooms. He’d invited her over to study, but even after they had been here for almost an hour, waiting for the pie to bake, they had barely gone through two pages of their textbook. He scooped up the two plates, holding them up like a fancy waiter, and headed back to the tea room. 

“Alright,” Ace said, pushing the door open as he walked backward into the tea room. “One piece of Trappola famous cherry pie coming right-” He froze as he took in (Y/N)’s tear stained face. She was standing, worrying her hands together and staring at a red stain on the once pristine white couch. 

“I started my period,” She choked out. “I didn’t realize so I must have bled through my skirt and on to the couch and now it’s stained and Riddle is going to be furious and this is so embarrassing and - oh my god!” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey!” Ace said, quickly putting the pie on a table and rushing over to her. “It’s okay! Come on, we’re two smart people, right? We can fix this. There’s probably some kind of cleaning solution or something around here. Or can we cover it up? I wonder if that color changing spell would work. Oh, wait! Here.” He quickly shrugged out of this jacket, slinging it around (Y/N) to tie around her waist. “There, see? That’s one problem down already.” 

(Y/N) hiccuped another sob, rubbing at her teary eyes with the heel of her hand. “I-” 

They both froze as they heard Riddle’s voice coming from down the hall. A second later, the handle of the door clicked as it was pushed open. 

Two very important things happened all at once within the span of the next breath. First, the door to the sitting room opened, revealing Riddle, Cater, and Trey. Second, Ace snatched up the plates of pie from the table, upending them and smushing the bursting red cherries into the white couch. 

The very air seemed to freeze in the room. The three upperclassmen stared at Ace, Riddle’s mouth dropped open in shock. 

Standing up and dusting his hands, Ace smiled wide and said, “Oops! My fault! Sorry about that, Housewarden, I’ll - Ack!” Riddle’s signature spell hit him so hard Ace fell back hard on his rear end. 

(Y/N) gasped. Riddle was turning as red as the stained couch, standing over Ace on his dagger like high heels and ranting while the other boy stared down at the floor. 

“No, wait-” (Y/N) started. 

“Man, I’m such a clutz sometimes, right, (Y/N)?” Ace cut her off, rolling his eyes dramatically as if he didn’t have a care in the world and the collar around his neck was no more an inconvenience than an itchy bug bite. “Seriously, I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes.” 

Riddle grabbed the lock-shaped collar and yanked Ace back around. “If you would listen for once in your life-!” Riddle continued. 

Trey had quickly run over to a cabinet in the corner of the room, pulling out cleaning supplies and hand towels. He started scraping off chunks of pie from the couch, trying to salvage it as much as he could. Cater slowly pocketed his phone, looking between each of them before his gaze settled on (Y/N). He smiled in that reassuring, big brother, Magicam perfect way and came over to her, gently taking her arm. 

“Hey, have you seen the new topiary in the garden?” Cater said, pulling her away from the scene of the crime. “We had them shaped like bunnies!” He quickly ushered her out of the room, ignoring her protests. Instead of heading outside, Cater brought her to the dorm bathroom. “Do you have any supplies with you?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, embarrassed. “How do you…?” 

“I have sisters, you know? Guessing that has something to do with the couch, right? No, don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. So, do you have anything? I can go grab something if you want.” 

“No, that’s okay. I think I do.” She dug through her bag and headed into the bathroom. 

Cater pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Trey. “Don’t let Riddle go too hard on Ace, okay? People do stupid things when they’re trying to impress someone they like.” He looked up as the bathroom door opened, (Y/N) whipping her wet hands on her skirt. Cater directed her outside to the gardens, although he couldn’t help note her worried and longing glances back to the sitting room.

“Why did he do that?” (Y/N) asked in a small voice. 

