kit

hockey, baseball, formula 1, beastie boys, and stranger things she/they, 24, aquarius

[yauchfilms]

welcome!

hiii everyone, my name is kit, and i'm attempting to get more into writing this summer!

i'll properly sort everything once i get more out but for now:

my works:

so american ✢ max verstappen (smau, fluff)

sunburn ✢ logan sargeant (one shot, smut)

big thighs, new jersey ✢ mattias samuelsson (one shot, smut)

fine tuning ✢ ukko-pekka luukkonen (one shot, fluff)

fever pitch ✢ connor dewar (one shot, fluff)

who i write for:

formula one/motorsport

max verstappen

lando norris

daniel ricciardo

oscar piastri

alex albon

logan sargeant

pato o'ward

david malukas

hockey/nhl

mattias samuelsson

tyson jost

ukko-pekka luukkonen

jj peterka

jack quinn

quinn hughes

seth jarvis

connor dewar

+ more if i can think of any! if you aren't sure though, just ask!

[yauchfilms]

hi! i don't know how active you are, and i realize your interests have probably changed a lot over the year. but, mike soroka is my favorite athlete ever and you're probably the only account on the internet ever to post about him. if you don't have any interest remaining, that's alright, but if you still have any content of him (photos/gifs/videos/whatever), would it be possible for you to send those to me? either dm me or something and i'd love to get that settled :)

sorry this photo is so fucking funny to me

if IM mike soroka's biggest fan, and you're saying YOURE mike soroka's biggest fan, then who's driving the bus?

jk but my love of him has literally never wavered so this made me laugh. dm me! although most of what i have is what ive already posted :/

[puck-luck]

hey @yauchfilms, enjoy :D this is your brainchild fr i credit you

Warnings: sub!m, no penetration, grinding, mental restraint needed instead of defaulting to physical restraint WC: 693

“Ti, if you can’t keep your hands where they’re allowed, then I’m going to have to pull out the handcuffs.”

If Mattias was told to make a list of things he’d expected you to say today, that sentence would not have made it onto the sheet of paper in a million years. He also can’t really decide how he feels about it– it’s jarring to hear you say such a thing, but… but. That’s where the sentence ends. Mattias’s mind goes blank after he reaches the conjunction. His mind is only able to think of a shrug. 

His hands return to your ass, the most scandalous place you’ll allow. Once they’re cemented on the globes of your cheeks, he’s determined to keep them there. It takes a lot of effort, but Mattias wants to be obedient.

You’re trying something new. Normally, Mattias takes charge in the bedroom. After all, he’s the bigger one. He’s stronger, partially because he’s a big dude and partially because he’s a professional athlete. One thing he rarely has, in the bedroom, is self-restraint. 

Your goal is to teach him.

It’s how you ended up on top of him. He’s not even inside of you– you’re just sitting with his cock nestled between your folds, rocking back and forth across his length. His hands are allowed to rest on your ass or your waist. The second he starts guiding you, you stop moving. It’s infuriating and, well, so sexy, so Mattias is ready to give you everything you’re asking for.

He stares up at you, head cushioned by the pillow below him. He’s got a nice view of your body, naked and undeniably yearning for contact the same way his is. Your nipples have peaked, there is a pretty flush coating your visage and creeping down your neck and chest, and your cunt is dripping. 

“Now you’re listening,” you tease, a fond quirk of your lips brightening your face. Your palms are flat against Mattias’s chest, which only aids you as you resume your grinding. You have leverage, an advantage over your big, strong boyfriend, and it’s exciting you both. 

You’d expected him to put up more of a fight. You’d expected him to take control of the encounter– flip you over like he normally does and pound into your cunt until you’re shaking beneath him. 

That’s not what’s happening. No, Mattias is behaving. He’s listening to your words and soaking them in with a dumfounded look on his face, blinking incomprehensively. 

Unconsciously, his fingers twitch. You’re looking down at his cock, where the tip lays against his abdomen. His hands flex as a drop of precum blurts out of his slit, settling against the soft skin of his stomach. 

Just as you prepare to stop your movements, Mattias’s eyes grow hooded and he relaxes his grip. His hands drift up, finding your waist, removing his biggest temptation completely. He’s no longer playing a dangerous game by touching your ass– he’s finally dropping one of the remaining shreds of his desire for control.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re being such a good boy,” you praise, working your hips faster. You bring one of your hands down to his tip and trace your fingers over the details of his skin that you’ve come to know over many intimate rendezvous. You find the line of his slit, the veins near the crown, and each patch of skin that seems to blush an angrier red or throb more noticeably. Your touch is featherlight and Mattias lets out an involuntary catch of his breath, just as more precum pools from his tip.

He’s really not sure, but this– having you on top, with your pussy so close but the hug of your walls seemingly lightyears away, and the softm kind words that he normally whispers in your ear parroted back at him– this has to happen again. 

You’re always Mattias’s good girl, even when you’re teasing him. Mattias just didn’t realize how badly he needs to be your good boy– he’s got a taste of it, and the craving is insatiable. He’d do anything you ask just to hear you say that again.

[puck-luck]

1K Celly Blurb: Mattias Samuelsson, Diamonds, 18

REQUESTED BY @yauchfilms. Hi Kit!

Warnings: oral fem!receiving, references to previous rounds, naming one's penis WC: 1,073

“Sleepy?” You ask, playing with the strands of hair between your fingers. 

“No,” comes Mattias’s muffled reply. He’s laying on top of you, crushing you. If there’s anything you’ve become fond of since starting to date Mattias, it’s how the line blurs between his love of physical touch and his need to be a weighted blanket. His head is resting against your chest because if he loves something other than physical touch, it’s your tits and how he can use them as his own personal pillow.

You chuckle. You continue carding through the longer strands of hair on his head. He may say that he’s not tired, but you know how Tias gets when he’s already come. If he continues to lay here, he’ll be asleep in five minutes. You’re comfortable with him, so you’d be okay if he fell asleep here, but there’s still something aching for more between your legs. “You sure?” You check. “You look like you’re done for the night, baby.”

“No, I could do this all day. Definitely all night,” Mattias mutters, adjusting on top of you so that he can find your face in his gaze. “Always able to please my lady.” He’s teasing, exploiting how cringe you find it when a man refers to a woman as “milady.” He never quite grasped the pronunciation that bothers you, so Mattias’s “my lady” just brings an enamored little smile to your face. He brings his elbow to the mattress, just between your body and the arm that’s touching his hair. He props his chin on his hand, smiling dopily at you. “What do you want? My fingers or my mouth? ‘M.S.II.’ isn’t ready for another go yet.”

He’s so silly. Before you met Mattias, you thought it was just a joke that men named their penises. Then, he referred to his member as ‘M.S.II.’ once in passing and you had to do a double-take. He chose ‘M.S.II’ because it sounded like a missile. Now, it’s just normal for you to hear him refer to his cock in the third person. You bring your hand to his forehead like you’re taking his temperature as you consider your options. 

“Your mouth, I think,” you decide. 

Mattias sticks his tongue between his teeth, still smiling widely. His eyes are half-lidded because, despite his protests, he is relaxed and sleepy. His hand, the one not holding his chin up, is resting against the skin of your naked waist. His thumb is sliding over the skin comfortably. He always likes to touch you with his unoccupied hand, normally finding a place on your waist, hips, thighs, or on the top of your head. He likes to pet through your hair just as much as you like to play with his, but his hands are bigger and more clumsily affectionate. 

You pinch the globes of his cheek like a grandmother. “Get on with it,” you boss, not unkindly. 

Mattias lets out a little laugh, then makes his way down your body. He kisses you as he goes, over your breast and ribcage and your stomach. He pays special attention to your hips and the insides of your thighs, probably wishing he could leave stains and tattoos of his kisses behind on your skin. Always such a lover boy, Ti has voiced his wishes in the past, that you’d be marked up by his innocent touches forever. It always makes you think of the stories you read in middle school, where a person had a birthmark right where their soulmate would touch them for the first time. Mattias wishes he could mark you like that, although he insists that you’re perfect without any of the marks he would give you.

His hands are still cemented on your waist and now, on your thigh. The bedsheets have shifted down as Mattias did, bunching up around the middle of his back. It leaves you completely exposed and cold, but Mattias is quick to resolve that.

He always licks into your cunt like he’s trying to remove a Jell-O shot from its plastic container. Mattias is calculated and careful, always choosing the weakest spot to target first. He knows how you keen when something fills you, so he’s quick to lick over your hole and shower it attention before he rises and wraps his lips around your clit. He sucks, copying the force and pattern of the little rosebud toy that he bought you for while he’s away. His hands are a stark contrast, holding you comfortingly. You might be reacting and jumping beneath his lips and his tongue, but his hands keep you in place and try to convince you to stay in place.

