Grace If You Ever Felt So Inclined To Write A Compher/Jost Threesome I Wouldnt Complain, Thats All Im

Grace if you ever felt so inclined to write a Compher/Jost threesome I wouldn’t complain, that’s all I’m gonna say

𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆.

￫ pairing(s): jt compher x reader x tyson jost (college au)

￫ synopsis: how else would you spend the last thursday of your college career besides fucking everyone's favorite big/little duo?

￫ warning(s): drinking + alcohol mention, swearing, 18+ content - MINORS DNI or you will be blocked.

￫ word count: 11k

author's note: i listened to this while writing :) (and yes, i delayed releasing this because i wanted to add more, you're welcome)

main masterlist

The air in Atomic, the dive bar local university students claimed as their own much to the owner’s chagrin, was thick with an array of emotions. Though, excitement hummed most prominently.

It was the last Thursday of the semester and the majority of the crowd, either clustered around tall pub tables or waiting at the bar, had turned in their remaining finals just a few hours prior and were now celebrating their first night of true freedom.

It was the eve of reprieve and it was wonderful.

For some, it was their last final exam ever. That final box to check. Tonight marked their entrance into full adulthood. A life without the relative safety and security of a structured education system was as exhilarating as it was daunting.

This overwhelming concoction was familiar to you, having been the constant state of your existence for the better part of the last several months, if not the past eight semesters.

In two days, you would be walking across a stage carefully erected on the pristine football field to accept your metaphorical ticket into the "real world." Or, at the very least, the faux-leather cover that would eventually house your diploma once it arrived in the mail. And then you'd just be done.

Free.

Following the movement of your tassel from right to left, signifying the completion of your undergraduate experience, you'd probably take a final stroll around campus. A victory lap of sorts.

Yes, they were just buildings. A collection of cement and brick and glass. But they became something more. As the years passed, memories both good and bad moved into every nook and cranny until the roughly ninety acres were overflowing with sentimentality.

Maybe you'd cry. Maybe you wouldn't. Maybe the floodgates would hold until you stacked the last box in the trunk of your car. Maybe they'd stick through the summer and you wouldn't feel the weight of closure until the upcoming fall semester started without you. Now wasn't the time for tears, though. They could wait one more night.

Tonight was for laughter and off-key singing, peanut shell-covered floors and celebration.

By the time you finally got to Atomic, the line was already wrapped around the perimeter of the building. Groups of college students, most of them underage and nervously fiddling with fake IDs, bled out into the street just far enough to inconvenience the locals.

No one ever called the cops, though. They just swerved around them, honking and shouting their discontent as though it'd actually make a difference.

The bar crawl-hopefuls would carry on obliviously, blinded by their fervent hunger for adult independent and far too consumed by the bustling environment. The world was at their fingertips, brimming with opportunity, and that felt more important on than being considerate.

Tyler Nelson's barback was waiting nervously at the side door when you walked over, hand shaking around an unlit cigarette.

Davis wasn't a smoker. He hated the way it felt in his chest and the taste it left on his tongue, but he usually had a fresh pack tucked in the front pocket of his jeans. He liked to have one of the milky sticks balanced between his fingers when Tyler sent him to let you in through the storeroom because he thought it made him look less suspicious.

You always thought that loitering in a dark alley with a pristine cigarette while shaking like a chihuahua looked more dubious than just standing on the steps. But, you knew Davis was at least two tinfoil hats too far from logic to understand your thought process.

When he opened the dented metal door with more force than necessary, it creaked in protest as though it knew everything was about to change and couldn't imagine anything worse. The sound almost made you sad.

But the ache didn't last. It didn't even have time to settle in your stomach. Instead, it was forced from your chest with a violent thud. It then scurried across the floor and huddled behind a crate of bottles from a recent shipment.

Davis had knocked over an entire metal sheet of freshly cut lemons and limes and the crash was thunderous. He yelped so loudly you were surprised no one came running back to investigate the sudden commotion. He mumbled something apologetically before dashing after the runaway fruit, and you suspected it was actually directed more towards the citrus wedges than to you.

Tyler's job was incredibly convenient for you because he worked almost every night of the week. It was like having a FastPass to the most coveted attraction in the city, though that wasn't saying much.

After routine X-rays revealed a cervical spinal injury mere months into his first year at State, Tyler's schedule understandably became more flexible. While it allowed him to act as a permanent cheat code for his friends and family, it wasn't the kind of social capital he, or the greater hockey community, expected.

Tyler’d been scouted his sophomore year of high school and was verbally offered a full ride. He was on track to enter the league after graduation, but his NHL career ended before it even began.

Now, he was serving cheap beer to pastel-colored polo shirts and boat shoes and vodka sodas with "Just a little splash of cran, thank you!" to enthusiastic Comm majors in matching earth-tone Aritzia Melina pants and UO corset tops, their gold hoops swaying as they deliberately lean closer to him.

They would inevitably blame it on the loud music or the rowdy crowd, but it was obviously a poor excuse to bask in his presence - even if the proximity and flirtatious nature of the interaction was all-but outlined in his job description.

You'd been that way once, too. Eagerly vying for the affection of the retired Golden Boy with the too-handsome face, cool confidence radiating off his hard body in steady ripples. He was the first guy you'd paid real attention to at school and you couldn't regret it. Tyler was sweet and funny. He had a good head on his shoulders and an even better heart nestled in his chest.

They say you shouldn't be friends with your exes, but you could hardly call Tyler an "ex." Just a summer fling never capable of lasting past a single season. It wasn't intended to.

"There she is!" he'd called over his shoulder when you pushed through the heavy storeroom door, smile white and bright as he squirted something fizzy into a plastic cup with a Bud Light logo. "I was starting to get worried."

The infliction of his voice was flirtatious only out of familiarity, but his herd of admirers hadn't understood that. Once warm and gleeful, their eyes turned stony and sharp as they'd shifted to you - the usurper of Adonis' attention. When you'd casually waved him off as you stepped out from behind the bar, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Though, if they knew who was waiting for you just a few feet away, the envy would still be burning a hole in their lungs.

Across the room, two familiar heads bobbed with laughter in one of Atomic's highly coveted booths. With their cracked black leather seats and uneven tables that teetered more often than they stood still, they weren't anything special. Unless you'd just spent an hour shivering outside in an ungodly long line or wobbling around in the world's most uncomfortable shoes while trying to get Tyler attention at the bar. Or, it was a special occasion and you were celebrating.

Clear green eyes caught yours and immediately brightened with jovial recognition. Kate, your little, enthusiastically waved you over. Her creamy cheeks were flushed so deeply that her freckles disappeared under the bright, rosy color. When she pulled you down next to her, the ends of her fiery hair tickled the bare skin of your shoulder. The crisp green apple scent of her shampoo wafted into your nose in thick, comforting waves.

"Do I even want to know what unthinkable crime you committed to get this table?" you now ask jokingly as you settle in beside her.

You seriously doubt she spent the afternoon holed up in Atomic, ferociously guarding the booth like many more dedicated patrons did in preparation for busier nights.

Kate was recently elected chapter president of your sorority and has spent every waking moment since meeting with delegates from other Greek organizations, local chapter advisors, and contacts from Nationals. She loved you, there was no doubt about that, but there was absolutely no way she would slack so early in her presidency. Especially not for a shitty booth at the town's dive bar.

She shrugs and says, “Absolutely nothing. Though, I might've mentioned our plans to Tyler when he came by the house with the event contract for Fall Formal and then he might've said he'd make sure we wouldn't have to fight freshmen or townies for a booth." She winks conspiratorially and then sighs. "You know, it’s really unfair for someone that smokin' hot to also be a genuinely nice person."

Kate pauses again and pins you with a disapproving glare, "Tell me again, what possessed you to break up with him?"

You roll your eyes, like you do every time she tries to scold you about everyone's favorite bartender. "I didn't break up with him," you say pointedly. "We decided we're better as friends. The operative word being 'we,' Kate."

Someone scoffs across the table.

When you shift your attention away from Kate, amber eyes are waiting for yours and above them, one groomed brow is raised in challenge. It's daring you to engage in the same silly argument you'd been having for over a year now. His mouth, poised behind the neck of a bottle that matched his eyes, was quirked up into a knowing grin.

The truth of the "break-up" lived between yourself, Tyler, and unfortunately, JT. You'd all decided it was best to keep it that way. Though, you wouldn't think so based on how often the latter tries to force it to the surface.

Why? You'd never know. It wouldn't benefit anyone, but especially not Tyler, to whom JT bore a certain level of loyalty to regardless of which way his friendship oscillated. They always seemed to be caught between friendship and rivalry while you sat comfortably in the former with both.

“What?” you ask, head tilting to the side in warning.

“You decided you were better as friends. He just went along with it,” JT says matter-of-factly.

Your brow now mirrors his. "And you know this how?"

JT then quiets, shaking his head in resignation, thinking better of it. "Never mind," he says, "I'll be at the bar fighting for another —" his forearm flexes distractingly as he shakes the nearly empty bottle in the air, "if anyone needs me."

As he moves to stand, the booth groans. It already misses his weight and is begging him to stay. Which was more than could be said for you, as relief settles between your shoulder blades.

Oddly, he seemed more determined tonight. Most nights he'd get a few jabs in, rarely anything new or creative, and dutifully retreat once you were sufficiently riled up. Purely for amusement. Not tonight, though. Maybe forcing the embarrassing truth into the world was his sick idea of a parting gift.

But would letting everything out into the open really be so bad? You were leaving this place and most of these people behind soon. Did it really matter if they knew?

"Please don't hate me," Kate whispers once he's out of earshot, snapping you out of your internal monologue before you can recklessly spiral any further.

She squeezes your forearm apologetically, her little white purse already slung over her shoulder. She must've done that while you were bickering with JT. Kate's mostly looking at you with her soft green eyes, but her attention is noticeably split between you and the front entrance.

You sigh knowingly. "He's already on his way, isn't he?"

"Waiting outside, actually," she says, her smile weak and remorseful.

She then looks down, picking at what's left of the shimmery blue nail polish on her thumbnail as she waits for you to speak. Kate may have a bad habit of ducking out early in favor of spending time with her shitty on-again-off-again boyfriend, but she would never leave if you told her to stay.

"Go," you say as you mercifully tilt your head in the direction of the door.

Kate squeals appreciatively and throws her arms around your neck. "You're the best big ever!" She then releases you, grinning like she's just won the lottery. Her hands stay on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Don't let me ruin your last college night out, though. Promise me you'll go out with a bang?"

"I promise," you say noncommittally and more for her benefit than yours.