Cater hummed. He pulled at the sleeve of Ace’s jacket she still had wrapped around her waist.  “Well, it’s true he’s no Prince Charming. But I think Ace likes being your white knight sometimes, you know?” 

~~~

The Disamonia dorm was quiet as everyone slowly started to wake from Malleus’s Overblot. Everyone awake started rousing the others, pulling away thorny vines and helping sleep addled students sit up. 

Ace was sitting against the cool stone wall of the dorm sitting room, knees up, head leaning back, and eyes closed. Sure, they had been asleep for all of the actual action, but his heart was still speeding along as if they’d had a brutal brawl in real life. His eyes cracked open a little as (Y/N) came to sit down next to him. 

“You know,” (Y/N) said, knocking her shoulder gently against Ace’s. “You were the only person who had me in their dream.” 

Ace looked away and blushed. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Your dream was an endless summer vacation. No responsibilities, no one to answer to, just perfect sunny days with people you care about. And I was there. It could have just been a tropical paradise, but your dream specifically included a way for me to be happy. For a world that was supposed to be all about you, that’s interesting, right?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” Ace said. He still wouldn’t look at her, face turning red as he rubbed the back of his head. “Feels like I’m always taking care of you anyway. Must have gotten stuck in my subconscious.” 

(Y/N) hummed. “It was really sweet.” She shuffled closer. “All this time I think it’s been in the back of my mind, but I’ve never really noticed. You’re always doing that kind of stuff for me, aren’t you? You joke about having to come to my rescue, taking care of me, but I guess you’re kind of right. But maybe I like that. Maybe I just want an excuse to keep you closer to me.” She was quiet for a moment. “Even if it doesn't work out, even if I’m never able to go back to my original world, I think I’d be okay. I mean, I’d be sad, of course. I miss so many people and things back there. Seriously, you have no idea what I’d do for a Dr. Pepper right now. But, I mean, here, in this world, I’ve seen so many amazing things. There’s magic and adventure and danger and beauty I could never have dreamed of. And, of course, there’s you.” Ace jerked up, looking at her with wide eyes. “And I think that makes everything worth it.” 

Before either of them could think too hard about it, before they could say another word, (Y/N) leaned forward, kissing Ace. His eyes widened in surprise before fluttering closed. Tension melted out of his shoulders and he leaned closer, bringing up a hand to cradle the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. (Y/N)’s hand clutched at his shirt, pulling him ever closer. 

“Oh, no!” Epel said. They jolted apart, surprised and suddenly remembering they weren’t the only people in the room. “I did not just go through all of that just to wake up and watch you two make out!” 

“Oh, lay off,” Leona said. “It’s about time. Better than watching that one be all moon-eyed all school year.” 

“Hey!” Ace protested, but his grip on (Y/N)’s hand didn’t falter. “I am not ‘moon-eyed’!” 

(Y/N) laughed, wrapping her arms around Ace’s shoulders and burying her face in his chest. Ace humphed, turning red, his hand going up to rub against her back, hugging her closer. 

“Ace?” She said quietly. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” He said nervously. 

“I’m really glad you’re here. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it there before.” 

“See what?” 

In reply, she kissed him again.

[s-brant]

Three’s Company

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

9k (18+)

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

-

The room is stiflingly hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

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

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

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

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

She chuckles.

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

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

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

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

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

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

"Only a little?"

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

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

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

"Too much clothes."

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

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

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

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

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

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

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

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

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

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

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

"On my lap."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

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

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

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her response is immediate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

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

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

"I don't mind one bit."

-

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

[keikikait]

ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part two. for part one, click here!

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 5.4k

summary: rafe reminds you of the reason why he's doing all of this in the first place

warnings: dead dove, do not eat. stalker!rafe, drug use, smut (DUBCON/NONCON. READER IS DRUGGED WHILE HE TOUCHES HER, nipple play, masturbation (rafe jerks off while the reader is asleep PLEASE DONT LOOK AT ME)), rafe breaks into reader's house, flashback rafe is basically season 2 rafe, very slight john b x reader, drinking, rafe is obsessed, please read at your own discretion!, innocent(ish)!reader, again, stalker!rafe, manipulation, reader is still high on coke

a note: please don't look at me rn.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You look so beautiful, all pliant in his lap.

Rafe spends a long time just holding you, pushing your hair out of your eyes and wiping away the drool that periodically escapes your lips, all numb and tingling from the coke. His cock throbs at the sight of you, all limp and soft with blown out pupils, sitting vulnerable in his lap. You were in his arms, and you were his. His gaze travelled over you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way you were shivering. “You like that, angel?” his lips grazed your neck, nibbling softly. “I know you feel all warm and fuzzy, baby. That’s a sign of a good high.”

Your head falls against his shoulder, a soft whine escaping your lips. Rafe hums, his chest rumbling softly against your cheek. He had known that the coke would hit you hard, had been expecting it. But he was surprised by how responsive you were, how receptive you were to his touch. He rubs your hips, hands caressing you. “Shhh, angel, stay calm. Do you feel warm?”

You nod, starting to squirm in his lap. You were very warm, almost burning up, but you felt too lethargic to move. He could tell you were overheating, that the coke was making your blood run hot and your skin feel cold. He glances down to where he could see under the V-neck of the T-shirt he’d given you, and he chuckles softly, seeing your nipples poking up through the thin fabric. “You’re warm, angel. Want me to take off your shirt for you? You’ll cool down without it on.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before Rafe pulls your shirt off anyway, tossing it aside. “Fuck, so pretty,” he murmurs, reaching up to pinch your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. He spent the better part of a year and a half wondering, dreaming about what they would look like, zooming in on photos of you in bikinis just hoping he would catch a glimpse. They were perfect, even more perfect than he imagined. He pinches them hard. “Fuck, baby. I love you so much.”

The pinch sends you reeling, pulling back slightly. “Ow!” You whine as you squirm, trying to get away from his eager fingers. “No…stop… God, please!”

Rafe chuckles, putting one hand on your lower back and pulling you forward. “Awh, angel,” he pinches your nipple again. “God can’t help you. He left you here with me.” He tuts when you whine again, pressing you against him. “Oh, come on baby, don't be shy”, he coos, giving them another sharp squeeze. “These tits are mine now, aren't they? You're my little doll, my angel.” he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “And I'm going to have so much fun breaking you in.”

You feel his cock throbbing against your cunt, right up against your clit. You shake your head, trying to move away, but your body is so heavy and warm. You manage to find your voice, opening your eyes to look at him, although your vision is blurry. “Why are you…doing this to me?”

“Because you're mine,” Rafe says, a small laugh escaping him as he grinds his thick cock against your sensitive clit. “I've wanted you for so long, and now I finally have you. You’re right here, in my lap, all mine.” He moves his hand off of your nipple and cups your face, bringing your face towards his to kiss you. You struggle to kiss back, your lips and mouth still tingling from the cocaine on your gums.

You pull away. “Stop! Please! I didn’t do anything to you!” 

“Awh, baby,” He shifts you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you against his chest, his face right next to yours. He runs his hands over your shoulder blades. “Do you not remember it, angel?”