One of your hands is still in his hair, while the other is grasping at your chest. You’re rolling your head back with every few noises that leave your mouth and Mattias is relishing in it. His right fingers have started to move on your thigh, tracing invisible lines on the outside of your leg. His fingertips are smooth and blunt against your skin.

Mattias brings his mouth back to your entrance, pushing his tongue between the walls of your tight entrance. He buries his face there, closing his eyes and taking his gaze off of you so that he can focus on what he’s doing. His nose, big and pointy in the most appealing way, bumps against your clit. He’s sure to move his head in a way that keeps his nose in the rotation and puts it to use. He’s never been bothered by the way your juices will drip across his skin and coat his face. He’s always much more enthusiastic about getting messy and making you come than staying dry.

He brings you over the edge by bringing his thumb into the mix, circling the bundle of nerves at the peak of your sex to shatter your resolve. You flood his tongue with your sweetness and Mattias laps it up greedily. He licks and kisses you until you’re oversensitive and twisting your hips in aborted movements, like you’re not sure if you want him to continue or if you want him to stop. He pulls away hesitantly, laying his head on your lower abdomen as his thumb continues to toy with your clit.

“Satisfied?” He teases, his voice gravely and low. “Told you I’m always able to please my lady. Wanna go again?”

[slaybrespod]

fuck tage Thompson

we've been saying this!

[emchantearchive]

okay okayy from your prompt list would you consider using “ghosting their lips against yours before pulling back with a smug smirk, making you chase them desperately” and “pulling them closer by their belt” with franco?

crossing the line - f.c

masterlist | requesting rules

prompts: “ghosting their lips against yours before pulling back with a smirk” + “pulling them closer by the belt”

summary: after a long day together, you and franco relax in his apartment. there’s been an unspoken attraction between you both, and it finally bubbles over.

WARNINGS: nothing extreme or nsfw, gentle teasing and a make-out.

w.c. 1.2k+

a/n hii all! here’s a little franco blurb as a treat (esp for @yauchfilms !!) this is my first time writing for him, so i hope you all enjoy. more franco will definitely be on the way. let me know your thoughts via asks/anons, comments or reblogs. <3

it had been a long day. you were currently with franco, lounging in his apartment as what seemed to be indie music hummed softly from his speaker. the lights were dim, casting a warm glow throughout the room that helped bring the more relaxed vibe you were both going for.

it felt comfortable, natural— just the two of you winding down together like you usually did after a packed day. but today, it felt different.

in fact lately, there had been an undercurrent of something else.

it was in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, or in the way he let his hands linger a little longer than considered friendly when he brushes past you. something unspoken, something that’s been quietly building between you both, as if waiting for a spark to set it off.

you weren’t certain about it all, though. it was no secret amongst your social group that you were infatuated with the boy. you feared your own feelings were deluding you, maybe making things up in your mind and justifying it because you had felt the same way.

“you’re staring at me,” franco murmured, interrupting your train of thought. you noticed how his lips quirked up into a smirk at your reaction, and you shook your head with a small smile.

he wasn’t wrong, you were staring at him while deep in thought. it was hard not to though, you felt the need to study his face and the way the light casted shadows upon it.

you wouldn’t admit it to him, though.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, allowing the words to fall freely from your lips. “please, i’ve had to see it long enough today,” referring to the fact you’d been glued to each others sides the full day. “you wish.”

franco chuckled, leaning back against the sofa, as he stretched his arm in that casual, teasing way of his. “well, maybe i do.”

it was only a few seconds before you felt his hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer towards him. you didn’t object of course, allowing yourself to be moved farther into him.

his words hung between the both of you, heavier than you expected them to. it was very franco of him to drop small hints like these, leaving you second guessing yourself as usual. but this time, he didn’t pull back. instead, he continued to state into your eyes, an almost.. challenging glint within them. you felt the heat rising to your cheeks, a flutter of anticipation mixed with nerves.

you furrowed your brows at him, biting the inside of your cheek to steady yourself before you spoke up. “don’t start something you’re not going to finish, franco.”

“oh?” he raised his brows, tilting his head lightly to the side and you could see the playful spark light up in his expression. franco leaned in closer, beginning to close the distance between you, his face inches from yours. his voice dropped to a whisper as he murmured, “what if i do, corazona?”

your heart was pounding, each beat echoing in your chest as his breath mingled with your own. the closeness along with the term of endearment.. it was beginning to get a little too much. your eyes widened slightly as you watched his gaze flick to your lips before he licked his own, moving his eyes to peer back to yours.

you could barely breathe normally, so much so that the rhythm had become more labored subconsciously as you got caught up in your mind.

you began to lean in, eyes beginning to close as you got ready to settle into the kiss— but it never even happened.

franco had pulled back, smirk painted across his face as mischief lit up his gaze. the teasing lingered in the air, his retreat sparking more frustration within you. he looked so pleased with himself, and you knew he was, the chuckles and comments about the moment were enough to let you know. however, with your frustration came something else— adrenaline.

before you had time to think about it your hand was reaching forward, and you grabbed franco by the belt. your fingers curled into the fabric as you pulled him towards you, and it completely wiped the smirk off of his face. it was now franco with the widened eyes and shocked expression, which in turn made you smirk.

there was no time for teasing or dwelling on it though, as you moved your hands up to grab onto his shirt collar before pulling him down to meet your lips.

franco melted into the kiss instantly, moving his from from your shoulder as his hand moved to your face and cupped your cheek. the kiss was soft at first, tentative, like you were both savoring the taste of the moment, this leap of friendship into something more.

the restraint didn’t last long, though.

the months of tension, the quiet looks, the playful banter— it rushed forward all at once, sweeping you both up as the kiss deepened. it slow and intense, every touch adding to the moment. franco’s free hand slid around your waist to your back, pulling you right onto his lap.

you pulled away from the kiss momentarily, resting your forehead against his own. funnily enough, it was franco who was now chasing your lips. he cursed under this breath as he opened his eyes, a small smile on his face.

one of your hands made its way up into franco’s hair, combing your fingers through the back of it as you both sat in silence for a moment longer.

“it was about time,” franco muttered, swallowing thickly as a small chuckle escaped his lips. you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you sighed at him.

you didn’t bother entertaining his teasing, simply muttering a “shut up” before your lips were back onto his. this kiss became heated much faster than anticipated. you tugged in franco’s hair, which caused a small moan to escape him before his tongue swiped along your bottom lip.

he moved his hand from your face to join his other at your waist for a few moments, before they trailed down to your ass. you pulled back the tiniest bit, muttering “watch yourself” before you leaned back in to continue.

your kisses were hungry, a rhythm of urgency and need, franco’s mouth hot and insistent against yours. you angled your face to continue deepening the kiss, as one of your hands moved to his jaw, holding it tightly.

after a few more moments of the heated makeout, you both pulled back— breathless with swollen lips. you licked your lips as you breathed heavily, trying to steady it back into its normal pace.

franco stared at you in slight awe at what had just happened, he had never expected you would be the one to finally initiate it. it was something he could get used to, though. and he didn’t have to dream about it for long.

within 30 minutes, you were both back in the frenzy of kissing each other like it was vital, like you’d lose each other if you stopped.

[majorjuniorhockey]

franco colapinto uses number 43 which i think means he should get to be an honorary hughes brother

[puck-luck]

all roads | mattias samuelsson

warnings: use of Y/N, miserable situationship, terrible cycles being repeated, more angst and thought daughter than smut and thot daughter (my b), spit, unprotected p in v, gaslighting, slight choking, fingering, oral fem!receiving, hickeys, mentions of drunk mattias, heavy on the EVIL mattias on this one… your honor i need himpairing: mattias samuelsson x fem!readersummary: fem!reader finds herself going through the motions of a confusing situationship with mattias, eventually attempting to break free of the cycle.wc: 4861

title and content based off this song

Can I come over? the text reads.

You stare at the message, thinking about the possibilities for a moment. You toy with it for a second like a proud cat who finally caught her nemesis of a mouse, letting it go just to step on its tail and capture it again. The possibility that you’re playing with is, of course, that you’ll tell Mattias ‘No.’

As much as saying no would bring you power, it’ll never work. Mattias will come over anyway. He’s probably already on the way, knowing that you’ll say yes because you always say yes to him. You always say yes and you always regret it the morning after.

You say yes. Mattias comes over. He pretends to watch the show that you’d thrown on while eating dinner, then he makes his move and you fuck. He comes, you come, he leaves. You have to change your sheets at 2am because they’re covered in sweat, cum, and spit. You forgot to lay down a towel, which is what you promised yourself you would do last time. It’s 3am by the time you go to bed and Mattias, once again, forgot to text you that he got home safe.

The cycle repeats.

Your friends have been here since the beginning of this relationship– relationship, as if you can even call it that…– and they’re getting tired of it. You can’t count the times they’ve said, “Y/N, he’s not good for you” or “Y/N, you deserve better than him.” From them, the sentiment comes so often that the truth of it has worn off. You’ve taken to responding with a groaned “I know” or an unsubstantiated “he’s been better lately!” or even a vague lie about how Mattias told you that he wants this to be more.