She quickly pecks you on the cheek before jumping up from the booth. As she weaves through the crowd, her right hand raises. She waves vaguely in the direction of the bar, the charm bracelet looped around her wrist jumps up and down with each jerky motion. Subconsciously, you fiddle with the matching one clipped around yours.

Kate picked them out during your chapter's annual sisterhood retreat last year. They were at the register of a cheesy gift shop near the town's only gas station, buried in a plastic bucket of other touristy trinkets. Kate dug around until she found the only two that matched and insisted on buying them. A fair few of the charms hadn't even made it back to campus and the metal was now turning an unappealing greenish brown color, but you'd never part with it.

In less than a week, you'd be in a new city in an empty apartment and it will be the only thing you have of her with you. Tears well in the corners of your eyes, but you shove your melancholy aside before they can escape.

In need of a distraction, you seek out something else to hold your attention. Luckily, the Atomic is never lacking in people-watching options.

There's a group of underclassmen tensely whispering by the jukebox. They're doing their best to blend in, wearing mostly-appropriate attire and nodding their heads along to "Everlong" by Foo Fighters, but the older you get, the more obvious inexperience becomes.

Now, they're trying to get one of the boys to approach the bar. He's shaking his head, worriedly clutching his fake ID in his palm. Tyler wouldn't serve him or anyone else in the group tonight, but he wouldn't kick them out either. He'd rather them hang out here under his watchful eye than get into trouble anywhere else.

Losing interest in their plight, you scan the room for something more exciting. You find it leaning against the long, wooden bar in a tight, plain black t-shirt, a lazy grip on a beer bottle, and all the boyish charm in the world. Tyson Jost's cheeks are flushed, the color standing out against the pearly vibrance of his smile, as he shamelessly flirts with the girl standing beside him.

She looks familiar, but you don't place her until she throws her head back laughing at something he's said. It's Ava, one of your chapter's spring initiates and one of Kate's personal favorites. For days, all you heard about was Ava Meyers from Steamboat Springs, Colorado and how she was the future of Zeta Beta Zeta. Apparently she had more philanthropic experience than any other person in her recruitment class and a Goldendoodle named Benny after the character from her older brother's favorite movie, The Sandlot. You didn't know her well personally, but she could've been your grand-little had Sarah Jones not stolen her right out from Kate's nose.

Ava inches closer to the handsome sophomore as he brushes a few strands of dark hair over her shoulder. It's a move you've seen him do countless times before. He'd even tried it on you the first time you met - and it almost worked. More recently, he'd done it with Kate. She'd folded instantly.

You can't fault him for recycling. If it works, it works.

The pretty freshman visibly shudders as his fingertips gently linger on her bare skin. The reaction doesn't go unnoticed by Tyson, who subtlety lowers them until they're fully resting on her arm. His thumb moves back and forth as he listens to her speak animatedly. To her, the movement probably appears mindless but drenched in unspoken meaning. Like some kind of physical manifestation of their chemistry. So, she returns the affection. Ava's hand glides over his bicep and to his forearm as she leans closer. Tyson beams. She's exactly where he wanted her, but she doesn't mind.

Over her head, Tyson catches your stare and winks. You shake your head, chuckling, and he raises his beer in mock-salute. He then rifles around the back pocket of his jeans and tosses a few extra bills out for Tyler. Ava's face falls, visibly upset their time together is being cut short. Sensing the shift in her mood, Tyson leans down to whisper something in her ear that makes her blush profusely. As she turns back to her friends, he pushes off the wooden bar and struts toward your booth.

"Where'd Strawberry Shortcake run off to?" Tyson asks as he slides beside you, Ava forgotten. "Something urgent come up at the berry patch?"

You almost feel bad for the freshman, but after two semesters she should know Tyson Jost may be a lot of things but someone’s boyfriend wasn’t one of them.

"And you wonder why Kate won't give you the time of day," JT quips, appearing out of nowhere and just at the right time.

Wordlessly, he slides a chilled bottle across the table to you and you smile appreciatively.

Tyson shoots him a look of pure annoyance. "Just because you two are in some Ginger Alliance doesn't mean you always have to take her side, Compher. Especially when she's not even here."

"That's exactly what an alliance means, kid," you say, reaching up to affectionately ruffle his curls until he bats your hand away.

A blush creeps from his cheeks to the tip of his nose. As much as he hates being treated like the baby of the friend group, he loves the attention more. Especially when it's coming from you. His crush, harmless and manageable, was a secret to no one.

"Whatever," he grumbles before persisting. "So, where is she? Did she spontaneously combust? I mean, it would make sense considering how hot she is."

JT smiles, approval deep in the corners of his mouth. The two of them were as aptly matched as Kate and yourself.

"I never thought I'd be saying this, but I'm really going to miss that," you say, hand gesturing towards the eager look on Tyson's face. Your voice cracks a little at the end, betraying just how emotional you've become.

"Hey!" JT butts in, the fresh bottle abruptly pausing between his lips and the table. "No sappy bullshit and absolutely no crying. We all agreed to have a normal, tear-free night and you are not ruining it because of something that came out of that perv's mouth." He lifts his chin in the direction of his little.

"I feel like you're redirecting your mixed emotions about your impending graduation - which is a significant milestone in Western cultures and the beginning of a new life chapter, towards me in the form of anger. I just want you to know that we," he slings a lean, muscular arm around your shoulders, his fingers tickling the skin the same way they brushed over Ava's earlier, "...are here for you if - or when, you want to talk about it."

JT tosses a dented beer cap at Tyson's head. The younger man sees it just in time to duck out of the way and collides with the wall instead of his forehead.

"Just because you were a Psych major for two seconds —"

"— two semesters," Tyson amends.

"Two seconds," JT says, undeterred, "Doesn't mean you can 'shrink' people whenever you feel like it."

Tyson rolls his eyes as he tilts his head a little to the side. "Uh, I think that's exactly what it means."

"Gunnar picked Kate up," you loudly interject before the bickering can escalate.

Their heads snap to you.

"You better be joking," Tyson groans, visibly defeated as he sinks further into the worn black leather. "I thought we finally shook that loser after Winter Formal when he threatened to dunk your president's date in the water fountain. Kate was so fucking pissed." He chuckles, brightening at the memory. "I genuinely thought steam was going to come out of her ears."

"I thought so too," you say honestly with a shrug.

"How could you let this happen?" he whines. "Next year was supposed to be my chance to finally put the moves on her with you two overbearing idiots out of the picture. It's impossible to mack on a lady with the 'rents hanging around."

You balk. "How could I let this happen? Last time I checked, Kate is a grown-ass woman who makes her own decisions. Not good ones, obviously, but her own."

"$10 says they don't make it through the summer," JT says after a lazy sip.

Tyson's eyes light at the prospect of both the challenge and the potential rewards - money and the girl. "$20 says they break up before fall Rush."

"You can't seriously be betting against my little's relationship right now," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. "Have you no shame?"

"So, you don't want in?" Tyson asks, brow raised like he knows you better than that.

He does, in fact, know you better than that.

"$30 says they make it to Thanksgiving, but end things for good before New Year's Eve."

Both boys smile, knowing it was going to be a good night if they managed to get you wrapped up in one of their schemes already.

“So, last night on Earth,” Tyson shifts the conversation and you snort. He had a flare for the dramatics. It was one of the first things you noticed about him and now, loved most. “You’ve jumped in the all the tradition-mandated fountains, you’ve rubbed the bronze statue in the quad's nose for good luck and good health…anything else we need to check off the list before the sun sets on your collegiate careers?”

JT looks at you, gaze tinged with years of pendular lust hindered by platonic conventions. The flicker disappears as quickly as it arose. So swiftly that you think you might've imagined it altogether.

Tyson clears his throat, navigating to his point on his own. “I can’t believe you’ve never fucked. You’ve kissed though, right?”

His question sends you back four years to an overflowing basement and too-loud EDM.

"Looks like we both made it out of Rush alive," a younger JT shouts, nodding towards your white t-shirt denoting your recent bid acceptance, and then opens his arms as though he's the king of the fraternity house and not a freshly minted pledge.

"Looks like it," you echo, nodding.

A nervous silence rises between you.

JT Compher wasn't a stranger, but you didn't know if you could call him a friend yet either.

You'd recently been paired up for a project in one of your general education courses and it went well, but you hadn't spoken much outside of class. Except for the occasional address exchange for a kickback or house party within walking distance of the freshman dorms. Or, the one time he'd invited you to watch him play.

You remember being surprised by the invitation. It wasn't like you needed a formal invitation to attend a game. You went to a hockey school. Everyone went to home games. But, for some unknown reason, he'd extended one. You were embarrassed to admit you screenshotted the text and it still lived in your camera roll, as well as your suite's group chat.

In the week leading up to the fateful game, you convinced yourself it was something more than it actually was. You'd been crushed afterward when he made no move to take things to a romantic level. You hadn't either, but the ball felt like it was in his court.

So, you'd made peace with a potential future friendship.

"I have to be honest," he starts, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. Your heart skips a beat. "I was really excited when I saw you walk in earlier."

You decide to play it cool. "Earlier? Why didn't you say something then?"

"Dunno," JT shrugs. "You make me nervous. I guess I needed a little time to work up the courage to come and talk to you."

You made him nervous? Highly unlikely.

"Yeah, sure."

He opens his mouth, presumably to argue, but is cut off.

"Compher! Are you trying - and failing, to put the moves on this lovely lady?" Gabe Landeskog, the current president of Alpha Chi, asks your classmate. His question isn't directed at you but his eyes are trailing up and down your body with unashamed appreciation.

Panic streaks across JT's eyes. "Uh, um, I-I...W-we're just friends."

"Is that so?" the president asks, eyes skeptically darting between you. "Doesn't look that way to me. It looks like you're floundering. And we can't have that in this chapter, now can we?"

You can feel the fear radiating off of JT as he tenses beside you. His first night in the fraternity - State's top house, and he's already caught the attention of the president. And not in a good way. You may not be able to call him a friend yet, but you feel the sudden, overwhelming urge to protect him and his reputation.

"Actually, he was just about to kiss me. Until you interrupted us."

Gabe huffs, his tongue poking his cheek, amused. He's surprised you'd be so confrontational. From what he'd heard from older members of your chapter, you were quiet and sweet. He wasn't expecting any fire, but he liked that you proved the assumption wrong. "Alright, then. Prove it."

JT slowly turns to you. He doesn't say anything but takes an apprehensive step closer.

"We don't have to," he whispers, the words barely audible. You feel them against your lips more than you hear them.

Eventually, you knew you'd have to be okay being strictly platonic with JT Compher, but figuring out how you'd accomplish that could wait until tomorrow.