“Remember what?” You ask, finally meeting his eyes.

“The night we met.” Rafe says, pushing some hair behind your ears.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

That summer night was as hot and sticky as the rest.

The Pogues and the Kooks had all gathered at The Boneyard, all attending a bonfire put on by Pope. Rafe had never even planned on going, but after he heard there would be free booze and free cocaine, he decided he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. When Rafe had arrived, you were already there, bottle of beer at your lips as you sat with JJ and John B. Pope was around, walking the beach, mingling with the others.

Rafe watches you from across the sand, just a ways away, watching as you laughed at something JJ had said. He had seen you around, of course, knew that you were friends with all of his least favourite Pogues, but he had never really talked to you. You intrigued him right off the bat, sitting there all beautiful, surrounded by two of the biggest losers in North Carolina, at least in Rafe’s opinion. He excuses himself from his conversation with Topper and Kelce walked forward, pushing past people as he moved toward you, his hands in his pockets.

JJ glances over and immediately stands, ready to fight, but Rafe sticks his hands up in defence. “Relax, Maybank, relax. I come in peace tonight.” 

JJ sits back down on the log next to you, scoffing. He grips the neck of the beer bottle tight. “What do you want, Rafe?”

Rafe looks down at you, and he suddenly doesn’t really know what he wants. He was so used to having a plan, knowing exactly what he was doing. But right now, he was just staring at you, and he didn’t really know what to say. Not that that ever stopped him before. “I came to talk.” he says.

“About what?” John B asks. “Have you come to apologise?”

“Apologise?” He snorts. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I just wanted to say something to the angel sitting over here.” His eyes flit over to you for a moment before looking at John B again. “I don’t want a big scene, just want a couple of minutes alone with her. Get to know her, you know?”

“Well, she's not interested,” John B says, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Go bother someone else. Plenty of girls here, I'm sure you can find one who's into Kook assholes like you.”

Rafe glares at John B, his head tilting slightly. He didn’t mind his insults to him, of course he didn’t, but he didn’t like the way John B was holding onto you, and he definitely didn’t like the way John B spoke for you. “Why don’t you let her speak for herself?”

You anxiously rub the beer bottle label with your thumb. “Sorry, Rafe. I’m trying to have a fun time with my friends tonight. But John B is right, there are plenty of girls here.”

Rafe purses his lips, his gaze flickering back and forth between you, John B, and JJ. He glances around, seeing plenty of girls nearby, all of them looking fine. Maybe he really was just imagining things, imagining the butterflies in his stomach and the blood rushing to his cock. He didn’t know you at all, really. He just thought you were pretty, and that had been enough for him to want you. This is just all his pride speaking, he didn’t like being rejected, he would move on. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. My apologies.” He excuses himself, exiting with a small wave before heading back over to Topper and Kelce.

“What a fucking asshole.” JJ mumbles, taking another sip of his beer. Your gaze follows him until he’s out of sight, heading behind a few rocks with Topper and Kelce. You could feel his eyes on you as he walked away, and it gave you a weird feeling. You didn’t want him to be mad at you for saying no, didn’t want him to think you were rude or anything, but you just weren’t interested in Kooks. Especially Rafe. 

Even if he is really attractive, almost annoyingly so.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe watches you all night. 

He gets high on coke, snorting way too many lines, hoping the buzz would keep you and your pretty little body off of his mind, but it does the opposite. He can’t stop himself from glancing over in your direction, staring for a bit too long as you dance around the fire with John B. He can’t keep his eyes off you, and by the time it’s getting closer to two in the morning, he’s had enough. 

The coke has long since worn off, and he’s starting to get pissed off at himself, at wanting someone he can’t have, at getting so fixated on someone so goddamn quickly. He glances around the fire, noticing how many of the Pogues had wandered off, heading home or into the woods with different people for the night, and he suddenly sees his opportunity.

You, hunched over by the shore, throwing up. You had gotten really drunk, drinking beer after beer, and even sipping directly from a vodka bottle that Kiara brought. Rafe had hoped that your incessant intoxication would cause your body, or even your gaze, to find its way over to him, but it didn’t. You kept hanging onto that stupid asshole John B, both arms wrapped around his neck as you sat on his lap next to the bonfire. Rafe watched from afar as John B fed you s’mores, holding your chin in his hand to help you chew, gripping the beer bottle in his hands so tight he thought it would snap. 

Rafe excuses himself from Topper and Kelce as he makes his way over to you, hands in his pockets. He can’t help but feel excited about your vulnerable state, all alone and sequestered away from your stupid Pogue friends. He stands behind you and watches, looking at the way your thighs look in your shorts before speaking, “You alright?”

You stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. Even after vomiting three times, you’re not any less drunk. “Mhm. Peachy.”

He watches you, a slight hint of concern in his eyes. You were really drunk, and you looked like you might collapse at any moment. Your balance was definitely off, which was clear the second you attempted to stand straight. “You want some water?”

You nod, stumbling towards him. You hit his chest, resting against it as your eyes close. “Please.”

His hands instinctively go to your hips, stabilising you against him so you don’t fall. His gaze travels over you, looking at your flushed face and your glassy eyes. So fucking drunk, and so fucking vulnerable. “Sit down a sec, angel. You’re gonna fall over.”

You let out a soft grunt as you sit in the sand, hands going down to dig into it to support yourself. “Okay.”

Rafe squats down next to you, looking out at the waves as they crash against the sand. He glances over at you, seeing how your big eyes were flitting around, unable to focus on one thing. You were so drunk, so out of it, so vulnerable, and he loved it more than anything. “You’re really smashed, huh?” He hands you a half empty water bottle, having drank most of it earlier. It was warm, and the lid was coated in sand, but you didn't seem to even notice.

You eagerly drink the rest of the water, swishing some in your mouth and spitting towards the shore before crunching the bottle in your hands, struggling to recap it. “Mhm. But that’s the point of a party.”

“Yeah, you’re supposed to have a good time. But you’re supposed to stay lucid, not get so trashed that all you can do is throw up and stumble around.” He takes the crushed water bottle from you, putting it aside before turning to face you again, kneeling in the sand.

Your eyes meet his, yet you’re looking right through him, barely registering what’s going on around you. You reach out and grab him, yanking him towards you, his hands falling to the sand on either side of your hips. Your faces are so close. “You’re pretty.”

Rafe grins, leaning forward a bit so that he was almost nose to nose with you, letting his gaze run over your face. You were so out of it, so out of control, so out of your mind, and he loved it, loving the far off look in your eyes. He felt so powerful knowing that he could have you, could do anything he wanted to and have you unable to deny him. It would be so easy to push you back against the sand, to hold you down and make you beg for him. He lets out a low, breathy laugh, his eyes still trained on yours. “Yeah? You think I’m pretty?”

“So pretty,” You mumble, reaching out to hold onto his biceps. “Prettiest guy ever.”

His lips curl into a smug smirk when you bring your hands to his arms. He moves his hands from the sand and rests them on your thighs, fingers trailing over the exposed skin as he moves to kneel between your legs. He was so close to you now, he could just move forward and kiss you. But he loves this, loves being so close that he could have you, loves how drunk you were, loves how all your inhibitions were gone right now. He loved the way you were looking at him. “Yeah? Prettiest guy on Kildare?”

“Prettiest guy in North Carolina,” You say, lightly scratching your nails on his biceps. “Prettiest guy in America.”

Rafe’s gaze darkens as your fingernails scrape at his biceps, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward, closer to you. You were so cute, so out of it, and you were here with him. You were calling him pretty and letting him touch you when you were normally so stubborn and headstrong. He knew if you weren’t as drunk, you’d be pushing him away, telling him to leave you alone, but you weren’t, and he takes advantage of that. He wants to take advantage of you. He leans closer, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah? The whole United States?”

You nod. “Yeah. Whole world, probably,” Rafe hums in satisfaction, his face still right next to yours, your nose touching his. He lets his gaze travel over your face, taking in the beautiful lines of your features, your big, glassy eyes, your flushed cheeks. He loves how vulnerable you are right now, how trusting and affectionate you are, his touch-starved self revelling in any attention you give him. One hand moves from your thigh, pushing some hair behind your ear. You swallow hard. “Wanna kiss you so bad. I always wanna kiss you.”