You’ve been able to believe your own lies, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, until you couldn’t anymore. Just last week, after Mattias came to visit you over your fall break from grad school and you hooked up in the backseat of his car after dinner with your parents, your mom spoke up. 

“It really seems like you like him, Y/N,” she said while drying the last of the dishes. 

You were sat at the kitchen counter, fiddling with the tab of the seltzer you’ve been nursing since dessert. “Yeah, I like him, Mom.”

“Have you been seeing him long?”

“We met last year. We started hanging out in the spring.”

Your mother nodded slowly. 

“What?” You asked. 

“One of your friends talked to me at the football game a few weeks ago.”

Oh, God. “Which friend? What did she say?”

Your mother waved you off. “It doesn’t matter. She mentioned something about how you’ve changed since meeting the boy you’re dating, and now that I’ve met him, I have to say that I agree.”

It was a gut punch. You scoffed. “I can’t believe you’ve been talking about me behind my back.”

“Honey, we were barely talking about it. She just said she was worried that you’re caught up in something that won’t benefit you.”

“Well, Mom, you’ve only met him once,” you replied coldly. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know you,” your mother had said to your response. “I don’t like seeing you jump on your phone whenever you get a text.”

Mattias only sends you Snapchat messages, but that’s neither here nor there. Your mother wouldn’t understand, even if you tried to justify it.

“You just don’t seem the same, sweetheart,” she continued. “You seem quieter. I wasn’t sure what it was, but now that I know you started seeing him in the spring…” She shrugs. “It’s starting to make sense.”

You stormed out in a huff after that, venting in long texts to Mattias over Snapchat and barely receiving any sympathy. In fact, he was slightly more defensive than you: ‘I don’t think you’ve changed,’ ‘Sometimes I feel like your friends hate me just to hate me and it’s weird that they’re getting your mom involved,’ and the most telling, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have come to dinner.’ At the time, the messages seemed normal.

When you go back to your town, the place where you’ve spent the past few years with your friends and your independence and with Mattias, he invites you over to his house. You go, walking the distance between your place and his because you thought the fresh air would help clear your hear. Today, you’re a bit more tentative about letting anything happen.

“Don’t let their words get to you, babe,” Mattias murmurs, kissing the skin behind the shell of your ear. “You know what we have.”

“I know, but it’s different coming from my mom,” you complain, shrugging him off.

Mattias only doubles down on his kissing and his touching. “Let me make it up to you. Gonna give you a great night so that you forget all about that bad one.”

And he does. Despite all of his “noncommittal behavior”– your best friend’s exact words, when it comes to the things Mattias does– he is very committed to making you moan out his name. He fucks you bare, well into the night. You actually knock the sheets off the bed with all of your wiggling and repositioning, going from missionary to cowgirl within mere minutes because Mattias doesn’t like missionary, then to doggy to broken eagle to a weird position where Mattias has you on your side and your ankle rests on his shoulder. You’re perpendicular from him, staring towards the mirror in the corner of his room, and you come with Mattias’s hand around your neck. He kisses you after, just once.

Then– and get a load of this– you ask him to take you home and he says no. He says he has an early morning, with practice and all. He has to be at the rink practically before the sun rises and he doesn’t want to wake you when he gets up. It’s considerate enough, but when you sarcastically say “I guess I’ll just walk home in the dark, then,” Mattias replies, “Text me when you get home so I know you got back safe.”

For the first time since this started, you think to yourself: What if you just walked me home? Then you’d be absolutely sure that I got home safe…

In the weeks since, your mother’s words have struck you. They’ve given you pause. They’ve thrown you for a loop– or one of the many other synonyms that you could use for your new perspective. If the people around you are saying Mattias has changed you, maybe they’re right. Your mother met him once and thought that she should say something. That has to mean something.

You’ve noticed the pattern: that Mattias rarely ever texts you first, and when he does, he wants to see you. What started as sweet, cute meet ups last spring for coffee or a movie or dinner have devolved into hurried hookups in your bed, rarely ever Mattias’s. He never sleeps over and he always makes an excuse when you try to sleep at his place. When he turns you down, it’s because he has film to watch, or practice to attend, or plans with his friends. When you turn him down in order to study or do homework, he persuades you that he can relieve your stress with school or that you’d have more fun in his company.

You’ve been a negligent friend and an even worse person because of Mattias. Yet– you just keep going back.

Maybe it’s because of the potential he has. You know he can be affectionate and kind and perfect. You feel it in the reverent touches to your skin when he undresses you. You see it in his eyes when he stares up at you, perched on his lap and grinding against him. You hear it when he calls you ‘babe’ and tosses a wink at you when he’s too far away to swat at your ass. He lets you hang out with his friends– only with his friends, he won’t hang out with yours– and claims you by holding you on his thigh and wrapping his strong arms around your waist. He shares drinks with you, he always comes when you call, and he always is by your side when you’re stressed or upset. Even when you say you want to be alone, Mattias knows that you don’t really. He knows that you want someone there, seeing through all your feeble lies, and he is.

Your friends say that it’s making you codependent on him. You think that he’s really just trying to help you.

Tomato, tomato.

So, you stop talking about him. You start seeing him in secret. Everyone knows– of course they do– but you pretend like there’s nothing happening anymore. You’re tired of people saying that he’s bad for you, especially when Mattias makes you feel so good.

You’re able to keep up the facade for a few months. Your roommate ignores the beeping of the alarm and the creak of the door from your late night departures and early, early morning arrivals. Your friends stop asking about Mattias because you stop telling them about what you did with him last weekend– you went down to Nashville in Tennessee for his team’s game on Friday night, then spent Saturday night on Broadway with Ti, a name that he hates but you insist on using. He wishes you would call him Sammy, like his ‘bros’ do, but you can’t stand the idea of being on the same level as them. You’re not his friend or his teammate. You’re seeing him, consistently, and isn’t that enough to consider your ‘thing’ a relationship? Not to Mattias.

He has changed you. He’s given you every reason to move on– a lack of a label, which you’ve asked for. A lack of consistency, which you’ve begged for. You’re tired of him requiring you to say hello to him whenever you see him around, but he’ll never do the same if he sees you. You can’t count the times that he’s offhandedly mentioned “Oh, yeah, I saw you in the park last week” or “Did you go to that coffee shop on Fifth the other day? I think I saw you when I drove by” or “Got you a ticket for the game. You’re still coming right?” (No, you weren’t planning on it, but his pouty lip in one of the rare pictures he sends through Snap goes right to your heart.)

It’s exhausting.

And yet, he’s at the end of every road that you try to forge for yourself. You tell him no– he comes over. You ask for space– he convinces you that you don’t need it. You get stressed about grad school and try to pawn him off– he tells you that he’ll quiz you, then reward you for every answer you get wrong.

You’re tired. Your grades are being affected. You’ve even called out of work for him, multiple times, something your manager isn’t happy about. Yet– you keep going back. You keep finding him at the end of the path.

There he is: Mattias Samuelsson, in all of his 6-foot-4-inch, 235-pound, goofy smile glory. One look into his smug eyes, insisting that he knows you even without saying it aloud, and you’re done for. You fall right back into bed. 

It has to stop, you decide. You’re set on ignoring Mattias for as long as it takes for him to get the hint. You’re upset about the decision, yes– but you’re tired of looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering if you even recognize the girl staring back at you. You try to convince yourself and say that you never left, you never changed, but you know that deep down, things are different. Maybe you and Mattias decided to be together in another life. In a third, perhaps you never met. You wonder which outcome would make you happiest and you aren’t able to make a real decision, but you do know that the current situation is making you miserable. You can’t keep doing this. 

Two weeks pass where you don’t text first. It’s the easiest way to start– letting Mattias come to you. He texts you a couple of times, but you tell him that you have plans with your friends that are unavoidable. 

Surprisingly, you’re able to make those plans happen. Now that you’re not hanging out with Mattias all the time anymore, they’re happy to see you and catch up. You don’t have much to say since the last few months of your life have revolved around a boy that they don’t like, but at least you’re there. At least you’re seeing them.

It’s the first time in a long time that you’ve gotten the breath of fresh air that you were looking for.

Everything is fine– improving, even. One of your friends says that she saw Mattias on Tinder the day prior and you can’t find it in yourself to care. You just shrug and say that you wish him the best. It gets you a few perturbed looks, but you couldn’t care less. You’re no longer under his thumb.

The itch is still there. If he called, you’d come.

And when he does, you do.

It’s more of a text message than a phone call. It’s through Snapchat, like always, but you’re used to that. Mattias’s tone, however, is different. 

You’ve gotten to know him like the back of your hand over the past year. He’s had you bare and laid out beneath him, ugly crying over school, and unable to stop laughing because of something he said that wasn’t funny at 4am. Come to think of it– the thing that wasn’t funny was that he had a tee time at 8am and he had still chosen to stay up with you.