Overtaken by another wave of confidence, you fist his t-shirt and pull him towards you until his chest is flush against yours. "But I want to," you declare before pressing your lips to his.

“That's a stupid question. I know exactly what you two did during Semi Formal when you thought everyone is too drunk to notice,” Tyson says as shakes his head, pulling you out of the memory and into another.

"You cold?" JT says as he stands on the threshold of the wooden deck's sliding glass door.

Laughter and jubilant chatter erupt from behind him. Someone is chanting for Tyson to turn up the music, a Deep House mix of 2010s hits. He does, to thunderous applause, and shouts something incoherent back.

"A little," you reply quietly with a gentle shrug of your shoulders.

"Coming back in?" he asks, a hopeful edge to his voice.

"In a little bit."

At that, he tugs the door shut, effectively separating you from the rest of the group.

As he steps closer where you're perched, he quietly sheds his suit jacket. He knew you were too proud to ask for it, but he also knew how badly you'd needed an extra layer if you planned on staying out in the chilly mid-November air.

This gesture was the same brand of casual intimacy that'd become commonplace with him as the years passed. Often times, it was so subtle it felt unconscious. Like taking care of you was a reflex. Like his proximity was innate, designed for survival. But every instance of closeness, such as soft hands rubbing in a streak of missed sunblock or dutifully unraveling the knot growing between your shoulder blades, only made your heart ache. These glimpses were as cruel as they were magical because they were fleeting tastes of what could, but would never, be.

Friends cared for one another, yes, but it never meant what you wanted it to.

When JT eventually drapes the garment over your shoulders, the lining still warm from his body heat, he doesn't move away like you expect him to. Instead, his chest stays pressed against your back, heat radiating down your spine down to your toes. His warm hands linger on your shoulders, fingertips lightly tickling the base of your neck.

You tilt your head over your shoulder to see his face, wondering why he's still so close but not yet making use of the access like he normally would. Your breath hitches.

His eyes have darkened to an alluring burnt caramel. Some of the normal lightness flickers through, but it's almost completely hidden by his lids, heavy with desire. His nose flares subtly, as though he's struggling to keep himself composed, and your entire body hums.

JT leans in slowly, giving you ample time to protest or pull away. But you do neither and are met with his soft, wanting lips. He tastes like cardamom and hemp, all warm and earthy. Inviting. You part your lips, wanting to drink in as much of him as you can all at once, and he meets your sudden intensity enthusiastically. As his tongue hotly traces yours, his arms snake themselves around your waist. The adjustment locks you between his looming, solid form and the cool, wooden railing. The kiss grows deeper, weighed down by mutual, burning hunger. His hands drag slowly from your hips down to the hem of your dress, calloused fingertips ghosting along the edge.

You shiver, surprised.

"But last time...," you breathe, hand now braced against his chest.

Through the thin, silky material of his button-down, you can feel his heart thudding against his sternum.

"Last time, what?" JT asks as his hands continue to bunch the fabric up around your hips.

The crisp air greedily licks at the newly-exposed skin. You instinctively lean closer to him.

"Last time we said we wouldn't do," you say, voice trembling, as you gesture to the shrunken space between your bodies. Your chests are heaving, surrounded by swirls of vaporized breathes, "...this again. We're just friends, Compher."

He made that clear two weeks ago.

In response, he spins your body around to face his. His palms still clutch the fabric balled at your waist. He doesn't say anything. Instead, JT steals your mouth once more, along with every ounce of breath from your lungs. This kiss is feverish. It lacks bashfulness of the first. He's on the verge of devouring you and you'd let him. He wouldn't even need to ask.

Abruptly, JT pulls away. You whine in discontent. He chuckles, amused by your audible frustration, and shakes his head, grinning. Then, he sinks to his knees.

Had you been a little less tipsy and a little more sensible, you would've pulled him to his feet. At any moment, anyone could walk past the sliding glass door and see JT Compher with his head between your expectant thighs, your dress hiked up and his suit jacket wrapped around your shoulders. Any conclusion they'd draw would be valid - and not too far from the truth. That should worry you and on some level it does, but not as much as forfeiting this opportunity to be close to him.

So, you leave him be.

"Let me warm you up," he whispers, taking your silence as permission to continue before blowing a faint gust of hot air over the thin fabric of your panties. "Friends don't let friends freeze, do they?"

You didn't freeze that night, but later you did attribute your sore throat and dazed expression to the onset of a most unfortunate cold.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," JT says presently, though his eyes have gone the same rich shade they were that night.

Tyson rolls his, unconvinced. “Well, obviously the last thing you need to do before you graduate is bang then.”

“Yeah, obviously,” you parrot sarcastically. You do your best not to think about the promise you'd made to Kate not too long ago. Turning to your best friend for affirmation, you ask, “We’d never go there, right?”

Your tone is light but firm as you coax him towards concurrence.

All he had to do was nod. That was it. Just one dip of his chin and the knot tangling in the pit of your stomach would ease.

But JT hesitates.

That small hiccup swells alongside your fear, multiplying into something unmanageable. The table groans under its weight as it continues to grow, ballooning until you're pinned against the worn leather behind you. When he eventually coughs out his agreement, it's too late. The damage, irreparable and glaring, has already been done.

That noticeable pause has you reconsidering the years of friendship, albeit permeated by lapses in judgement, behind you. Suddenly you're combing through every moment, every stolen glance and lingering touch. Things had escalated between you in recent years, you could admit that, but there'd always been a clear line drawn in the sand. An explicit boundary. Did he want to cross it?

Did you?

Tyson doesn't give you long to spiral, but your body still thrums at the new idea as he speaks. "You two are some of the worst liars on the planet. I don't understand how you can just ignore the constant sexual tension. Seriously, sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating just sitting next to you, and I know for a fact that I'm not the only one. Get it over with and put us all out of our misery."

You roll your eyes and take your first sip of beer, the edges of your heart in need of numbing. You couldn't be merciful, to them or your own curiosity, because the act would shatter you completely. You can't stomach casual sex, but JT can't handle a relationship. At this fork in the road, you'd always diverge.

"How many have you had?" JT abruptly asks Tyson, effectively changing the subject.

"Barely any," Tyson answers and lifts the bottle up a little under the light. It looks like he's taken a sip, at most. "Why?"

"Feel like giving a couple of old timers a lift?" he asks and his little nods. "You still need a place to crash, right?"

Until now, you'd forgotten about the urgent text you fired off that morning. Your roommate planned on saying goodbye to her boyfriend for the summer tonight and needed the apartment to herself. Usually when she "reserved" the shared space, you'd stay with Kate, but you had a feeling she'd be pre-occupied. So, instead you'd texted JT. Now you wished you hadn't because all you could think about was screwing him into next Sunday.

"Mhmm," you mumble noncommittally, hoping the ambiguity would disguise your apprehension.

Tyson stands from your side of the booth and ushers you out. "M'lady, your chariot awaits."

Nothing JT does on the walk from the back of the bar to the front door is unusual or particularly alarming. He behaves exactly how you'd expect him to - and that's the problem. While you can barely function, he's the same. Unaffectedly affectionate.

His hands rest on your shoulders so not to lose you as Tyson clears a path through the crowd. Your body insists there's more to it, but your mind instinctively casts a heavy shadow of doubt. Did his grip actually tighten when Tyler shouted your name over the music, disappointed by your early departure, or was that jealousy just the reaction you hoped for? Did he wink at you as he opened the door of Tyson's Jeep, or was it just the moonlight and street lamps playing tricks on you?

Questions continue to swirl inside of your your head, recklessly crashing against your skull until your entire upper body is throbbing for answers. The collisions escalate in both frequency and intensity when the car door closes, shutting JT into the darkened backseat beside you.

You were always aware of him, but now more than ever locked in the enclosed space with nothing but the seed Tyson planted between you.

His shoulder brushes against yours with every slow, labored breath he takes. The soft edge of his sleeve, pulled taut over rippling, creamy muscles, heightens the field of goosebumps blossoming across your skin. The little bumps ache for attention, the need rivaled only by the pulse between your thighs.

Your best friend doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. His warmth draws you closer and he doesn't retreat when your body involuntarily shifts against him, pulled like a moth to a flame. But he doesn't acknowledge it either and it feels as though his earlier hesitation has developed into something much more debilitating. So there you sit, both silent and waiting, unsure of where you stand.

When Tyson finally slides into the driver's seat, he's mid-way through an impassioned rant about how badly his summer internship is going to suck, especially if the "hot chick from orientation" is assigned to a different department. His next sentence, something about the break room having kombucha on tap or there being unlimited PTO, catches in his mouth he realizes no one is where he expected them to be. His face scrunches as he considers the empty passenger seat. Then, he sighs.

"Please don't ruin my seats," Tyson says into the quiet car, head still turned forward. "There should be some beach towels back there. Use them."

JT's body shakes with laughter. The full, familiar sound eases the mounting tension, just enough for you to finally catch your breath. Though, your heart sinks a little at his humored dismissal.

"You're sick in the head," you groan half-heartedly as you pick up one of the many empty water bottles littering the floor and toss the warped plastic at his head. Unlike JT, you hit your target and as Tyson starts the engine, he flips you off.

At the first stoplight, he leans over to turn up the volume of Elijah Hewson's voice until Inhaler's cover of "Fade Into You" shakes the car. Dutifully, he looks forward, seemingly excusing himself from whatever may happen behind him. In this moment, the very depth of feeling is so tangible and intimate that it makes it impossible not to just close your eyes and let the music envelope you.

Your head falls back on the seat, eyes shutting as you inhale deeply. The polyester upholstery swallows your nerves. The hazy chord progression is diluted just enough to allow your mind to wander, but grounded enough to tether you to the present.

JT's layered, musky scent lulls your anxiety but stokes the flame of desire bellowing in the pit of your stomach. Seamlessly, his cologne moves between eucalyptus and amber, rich and woodsy with a deeply soothing undertone. It always lingered on your clothes and on your skin and in your hair, keeping him at the forefront of your mind no matter where he was.

As the achingly romantic song about being consumed by love prattles on, you fall deeper and deeper under JT's spell, but still acutely aware of the impossibility of it all. There had always been - and always would be, a haunting disparity between the longing you've fought to hate and the fragility of hope in your harsh reality.

Then, as if sensing your doubt, a warm palm hesitantly settles on your knee. Your head snaps up, eyes blinking in dismay as they cautiously look to him in confusion. In the cover of darkness, he's angled his body to lean into yours, head dipped low to watch his hand move further up your thigh.