God, you’re so honest when you’re drunk, it makes his cock throb. “You do, angel? You wanna kiss me?” His hand moves to your cheek, gently brushing over your skin, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. One touch was all it would take to kiss you, a small jerk forward would be enough, and he desperately wants to. You bite your lip, still staring straight through him before leaning forward and kissing him, one hand going to the nape of his neck.

Rafe’s eyes widen as you lean in and kiss him. His jaw tenses, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets go, letting himself fall into the kiss. He reaches forward, grabbing you and practically pulling you into his lap. Your lips were so soft, so perfect, just how he thought they would be, and he lets out a sigh, his hand burying itself in your hair. You shift in his lap, pressing your chest against his, deepening the kiss. He lets out an almost desperate whimper when you press your chest against his, his hands sliding to your hips, moving you in his lap so that you’re straddling him, sitting on his thick thighs as he continues to kiss you. He pulls away, tongue brushing against yours. “You’re so perfect, baby.”

“Mhm…” You lean back, your head spinning. “Johnny…”

Rafe’s heart stops, just for a second.

Johnny?

His grip tightens on your hips as he racks his brain, trying to figure out who the fuck Johnny is--

John B. 

You were hanging all over him at the party, sitting in his lap and letting him feed you s’mores. You thought he was John B.

You whine and squirm in his lap, feeling your stomach churn. He can hear the whine in your voice, feel the way you squirm as your gut revolts from the amount of alcohol you’ve had. “What’s wrong, baby? You feel sick?” He knew the answer, of course, seeing how pale your face was getting. 

You nod and Rafe lets you up, looking over his shoulder as you vomit again onto the shore line. He stands, turning to face you. You thought he was John B this entire time. Were you and John B dating? Did he have no chance with you? Would you even remember this come tomorrow? He goes to step towards you as you vomit again when he hears someone calling your name. He looks back over his shoulder to see JJ and Pope heading down the dune, looking for you.

“What the fuck are you doing here with her?” Pope asks him as JJ rushes over to you, holding your hair back as you vomit again.

Rafe doesn’t hesitate, shooting a glare at Pope. “Just having a conversation.” His gaze lingers on JJ as he holds your hair back. “You guys taking her home? She’s pretty smashed.”

“Why do you care?” JJ asks, wiping your mouth for you.

“Just curious, why are you getting defensive?” He watches as JJ holds your face tenderly, looking after you, and he feels the overwhelming wave of jealousy again, although he doesn’t know why. He’s never felt this possessive of someone before, never had strong feelings before, and seeing another man touch you, care for you, is really pissing him off. “God forbid I want someone to be okay, Maybank.”

“Don’t worry about her, man,” Pope says, joining JJ at your side. “None of your concern.”

He bites his tongue, hard. He didn’t want to start a fight, not with you being sick and your stupid friends acting like this. But god dammit, he really wanted to punch Pope, throw him right to the ground and kick him over and over until he was spitting up blood and guts. “Yeah, no, not worrying anymore. You handle her, then.”

“We will,” Pope says, helping you walk back towards the parking lot. “Later, asshole.”

Rafe sighs as you disappear from sight, kicking the sand. “Fuck.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe can’t get you out of his head. Not on his drive away from The Boneyard, not while he continues the party at Topper’s place, and not when he’s finally at home in his bed. He tosses and turns for a while, thinking about your lips against his and the way you felt in his lap, the way your skin felt under his fingers. Your little whines and whimpers play over and over in his head.

He feels himself growing harder as he flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Fuck,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. He reaches over and grabs his phone, unplugging it as he unlocks it. He pulls his boxers down, tucking them underneath his balls as he scrolls through his apps. He clicks on Instagram, heading to the search bar, before pausing. Shit. He didn’t know your last name. He sighs, switching over to his burner account and types JJ’s username into the search bar, @jj.maybankofficial. Little fucker had blocked him months ago. He clicks on JJ’s following list and types in your first name, and for a second he panics, half expecting nothing to show up.

But then he sees you.

Your profile is set to public. How convenient. How cute.

He scrolls through your photos, cock fully hardened, pre-cum already dripping from his tip. He finds a few he likes, screenshotting them for later, before finding one that makes his cock throb against his stomach. The photo of is of you in a bikini, holding a smoothie bowl, and smiling into the camera. One of the cups of your bikini is slightly pushed to the side, revealing some of your nipple.

Rafe's breath hitches as he stares at the picture on his phone. “Fuck... Look at those tits,” He mumbles, stroking faster. He leans forward, propping his phone up on his chest as he watches the photo intently. His other hand moves between his legs, and he fondles with his balls, cupping and squeezing them. Pre-cum leaks from the tip, making it easier to stroke. “Yeah, that's it,” he grunts, eyes locked on your face in the screen. “Such a pretty little thing.” Rafe keeps jerking himself off, moaning softly as he strokes faster. The hand that was on his balls reaches up, rubbing at one of his nipples, pinching and twisting it. He rolls his hips up, thrusting his hips into his hand. He can't help but imagine what it would be like if he was fucking you instead, your tight little pussy wrapped around his cock.

He cums embarrassingly quickly, cumming all over his phone screen, right on your pretty little face. He slumps back against his pillow, panting heavily as he comes down from his high. He wipes his sticky hand across his chest, smearing some of the cum onto his abs. He locks his phone and sets it aside, breathing heavily as his cock softens.

It isn’t enough. You’ve corrupted him, and he can’t stop thinking about you, and it isn’t long before he’s hard again. He needs more, he needs something different. “God dammit,” he mumbles, picking his phone back up. He unlocks it before going onto Google, typing in his favourite porn site and scrolling through the top search results, trying to find a girl that looks like you.

He finds a girl that looks close enough, starring in a video titled ‘Hot slut gets fucked rough by her brother’s best friend!!’. He tries so hard to jerk off to it, and although his cock is hard and leaking pre-cum, he can’t get into it. The lighting sucks, the angle is bad, and the girl is so loud and annoying. He exits the video and closes his phone, groaning as he lets go of his cock. Rafe stares back up at the ceiling, feeling his cock twitch against his stomach as it starts to soften.

This wasn’t working. He needed more.

Rafe sits up, digging through his bedside table, and pulls out a small dime bag of coke and a small pocket mirror. He pours some out carefully, smoothing it out and making one single line with his credit card. He sets the credit card down and grabs a dollar bill from his wallet, rolling it up tight. He keeps thinking about you, his mind going back to the way your ass looked in your shorts tonight and the way you clung onto him. He sets the mirror down on his bedside table before snorting the whole line in one go. The cocaine burns as it enters his nose, the effects kicking in within minutes as his head starts to rush. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans back against the wall, the high hitting him hard.

Rafe needed you. 

Fuck. He was going to regret this.

He stands up with a grunt, pulling his boxers back up. He was still hard as fuck, the coke definitely not helping. He digs through his dresser and pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, putting them on before slipping his shoes on and grabbing his keys. He rushes out of Tanneyhill, heading down the driveway towards his truck. He hops in, completely forgetting his seatbelt as he puts his keys in the ignition, turning the car on and pulling out of his driveway. He drives along the streets, the adrenaline making the cocaine even more intense. He knows he’s probably too high to be driving a vehicle, but he can’t help himself, he needs you. He keeps his gaze fixed on the road ahead as he drives, his mind swimming with images of you. 

It’s a 15-minute trip to the south side of the island, and soon he realises that he doesn’t know where you live. Rafe sighs, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He’s a powerful man with powerful connections. He scrolls through his contacts, tapping on a name. It rings a couple of times before someone picks up on the other side. “Yeah?” the voice on the other end asks, sounding exhausted.

“Hey, Agent Peterkin,” Rafe says. “It’s Rafe. Ward’s son?”

“Yeah, I know who you are, kid. What is it?” The annoyance in her tone was obvious.

“Listen, I uh…” Rafe sighs. “I need help finding someone’s address. They were at my party tonight, and they were pretty drunk, so I just wanted to check on them.”

There’s a long pause from the other end of the phone, and Rafe can hear the creaking of a chair as she shifts her weight. “Whose address, kid?” Rafe gives her your name, hands gripping the steering wheel as he hears her typing away.

There are a few more pauses of silence, the clicking of the keyboard, before she responds. “Got it, I texted it to you. Anything else you wanna tell me?”

“Does she have a record, or?” Rafe asks. “I'm just trying to stay clean, you know. Like we talked about.”

She lets out a humourless laugh. “No, she’s clean. Parents are clean, too. Nothing to be concerned about. You’ve been staying away from coke like you said, right?”

“Of course I am, Agent Peterkin,” Rafe says. “Alright, thanks for your help. Have a good night.”