Chosen to stay up with you. You’re not sure that’s true anymore. Maybe he had just waited it out, until you gave in and caved to his advances, and it happened to be in the early hours of the morning.

It doesn’t matter.

Can I come over?, his text says. 

You’re right back where you started.

His little Bitmoji pops into the chat as you stare at the message, debating your answer. He starts to type and you feel caught out, wanting to swipe away and ignore the message. You know you can’t.

I just wanna talk :/

Mattias rarely uses emojis, at least not the ones that look like actual facial expressions (he loves the poop-face emoji and the 100 and the t-rex). He uses manually typed emojis even less, only replying to you once with a “:)” after you sent a “:(” when he stole your water bottle and refused to return it unless you came over to get it yourself.

Because of that, you believe him. You call him– through Snapchat, by the way. It’s never any less humiliating.

“So?” Mattias asks, instead of a hello.

“Are you already on your way?” You ask.

His low laugh rumbles through the phone. “Babe, I’m already outside.”

“Of course you are. I’ll come get you in a minute.” You hang up, untucking yourself from underneath your comfy bedsheets and sliding on your slippers. You’re wearing your most homely pajamas, but the weather is starting to get cold, so you wrap yourself up in your bathrobe and go to greet him. 

Mattias is at the door when you open it. You’re not sure how he got into the apartment complex, but he must have snuck in behind someone else. He probably found a guest spot and parked there, or he stole an open spot in the lot that belongs to someone else… hopefully, he’ll leave before he gets towed. Your talk shouldn’t last too long– all you have to say is that this is over. 

“Hey, gorgeous. I was wondering when I’d see you next.” Mattias steps across the threshold and dips his head to try and give you a kiss. ‘Try’ is the key word, considering you turn your head to the side and he catches your cheekbone. 

“What’s up, Mattias?” You ask.

He’s taken slightly aback by your response. You know that from the way his hand drops from your waist and finds his pockets. “Are we jumping right into this?” He sounds a bit forlorn as he questions you. 

You sigh a bit, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have that much to say, Ti.”

He goes to correct you, like he always does when you call him ‘Ti,’ but he seems to change his mind. He looks you up and down, lifting a hand up to scrub over the scruffy shadow lining his face. “Is this over?” He asks.

Tentatively, you nod. “I think so,” you confirm quietly.

Mattias looks down at you, always towering above you in a once-sexy way, but now it’s just upsetting. You liked him. He didn’t treat you right. Yet– you still want him.

“So this is it?”

He sounds just as dejected as you. Although– he seems like he was quicker to acceptance. Probably because he’s got another girl lined up already, having met her on his secret Tinder that you shouldn’t know about. Who knows how long he’s had it– maybe he’s been on there since even before you stopped talking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Yeah, Mattias. This is it.”

He stares at you for a minute. With hesitation written all throughout his movements, he brings a hand up and caresses your shoulder. 

“Shit,” Mattias mumbles. He sounds genuinely regretful and it’s working. You want to wrap your arms around his waist and press your face into his chest and hold him while he hugs you, but you fight to stay still. “I wish I had known…” he trails off, then bows his head. His fingers find the neckline of your robe, toying with the plush fabric. “If I had known that last time was the last time, I would’ve made it better for you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you reply, your voice somewhere between a tease, a whisper, and a scoff. 

Mattias lets a little smile grace his face. “Just gonna miss you, that’s all.”

“Are you?”

He’s taken aback again by how brash you are, how disbelieving of his sweet words. It’s a stark contrast from who you were for the past year– the girl who was willing to go back to Mattias with just a slight nudge.

His lips part in surprise, pink and full and distracting. You won’t let his Cupid’s Bow shatter the guard that you worked so hard to put up. He’s so pretty. If things were different, you’d be happy staying with him forever. At one time, you thought that maybe you would.

“Of course I’m going to miss you,” Mattias says. “We were together for a year, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.” You turn your head to the side, biting the inside of your cheek. You shrug his heavy hand off your body. “You know we weren’t ‘together.’ You didn’t want to be.”

“It– didn’t make sense to me,” Mattias says, trying to salvage the situation. “You know that. With my job, I just don’t have time for a relationship.”

“So you decided to string me along for a year?” You ask. “You know I wanted something more.”

“I thought we agreed…” Mattias cuts himself off again. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry that you weren’t happy. I wish I could make it up to you, but… if this is it…”

“It is.”

Mattias looks at you for a little while longer. It’s absurd, how you’re still standing in the foyer of your apartment. Your roommate could be listening in. It’s not even that late. Part of you hopes that she is listening– so she can hear that you’re standing your ground and that it’s truly over. The rest of you hopes that she’s asleep and missing the whole thing. You feel too… vulnerable. This is a private conversation between you and Mattias. It’s the final bit that you can have, just between you and him.

“Can I kiss you?” Mattias asks.

It’s jarring and you go to say no, but he adds something before you can.

“Just– to say goodbye. I want to remember the last time I kissed you.”

He knows you just as well as you know him. He knows exactly how to break your resolve, exactly how to strike and when to get what he wants.

You fold. Unable to find your voice, you can only nod.

Relief spreads over Mattias’s face. His smile bares his top teeth slightly, just before he moves in. 

He touches you all over. One of his hands rises through your hair, fisting the strands and tugging slightly. He loosens the knot that you had tied your hair into while doing homework earlier, making the shorter face-framing strands escape and brush along your skin. His other hand encompasses the curve of your waist, then slides to the small of your back. He pulls you close, pressing you into his front and leaving no space between your bodies. You can feel his strong, warm figure fully encompassing your own.

You suddenly want to cry. This is the last time. You’re mourning Mattias already, knowing that you have to treasure the time you have left with him, to treasure this last kiss. 

You kiss him back, touching his scruff and fingering at the hair at the nape of his neck. You hear yourself whimper quietly against his lips, which makes Mattias pull you closer.

“Please,” he murmurs, sealing the plea with a lick into your mouth. “Fuck, baby, please.”

“Please what?” You say, lips still brushing his. That’s how close you are.

His hand brushes the globes of your ass, not quite cupping the covered skin, but definitely feeling you out. “One more time,” Mattias says. His tongue fills your mouth again, working against yours and distracting you. “Let me touch you one more time. It’ll be so good, please? I can’t let last time be our last time, not like that.”

You should say no and you know it. Then, his lips leave yours and he sucks a mark just past the curve of your jaw, at the sensitive spot below your earlobe. Heat pumps through your body and Mattias feels so strong and solid beneath your palms.

He’s working you, playing you like a fiddle. It’s so easy to fall back into your old routine, to let him have what he wants… what you want.

“One last time,” you concede, your voice still slightly unsure, and the relaxed sigh that eases Mattias’s posture is justification enough for your inability to hold strong.

He all but beelines for your room, intertwining his fingers with yours so that he can tug you along impatiently. 

His touches are just as sensual as always, but laced with an urgency that has your clothes falling away from your body in just a few moments.

He undresses himself much more slowly, teasing you until you’re complaining about how long it’s taking and how it wouldn’t kill him to just get on with it. Mattias reminds you that it’s the last time he gets to see you like this, and you with him, so he wants to take his time with it. That shuts you up.

You take in the soft skin of his chest and abdomen. He’s always been toned and muscular and broad, but the curves of his love handles and the fold of his tummy when he sits back juxtaposes the athletic body that you’ve come to adore. He’s long and broad and thick in the best places, although his body moves with the delicacy and grace of a much daintier person. That’s Mattias– a Russian nesting doll of surprises. You wish you could keep him.

“Open up for me, babe,” Mattias tells you gently, working his hand between your knees and nudging them apart. He kneels between your legs when they’re spread far enough, letting his hand slide along your skin and create ripples of goosebumps in its wake. He nears your core, his eyes growing focused on the skin between your legs. 

He always gets like this– hyper focused on the part of you that he likes most, the part of you that he’s claimed as his ‘home’ on multiple occasions. He gets so focused on the part of you that brings him the most pleasure. You’re finally seeing it for what it is: lust. Not love. Not a reciprocation of your feelings. Everyone tried to convince you of this for months, but you didn’t believe them then. You recognize it now… but you’re not willing to let him go without one last time in which you can fool yourself into believing it’s real?

So you let him in. You let him touch you. You let his fingers fill you the way that only they can, long and deft and agile. You let his mouth close over your clit, lathering spit into the bud until you’re dripping and writhing against him. 

“Ti,” you cry out when you get close, your nails digging into the muscle of his shoulder.

He grins up at you from between your legs. “Always liked it when you called me that,” Mattias says. “I don’t think I ever told you.”

Then, he increases his pace and he makes you come, flicking kitten licks over your clit like he didn’t just say something that changes your perception of the past and all the times he corrected you and asked you to call him ‘Sammy.’