"Can you be quiet for me?" he husks, warm lips brushing over your ear. You nod quickly, worried he might stop if you hesitate for even a second, and you feel him smile. "Good girl."

His fingers coast further and further until there's no where left to go besides between your thighs. JT looks to you for permission and again, you nod. Tilting your hips forward, your legs falling open slightly in silent invitation and to better accommodate his large hand. He gently cups you through the thin fabric. It dampens against his palm and your neck heats.

"All this," he murmurs as he removes the barrier and dips his finger between your sodden folds, "...just for me?"

In response, your hips move forward, helplessly seeking out more of him. He meets your desperate movement and sinks into you, groaning against your neck as your heat envelops him. His hot breath fans over your skin, "Holy shit, sweetheart. You always feel like fucking heaven."

Preening, you whine.

His damp forehead presses against your shoulder as his thumb moves to stroke your clit in time with the rest of his fingers. A long, colorful string of expletives leaves his mouth as his wrist hinges. Your walls hug his digits so firmly that he isn't able to move much, but its still more than enough to completely overwhelm your body and your mind.

With his free hand, he grabs ahold of your wrist. He continues to toy with your weeping entrance as he guides your hand to wrap around the thick bulge in his jeans. "Can you feel how fucking hard I am for you? Been thinking about you and your sweet pussy all night. It's been too long."

"JT," you whimper, frustrated tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

"What, sweetheart? Tell me what you need."

"I need...I need," you fumble over your words, the lusty haze fogging up your head. "I need you, please. I need you to make me come."

"Don't worry," he hums before pressing his lips to your throat, "I can feel how close you are and we aren't leaving this car until you've soaked my hand," JT says.

The car veers off the main road, slowing as it approaches the large open driveway. A large streetlamp flickers impatiently. Your window is closing and you're still on precipice of blinding satisfaction. Close, but not close enough.

"You're so fucking wet, sweetheart. Is it because you like having an audience?" he asks, amber eyes darting to Tyson, whose hands twitch around the steering wheel. His knuckles go white. "I like having one...Like getting to show them just how pretty you look while I make you feel so fucking good."

His fingers curl, eliciting a sharp gasp of surprise from your lips. Your hips buck, pushing his fingers deeper. A growl of satisfaction rumbles in JT's chest. In the dim light, you can see how rosy Tyson's cheeks have become during the short drive from Atomic to the fraternity house.

"You love it when I fuck you with my hand, don't you? Such a good girl," he whispers. "Come for me, sweetheart, and I promise I'll fill you with something better than just my fingers. All you have to do is give in and let go."

His hand coaxes you through the white-hot peak, your vision going blurry as you gush all over his palm. Your mind is blank as you ride out the waves of immeasurable pleasure. When you find your footing again, the car is parked and JT is no longer beside you. As he holds the car door open, you catch him licking the remnants of your orgasm from his fingers.

"You're sick in the head," Tyson says from the curb in a high-pitched voice intended to mock yours as he locks the Jeep, its headlights casting a yellowy glow on the large white house.

JT smacks him upside the head.

On shaking legs, you trail after them through the looming front door and up the first flight of stairs.

You've been to the house before. Many times, actually. To study, or just hang out when things got too wild downstairs. When your best friend first won the presidency last spring, you were the only person he let inside for weeks as he ruminated over every detail. You'd never expect him to be as meticulous as he is, but his embargo on visitation was only lifted after he'd - with your help, shuffled around every decoration and piece of furniture at least fifty times.

But this felt different because it was different.

This would be the first time you'd be staying the night. Not in the house - Miles three doors down had that honor a few months back, but in JT's bedroom. In his bed. He had a futon pushed against the far wall, but you knew he'd never let you sleep there.

You fidget with your charm bracelet again as you watch him rifle around in a few dresser drawers. When he turns to face you, his expression is as uneasy as yours.

"Look," he starts, but stops for a moment. When he resumes, his voice is stronger, a little more like it was not long ago in the backseat of the Jeep, but still very uncertain. "I don't want what Josty said to screw things up between us. Especially after we just...you know. If you'd feel more comfortable sleeping alone in here, I can bunk with someone else for the night."

"No!" you say, almost too quickly. The back of your neck heats with embarrassment. You grimace. "I-I just mean...No, this is your room. I'm not kicking you out. I would feel too bad."

"Are you sure? I promise you wouldn't be hurting my feelings if you gave me the boot," JT says.

It's dark, but just enough light is streaming in from the street lamps blow for you to see him smiling brightly. Despite all the earlier awkwardness, it still touches his eyes like it always did when he looked at you. Like always, it makes your stomach flip, and when he suddenly tosses the clothes aside and cages you between his body and the bed, reason goes with it.

"I want this," he says, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he sighs, forehead resting against yours. "I want you. I've only ever wanted you. I was just too selfish to risk our friendship by telling you."

"But...," you pant, breathless as you recall the years of firm, unspoken friend-zoning. "Really?"

"Really." He nods.

For a second, neither of you dares to move. His hesitation - and your own, causes dread to pool in deep in your stomach. The gravity of the current situation comes into focus. After everything changes, and you aren't sure if you're ready for that.

"You know we can't go back to just being friends after, right?" you say softly. "I know we've done...things before but it would be very different. Everything would be different. We'd be different. You can't just say shit like that to me. You have to mean it, Compher."

JT stills, barely breathing, and your heart drops to your toes.

"We don't have to," he whispers just like he did on bid night, incorrectly interpreting your worry as disinterest.

And again, you pull him closer. "But I want to."

Then the world shifts, permanently.

There is nothing sweet or hesitant about this kiss. There was no delay in the movement. Just a seductive tangle of swollen lips and eager tongues. There's no learning curve. Just bliss.

As his hands drift down your neck to explore your chest, you scold yourself for not initiating this leap sooner.

"Off," he murmurs against your lips, tugging at the hem of your top.

Obediently, you raise your arms over your head. He rids you of the cumbersome fabric and you melt into his bare hands, savoring every stroke and squeeze as he tends to your needy skin.

JT bumps your nose affectionately before his warm mouth collides with yours once more. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, moving back and forth rhythmically until your jaw goes slack. At the invitation, he briefly massages your tongue with his, hands still massaging your tender chest. He tugs and rolls the pert buds between his fingers until you're a whimpering mess, begging for more.

But, he's a tease in all aspects of life. Especially in the bedroom.

"Please, I need...I need," you murmur nonsensically for the second time tonight, mind too fuzzy to function properly again.

Your best friend may be a tease, but above all else, he genuinely aims to please.

"I've got you," he assures you again, the words melting into your lips.

JT shifts his mouth to your warm cheek, lips trailing along your jaw and down to the sweet spot just below your earlobe. He is the only person who’s found it, and he knows it.

A yelp of shock pushes up from your chest when his teeth reach up to nibble on the delicate skin above. He stays there for a moment, torturing your lobe with a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. Then, JT works his way over the column of your throat before tracing your collarbones with his lips. He goes back and forth between your neck and your chest until you're nestled in a serene haze, devoid of previous inhibitions.

"This," JT says as he pulls on your skirt, "...needs to go too."

Eagerly, you nod. A steady flame of passion burns in his amber eyes as he shoves the material to the floor, your ruined panties following suit.

His gaze is heavy. Hungry.

"Fuck me," Tyson groans from the doorway. Your eyes snap up, startled. He has an iron grip on the door and a bulge in the front of his jeans. "I go take a leak for five minutes and somehow, I miss everything."

"Shut the door, dickhead!" JT shouts, spell broken, as he adjusts himself in front of your bare body.

His annoyance fades the longer he stares at your bare body. His mouth and hands return to their previous explorations. A strangled moan tumbles from your lips when he brings your nipple into his mouth, sucking until the dull throb makes you go limp against him. Soon, he takes it between his teeth, lightly applying a pressure that forces you to grip his forearms for support. The veins pulse under your sweaty palms. He grins against your chest, pleased with the reaction he coaxed from your body in the presence of his best friend once again.

When the door doesn't shut after another few minutes, he asks, "Did I stutter, Josty? Close the damn door."

You peer over JT's shoulder and see that Tyson is frozen in place, big brown eyes fixed on your pebbled nipples peaking through his big's hands. He blinks, "Huh?"

"I don't mind if you watch this time, but I don't want the whole chapter seeing her like this," the ginger says before leaning back down to bury his head in your cleavage. He presses a few wet, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, then turns his head to the side to speak again.

Tyson doesn't need more prodding. Zero hesitation, he slams the door. The walls shake. As though the sound snapped him out of a lusty trance, JT abruptly pulls away.

"Fuck. I should've asked before I just said that. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can make him leave if you don't want this to have an audience," the man in front of you mumbles apologetically, grappling with the significance of what's about to unfold. "Just say the word and he's gone."

Instead of answering, you take a step back from him.

And another towards Tyson.

"Uh, what's happening?" he asks nervously.

Again you're silent, letting your actions speak for themselves.

JT curses behind you as you lower yourself to the ground to kneel before his little. Slowly, you drag your hands up Tyson's legs until they're resting atop his sturdy thighs. His cock twitches just a few inches from your face. The faint, involuntary movement makes your cunt clench in anticipation.

"Is this okay?" you ask sincerely, looking up at him through your lashes as you fiddle with his belt.

"Holy fucking shit," he pants in sheer disbelief. "Holy fucking shit, this can't really be happening right now."

JT chuckles softly. "Not an answer, kid. Yes or no?"

"Fuck. Yes."

You then unbuckle the belt, shoving the metal aside to unbutton his pants. As you unzip them, you press soft kisses over his clothed hips and quads. By the time you slide his jeans down to the floor, he’s already trembling.

"Tell me what you want, Josty."

His Adam's apple bobs unevenly. "I want you to touch my dick, baby. Please touch me."

You smile, content with his reply.

Leisurely, you run a hand over his boxers, tracing the outline of his bulge. He's not quite as big as JT, but still leagues more impressive than most men. His heartbeat thumps through his cock as you circle his head. It jerks, leaving a damp spot on the fabric. He groans impatiently and tilts his hips until they're square with your face, silently begging you to release him. You happily oblige.

"I've barely even touched you and you're already so hard," you taunt, brow raised, when his cock hits his toned abdomen.

"Been waiting years for this, baby," he says, laugh short and airy. "Of course I'm fucking hard for you."

He immediately quiets when your tongue appears, poised along the underside of his cock. His eyelids droop, intently watching it then wets your lips in preparation. Sweat gathers in his brow, curls matting to his forehead.