Peterkin sighs, knowing that she doesn’t believe him for a second. “Behave yourself,” is all she responds with before she hangs up. 

Rafe opens the text thread, finding your address. He clicks on it, and it opens up the map app on his phone. It’s not far, only 5 more minutes, down the street from The Chateau.

He feels himself grinning, his heart rate picking up as he gets closer, knowing that he was going to see you again soon. He drives a little bit faster than he should, turning onto the road your house is on before pulling up outside. He stares at the house, his gaze flitting from window to window, trying to figure out which window was your bedroom. He parks his truck down the street, walking through the darkness towards your house.

It was small. Cute. Looked easy to break into.

Rafe checks the windows, finding them all locked with the curtains drawn. He tries your front door, which is locked as well. He moves around to the back of the house, walking past your backyard and finding the back door. He carefully walks up the stairs, hand on the doorknob. He takes a deep breath before twisting it.

It opens.

He grins triumphantly, silently pushing it open and walking through the dark house. He shuts the door behind him, glancing around. He had to remind himself to go slow, to stay steady. You weren’t his yet, but you would be. He slowly makes his way through the dark house, looking around for anything to tell him where your room was. He opens one of the doors and peeks in, but finds your parents both asleep, the TV on low. He carefully shuts the door before heading down the hallway towards the second closed door.

He slowly pushed open the door to your room, breathing out when he sees the bed. His gaze travels over the walls, the decorations, the furniture. There’s a small light on your bedside table, casting a soft golden glow over your skin. He walks towards the bed, sitting on the edge, watching you sleep. You were out like a light, completely unaware that he was here, watching you. You looked so perfect when you were asleep, so peaceful, curled up on your side wearing a thin tank top and tiny little pyjama shorts. He gently reached out, letting his fingers trail over your soft cheek.

He feels his cock harden again.

“Okay,” He breathes out softly as he slowly, carefully flips you over onto your back. You shift around and mumble, but you don’t wake up. He lets out a shaky breath, untying his sweatpants and pushing them down around his knees. He pulls his cock out, his boxers resting underneath his balls.

You shift again, wiggling around on the bed, throwing your arms over your head. You’re still asleep.

Rafe freezes, heart pounding in his chest as he watches you move in your sleep. His cock twitches, throbbing in his hand as he imagines what it would feel like when he first pushes into you, feeling your warm wetness envelop him. He leans closer, slowly trailing a finger down your neck, across your collarbone, and along the swell of your breast. He cups your breast in his palm, thumb brushing over your nipple as it hardens under his touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips, but you remain unconscious, lost in slumber. He pushes your tank top up carefully, revealing your stomach, so soft and just begging to be covered in kisses. If he lifted your shirt any higher he would risk waking you.

Rafe's breathing grows ragged as he continues to explore your body, mapping every curve and contour. He wants to memorise you, to claim every inch of you as his own. And he will, in time. He squeezes his cock before starting to brush his fingers over the tip. He starts to jerk off again, panting softly, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up slightly to give him better access. His fingers brush over your inner thigh, teasing you through your thin pyjama shorts. He rubs his thumb over your clothed slit, feeling how warm you are. His movements become more erratic, faster, chasing his release as he imagines burying himself inside you and cumming, claiming you as his own, as his little angel. His hand starts to speed up as his fingers drift over to your face, dragging them across your lips. He didn’t want to wake you up, but fuck he wanted to touch you more.

He suddenly stops touching you, leaning back as he grips his cock tighter, his free hand going to fondle his balls, stroking furiously as he cums all over your stomach, groaning quietly, whispering your name over and over. He pants softly, wiping the cum off on your pyjamas before tucking himself away and fixing his clothes. He glances at you once more before slipping out of the room, leaving as quietly as he came. He pauses at the end of the hall, glancing back one last time before forcing himself to leave, knowing he'd be back again soon enough. He couldn't get enough of you, and he knew that no matter how many times he snuck in to watch you sleep or touched himself while imagining all the filthy things he wanted to do to you, he would always come back for more. You were his, whether you knew it or not. His obsession. His angel. His everything. And one day, he'd make sure everyone else knew it too.

Especially that fucker John B.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe smirks at the horrified look on your face. “That’s how we met, baby. You don’t remember?”

You squirm violently, trying to push him away, although your body is still lethargic. “You’re sick, Rafe.”

He rolls his eyes, holding you down against his chest. “Please. You’re the one who told me I was pretty.” He teases, resting his chin on the top of your head as he keeps you pinned in his lap.

“I thought you were John B,” You say, defending yourself. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“But it was me,” He says, burying his nose in your hair. “You think I’m pretty.” He repeats, nuzzling your neck before pulling back and running his fingers through your hair, feeling how soft it is. 

“You can’t do this, Rafe,” You say, eyes starting to well with hot, shameful tears. “You can’t keep me here!”

“But I can,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him, smiling softly at the look of fear in your eyes. You looked so beautiful when you were scared of him. “And I will keep you here. I’ve come to take what’s mine.”

He leans in close, biting your earlobe. “You can’t run from me forever.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

i'm sorry that the ending is kinda blah. i didn't know what to do lol.

part three is here!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21, @drewsphswife, @gilwm, @watchmerora (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

join my obx taglist here!

[remlionheart]

up against the wall

୨ৎ MDNI. this is the first fic i've really posted that's come with a caution sign, but dark content ahead, you have been warned ♡ this was originally an oc x dazai but i converted into dazai x fem!reader for all of you who wanted to read it ♡ a bit yandere on both dazai and reader's part. full submission. degradation and praise. gunplay. dom!dazai ((fucking yum)). lemme know whatcha think, luv you ♡୨ৎ

take me, take me back to your bed i love you so much that it hurts my head. say I don't mind you under my skin i'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in... ─★ now playing: degausser

You had always known what and who Osamu Dazai was. The parts of him that he’d given you and the parts of him that he tried to hide– they were both engrained into your mind. Clawed and carved into your heart no matter how much he attempted to conceal off pieces of himself that he didn’t want you to have access to.

He'd learned pretty early on in your relationship that there was no such thing as avoiding you, not just because of your Mind Glimpse, but because of who you were as a person. The sheer lengths that you'd go just to get to him were hopeless and absolutely devoid of all logic. 

At 16, you'd tattooed his initial on your forearm when Mori tried to put an end to your relationship. Nearly killed yourself a couple of years later when you somehow managed to teleport all the way from Port Mafia to his apartment, collapsing in his living room from overusing your ability all because he wouldn't answer your calls. There was no obstacle or barrier strong enough to stop you from gravitating towards him the way you did and the worst part was, Osamu... liked your earth-shattering devotion to him.

He'd never experienced love before and he'd certainly never experienced… whatever it was between the two of you before either, but there was something about your raw and unapologetic honesty that captivated him. He’d spent so much of his life being conditioned to lie and manipulate to get others to bend to his will and yet, you... would happily break yourself for him just because.

You'd do anything, really. Any request, no matter the cost. Any command, no matter the risk. Any hoop, no matter the height– you'd always find a way, finishing the task with with wide eyes and a smile. “Like that? Was that good?” You might as well have been a puppy with how you obeyed him so thoroughly. It was equal parts amusing and… something else entirely. Something that Dazai wasn't quite ready to face.  

The nickname “little ghost” that he'd gifted you expanded well beyond your ability to vanish, it rang true in all aspects of your relationship. You were his shadow. His mirror. Your curiosity just as relentless and unwavering as his own. Your determination and shamelessness just as dangerous when it came to getting the things you wanted and he was always the thing you wanted most.

You saw him, even when he didn’t think you did. Not just the flippant exterior that he presented to the outside world. Not the hollow cut-out version of himself that he used to blend into crowds. No, you saw him– the full scope of who he was and who he pretended not to be, and you still clung onto him like your life depended on it. Craved him. Haunted him. Trusted him. And worst of all, loved him. Really, sincerely, desperately loved him.