You’re still thinking about it, his words running through your head like an endless loop, as he starts to work his cock into you.

“Say it again,” Mattias pleads, pressing kiss after kiss to your eager mouth. He makes sure he’s close to you, staying in just this one position: face to face, flush against each other, heart to heart. 

You repeat his little nickname breathlessly as many times as he asks. You watch the blush spread down his neck and his chest as he rolls his hips into you. He places his hand on your stomach, pressing down until he swears he can feel himself moving inside of you and you swear that it’s just making it harder to hold on. You don’t want him to make you come a second time, nor for him to finish inside of you– for the second time ever. The only other time was after your mother disapproved of him and he reassured you that she, and all of your other friends, were wrong. You don’t want this to end.

The room is hot and Mattias surrounds you. You’re expecting him to move you around like he always does, but it never comes. He lets you stare up at his face and kiss him as many times as you can and he does the exact same. It’s addicting and confusing and you want it to always be like this, but it can’t be.

He buries his face in your neck and kisses you, sucking hickey after hickey along your neck as he nears his peak. You can feel it in the way his fingertips clench on your skin, pressing tiny bruises along your hips, the back of your neck, and the soft skin where he sucked that first hickey– the one that broke your resolve.

Something to remember him by, you think briefly, although the thought only passes through your head and doesn’t stick until he’s long gone.

Mattias finishes inside of you, another thing to remember him by. He lets you grind into him until you come too, only subtly shifting his hips because he’s so sensitive. He lets his fingertips do most of the work, showering your clit in reverent touches that nearly bring tears to your eyes.

Conversation is stilted as you get dressed again. The weight of reality lies on you both like tons and tons of marble. It feels a little bit like being buried alive, you think.

You walk Mattias to the door. He kisses your forehead when he goes and wraps you in a big hug, holding you for a couple of minutes without saying a thing at all. He’s reluctant to let you go and you’re reluctant to let him leave. 

It’s for the best. This was the last time. It had to be.

In three weeks, you tell yourself the same thing as you drive to pick up a drunk Mattias from the bar. He called because it was close to your place and he couldn’t think of who else to call– said the bartender who talked to you on the phone. You may remember that it was the last time, but Mattias doesn’t seem to. 

His tender touches and babbled, drunken compliments reignite old feelings inside of you, ones that you’ve been hoping to quash for what feels like forever now. 

You’re starting to wonder if you’ll ever really be free of Mattias Samuelsson.

notes: in case this feels real to you, just know that i based it off of my worst situationship with my evil ex! i have been through this too, you know. i will desire mattias carnally... even if he is a red flag and incredibly evil in this one.....

[emchantearchive]

kinktober | drowsy desires - m.v.

day 8 - sleepy sex | kinktober masterlist

summary: after an exhausting day, max arrives home late and slips into bed beside you. his touches stir something deeper within you, leading to a slow encounter under the covers. 

WARNINGS: 18+ content, half-asleep sex. that's basically it.

w.c. 1.5k

a/n: last post for the week! this post feels rly weak, so sorry about that. having a hard time writing currently! next week will be the last week, so see you all then! let me know your thoughts via reblog, comment or ask, i love hearing from you guys.

the bedroom was quiet, the only light coming from the moon peeking through the half-closed curtains. the house was still, save for the occasional sound of the wind against the windows. you were halfway between sleep and wakefulness, floating in a pleasant haze when you felt the bed dip slightly beside you.

max had finally come home.

even in your drowsy state, you could sense the weight of his day clinging to him. the exhaustion radiated from every breath he took, each slow and deep as he slipped under the covers. he tried to be careful, not wanting to disturb you, but the moment his arm slipped around your waist, instinctively pulling you into him, your body stirred at his touch. his familiar warmth wrapped around you, and you sighed contentedly, nestling into him without opening your eyes.

max’s lips brushed your shoulder in a light, almost unconscious kiss. he was barely awake himself, just a tangle of weariness and longing, craving the comfort of being close to you. his fingers traced along your waist, drawing lazy, soothing circles on your skin. the movement was calming, lulling you both into a state of relaxed intimacy.

you turned in his arms, feeling the quiet pull of drowsiness still heavy in your limbs, and opened your eyes just enough to see the soft silhouette of his face. his eyes were half-lidded, the lines of fatigue etched clearly in his features. despite that, he gave you a small, sleepy smile, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“hi, schajte,” he whispered, voice gravelly from the day and from sleep. it was a murmur, barely audible above the rustle of sheets, but it felt like everything in the quiet of the night.

“hi maxie,” you whispered back, your voice a soft hum as your eyes fluttered closed again, lost in the warmth of his touch.

he leaned in, his lips brushing over yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. there was no urgency, no rush—just the simple need to feel you, to be close to you after a day that had kept him away. the kiss deepened gradually, max’s tongue brushing lightly against your bottom lip, tasting the softness there. you sighed into it, your body responding instinctively, shifting closer until your chests were pressed together, your legs tangling beneath the covers.

max’s hand slipped down from your cheek, his fingers trailing along the curve of your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone before resting at your waist. he held you like this for a moment, as if grounding himself in the feel of you, the familiarity of your body against his. it was as if touching you was the only thing he needed to unwind completely, to let go of the stress that still clung to him.

“missed you,” he mumbled softly, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. his words were heavy with sleep, almost slurred, but you felt their weight, their sincerity.

“i missed you too,” you whispered back, feeling the words drift into the darkness between you both. your hand slid over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

max’s lips continued their gentle exploration, trailing featherlight kisses down the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. the touches were slow, almost absentminded, but they stirred something deeper within you, a quiet desire that simmered just beneath the surface. you shifted slightly, the movement instinctual, a silent invitation for more.

you felt the low hum of his voice against your skin as he sighed softly, his breath hot against your collarbone. max’s hand slid down your side, his fingers brushing over the curve of your hip before slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. his touch was warm and soothing, a gentle reminder of how much he craved this closeness after a long day.

he leaned down, his lips tracing a path along your shoulder, then lower, pressing lazy kisses to the bare skin he found beneath the fabric of your shirt. your breathing grew heavier, the quiet tension between you both thickening in the dimly lit room. you could feel his exhaustion mixing with his desire, creating a heady combination of soft need and overwhelming intimacy.

“max,” you whimpered, a hint of breathlessness in your voice, not needing to say anything more. he knew what you meant, what you were asking for without asking.

he shifted slightly, his hand sliding down to your thigh, lifting it to rest over his hip. the simple movement brought you closer, your bodies aligning naturally under the covers. max’s breathing was uneven, a soft exhale escaping him as he nestled his hips against yours, his arousal evident even in his drowsy state. it was a quiet, subtle acknowledgment of what you both wanted—needed—after the long day.

max’s lips found yours again, and this time the kiss was deeper, a little hungrier, but still slow and tender. you melted into him, sighing softly as your fingers threaded through his hair, holding him close. his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your core, and you let out a quiet gasp at the touch, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

he took his time, his fingers moving with a patient, deliberate rhythm, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips. you could feel the weight of sleep still heavy on your limbs, but it only made everything feel more intimate, more raw. there was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet connection between you both, built from the exhaustion of the day and the need to be close to each other.

max shifted slightly, his fingers guiding himself to you, and you held your breath, feeling the anticipation build. he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he slowly pushed into you, a quiet, shared exhale escaping both of you as he filled you completely. the sensation was almost overwhelming in its simplicity, the slow, steady rhythm he set making every nerve in your body come alive.

you sighed softly, your fingers tightening slightly in his hair as you arched into him, the movement instinctive, seeking more of that delicious closeness. max’s hand settled on your hip, holding you firmly as he moved with a gentle, deliberate rhythm, each thrust slow and deep. there was no rush, no urgency—just the steady, comforting connection between you both, the quiet intimacy that came from knowing each other so deeply.

the room was filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the quiet rustle of sheets as max continued his slow, deliberate movements. you could feel the tension building within you, a slow, simmering heat that spread through your body with each gentle thrust. max’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, his breaths coming out in soft, uneven huffs as he held you close, his body completely in tune with yours.

you were both half-lost in the haze of sleep, but the sensations were all-consuming, every touch and movement heightened by the drowsy intimacy between you. max’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a tender caress, and you turned your head slightly to kiss his palm, your breathing growing heavier as the pressure continued to build.

“feels so good,” he mumbled, his voice rough and barely audible, as if he was speaking more to himself than to you. the words sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into him, needing more of that slow, steady connection.

the heat continued to build, slow and steady, until you could feel the tension starting to unravel, the pleasure washing over you in gentle waves. max groaned softly, his grip on your hip tightening as he felt you tighten around him, his movements becoming a little less controlled as he chased his own release.

with one final, deep thrust, you both fell apart together, the quiet intimacy of the moment making everything feel more intense, more real. max held you close, his breathing heavy and uneven as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling slightly with the aftershocks.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still tangled beneath the covers, your breathing slowly evening out as the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you both. max pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, his touch grounding you in the lingering warmth of the moment.