You inhale deeply, taking in his scent. It's bright, a lovely mixture of citrus and vanilla, and stands in stark contrast to JT's heavy aroma. Your exhale fans over the tight, sensitive skin and he shudders, cock twitching. A few pearly beads of pre-come escape and you lap at them greedily, far too eager to savor them. Tyson doesn't seem to mind and he fists your hair with the same enthusiasm.

Slowly and evenly, you lower your mouth over his rosy, bulbous tip. Alternating between sucking and kitten-licking, you shift yourself forward to take as much of him into your mouth as possible. As you envelope him, you trace the vein protruding along the underside with your tongue.

"Jesus Christ," he curses. "Keep doing that and I'll bust."

You hum around him, reveling in the compliment. Tyson's hips jerk in response to the new vibration and his pulsing tip kisses the back of your throat. You gag, mouth tightening around the intrusion.

"Fuck, sorry," Tyson says apologetically.

He untangles his hands from your hair and moves them down to cup your cheeks, gripping your jaw firmly to stop you for a moment.

JT takes full advantage of the brief intermission, lowering himself behind you. He then leans forward, bare chest pressing against your back, to push two of his fingers into your warm mouth. "Suck."

You coating the digits generously in your spit and Tyson's pre-come.

"You're perfect," your best friend hums. "So god damn perfect, all the fucking time. Such a good girl."

His praise goes straight to your core. You can feel yourself dripping, arousal trailing down your inner thighs and onto the pristine hardwood floor.

Once he's satisfied, JT pulls his hand away and presses a soft kiss to between your shoulder blades. His mouth travels down the length of your spine, and again, you hum around Tyson's length.

"I think you can go deeper than that, sweetheart. Don't you?" JT taunts.

Subtly, you lift your chin to create more space for Tyson's cock. You relax your muscles and consciously breathe through your nose, allowing his cock to glide down your slick throat. His head slips beyond your gag reflex. You hold it there, knowing your eyes will water but not caring in the slightest. Through damp lashes, you stare up at him.

Behind you, JT rubs his fingers over your clit, now engorged bud, in intoxicating circular motions. He works you over until your thighs are shaking again and you're on the brink of collapse, then he slowly backs off. With his free hand, he traces the expanse of your back, paying special attention to the curve of your ass while still tracing over your folds and clit with the other hand.

The louder Tyson gets, the more pressure JT applies to you.

"M'gonna come soon, baby," Tyson rasps. "Keep going."

You pull away and he whines, frustrated.

"Please come in my mouth, Josty. I need it," you whimper as you pump your hand over him.

He twitches against your palm as you grind yourself against JT's hand. Not waiting for him to reply, you take him back into your warm mouth as reach around his hips to grip his ass. Your nails dig into the skin, forming angry little crescents. Above you, Tyson moans out a string of curses along with your name then shoots straight down your throat.

"I can see why Tyler's so obsessed with you," Tyson says breathlessly when you pull away. As he speaks, he smears a drop of his come over your wet lips. You lean forward and peck his thumb.

"Well, she chose me over him, so I don't think that fucking matters anymore," JT bites bitterly as he removes his fingers from you.

Tyson's jaw drops and he sputters for a minute. "W-what? Wait a minute...Is...is that why you actually broke up? Because Tyler wanted you to choose between him and JT, and you chose...Holy fucking shit! This is crazy."

"Yeah, we're definitely are not talking about that right now," JT says as he helps you to your feet and over to his bed. "Condom, Josty." He gestures towards his scarily-neat desk before pushing you down onto your back.

"Yes, sir."

The sophomore gives a mock-salute before beginning to dig through the main drawer. Something on the desk catches his eye and he pauses to study it. After looking it over, a faint smile appears on his lips.

"Now," JT says impatiently and he diligently resumes his search.

When Tyson finally locates one, JT snatches the foil packet from his hand and turns his attention back on you. He stands at the end of the bed, sculpted chest heaving, staring down at you with an indecent glint in his eyes. His milky cheeks are bright red and so is his mouth. He takes his swollen bottom lip into his mouth, cutting into it as he trails his fingertips along the inside of your leg.

"Are you sure you're okay with him watching this part?" JT asks once more. You nod, but he shakes his head, unsatisfied. "Not an answer, sweetheart. Yes or no?"

"Yes," you whimper, nodding frantically.

Your head tilts toward the corner of the room where Tyson is now sitting. He's already halfway hard again, his right hand is wrapped lazily around the base of his growing cock. His left is tucked behind his head, flexing his bicep and displaying his toned chest. He winks at you, his charisma returning.

"Hey," JT says softly as he grabs ahold of your ankles, one in each hand, and opens them to accommodate his own body. "Eyes on me."

"Yes, sir," you say, mimicking Tyson.

JT smirks, and it does not take long for it to melt into something devious. Quickly, he releases one of your ankles to grip his thick cock at the base. He strokes himself a few times, thumb tending to the thick head with each pass, as he leans over you. His eyes, dark with passion, lock on yours as he guides himself between your swollen lower lips. He stills, reveling in the way you throb wantonly against him. Then, without warning, he thrusts forward until his head kisses your clit. He does this over and over - maneuvering himself against you as though he were actually sheathed inside, without ever even plunging past your entrance.

"Wow, I can't believe I waited for years for this," you breath, purely out of frustration.

He rolls his eyes at your sarcasm and impatience and tears the foil open with his teeth. Then, uncharacteristically, he discards the packaging somewhere behind him. No doubt, he'll make Tyson pick it up before he leaves.

JT groans as he rolls the tight condom down his weighty length, the sound causing the flames burning low in your stomach to double in size. The warmth radiates outward, climbing up through your chest and into your throat. It travels down your inner thighs and to your toes. He hasn't even entered you and yet the energy between you is electric.

He makes a few more passes over your soft folds, collecting your arousal, before delicately sinking into you. Inch by inch, he talks you through it. Your best friend whispers words of encouragement and praise, eyes never leaving yours until his hips are flush against your pelvis. Groaning, his eyes fall shut.

"Please move," you say in a small voice. "I need you to move."

And eventually he does, gradually working himself into a strong, steady pace. He's much bigger than anyone you've ever been with, in both length and girth, and you both know it. You can feel it in the way your walls struggle and stretch to accommodate his length, despite the earlier preparation. JT can feel the flutter with each snap of his hips. Tyson can see it in the high arch of your back and the hear it in the guttural edge to your moans.

Needing more of him, you tuck your pelvis slightly and deliberately pull him closer from the inside.

"If you keep doing that, fuck, I won't be able to last," he warns, hips twitching. "God damn, of course you have the best pussy in the whole fucking world. Fucking squeezing me so good. Everything about you is so fucking perfect. My perfect girl."

Grinning, you prop yourself up on your elbows and kiss him, long and deep and hard. "Good. I want to see you come, Compher. Need to see it. Need to watch you fall apart while you're inside me. Just make sure you have enough energy for round two later."

"Jesus. You're going to be the death of me, I swear," your best friend curses and resumes his prior speed, fervently chasing after your climaxes. "Moan for me. I need to hear you, sweetheart."

And you do. Over and over as his hand moves over your hip, gently pressing on your abdomen while stroking your throbbing clit. The pressure he's creating, internally and externally, drives you into a state of frantic madness.

"Louder," he demands as he continues to massage your body. You're powerless to disobey. He hums, content, head dropping to the crook of your neck as his hips move faster and more precisely. Your moans nearly drown out his hushed words, "We're going to crush that stupid little crush of his. Now every time he looks at you, he's only going to be able to see how you look falling apart around my cock. He's going to hear how badly you want me - how badly you need me. He won't be able to tell where I end and you begin."

His grip tightens on your hip and his head turns to your shoulder, lips flush against the glistening skin as he pistons in and out until something snaps low in your abdomen. You cry out, clutching onto him harder than ever before, pleasure coursing through your body. The initial waves of your orgasm trigger his and warmth fills the condom soon after.

Tyson exhales loudly, content. "That was so much better than porn."

You look over and his chest is streaked with iridescent ropes. There's a sleepy grin stretched across his face that makes you smile too.

"Glad we could be of service," JT says sarcastically, laughing as he pulls out of you and removes the rubber.

He mumbles something about the bathroom and quietly ducks into his ensuite, tossing his friend a spare towel on the way in.

Tyson rubs at his chest until the majority of his second orgasm is gone, then throws the towel into the hamper by large bay window. He forgoes his jeans in favor of the wrinkled boxers with a small damp spot. He reaches for the door nob as he pulls his tight black t-shirt back over his head.

“You don’t have to leave," you say quickly.

You did your best to make sure he never felt left out. Neither of you had ever kicked Tyson out of a room before. You didn't see a reason to start now, especially given what just transpired.

Something a little sullen washes over his face as he casts a glance at the closed bathroom door, but he forces a smile anyway. “Yes. I do, and you exactly know why."

With that, he quietly steps out of the room and into the darkened hallway. The door clicks shut behind him.

In the silence, your heart beats loudly in your ears. Your chest tightens. Amidst everything, you hadn't had a second to think about what would happen after. You knew things would change, but you weren't sure how or if it would be for the better. When JT emerges from the bathroom, you've worked yourself into a tight knot of anxiety.

Seeing you, rigid and gnawing on your bottom lip, he drops to his knees before you. His hands move up and down your thighs, massaging out both physical tension and emotional uncertainty. With every soft stroke, you settle further.

"Tomorrow," he says quietly as he reaches around for the clothes he laid out earlier for you to borrow. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about everything. I promise, sweetheart. But right now, I think we both could benefit from some rest."

You nod, exhaustion readily replacing your anxiety.

He takes your hands in his and kisses each fingertip, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something flickers in his russet eyes, as though he's just remembered something important, and he shifts out from between your legs. He moves to grab something off of his desk, retrieving whatever Tyson was so invested in earlier. Silently, he places the thick white envelope onto your lap.

On the front is his legal name and address, and the crest of a very familiar, very prestigious medical school in the very city you'll be living and working in starting next week. Inside is an acceptance letter.

When you look up, he's grinning. Hope blooms in your heart.

Maybe graduation isn't the end. Maybe it's just the beginning.

-

MAIN MASTERLIST

FEEDBACK?

A-List Patrons were able to experience this early on June 1st, exactly one month before it went live on Tumblr. Join my Patreon today and gain access to my existing library, as well as this month's early access selection, MESCAL (a smutty one-shot featuring fiancé!Quinn Hughes) on July 8th, that will eventually be premiering on Tumblr on August 8th.

similar content:

ZELOPHILIA (series)

QUINN X READER X BRADY (actress!reader au, one-shot)

NEVER TOO LATE TO LEARN (one-shot)

LOVE YOU GOODBYE (one-shot)

BETTER ON A BOAT (one-shot)

SUGAR AND SPICE (one-shot)

THREE'S A PARTY (blurb/one-shot)

more coming soon...