In your first year at Port Mafia, Dazai had written you off as entertainment. A fun, fragile little toy that he could pick up and dissect whenever he got bored and he got bored a lot. But you were happy to oblige, often catching him off guard with how excitedly you would offer parts of yourself up to him without him even having to ask.

You were an enigma in your own right. Something he’d never really seen before. So starved for attention but so infuriatingly stubborn when it came to letting yourself receive it. So obsessed with the idea of love but so tragically clueless when it came to actually being able to identify it. So in-tune with the emotions of everyone else around you but so completely unaware of your own. You were dangerous– Mori’s worst migraine and Dazai’s best asset with the way your ability would spiral out of control when your feelings became too much for you to bear.

Dazai was hardly solid, made up of nothing more than loose-leaf ideas and questionable personality traits that he’d stolen from others and pieced together for himself over the years. But to you, he was so much more. He was the very foundation beneath your feet, the gravity that kept you standing and upright most days, never letting you float too far into your mind. He was the only thing that could stabilize you and not just from his nullification, but from simply being there. As Chuuya had pointed out so many times, the two of you were “a match made in hell”, but you both seemed to find more comfort than threat in the flames you created together.  

Four years ago, if you would’ve asked Dazai how it happened– how your relationship with him had morphed into something that bared such an eerie resemblance to that of trust and understanding, he would’ve dismissed it, but now…

His eyes narrowed, amusement flickering across his face as you circled him in your makeshift training room. “Careful. I told you I’m not gonna let you win this time.”

A spark of silver and blue electricity cracked into the air, your small frame vanishing from where you had been standing across from him, only to reappear right beside him. Your breath hot and tantalizing against the shell of his ear, “Be rough with me then, I can take it.” The smile in your voice was palpable and then– gone.

Now… there was no denying how much he loved chasing and breaking you, his favorite little toy.

He let you have your fun for a few more minutes, folding his arms over his chest with a smirk as you teleported across the abandoned warehouse with precision, pressing soft kisses against his cheek before disappearing into a snap of iridescent energy.

You hid behind a crate, concentrating as your gaze locked onto one of the heavy industrial light fixtures before pulling it down from the rafters, letting it crash next to where Dazai was standing.

"Wow," he mused, giving you a fake clap. "Had I been 12 feet closer, you might've actually gotten me."

He didn't have to know where you were hiding to know that he'd struck a nerve, a smaller lightbulb bursting in one of the overhead lights indicated that you heard him.

"Come here," he said, his voice softening a bit as he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight. He barely had to side-step to dodge the tire that had been hurled his way. Your emotions were erratic but always predictable.

"Baby, c'mon. It's not my fault you have terrible aim. That's why we're here anyway, remember?"

There was a crackle of energy, another flash of steel blue before you finally reappeared in front of him, a pout that he was all-too familiar with looking back at him.

He bit back a laugh watching you sink into yourself.

"Look, it's about focus, okay?" His tone transitioned into something more serious as he took a slow step towards you. "As long as Mori sees you as his own personal project, I need you to be prepared for anything. You're gonna start getting sent on higher ranking missions sooner than later and I need to know that you're ready for that."

There was something about the way he said it– about the genuine concern coating his words that made your chest tighten.

You let your eyes meet his again as you nodded. "Okay," you breathed, the bratty rebuttal you had lined up promptly dying on the tip of your tongue as you took in his features. "What do you want me to do?"

"Teleport to me, we're going to go over intuition and reflexes."

You drew in a sharp breath before closing your eyes, electricity dancing along your skin as you accidentally snapped yourself directly in front of him so that you were chest to chest.

"Surely you wouldn't get this close to an enemy," he smirked, "but for argument's sake, let's say you did. Let's say you landed right in front of them, just like this and they –"

Without any time to think, Dazai had already reached into the inside of his coat pocket, the cold metal of his Beretta suddenly resting easily against your temple. “What now?” He whispered, looking down at you with provoking curiosity. "What are your instincts telling you to do?"

It wasn't the first time you'd had a gun drawn on you, but it was definitely the first time you'd had a gun drawn on you this... intimately. Your body betrayed you, displaced warmth migrating to your cheeks as you blinked back at him through heavy lashes. Your instincts were certainly there, they were just... all wrong.

Dazai caught your reaction immediately, the fleeting but unmistakable flicker of lust that washed over you.

"Oh?" He quipped, leaning down while pressing the barrel further into your delicate skin. "What’s this, huh?" His stare was equal parts predatory and incredulous as his eyes trailed over you, zeroing in on every small, subtle shift you made. The way your breathing had slowed, the goosebumps that decorated your arms, the way your hips couldn't help but tilt towards his ever-so slightly. "You like it, don't you? Like the way it feels when your life’s in my hands?”

"No, I'm–" You faltered, your words completely stolen by the knowing smirk that had cut across his face. "I'm just– thinking, is all."

"Thinking” he echoed, his other hand gently cradling your jawline as he forced you to keep your eyes locked with his. “And what exactly are you thinking about? Please, enlighten me.”

You had to bite back a smile, trying your best to mask your flimsy composure though you knew he could already see straight through it. "Strategy." You lied, jutting your bottom lip back out in faux innocence.

Dazai couldn't help the laugh that escaped him as he tilted his head towards yours, closing the already small gap between you. "Is that right?" He mused, his lips just barely grazing yours. "My diligent little ghost, always so focused."

You nodded back at him helplessly, his grin razor sharp as his hand trailed from your jaw to the back of your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcefully cocking your head to the side.

It earned him a yelp as he continued to hold his weapon to you. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" His breath fanned across your skin, leaving a delirious static in its wake while his body pressed against yours, pinning you between him and a metal crate. "Your eyes give you away every time."

"Dazai..." It wasn't quite a moan, but alarmingly close to one as his lips found the nape of your neck, his teeth lightly sinking into you.

"This opens up all sorts of doors for us though, doesn't it?" His curiosity was reaching new heights, dangerous ones that he'd always tried to keep at bay, but now... the glazed over eyes staring back at him were giving him all the confirmation he never needed to keep going.

You nearly moaned into his mouth when he finally kissed you, your hands desperately tangling into the collar of his shirt as you pulled him in closer. Your movements urgent and beyond your control.

"Spread for me." He said between breaths, using his leg to coax yours apart. "I wanna see something."

You were so lost, so needy and overtaken by the feeling of him that you merely whimpered in response, not caring about anything else except for the feeling of his lips back on yours.

"Good girl," he exhaled, hiking your skirt up as he slowly began to slide his gun down along your face. "You trust me, don't you?"

“Always.” You said despite the way your legs were trembling, your nerves dancing with a vicious mix of excitement and fear as he traced the barrel of the gun over your puffy lips.

He angled his knee just right, giving your clit a much-needed brush of friction while you gradually parted your lips for him, welcoming the cold metal into your mouth.

Dazai had never been one for big acts of commitment, but watching you moan into his loaded Beretta made him realize that maybe he did need to know your ring size after all. Just in case.

"Look at you," he groaned, nearly losing himself to the sight of it. "So fucking gorgeous when you're at my mercy like this."

The praise went straight to your center, your body humming with dizzy want and unrelenting need as he carefully retracted it, his mouth dropping open watching the trail of spit that connected you to it break and drip graciously down your chin.

You were fulfilling fantasies of his that he thought he'd only ever get to dream of as he leaned into you again, letting you cling onto him tighter. The two of you worked in perfect feral synchronicity, him pulling the thin fabric of your underwear down over your thighs to help you step out of them before you kicked them out of reach.

"Osamu..." Your voice had been reduced down to a heady plea, one that he'd do anything in his power to satisfy.

"I’m right here.” He lulled, his grip tangled straight back into your hair while his mouth returned to yours, his other hand working on something much more... nefarious.

"Relax for me,” his voice was soft but commanding, laced with something that made you trust him though you knew you shouldn’t. “That's right. Just like that.”

Your pupils doubled in size as you felt the harsh metal begin to slip between your sensitive folds, your words suddenly eviscerated by the way he was staring down at you through dark, clouded eyes. How completely and utterly lost he looked as he spread you apart, a sense of desperation that you'd never quite seen from him before radiating off of each move he made.