“love you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “so much.” you smiled sleepily, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “love you too,” fell from your lips as you felt max squeeze you tighter.

and with that, the quiet rhythm of your breathing lulled you both back into a peaceful, shared sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

[yauchfilms]

big thighs, new jersey ✢ mattias samuelsson (18+)

pairing: mattias samuelsson x fem!reader (childhood friends to lovers)

warnings:  pining. so much pining. fem language (reader is referred to as a woman). cursing. alcohol consumption. reader and mattias are drunk but coherent. super vague religious imagery. oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, fingering, petnames, praise, enthusiastic consent, cocky mattias but literally who is shocked, begging, so many feelings involved. ever so slight angst.

summary: y/n has been in love with mattias since they first met when they were 8, and they had matching bowl cuts. being his best friend is the hardest job she’s ever been tasked with. 16 years of pure desperation all boils down to one night on the beach. 

word count: 5.2k ... jesus christ

author's note: welcome to what is essentially a year's worth of brainrot, compiled into one fic. i started this concept a year ago with some friends, and now thanks to @pldstattoos, @flashyfucker, and @puck-luck, it is now a tangible piece of literature. based ever so loosely on the song “big thighs, nj” by lowcut connie, amongst other tunes that i will share later. this man just SCREAMS childhood friends to lovers so i had to give my very best to my favorite boy ever. 

it’s late again.

he’s got one arm draped over your shoulders, gesturing wildly to the rest of the group with his can of seltzer, not spilling a single drop. the old, paint-stained sheet you two share has gone cold, matching the feeling of the sand beneath it.

if he remembered you brought that old “seaside heights” sweatshirt you bought back in the heyday of the jersey shore era with you to the beach when you told him you were cold, eyes wide and hopeful, he kept it to himself.

another day spent at the beach with your friends, skitting along the sand, never too far apart from each other. you could feel him on your skin like the humidity. 

it’s been like this since your parents agreed, reluctantly, that you were too old for day camps and you barely got to see mattias anymore during the school year. your mom softened when you mentioned him like she always did. since then, you’d bike to his house in the morning to find him strapping on his rollerblades. you’d make him race you for a few blocks since he insisted on cross-training in the offseason or whatever it was he said to make himself feel like he wasn’t totally slacking off. then you both slowed down, falling into a rhythm about as familiar as your own heartbeat. you’d meet up with friends, skipping through town and letting the breeze off the ocean push you one way or another. and more often than not, it ended around a fire pit — and as you got older — with cans in hands, recounting the day and making half-hearted plans for the next one.

except, now you’re older. old enough that you just finished your first ever real internship, one that led you up to the summer, now leaving you with the stress of finding a real job. but that doesn’t matter right now. what matters right now is the fact that you’re back with your friends, on the beach, recalling those stories from long ago, like how you broke your arm when you were 10 because you insisted to mattias and his older brother, luke, that you could do a cartwheel on the trampoline in your roller skates. it had been his older sister, allie, that called the ambulance, naturally. 

you’re acutely aware that there are a finite number of these days and nights left. mattias is a big-time hockey player now (well, not actually, but to you, he might as well be wayne gretzky), and just like you, he can’t spend his whole life on the beach. but you really wish he could, with you, forever. knowing you have to share him with the world, that’s the part that eats at you. 

you’re also acutely aware of his position on you, his hand skirting just barely along the top of your bikini top, just barely out of reach from where you really wish he’d lay his hands. you wonder if he can feel the goosebumps on your skin from the calm jersey winds. 

mattias’ voice vibrates through your body, its deep, steady buzz keeping you centered. it’s not until you hear angelo let out an almost inhumane noise that triggers the group into a state of hysteria, that you feel a cold splash on your shoulder and the sound of mattias stifling a choked laugh, snapping you out of your thoughts. you glance up at mattias, whose guilt slowly etches onto his face as he drunkenly realizes what he’s done. he didn’t even spill that much, but he knows there’s a good chance you’ll overdramatize for the sake of poking fun at him.

“mattias, how could you!” you widen your eyes again and fling your wrist against your forehead, leaning your back into him as though you’re fainting. you stick to your performance as much as you can, trying to ignore how his muscular frame presses against you, his arms catching you with your quick movements. he’s leaning down over you, rolling his eyes and laughing at you. you smell the scent of mango and alcohol on his breath, his signature summer scent at this point. you could kiss him right now if you wanted; he was close enough to your face. 

you want to chastise him for not being more careful, for not paying attention to his own body. but you know it weighs on him more than anyone else. there are boundaries you know not to cross. 

he lifts up his shirt, just enough to use it as a makeshift towel for the drink he spilled on you. just enough to see his soft, tan skin and the ripple of his muscles that he, for some reason, chooses to hide more often than not. 

“sorry, baby. lemme help you,” he half-whispers, because he’s mattias, a man who can never be truly silent. baby. a nickname he started using on you when you were 15, starting to drink when you went to the cool parents’ house, a nickname that he only really uses on you when you’ve both been under some sort of influence. he knows the effect that it has on you, and you hate that you know that he seems to do it on purpose. he’s so unfair sometimes. 

he uses his free arm to keep you steady, wrapping his arm around your stomach. you can feel his heartbeat against your back, but choose not to focus on it too much. you’re practically in his lap now, being cradled in his arms as you feel the soft material of his shirt swipe down your arm, and back over your shoulder, and just along that same forbidden spot along the hem of your bikini top. it’s killing you at this point. 

“all good?” he asks, causing you to be forced to look him in the eyes again. 

“all good,” you squeak out, your voice barely a whisper, leaning back into him and taking your spot back in his arms.

“sorry again, dude,” he slurs, smoothing down the messy hair on top of your head, and it reminds you that you, too, have plenty of alcohol in your body, and it’s just now starting to catch up. it’s that same consumption of alcohol that would account for why no one has paid attention to either of you for the past 5 minutes, everyone caught up in telling their own drunken tales from the past. 

you go to tell him that you swear it’s okay, when josh loudly —and suddenly— announces his departure from the group, saying something about his early morning tee time with his dad the next day. it was from there that lauren, bri, and anna got up and began making their way back to the house together, arm in arm, giggling about an inside joke that you had been too distracted to participate in. julian and angelo linger for a few minutes longer, arguing with each other and mattias about stuff that doesn’t matter. your eyes feel heavier still. the pair of boys eventually peel off, their yawns becoming hard to ignore. they bid their goodbyes to you and your human pillow, disappearing up the dune and into the house. 

mattias nudges you, and you stir. 

“do you want to head in? it’s, like, 3:45 am,” mattias asks, showing you the time on his phone. his phone background – a photo of the group, his arms, wrapped around your chest, everyone smiling like it was picture day – lights up your face, the sudden brightness causing you to squint. sure enough, the clock reads 3:42 am. you let out a sigh, twisting in his arms so you’re laying with your back to the sheet, between his thighs. he grabs your head on both sides, shaking it slightly, his fingers loosely carding through your hair. you don’t say anything, just staring up at him like he’s a god of some sort. 

“what’s up? talk to me. did i do something?” he looks down at you, a sympathetic look in his eyes mixed with that damn smirk of his. 

“tias,” is all you can manage to get out, your voice barely a whisper. 

“yeah?” his voice suddenly going quieter than normal. this is rare, and it worries you. 

“would you be mad at me if i asked you to kiss me?” you ask, suddenly feeling bold and vulnerable with your loneliness in the moonlight. 

“of course i wouldn’t; am i ever mad when you ask?” he replies, cocking an eyebrow at you. and he was right. you two had made out countless times before, always in private, never escalating past light groping, always leaving you both high and dry, but too scared to ask for more. even at your big ages, you were still stuck in this routine, always running back to each other when the girl mattias tried to fly out bailed on him or the guy you met at the bar ended up giving you a weird vibe. it was normal in some way. like, of course best friends kiss each other. why wouldn’t they?

“you don’t get it, i don’t think,” you dare, the alcohol in your system giving you a strange boost of confidence.

his hands loosen around your head, ever so slowly moving down your neck, over your shoulders, and to that damned spot on your chest. your body reacts to his touch, suddenly hyper-aware of just how cold you are on the beach in nothing but a bathing suit. 

“no, i think i do. let me know if i’m reading this wrong, but i think i get it,” he responds.

you adjust yourself between his legs, your head now laying on his upper thigh. you feel the strong muscles tighten underneath you, causing a chill to run down your spine. looking up at him, your eyes soften, and he leans down again, feeling his breath on your face. the scent of mango white claw still lingers, only slightly less prominent now. you squirm slightly at the feeling of him so close. 

“tell me what you want,” he speaks, low and gravelly. the feeling of it in your eardrums sends a pang straight to your core. 

“what do you think i want?” you tease, wondering if he truly has caught on, or if he’s telling you want you want to hear.