-

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2022 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. Reproducing (including translating) the stories or other content published on this blog without consent on Tumblr or other platforms is considered plagiarism.

Nathan MacKinnon Imagine: striped heart

Summary: Over the 2019-2020 season, the first female referee in the NHL and superstar center Nathan MacKinnon keep meeting, and fall for each other along the way.

Rating: T (mentions of violence, gendered slurs)

Word Count: 10.1k+

BLM Resources

Part 2

A/N: This is so inaccurate I’m probably gonna make someone furious but I love this idea too much and I don’t have enough patience to research.

-

(October) 

Normally, you would never be so self-indulgent to think that people were looking at you. But, that night, you felt like you had just cause.

You were the first woman to referee an NHL game since 1999. 

Keep reading

---

SWEETEST GIFT — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Luke gives y/n the sweetest gift, resulting in an eventful christmas night

warnings: anxiety, NSFW CONTENT, praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v (protected). (5k words)

notes: merry christmas and welcome to the final day of kinkmas! i hope you’ve all enjoyed these past 12 days and that everyone has a wonderful holiday! this is the longest fic of them all because apparently i’m actually incapable of writing a short luke smut…

i’m late.

it’s arguably the most important date so far in my relationship, and i’m late.

i don’t mean to be, obviously; the last thing i wanna do is make a bad first impression on my boyfriend’s teammates, but under the circumstances, it was completely out of my control.

i told my family several times that i needed to be out the door by four o’clock, and i thought they understood that. but then christmas breakfast turned into christmas brunch and gifts were opened late and then my mother insisted i stayed until my little cousins arrived and i still had to get changed and it was a chaotic mess all the way until i got out the door.

at five o’clock.

an entire hour later than i was supposed to leave.

so now here i am, having driven barefoot to my boyfriends apartment and only just now pulling my boots on, messy bun unreasonably… messy, and his gift having fallen onto the floor of my car after some definite traffic law violations in order to arrive as quick as possible.

once my boots are zipped securely on my feet, i’m leaning almost entirely over the center console, my hand patting at the passengers side floor until i finally grasp the present; a box wrapped in shiny red paper.

i quickly stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me before i take off into the apartment complex. the wait for the elevator feels infinite, and the ride up even longer, but i finally reach the apartment door.

faint music drifts through the cracked open door, the sounds of multiple men talking each other overpowering the melodies that play, and i knock lightly upon the wood. after one more knock and two minutes of nobody answering, i push the door open, peeking my head in to find nobody in the entry way.

tip-toeing in, i close the door behind me, the short heels of my boots clicking against the hardwood floor as i shrug my coat off, hanging it on the overcrowded coat rack by the door before i wander further into the apartment.

i determine the source of the voices as the kitchen, but opt to veer off and drop Luke’s present off in his bedroom before i join them, as i know we won’t be exchanging gifts until after dinner. i set the gift on his bed, leaving his bedroom door open on my way out, but rather than walking into the empty hallway, i find myself colliding with a hard chest as someone leaves the restroom.

“oh shit, sorry!” i squeak, looking up to find a confused face staring back at me.

the unfamiliar man is tall, at least a couple inches taller than my boyfriend, with blue-green eyes and brown buzzed hair. he stares down at me a frown and threaded brows.

“excuse me, are you supposed to be here?” he questions, and i nod quickly, swallowing harshly as i try to push down the anxiety of meeting this new person.

i glance down the hallway in hopes that Luke will miraculously appear, but i can still hear him laughing in the kitchen, “yes, yeah! i am!”

the man narrows his eyes at me, “yeah, ‘cause that didn’t sound suspicious.”

he stalks down the hallway quickly towards the kitchen, my shorter legs following behind him.

“guys, there’s a girl over here! never seen her before!” the man calls out, his voice carrying over the sound of all the others and gaining the guys attention.

one by one i see heads peeking out from the kitchen, making me stop in my tracks. my hands shake with anxiety as they all peer back at me, some faces looking frustrated or annoyed, until finally my boyfriend emerges from the kitchen.

a small smile is painted across his lips, but it drops as he sees my nervous body languages. picking my steps back up, i walk slowly into his arms, incredibly perceptive of the amount of eyes that watch me.

“hi, angel.” Luke’s arms enclose around my waist, pulling me tight against him as he speaks.

“hi, Lukey. sorry, i’m late.” his body shakes as he chuckles, brushing off my apologies.

“it’s okay,” he assures me as i pull away, “i see you met Bass.”

i turn, my back pressing against Luke’s chest as his arm winds around to hug around my stomach, facing his teammates, who all seem a lot less menacing now that they know i’m not a crazy fangirl who found her way in.

“Bass,” i repeat, staring at the man whom i ran into. i rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember who Luke has said this man is in the past, “ah, yes, Nathan!”

Nathan nods with a smile, “you can just call me Nate or Bass, all the guys do. sorry about scaring you, didn’t realize you were Rusty’s girl.”

i bite back a laugh at my boyfriend’s hockey nickname. i’ve heard it before, but it’ll take some getting used to.

“it’s okay.”

Luke points out each friend, introducing them one by one until i’ve met all five; Nico, Dawson, John, Timo, and Nathan.

“and then you know Jack.” Luke waves his brother off, making me chuckle.

“yeah, hi, Jack.”

Jack smiles, “hi, y/n. there’s some wine in the kitchen, if you want some.”

the guys retreat to living room after Luke promises to check on the ham in the oven, guiding me into the kitchen. grabbing a wine glass from a cupboard, he fills it with a red wine before turning and leaning against the counter, handing the glass off to me.

“you look like you could use it.” he laughs, making me slap his chest in playful annoyance.

“i could! my family is batshit crazy,” i sigh, taking a big gulp of the wine before i set the glass down on the counter, “i was supposed to be here an hour ago but apparently my mother can’t tell time and lord knows i’m not allowed to leave until she deems christmas over.”

i walk myself between his slightly spread legs, dropping my forehead on his chest as i groan, “i just need food and cuddles.”

“well, i can check one thing off that list, but i can’t promise the ham will be edible, after all, Jack made it so…”

a giggle falls from my lips as i peer up into his eyes, shrugging my shoulders, “yeah, maybe i’ll stick to the mashed potatoes.”

the rest of the evening goes about as smoothly as i figured it would; i had to end up finishing the ham because i had absolutely no faith in Jack to not overcook it, the guys playfully teased Luke and told me funny stories of things he’s done on roadies or in the locker room, and we all sat around the living room and ate christmas dinner as Jack and Dawson heavily debated what the best christmas movie is.

finally, about three hours later, the guys took off to a local bar for some drinks and darts, Luke and i staying back in order to spend some alone time together.

“c’mon, i wanna give you your gift.” Luke smiles, hand slipping into mine as we rise from the couch, walking down the hallways and into his room.

he shuts the door behind us, grabbing a small, poorly wrapped present off of his dresser before we both sit on his bed.

“okay, wait, you first.” i tell him, picking the red present up off the mattress and pushing it into his hands.

my boyfriend was a bit difficult to shop for, seeing ad when he wants something, he usually just buys it. but i figured i could never go wrong by combining something he loves with one of his favorite hobbies.

he hands me my present, but i wait to unwrap it until he wraps his, rather enjoying watching him shed the paper from the box. a smile spreads across his face as he looks up at me.

“it’s a lego model of the UMich football stadium! i figured it was something for you to do over the next couple free days, or just whenever you want, but i thought it was perfect because you love building lego sets and you love michigan and-”

my ramble is cut off gently by his lips, his hand cupping my cheek as he kisses me slowly.

“i love it,” he says as he pulls away, eyes gazing straight into mine as he smiles, “it’s extremely thoughtful. maybe you can help me build it?”

i nod, leaning in to press my lips against his once more, “if you want me to, i’ll happily do so. or i’ll just keep you company as you build it.”

“that sounds great, angel. alright, you’re turn!”

i giggle at his enthusiasm, looking down at the small gift in my hands. i slowly peel the wrapping paper off, making a mental note to teach him how to wrap in the new year, until i finally unveil a velvet jewelry box.

my eyes widen, flickering up to my boyfriend in surprise, but he just gives me a small, encouraging nod.

flipping open the top, a simple yet beautiful necklace comes into view; a dainty silver chain with a tiny, minimalistic ‘L’ in the middle.

“oh my god,” i breathe out, my hand rising to my lips in shock, “Luke, this is beautiful.”

“i thought maybe you could wear it when you come to watch me play.” his cheeks blush a rosy pink as i look back up at him, obviously a bit more self-conscious now than he was merely minutes ago.

“can you put it on me?” i ask him, and he nods, taking the box from my hands in order to pull the necklace from the velvet interior.

i twist around, holding my hair up and allowing him to gently clasp the necklace around my neck. his fingers graze the back of my neck, sending shockwaves throughout my body as he makes sure the necklace is secure before he lets go, his hands smoothing over my shoulders and down my arms when he finishes.

i turn again, facing him once more as my hand reaches up to my collarbone, my fingertips running over the cool metal as i grin.

“it’s so beautiful, Lukey. i love it.” i cup his cheeks, pulling his face forward to press an excited kiss against his lips.

i kiss him breathlessly, our lips locking as i crawl into his lap, one leg on each side of his body, “i love you.”

i tense after the three monumental words leave my mouth, a heat of the moment confession that i wasn’t sure he was ready to hear; but, i know i’ve been ready to say.

“shit, you- uh- you don’t have to say it back. please, don’t feel like you have to say it if you aren’t ready. i mean, i know i was ready, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. you can take your ti-”

for the second time tonight, my words are shortened by my boyfriend’s lips against mine, a smile fighting against his facial muscles as he kisses me.

“i love you too.” he whispers.

my heart races, beating so strongly it feels as though it’s about to escape my chest, but my body relaxes, my eyes gazing into his as i sigh.

“you do?”

he nods, hands rubbing gently up my sides in comforting movements, “i do. i love you so much.”

i’m overwhelmed with relief and joy, the corners of my lips quirking up in a wide grin; absolutely bewitched by the beautiful boy in front of me.

i’m not sure what i’ve done in life to have deserved someone as kind, humorous, and caring as Luke; someone who gets me sweet, thoughtful gifts; who does anything to ease my anxiety the moment he spots the signs; who loves me for exactly who i am, and who reminds me every day that i’m gorgeous and perfect in my own way. but, i know that i’m incredibly grateful to have him in my life, and i want to share all of life’s beautiful moments with him.

my lips descend upon his, a breathy sigh blowing from my nose as my eyes flutter closed, pulling him deeper into the kiss with my grip on the back of his neck. his hands still on my waist, fingers gripping a little tighter as i begin to rock my hips slowly against his.

he groans into my lips, hands stilling my hips as he pulls away, our faces still close enough that i can feel his breath against my lips, and i whine at the loss of the delicious feeling that had begun rolling through my body.