"Oh...my god," Every last bit of logical thinking you had was gone, your mind and body both succumbing to the foreign sensation as he kept up a firm but gentle pace, running it uppp and dowwnnn in a way that made yours legs threaten to buckle.

"Dazai," you whined, your nails tearing into his shoulder for support as the motion became more fluid, your arousal acting as a shameful lubricant. You were almost embarrassed by how noticeable it was, how easy it was for him to glide it across you and how loud you’d gotten as you tried to bury your face into his chest.

Dazai, on the other hand, was on cloud nine. Only ascending further into the heavens with each lewd, begging little whimper that spilled out of you. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?" He soothed, kissing and nipping at your collarbone while you started to find a rhythm, the steel still sending chills down your spine each time it brushed across your overstimulated clit. "I don't think you do," he groaned, "I really don't think you fucking understand what you do to me."

Getting praised by him to any degree always had a way of bringing you to the edge, but this... this was a type of euphoria that you didn't even know existed.

“You know the safety’s off?” He purred against your neck, his heart slamming into his chest as he watched the pouty, pleading look that had taken over you. The same one he’d seen so many times before but never quite like this.

Your slick was practically dripping onto his fingers the more he taunted you, your center greedily searching for release as your hips rocked up towards him.

“All it would take is one little slip, you know.” He was tortuously intoxicating, bringing you to your breaking point by whispering the most infernal little nothings. “With how soaked my fingers are, it’s almost like you want me to. Like you’re just begging for me to-”

Your entire body shook by his last threat, your brows knitting together while you frantically pulled him closer, repeating his name like a prayer in the small space between you. In all his time with you, he'd never seen you this undone before, this fucking beautiful and pathetic. There was something about it, about knowing that he was the only one who would ever get this type of blind obedience out of you that made something inside him ache.

“Dazai ~!”

The whine you let out was so heavy your eyes nearly crossed, more incoherent obscenities bouncing off the concrete floors.

Your cunt was pulsating, absolutely desperate for something to fill it as the orgasm hit you in waves, the rigidness of his gun still sending shockwaves through your thighs. There was a sense of pride and awe that crept over him at how well you responded to him, how overwhelmingly easy it was to break you.

"You're so pretty." He whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead as he meticulously drifted the weapon back up over your stomach with a small grin. "Fucking insane, but so, so pretty."

You smiled breathlessly back at him, the loaded gun against your body completely forgotten by the weight of his compliment. “You think so?"

“Oh, I know so,” he smirked against your neck, freeing himself from his pants as his teeth sank into your skin. "You just came to the idea of me killing you and now you're all heart-eyed asking me if I really think you're pretty or not." He let out a semblance of a laugh, propping you up to wedge you against the crate again while your legs wrapped around him for support, his Beretta now resting tenderly under your chin. "My sweet girl... you're almost as deranged as I am."

The pink that swept across your face only added to the long list of reasons you were able to hold his attention. You were innocence mixed with sin. Naivety mixed with lust. He was holding a loaded gun to your head and you were all but saying “thank you.”

Your blush deepened as he prodded at your entrance, your eyes glazing over at how thoroughly his tip stretched you. “Dazai –” you whined, both of you reeling from how faithfully your walls sucked him in.

“What is it, angel?” His tone was thick with mockery, his finger resting lazily on the trigger as your nails met his back again. “Feel good?"

You nodded back at him, lips parting the deeper he went. “So good,” you exhaled, your back arching to invite him in more as he thrusted into you. “So fucking good.”

He watched you intently, his dark eyes nearly burning holes into your skin with how fervent his movements had become.

He was drowning in you, both physically and mentally– sinking further and further into the way you welcomed every part of him, both the good and bad. Even with the possibility of death looming over you, your only focus was him. The rest of the world, the threat of your life ending with one easy slip of a finger– none of it mattered as long as it was him that pulled the trigger.

"You'd let me, wouldn't you?" His voice was venomous, gentle enough to subdue you but still poisonous enough to seep into your veins without detection. "You'd let me be the one that to make that fragile heart of yours stop beating."

The answer was written all over of your face, evident in the way your core clenched around him the further he pushed.

You were soaking him, letting out the most gorgeous fucked-out noises he'd ever heard as he continued to wrap around your mind like the serpent that he was, robbing you of the last bit of dignity you had left.

"Say it." Dazai commanded, his thrusts becoming more punishing. "Let me fucking hear, it baby." He was just as lost as you were, riding a high he'd never experienced before as his hips met yours with untamed urgency.

"I –" Your vision blurred, your thighs trembling while his tip relentlessly slammed into your sweet spot. You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence, his dark stare the only thing keeping you tethered to the room. "I– would." you finally choked out, almost drooling from how deep he suddenly was. "Dazai please, I'd– let you. I'd let you do anything, any... thing."

It wasn't the first time that he'd had someone beg while under the scope of his gun– some had begged him to spare their lives. Some had begged for him to just end it altogether. But no one had ever begged out of... love.

The noise he made was guttural, primal as his lips crashed into yours, his resolve crumbling entirely. His forehead pressed against yours while your walls spasmed around him like a vice, your core unravelling in a way that made him forget all of his senses.

You were smothering him, your nails tearing into his skin as your broken voice sang out his name like he'd trained you to do.

"There it is," he almost wasn't sure if it was you or himself he was saying it to as he began to twitch inside you. "There it– is, baby. Keep going. Don't stop." He was falling straight into the same abyss you were, the two of you tumbling hand in hand into a seemingly never-ending void of bliss.

"You're mine," he promised, letting his body seal the vow he was creating as he watched a desperate kind of sincerity settle over your features.

"Yours." you repeated softly, eyes full of conviction.

His chest heaved as he buried the last of his logical thinking and carnal desires into you at once. A damning warmth suddenly coating your walls while he slowly retracted the gun away from you and replaced it something much more sinister– affection.

His fingers gently traced over the side of your cheek as your uneven breathing mingled together. "Deranged." He panted with a faint smirk, "Certifiably insane."

You merely smiled as he pulled out of you, carefully getting you back to your feet. "And yours." You reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah," he teased, kneeling down to grab your discarded underwear. "Just stay still for me." He was tentative as he helped you redress, adjusting and smoothing down your skirt while stealing proud glances at the mess he'd left dripping down your leg.

You quietly admired him, noting the tenderness in the way he handled you as you stood perfectly still, only moving when he’d guide you.

Your brows furrowed slightly when he stood back up and pulled his Beretta out of his pocket again, opening the chamber to let a bullet fall into his hand. "Here," he said, offering it to you, "a little keepsake. Maybe you can turn it into a necklace or something."

You held it up to the light like it was a precious stone, your jewelry box back at Port Mafia suddenly calling your name as your brain danced with ideas of how to turn it into something even more beautiful.

Dazai couldn't help but grin as he watched you twirl it between your fingers with all of the delicacy in the world, your eyes wide with wonder.

It was fitting, he thought, the way you were able to make art out of even the most broken things.

⋆.𐙚˚

[unhappy-sometimes]

a 2024 reading retrospective

so. i read a lot of fics in 2024. here are some of my favorites.

before i get started, please note that these are not in any particular order and these are not all of my favorites!!!!!!!! i wanted to include so many more but i just wasn't able to! also please don't roast me for reading stuff from more than two years ago :(((

anyway, here we go!!

1. Air by Cantare

as always, @cantareincminor knocks it out of the park. i'm a sucker for alternate first meeting AUs and Air is one of the good ones!! i find that it can be hard to find authentic sounding banter between yor and twilight, but cantare manages it somehow! they have such great and natural sounding dialogue. it's just a one chapter fic, but maybe if we ask nicely enough, cantare will continue one day 😏

2. like the wild geese by anonymous_viscacha

okay in all honesty, i read this for the first time last week and i scrambled to add this one to the list. it's a short one shot about a shared lunch break between yor and loid, but it's so sweet and endearing that i just had to put it on. i love love love it when people let loid and yor catch up on the childhood they lost because they deserve it. i'm kinda obsessed with this fic right now.

3. what happens outside by aerequets