“you want me to fuck you, don’t you?” his words catch you off guard, even though he said exactly what you were hoping for. “you don’t think i haven't felt you squirming in my lap all night? i’m not that dumb, baby.” his voice is barely audible at this point, just enough to get his point across.

all you can do is stare up at him, suddenly unable to form a complete thought, putty in his lap. your breathing grows heavier, and he can’t help but notice. 

“so, what’ll it be?” 

“please, ti.”

he pulls you up into his lap and you straddle him, finding your place settled directly above the bulge in his since-dried board shorts. his hands immediately find their place along your sides, gliding gently up and down from your ribcage to your hips. his fingers linger slightly over the string of your bikini, toying with it, not daring to remove it. he leans down, connecting your lips from where they were parted dumbfoundedly in front of him, as if you had never been in that position with him before. you had, but this was different.

 he moves slowly, as if wanting to take his time with you, not knowing whether or not this would be the first or the only time he would have his way with you. you open your mouth once again, a moan escaping your lips. he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, licking up into you with desperation. the roll of your hips against him elicits a loud groan from him, now, and you decide that if that was the last thing you ever heard, you would die a happy woman. you can feel his shorts growing tighter underneath your lap, causing you to roll your hips again, slower than the first time. another groan escapes his lips, causing you to stop and look him in the eyes, your hands holding his face tenderly.

“what are you so fucking loud for?” you tease, knowing that the sounds he’s making are turning you on even more, as evident by the wet spot growing on his shorts. 

“sorry, i’ve just been thinking about this moment since we were 16. you don’t know how hard its been to keep my cool around you, y/n. i’ve been so good, so patient. i can’t think of anything i’ve ever wanted more than this,” he says, panting slowly, trying to control his breathing. he seems as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his chest.

you hold back the tears threatening to spill over your waterline. you feel the exact same way, just unsure of how to express it. all you can do is plant a delicate kiss to his lips, letting the moment speak for itself. his hands find that spot of your bikini top, finger rubbing lightly on the freshly tanned skin there. 

“may i, please?” he almost begs, toying with the strap of the thin top, a look of desperation looking up at you with big hazel eyes. 

“of course,” you whisper, a kiss planted to the tip of his nose. 

long, slender fingers make their way down your shoulders to the front of your chest, as he hooks the strap around his fingers, pulling slightly. a gasp escapes his lips as your full chest is exposed, the harsh chill immediately giving you goosebumps, you reaching back to unclasp and remove the rest of it. he sees the way your body reacts to the cold, and he takes your right breast in his large hand, enveloping it in his grasp, and you immediately feel warmer. he kisses you again, more passionate than the last, massaging the flesh in his hand, deft fingers keeping rhythm against your skin. 

he leans back, taking you with him, now fully laying on top of him on the sandy blanket. his hands trail to your ass, the lack of his hand on your chest not too significant due to the lack of space between your bodies now. 

the kiss never breaks, your hips rolling deep into him, the feeling of his hardness underneath you growing almost unbearable. 

“ti, i need you to touch me please,” you sigh, pulling away. 

all he can do is look up at you, his face slack as he furiously nods his head. 

his hand trails down your ass, following the hem of your bikini bottoms, his fingers tracing the fabric down to your core. he moves the fabric to the side, sliding his fingers through your folds with a loud gasp. 

“oh my god, so fucking wet,” he groans into your shoulder, you kissing up and down his neck, nibbling just below his ear. 

“just for you, only you,” you whisper in his ear, causing his hips to buck up at you. “slow down,” you warn, not wanting to waste this moment. 

he begins rubbing down on your clit, and now it’s your turn to moan. he glides his middle finger through your wetness a few more times before slowly teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. you let out a whimper, signaling that he can go ahead. he slides his finger into your cunt, and you immediately feel the stretch of his thick digit.

“can you take another, baby?” he asks, not necessarily waiting for permission before adding a second finger. the stretch was almost unbearable, and he could feel you react to it so viscerally while he scissored his fingers slowly in and out.

“just wait till you take my cock,” he growls, his confidence suddenly taking over. 

“now, please,” you whine, desperate for what you’d dreamt about since you were a horny teenager fantasizing about his length in math class. 

“what happened to patience, baby?” he questioned, fingers never losing pace in your cunt. “i wanna taste you; are you gonna let me do that, huh?” 

all you could seem to muster out was a weak “mhm”; his fingers already overwhelming you. 

he removes his fingers, eliciting a wince from you. turning you over in his arms, he begins kissing your face, barely avoiding your lips, down your chin, to your neck, stopping right by your ear.

“i know baby, i know, i’m gonna take such good care of you, don’t you worry, baby,” his voice almost primitive. 

he returns to his path down your neck, leaving marks that you’re sure your friends will see in the morning. he takes his time, agonizingly slow, and you wonder how he hasn’t come in his shorts yet with how patient he’s being. he gets to your chest, placing chaste kisses across it, until he reaches your left breast. he takes your nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue, causing you to arch up into him. he doesn’t say anything, simply opting to hum into your skin, the sensation driving you crazy. he comes off with a pop, his hand quickly replacing his mouth as he makes his way over to the other side.

you run your fingers through his hair, the hair that he has yet to ruin with his midsummer chop. you twist the longer locks between your fingers, needing some sort of stimulation. your hands trail down his back, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt, wondering why it’s even still on in the first place, suddenly feeling overexposed. 

“take this off, now,” you demand, your voice sounding stricter than you intended. he stops, leaning up on his knees to look down at the beautiful sight below him. 

“yes, ma’am,” he groans, drawing out each word. if he hadn’t had you pinned down beneath him, you probably would arched up into him. he reaches behind him, yanking the top over his head in one fell swoop, exposing his soft, tan chest, the few hairs left at the top near the base of his neck curling up neatly. 

“stop starin’, baby,” he teases, knowing exactly what you’re thinking, although both of you refuse to acknowledge it; something to tease him about at a different time. 

he leans back down towards you, placing a soft kiss to your lips, eliciting a giggle from you, which makes him pull back, that signature goofy grin of his plastered across his face. 

“you ready?” he asks, making sure you two are on the same page, although he knows he doesn't have to ask.

a soft “please” escapes your lips, reverberating off of his own, and he begins making his way down your body, starting with your neck, softly nibbling at the skin there. he trails down your shoulder, kissing the newly-formed freckles that have appeared from the past few days of sunshine, then, obviously stopping to spend a quick second alone with your tits. from there he makes it to your stomach, causing your breath to hitch sharply. he pulls back, quickly placing another peck to your lips, as if to say “it's okay”.

he regains his place at your navel, using his hands to pry your legs apart for him. despite your sudden shyness, you oblige immediately, and he lets out a guttural groan at the view of the wet spot prominently featured on your bikini bottoms. 

“i need these off, now,” he demands, this time, tugging at the strings of your bikini, undoing the ties on your hips, patting the flesh of your hip to lift up for him. you oblige, and your bottoms are joined with your top in the sand. 

mattias ducks back down, face fully aligned with your cunt. his finger once again finds its place between your folds, not quite doing anything, but rather scoping out just how wet you truly are. another groan escapes him, mixing with the moan that escapes you, harmonizing together into what you could only describe as a masterpiece. his groan echoes off of you, feeling the warm breath of him. 

you look down at him, and he looks up to meet your eyes. while never breaking eye contact, he allows a string of spit to fall down his tongue and into your folds, making your legs twitch, embarrassingly though, because his tongue had yet to make contact.

you think he’s about to touch you again, when you suddenly feel the cooling sensation of his mouth on you, catching you off guard. his tongue circles your clit, much like how he had your nipple in his mouth earlier, causing you to arch your back into his face, the feeling of just 3 days worth of stubble stinging your thighs. he wraps his arms around your upper thighs, holding you in place. 

“gotta be still baby; taste so fucking good. i love this pussy,” he coos, his warm breath once again driving you mad. 

you giggle, not out of malice, but because you often found yourself alone at night, imagining him saying similar things to you, your own hand never seeming to do the trick. you wonder if he’s ever done the same, even though you’re pretty sure you know the answer. 

you thought your reaction would’ve deterred him, but shockingly, it only seemed to motivate him more, picking up his speed, practically making out with your core. his nose, long and slender, hits your clit, sending shockwaves through you, your legs growing shakier with each kitten lick. 

“mattias, i’m close,” your words croak out; you can barely think straight. 

“you’re doin’ so good for me,” he pants, trying to stifle the moans that dare to escape his lips. “you got it, baby, so fuckin’ good.” 

his words, mixed with his motions, are enough to send you over the edge. he continues his movements with his tongue on your clit, electing to tease your hole with his finger. the sensation is too much, and you try your best to keep your screams in, knowing that your entire friend group is a mere yards away, likely sleeping off their hangovers that were bound to appear. 

you come, then, your legs shaking in his arms as he continues to lick through your orgasm. as your breathing becomes sporadic and heavy, he peels off, running his hands down the sides of your body to calm you down — and warm you up. 

your shaking doesn’t stop, and you’re almost certain its due to the fact that the temperatures have dropped since you and him became preoccupied, but there’s no point in going inside now.