“you gotta stop, angel.” he gulps, voice tight and shaky, “if you don’t, i’m gonna have a… situation, and i don’t wanna make you feel like you have to do anything yet.”

my skin feels hot, uncomfortable even, and i register it quickly as want.

despite the fact that Luke and i haven’t actually done anything yet, it’s not like i’m unfamiliar with being horny, or even having had sex. i just wanted to take things slow him; wanted to take time to enjoy our relationship without the physicality that’s made my past relationships messy.

i heave in a breath, my chest brushing against his, and the feeling of my peaked nipples skimming against his hard body makes me all the more aroused.

“i’m ready, Lukey.” i tell him in a breathy whine.

his eyes flicker in size, swallowing harshly before he speaks, “are you sure?”

“yes.” i nod, placing a short kiss on his lips, “i’m ready, and now is the perfect time; the apartment is empty, it’s just us two, and i love you so much.”

“if you don’t want to, i’m not pushing! i’m okay with just watching a movie or cuddling, we don’t have to do anything.” i add.

Luke’s hand cradles my face, pulling me into another kiss, “of course, i want to. you’re the most stunning, most thoughtful and sweetest girl i’ve ever met; i’d be a damn fool not to want this.”

i bite back a giggle, blood rushing to my cheeks from his affectionate words.

“but i don’t want you to feel rushed. i’ll wait as long as you want, because i don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep with me just because i said i love you.”

“i don’t feel like that.” i shake my head, the back of my hand ghosting over his cheek, “i really want this, Luke. i mean it. i feel safe with you, i trust you.”

he smiles, a divine smile that makes my heart do flips, overwhelmed with love for the pure soul that has entangled with mine in the absolute best ways.

“you trust me?” he echoes, hands sliding down to cup my ass, making me shiver in anticipation.

“mhm.”

with my hum of a response, i’m suddenly flipped over, my back bouncing onto the mattress, my hair sprawling over the pillows as my boyfriend hovers over top of me. his hot breath fans over my neck, lips pressing against my heated skin and making me sigh in contentment.

he paves a path with his lips, soft and slow, down to the collar of my sweater, the only sound in the room being my heavy pants and his wet kisses.

“Luke.” i sigh as his hands travel up my sides, sliding underneath my top. he hums against my collarbone, his thumbs grazing over my ribs until his hands cup underneath my breasts, my sweater bunched up.

chilled air hits against my stomach, my abdomen tightening in response, and i desire nothing more than to rid the layers between us.

“take it off me, please.”

he pulls away at my plea, hands shimmying my sweater up and over my head, pulling my arms free before he flings the fabric to the floor.

his eyes rake my body in silence for several moments, and i begin to feel self-consciousness creep up on me, my arms wrapping over my stomach. but he’s not having it, fingers enclosing around my wrists and pulling them away.

“uh-uh, none of that.” he whispers breathlessly, “you’re beautiful, angel. so fucking perfect.”

my cheeks flush, confidence filling me from the inside out as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes blown out and darkened with lust.

“thank you.” he shakes his head at my response.

“don’t thank me.” he says, “if you knew the things i’m thinking of doing to you right now, you wouldn’t be thanking me.”

his words light a fire deep in my core, my panties dampening with every word that drops from his perfect lips.

“no, i think i would.” i rasp, voice low and dripping with lust, “i think i would want to thank you a million times over.”

“i need you so bad.” i confess.

my hands lock around his neck, pulling him back down to me. he kisses me in earnest, hips rolling down into mine, his quickly hardening erection pressing against my jean clad core.

i moan against him, a low guttural sound that pours out when his hands come up to massage my breasts over my padless red bra. he dips down, embedding open mouthed kisses upon my skin, leading down to my cleavage.

“can i?” he asks, fingers edging the cups of my bra, and i nod in approval.

he rolls his hips into mine again, my back arching, and he slips his hand underneath me, unhooking my bra with fumbling fingers. he pulls it off my body, once again discarding the clothing to the floor.

his thumbs circle my nipples and he watches me as my eyes fly shut, my lips parting as i let out a shaky breath in response to his actions.

“i’m the luckiest guy in the damn world.” he huffs, so quietly that i’m not sure he was even talking to me, more so whispering to himself.

“Luke, please,” i whine, “less talking, more touching.”

my words earn a melodious chuckle from his lips before he lowers his head to my chest, continuing to play with one nipple as the other gets extra attention. his tongue drags around the stiffed peak before its caught between his lips, softly sucked and grazed extra lightly by his teeth, making my body tremble.

after a few moments he switches, giving proper love to the other side. my leg hooks around his waist, hips bucking up to rub my clothes cunt against his now fully hardened erection.

my hands fist his shirt at his shoulder blades, tugging lightly.

“off,” i breathe, “i want this off. i wanna feel you.”

Luke pulls away from my breast, my nipple dropping from his mouth with a pop, and within seconds he’s leaning back, tugging the shirt over his head. suddenly it’s my turn to gape and stare.

obviously, i’ve seen him shirtless, but his body is one i’ll never tire of; the sight will forever and always make my heart beat faster, my core get wetter, and my soul sigh.

“take a picture, angel,” he winks, “it’ll last longer.”

he’s joking, but if i had my phone on me, i would.

“kiss me, please?”

i don’t have to say any more, those words enough to bring his lips back to mine, our bare chests pressing against one another. we take our time, tossing and turning in the bed, our lips rarely straying from each other’s, until i finally rid myself of my jeans, entirely too ready to move on.

“look at me,” he says, his lips dragging on my stomach as he speaks, “you trust me, yeah?”

“yes,” i nod, breath shaky, “i do.”

“i want you to relax. keep your eyes on me, angel.”

i nod again, eyes trained on his unruly mess of curls as his thumbs tuck into the waistband of my panties, his eyes lifting back to mine in await of approval. when i give him the go ahead, he’s pulling the last fabric that adorns my body down my thighs, past my calves, and throwing them onto the floor.

i lay stripped down in front of him, in a state of complete and utter vulnerability, yet too needy and love drunk to bring myself to care about the way i look.

he lays down on his stomach between my legs, making my breath hitch as his warm breath hits my wet pussy. but when i feel his tongue glide through my folds, tensing when he reaches my clit to provide pressure, that breath is released in a heavy yet quivering sigh.

my hands reach out to tangle in his curls as he slowly drags his tongue around my achingly wet cunt, flexing and flattening the oral muscle depending on where it is on my body.

“Lukey,” i pant, body shaking as his lips enclose around my puffy clit, rolling it between them lightly before letting it go.

he pulls back with a smile, juices glistening around his mouth and chin, “you think you can take my fingers, angel?”

“mhm,” i nod, “yes, please!”

he dives back in, this time picking up his pace; and not a moment later, i’m squirming, a cry of contentment echoing through the room as he pushes two fingers in, curling them up with every thrust he makes.

i’ve given up on words, relying on the sounds that fall from my lips to let him know how surreal his movements feel.

his fingers begin to scissor, adding a pleasurably painful stretch in order to help me ready for him, and at the same time, he flicks his tongue against my clit, successfully drawing my mind away from the pain and towards the immense pleasure he’s bringing me.

my stomach feels tight, pressure building with every movement of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers.

“i’m so close.” i tell him in a breathless whimper, my hips grinding down upon his face and hand.

he moans against me in response, vibrations reverberating through me, and my walls begin to tighten around his fingers, the familiar feeling of balancing on the edge of orgasm spreading through my body.

my thighs close around his head, but he just hums against me again, making my toes curl against the sheets.

“Luke, i’m gonna cum.” i warn him, voice tightly strained, my breath catching in my throat.

my body is hot and sticky, the air moist as his hand begins smoothing up and down my thigh, and i take that as the sign to let go, my legs shaking as i finally reach my release.

Luke continues to lap at my clit, while his fingers work me through my orgasm until i can’t take anymore. breath heavy and body trembling, i push his head away, his face finally emerging with wet, swollen lips and a soft smirk.

“did so good for me.” he praises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he hovers back over me, pressing his lips against mine.

his tongue tangles with mine, tasting salty yet a little sweet, and i moan against his lips, my hands trail down his abs to hook into the waistband of his jeans.

“you gotta wait a second, angel,” he mumbles against my lips, “don’t wanna overwork you.”

i groan, turning my head, and his lips press against my neck.

“fuck that,” i tell him, fingers fumbling with the button of his pants, “i want you now.”

“if you’re sure?” i nod quickly at his words, making him sit back.

he hastily unbuckles his belt, not bothering to take it off before he’s unzipping his jeans, kicking them off and onto the floor before he rids himself of his boxers.

his cock springs free, his tip a harsh red and precum beads at the slit, glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

leaning over to his nightstand, he digs around in the drawer for a moment before his hand emerges with a shiny foil packet. he tears the packet open, pulling the condom out and carefully sliding it onto himself, and i watch with desperate eyes as he gives himself a few tugs before turning back to me.

he hovers above me, bent on one forearm as his other hand grasps his shaft. he spreads my wetness around with his tip, sliding through my folds easily, and when he taps against my clit, my whole body aches with need.

“please.” i beg, and that’s all it takes for him to line up with my entrance, his lips connecting with mine as he slowly pushes in.

i whimper against his lips, his cock stretching me with a stinging sensation with every inch that he pushes in, and he stills, opening his eyes to peer down at me.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, petting hair out of my face gently as he speaks.

“mhm,” i nod, hands grasping at his back, “keep going.”

he does as i say, this time giving shallow thrusts in order to work himself in slowly, only taking what my body allows him until he can finally sink into me entirely. by the time he’s completely in, the stinging pain has subsided, making way for blissful pleasure, but he still stops to check again.

after my reassurance, he picks up again, thrusting properly, but still slowly. his lips press back against mine, kissing me with raw passion and love.

“faster.” i whisper against his lips.

his hips speed up into fast, deep strokes, a hand snaking down to grip my waist. my moans carry through the room, conjoining with the sounds of sex and his hips slapping against mine as my leg hooks around his waist.

gripping his back, my nails scratch into his skin, earning a groaned whine from my boyfriend as his face buries into my neck, his thrusts gaining a harshness that they hadn’t held before.

“say you love me.” he gruffs against my skin, so low that i almost didn’t hear him.