it's kinda unfair that @aerequets gets to be a great artist and author but here we are. i'm not complaining tho because what happens outside is a delightful read. i enjoy exploring post reveal pre relationship twiyor and this fic is perfect for that!! it's also just really cute and reading things from yor's perspective is super endearing.

4. chaos theory by sarsaparillia

so ngl this one scared me at first because i do NOT like major character death fics and this one really seems like it, but this fic was unexpectedly wholesome and has a happy ending!!! it's short but bittersweet so i can't really talk about it without spoiling it any more. go read it! it's short!

5. eventually i fall into you, you attack my heart by princessguard

i know this is a controversial (and somewhat ironic) take but i usually really don't like eden AUs but. this fic is proof that there are always exceptions to the rule. this one is a short little story about a serious student at eden and the weird girl he keeps meeting in trees. i don't know exactly why i love this one so much but it do. it's cute and the epilogue got me grinning like a fool.

6. like real people do by Puolain

once again another alternative meeting AU. i dunno, man, it's just so much fun to see twilight and yor having the chance to be real people and accidentally fall in love which each other. i eat that up every time. great work @loveroma!

7. I'll Be There in a Minute, Dear by fluffmelange

i was SO CLOSE to putting fluffmelange's "Leave No Trace of Yourself" here because that one is SO FUNNY but alas, this delightful fic barely won out in the end. you know what you should do? read both. fluffmelange is keeping us all fed with short and sweet fics that are so much fun to read. this one is a favorite simply because the premise is so goofy and simple but i could 100% see it being canon lol. we are in your capable hands @fluffmelange.

8. I've Been Throwing Bricks At Your Window Like There's No Better Way To Say Hello by thesmallestfishinthesea

this fic has such a silly and simply premise but i love it so so so much. it's about the three times yor forgets her keys (plus one extra time loid forgets!!!!) and it's so cute to have a view inside yor's (often frazzled) mind. i don't know what else to say other than READ IT RIGHT NOW!!! great work @smallest-fish-inthesea!

this is not all!! i really wanted to include the wonderful works of @whateversawesome, @briefhottubcoffee, @spencer-is-alive, luinel, and more (ao3 literally went out just as i was typing this UGH what awful timing) but i wanted to do something to give back to this awesome community. fun fact, today is my birthday and there's a tradition in my family where the birthday person gives presents to others. so this is my present to everyone!! thanks for everything you guys and here's to another great year!

oh oh oh one last thing, i tried to link everyone's tumblr if they have one, so if there's an author on here who has a tumblr that i didn't link, let me know and i'll link them.

okay! thanks everyone!

(ALSO DON'T MAKE FUN OF HOW DIFFERENT SOME OF THE DRAWING STYLES LOOK IN SOME OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS, I WAS EXPERIMENTING WITH DIFFERENT TECHNIQUES AND THEY LOOK STUPID ALL PUT TOGETHER LEAVE ME ALONE😭😭😭😭😭😭)

[redsshanks]

req for marco!! age gap, secret relationship, it could be on the Moby dick or something else, maybe ace or izou finds out about it!!

i've never written Marco before and i don't focus on him much but I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope he's in character and that this is what you wanted!

warnings: secret relationship due to age gap (not underage)

word count: 1,234

Staring out over the ice covered ocean you let your body relax against the railing of the Moby Dick. This close to the North Blue you’d all expected to run into some ice but this was more than even Pops had been expecting. Ace had been out earlier clearing a path but even he had his limits. He’d argued against it but that had been quickly shut down and now he was somewhere below deck pouting. 

For now you were enjoying the chill in the air and the beauty of the snow. Some of the others had lingered around but now you were the last left. Quiet was a rare commodity on the Moby Dick, you’d be crazy to let it pass you by. Tate would probably be outside soon demanding you come inside, or she’d send one of the other nurses. Pops was doing well today so they’d have to find someone else to hover over. A frozen crewmate was probably a good target. 

“I think you’re the smartest one of us.” The sudden sound of Marco’s voice almost made you jump. “Pop’s has been yelling at Ace and arguing with the others about calling Bay to help us out.”  

You could see your breath when you laughed, “It would be nice to meet her.” You’d not even been born when she left the crew. A stark reminder of just how young you were. Half of the people they talked about here, you’d never met and may never meet. “They call her the Ice Witch right?” 

Marco nodded as he walked closer to you, “I called her that as an insult.” He admitted, a grin settling over his face. “She just ran with it as a complement.” There was meant to be a true insult, you knew that, he was probably happy that it caught on as a good thing. Being the first to give a pirate a title must have been a good feeling. Especially when they were practically your sister. 

A warm body met yours before you could turn to argue the point, your eyes widening and scanning as much of the deck you could see. “Marco!” If he’d snuck out here then there could have been others. “What are you doing!” 

His laughter was warm as he leaned down, his chin resting on your head and arms tightly around you. If you weren’t worried about being seen you’d be over the moon about being held like this. Warm and safe in the arms of the man you loved. But that wasn’t always something you could take pleasure in. If anyone saw you, you didn’t know what they’d say. Maybe they’d think you were a bad person or worse they’d think Marco had taken advantage of you in any way. 

Even if you were an adult before even meeting him, he was still much older than you. It would destroy you if he was shamed because of your actions. You’d joined the Whitebeard Pirates and was instantly drawn to the 1st division commander. Your crush was just supposed to be that, a crush that you’d get over. But you’d admitted how you felt one day, the words spilling out before you even realized what you were saying. 

The older man had smiled and told you he’d known, that he was just waiting for you to decide if you wanted to do anything. Now he was your boyfriend and you couldn’t be happier about the fact. But you made him promise not to tell anyone, afraid of what people's reactions would be if they knew. 

“No one is out here, I don’t think anyone even saw me leave. It was much more fun for them to watch Ace get yelled at again.” Any arguments died on your tongue when you tilted your head to look at him. A warm smile directed at you, the one only you got to see. “I’m not breaking any of your rules. In fact I’m just helping a cold crewmate out, I’d do this for anyone.” 

Narrowing your eyes you pushed his face away from you, “If you’ll do it for anyone when go cuddle them.” Even if he wasn’t serious, you couldn’t help the tingle of jealousy that went through you. “Maybe Vista is cold, hold him.” 

Marco’s laughter warmed you as much as his arms did when he grabbed the hand you’d been trying to push him away with. “Vista isn’t as fun to cuddle. Plus he’d probably look at me funny if I asked him for a kiss. But if you want me too.”

Before he could step away from you, you turned and grabbed the front of his shirt. You’d not noticed how cold it had gotten until you turned. Your hands dug into his shirt and you felt warmth embrace you again, the light blue flames tickling your skin harmlessly. “Ask any of them for a kiss and I'm throwing you overboard.” You muttered against his chest as you buried your face there, searching for more warmth. 

A heavy sigh left him, and you could practically hear the satisfaction in the sound. “It’s cute that you’re jealous, you know.” You didn’t need him to point it out. “You don’t need to be, I’d kiss you in front of all of them if you let me.” 

His words settled on you, maybe you could tell them. It wasn’t fair of you to be even remotely jealous of anyone when you’d been the one to insist it stay a secret. Marco had done what you wanted, you set the pace, you set the rules. Everything was in your hands. 

“Maybe I’d let you…” The shock on his face was evident, “It would be nice to not have to stand on a freezing deck to get attention from my boyfriend.” Marco trusted them and he knew them all better than you did. They’d accepted you as family the second you stepped foot on the ship. So maybe letting them know wasn’t a bad thing. 

Marco nodded along as you spoke. “And I’d get to kiss you whenever I wanted.” That sounded nice. “That sounds nice doesn’t it?” Heat flooded your cheeks, it would be nice. 

“It would be nice to not have to pretend we don’t know.” The pair of you stepped away from each other, your eyes wide as you stared at Izou. “Well maybe not everyone knows, but enough of us do.” He was mostly looking at Marco, his eyes bright. “Lover boy isn’t good at keeping secrets from us.” 

“Why are you even out here!” You wrapped your arms around yourself, a glare at Izou who you’d not come out here either. By the look on Marco’s face he hadn’t heard him either. “I thought everyone was watching Ace. Not spying on people.” 

Another person joined you on the deck, his footsteps much louder and steam rising from his shoulders as he looked at the three of you. “Why’d my punishment become a show anyway.” The freckled man rolled his eyes before looking at you and Marco. “What happened to you guys?” 

Fine. Everyone knew, they’d apparently known for a while. That just meant you didn’t have to stand here and freeze to death, stepping back near Marco you sighed grabbing his hand. “Since everyone already knows.” Glaring again at Izou you almost missed the way Ace’s eyes widened. 

“You two are together!?”