“i love you,” i breathe out, “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

his lips connect with my collarbone, each kiss broken up by a single confession of love muttered from his tongue.

i can feel the knots forming in my stomach again, like a ball of yarn tangling and tangling, further tying together with each thrust of his hips. the tip of his cock smacks against my g-spot, my back arching from the mattress as i make a particularly loud cry.

“right there!” i tell him in a broken sob.

he smirks against my skin, angling his hips just right before thrusting back in to hit the spot again. now with each stroke, my orgasm builds even quicker, my nails scratching down his back.

my walls clench around him, making him grunt into my neck, and he picks his head up to kiss my lips, his thrusts becoming quicker and slowly losing rhythm.

“i’m close,” he mumbles, “so close.”

i nod in agreement, “me too.”

his hand slides between us, his thumb finding its way to my swollen clit, and he begins rubbing harsh circles into it, making my hips jolt, my breath catching i’m my throat.

“cum for me, angel,” he whispers, “let go.”

i nod, for what i’m not sure, but my body tenses up underneath him, walls tightening around his cock as he continues to thrust, and my eyes roll back, legs shaking as i come undone around him.

he fucks me through my orgasm, kissing me through my heavy breathing as his thrusts speed up, becoming sloppier and sloppier as he chases his high until he finally stills. his hips stutter as he grunts, releasing into the condom.

his body collapses on mine, the grounding weight bringing me back down to earth as we both pant in uneven breaths, our chests rising and falling rapidly.

we lay in silence for several minutes, enjoying the serenity of the quiet until he rolls off of me, slipping out from inside me.

“that was…” he trails off and i giggle, nodding my head.

“why did i wanna wait again?” he laughs at my response, shaking his head.

“i’m glad we did,” his fingers trail over my stomach, drawing shapes in my skin. “it was worth the wait, and i think knowing we love each other just made it more special.”

i hum in agreement, wrapping my hand around his before lifting it to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

he presses a kiss to my cheek before getting up to dispose of the condom. pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he assures me that he’ll be right back before leaving the room, reappearing a few minutes later with a granola bar and a water, along with a damp washcloth.

“head up,” he coos holding the water to my lips, and i let him help me take a few sips before he hands me the granola bar.

he cleans me up, my body shaking as he runs the cloth through my sensitive core, as i eat the snack, resting the wrapper on his nightstand.

he rifles through his dresser, coming back to the bed with a pair of of boxers and a t-shirt, and he helps me into them before climbing into the bed beside me. he pulls me back into him, his nose burying into the side of my neck as he kisses the back of it.

“i love you.” he tells me, arm winding around my stomach as he spoons me, my back to his chest.

my eyes feel as heavy as lead, but my heart races at his words, my entire world shifting into a golden state.

“i love you too.” i repeat, immediately followed by a heavy yawn.

“go to sleep, angel,” he hums and i can feel his eyelids flutter closed against my skin, “i’m right here.”

and with his reassurance and the feeling of his body pressed to mine, i allow by body to shut down, my breathing evening out as i fall asleep.

---

ALL JOKES; luke hughes

• based when luke was still playing at umich

• you decide to play a little prank on your bf where you call him your brother after you kiss him

you were on tik tok way too much. and luke was too but definitely not as much as you. he wasn’t on it to the point where he saw the lastest couple pranks when they were still very popular. so of course as his amazing girlfriend you had to pull a little prank on your boyfriend whom you loved so much.

you were sitting on the couch in the house luke shared with some of his hockey buddies. a few of them were sat on other parts of the couch watching tv with heir girlfriends who were going from talking with you and then talking with their respective boyfriends while you sat with a single headphone in on tik tok. luke had sat next to you mere moments before until he had to use the bathroom.

it was perfect timing because that’s when the tik tok pulled up on your “for you page” and gave you the idea to mess with your boyfriend.

the tik tok was of a girlfriend next to her boyfriend. she said some words and then turned to him, he kissed her and she said the words to the camera: “best big brother ever!” and he started laughing.

obviously, you began to think how luke would react to this and knew you had to film this tik tok for yourself.

luke walked out from the bathroom and began to walk over to you till you stood up “babe come here.” you told luke and like a puppy he followed you into the kitchen which was right next to the living room.

you set up your phone and turned to luke who looked at you confused. in the corner of your eye you could also see mark, ethan, seamus and gavin giving y’all some questionable looks. everyone else payed somewhat attention to the both of you with their eyes still trained on the tv.

“okay so when i turn around just kiss me.” you smile up at luke. he was pretty tall compared to you (actually very tall compared to you) so to the camera it was a funny shot.

“okay..” luke gave you a suspicious glance as he watched you step forward to press play. when you backed up in front of luke you began to giggle which made the boys in the living room chuckle and luke laugh at you suspiciously, he knew you had something planned.

“if you wanna get to me, you have to get through him first.” you managed to get out through your giggles.

“preach!” one of the boys yelled from the living room, the culprit being duke tucker. mark let out a laugh at this. the two knew this tik tok and had their eyes glued to the scene.

you turned around to luke and on cue he gave you a kiss. he tried to make it go on for longer but because of the audience before you and the fact that you were in the middle of a tik tok, you broke the kiss and turned back to the camera. “best big brother ever.” you tried to keep a straight face. from behind you both, the boys broke out in laughter and you wish you could rewatch luke’s reaction over and over again like it was the first time.

his jaw dropped as he looked at you and then proceeded to look around awkwardly. “i am not your brother.” his lack of words made the event even funnier to you and all his friends as well. the girls were laughing too and it made the scene all the greater.

luke didn’t know what to do so he grabbed your waist from behind and pulled you into a bear hug “brother?” he laughed “brother?” he repeated, still in disbelief.

“woah big bro you’re getting a little too close there.” luca shouted.

“shut up.” luke laughed as he kissed you “look at what you started.”

“STOP KISSING YOUR SISTER LUKE.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

---

━ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship) wc — 4.5k synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007

note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection

specific content warnings below the cut.

cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog

“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.

For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”

Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.

It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.

Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.

He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.

Nor did you fish for tickets.

For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.

He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.

“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”

Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.

Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.

“—holy fuck.”

The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.

Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.

They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.

Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

The problem is he just doesn’t care.

Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.

Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.

It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.

The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.

Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.

It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.

When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.

Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.

Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.

In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.

However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.

Mitch is close already.

White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.

With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.

He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.

Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.

And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.

His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.

“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.

In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.

Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”

Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.

With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.

Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.

When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.

Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.

Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.

And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.

Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.

The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.

Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.

With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.

“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”

Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.

It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.

The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.

You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.

Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.

“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”

Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.

You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."

Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.

Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.

When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.

Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.

But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.

“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”

Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.

His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.

That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.

“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.

You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...

He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.

And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.

He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”

Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.

Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.

“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.

His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.

With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”

Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.

It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.

Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.

If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.

As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.

Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.

It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.

Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.

His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.

If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.

Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.

Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.

Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.

His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.

He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.

Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.

His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.

As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.

“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.

His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.

“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”

You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.

Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.

That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.

The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.

“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”

Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.

“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"

He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.

Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.

Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.

“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.

“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”

With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.

A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.

Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.

His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.

Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.

Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.

“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”

You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.

You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.

He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.

The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.

He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.

Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.

Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.

The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.

He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.

You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.

And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.

Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.

His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.

“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.

Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.

“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."

Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.

He wouldn’t even if he could.

He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn’t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.

Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.

So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog  (writing masterlist) 

⬸ back to the main blog 

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

---

INTERTWINED

SUMMARY! in which the reader goes to get her nails done and luke comes with 

INVOLVED! luke x reader! 

WARNINGS! N/A just some good ol’ fluff

BEFORE YOU START! i don’t know how the hughes act irl! this is just an imagination!

extra! a short lil blurb <3

find my masterlist → here!

“So how long does this usually take?” Luke asked, sitting right besides me. 

“It usually takes two hours,” you replied. “But today is something much simpler, so maybe around 30 minutes.

“What are you getting done?” He asked, really interested in the way the nail tech was filing down my nail.

“I’m getting a fill so she’s just kind of filing down the old acrylic and then putting on a a new layer by the base of my nail,” you said pointing it out.

Luke intently watched as your nail tech started freehanding black stars on your nails.

“They’re cute, huh?” you said, turning to face Luke, who had his hand running down your thigh. 

The sweet boy loved touching you– just as a physical reminder that you were near him. It was his love language, just being able to remind himself and yourself that he cared about you.

“Yeah, they’re cute,” he said, grabbing your now dry hand to get a closer look at it.

“Do you notice anything about them?,” you asked. 

He held your hand, inspecting it once more.

You had a little number 43 on your pinky nail, just because you thought it would be cute for your boy to see and appreciate.

You could tell by your boyfriend’s expression that he was as excited as you thought he would be. Your smile grew as he brushed his finger over the number.

“So, do you like it?” You rhetorically asked.

“I love it,” Luke said, interlocking your pinkies together.

“Can I get something done?” He shyly asked.

“What do you want to get done, baby?” You asked, after getting a confirmation from your nail tech that it was okay.

“Can I just get a black star on my middle finger like yours? So we can match?”

You could feel your heart start to pound. You knew deep in your heart that Luke loved you so much– to the point where he wanted to match his nails with you.

After you guys were both done, Luke paid for your nails and gave your nail tech a hefty tip. Because he paid for your nails, you decided to pay for dessert, of course, not telling Luke because he would have tried to paid.

Luke held your hand as you guys walked to the ice-cream place down the street.

“This is why the star is on my left hand,” the boy said looking at where your hands were intertwined. 

“You like matching your nails with me, Lukey?” You teased, not expecting a serious answer.

“I love it. It makes me feel like there’s always a part of you with me,” he said, tugging on your heartstrings. 

“I love you, Luke.”

“I love you too, baby.”

- - - 

Luke attended practice later that day, taking his glove off to drink some water.

“Lukey, let me see your hand really quick.”

The boy absentmindedly lifted his hand to show Jack, flipping him off, directly showing the star painted on his nail.

“Neeks, come here.”

Nico and Jack both were in Luke’s face.

“When did you become such a sap?” Nico asked, looking at his nail.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked, still oblivious to the fact that they were commenting on the little star painted on his middle finger.

“The star, dude,” Jack said, nudging Luke who had started to turn red.

“I just wanted to match with, y/n,” your sweet boy replied, brushing the two guys off. 

Neeks and Jack continued to chirp at Luke all practice, dragging John to come look at his hands. 

Luke could not even be embarrassed. He loved you too much to even take notice to the chirps all the boys were telling him.

It was a piece of you. A part of you that will always stay with him. And heck, he even was looking forward to match with you in the future.  

WC: 600

---