“how you feelin’, baby?” he asks, spooning you against his chest as you lay on the blanket. “you’re shivering. do you wanna go inside? we can finish this in my room, if you want,” he continues, stroking your arms tenderly in his grip. 

“need you inside me, now,” you mewl, not fully able to find your words. you were gonna finish what you started.

“you sure?” he whispers, and you can feel his heart beating faster — and his shorts growing tighter — behind your back.

“tias, i can feel you. you want this as bad as i do,” you half-argue back.

“i don’t have a condom or anything; are you sure it’s fine?” he implores.

“oh my god, mattias, please just fuck me already,” you whine, begging him for more. 

and with that, he’s rolling you over, pinning you to the sheet, the warmth of his body caging you in. 

he begins kissing you again, his movements slow and soft, savoring the moment, all while simultaneously thrusting down onto you, trying to get some kind of friction going. you reach down between your bodies, untying the strings of the bright red shorts he’s wearing. you fidget with the waistband, and he lets out another groan. 

“go for it,” he confirms, panting into your ear, and you tug them down just enough for his cock to bob free. he shuffles them off, discarding them with the previous pile of clothes, and you look down between you two. he was right, it was big. you begin calculating in your head how he was going to make it work, suddenly growing desperate to find out. 

“told you,” he says, with that stupid smirk back on his face. you let out an exasperated laugh, catching his chains in between your teeth. it’s his turn to laugh now. 

he pumps himself a few times, although he definitely didn't need to, adjusting himself in order to line himself up with your entrance. he glides his cock through your folds, and you arch up into him. he uses that opportunity to grab onto your back, keeping you flush with his body again.

he finally pushes in, and the stretch of him is almost mindnumbing. 

“holy shit,” is all you can muster, as he bottoms out and readjusts himself to get the right angle. he begins slowly rocking in and out, not quite fully pushing all the way back in, and you can tell that he thinks you can’t take it.

you moan his name, signalling for him to pick up speed. the sounds of your bodies mixing together are most definitely echoing through the air, and you hope and pray that none of your neighbors have decided to go for an early morning jog. 

he finds his rhythm, picking up your left leg and hooking it over his hip. this angle is heavenly, and you can tell it feels good for him, too, because another throaty groan escapes his lips.

“so tight, holy fuck. you like that, baby?,” he asks, planting kisses across your chest and neck, leaving plenty of marks in his wake. 

“yes, oh my god, ti,” you squeak, the feeling of his thrusts interrupting your ability to speak in full sentences. 

you can feel him getting closer, judging by the way his cock twitches inside you. 

“where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, and you know exactly what he means. 

“anywhere. just not in,” you reply, your paranoia suddenly taking over. 

he complies, pulling out. the loss of contact makes you wince, but he leans back on his heels, jerking himself off over you. your hand reaches down between your thighs, rubbing your own clit, until he swats it away, replacing it with his own free hand. the image of the large, muscular body in front of you, doing what he’s doing, is enough to send you to your second orgasm of the night. you come, quickly, nothing but smalls gasps escaping your lips. this is enough for him, and he spills, painting your chest with his seed. 

you can’t help but grab for your own breast, lightly rubbing it into your skin. mattias is still straddling you, his own breathing trying to recover. 

“i wish i could take a picture right now,” he says. “this is the hottest thing i’ve seen in my life. you’re so perfect, oh my god.” he’s panting. 

“why don’t you?” you ask, motioning toward his long-abandoned phone on the blanket next to you both. his eyes grow wide, as if he was certain that he had misheard you, until you quip, “seriously, go for it. something to think about on your roadies. consider it a gift,” you tease, and he scrambles to grab his phone. he turns it on, the time now reading 4:38 am. the sun is just barely starting to peak over the water, the sky now a pale purple, like something out of a national geographic magazine. 

he swipes to the camera app, lining you up in the frame, your come-covered tits prominately centered in the middle, the breaking of dawn just barely visible behind you. you hear the camera click, and you let out an exasperated giggle. leaning up, you wrap your hands around his neck, and he pulls you close. 

“it’s fucking freezing out here,” you complain, your shivering suddenly returning to your body. 

“i know, i hid your sweatshirt under the blanket about 2 hours ago,” mattias reveals, and you smack him lightly on the back of the head. he reaches over, lifting up the corner of the sheet, revealing the old sweatshirt, shaking the sand out of it. he uses the old sheet to clean you up quickly, then helps you place the sweatshirt on, planting a sweet kiss to your lips as your head pops out the top. 

“we should definitely head in now,” you say, standing up from your place in his lap. reaching for your bikini bottoms and loosely retying them to your hips, you then throw his shorts and shirt playfully against his chest, and he quickly and haphazardly put them back on. he continues to hold on to your top, and he grabs your hand as you make your way back up the dune, up to his house that is all too quiet now. 

you walk through the gate, pausing at the sliding glass door, turning to face him. 

“we should talk about this, later,” you say, scared of what he might say next. he looks down at you, his height suddenly overwhelming you. 

“later is good, yeah. let’s just savor it for now, okay?” he suggests, and you wonder if he truly means it. your friends would surely catch on, and you have no clue how to go about that awkward conversation, even though, unbeknownst to the both of you, the group had been placing bets for years now about how long it would take for you two to break. anna was about to be $1,000 richer. 

with that, you two quietly open the sliding glass door, both cringing slightly at the chime of the alarm system that notifies when doors are opened and closed. he leads you up the stairs, daring to not make any extra noise, when he stops at his bedroom door, your shared guest room that housed the 3 other sleeping girls just 2 doors down.

“stay with me, please?” he begs, and his eyes soften. he reaches up to rub his left eye with his finger, a nervous tic of his that never goes unnoticed from you. 

“of course,” you whisper, and you let him lead you through to his room. 

you make your way to his bed, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants that had been thrown lazily on the floor, replacing your bikini bottoms with them, the small article joining the pile next to you. he climbs up onto the bed with you, a fresh pair of boxer briefs now on his body. he pulls you close, taking in the scent of your hair — the salt of the ocean, now mixed with his cologne — and he lets out what sounds like the largest sigh of relief of his life. 

you once again feel his heartbeat against your chest, this time, the steadiness, mixed with his rhythmic breathing, lulls you into sleep.

this wasn’t the first time you two had shared a bed, but it was different, this time. as you drift off, you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time you fell asleep with him holding you like this.

[yauchfilms]

fever pitch ✢ connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem!reader 

warnings: fluff!, mentions of vomiting, this is a sick fic!!!, swearing, connor being down bad

summary: connor comes to pick up y/n for their first date. he wasn’t expecting to spend the evening playing nurse…..

word count: 2.3k

author's note: based tightly on one of my favorite scenes in cinema, from the greatest film of all time. 

connor grasps tightly onto the bouquet of flowers he had thrown together earlier in the evening from his weekly trader joe’s run: baby’s breath and daisies haphazardly wrapped in yesterday’s edition of the star tribune that he so graciously “borrowed” from the pr office this morning. nervously bringing his closed fist to the door, he sends it; three curt knocks hitting the front door to your apartment. 

he waits a beat, hearing nothing but what he swears is a loud, ominous groan. perplexed, he knocks again. 

“hey, it’s, uh, it’s connor? kaylee and du- uh, brandon’s friend,” he calls out, not entirely sure that he’s even speaking to anyone. 

suddenly, the handle turns, and he’s met with you – pale, chapped, hair a sweaty, matted mess and totally unlike what you looked like in the photos that his teammate’s girlfriend had showed him last week when she decided you two needed to grab a drink together. 

“oh my god,” you utter, “come back; i’ll call you tomorrow. i’m so sorry, i’m so fucking sick.”

you attempt to close the door, trying to retreat back into the comfort of your apartment to stake your claim back on the toilet bowl, when suddenly an arm is blocking your path.

“wait, wait! what kind of sick? are you- are you in pain?” connor probes, a look of genuine concern washing over him. his blue-gray eyes meet with yours, pleading with you, and suddenly, the amount of guilt in your mind increases tenfold. 

“i- i ate at this new place for lunch, and i think –” you muster, and suddenly a wave of nausea overtakes you once again, and you sprint your way back to the safety of your bathroom, leaving your date at the door once again. 

“are you faking it? because, you know, we don’t have to really do this. we can lie and tell kaylee we went out, if you want,” you hear connor call out to you, him still not daring to cross the threshold. 

you don’t respond, your head too busy shoved into the toilet, trying to empty out the contents of your stomach. you plead to anyone you can to save yourself from this torment – your mom, god, any higher power at this point. 

you hear footsteps suddenly approaching, and you let out another groan. he really won’t take the hint, will he?

suddenly, there’s a knock on the open bathroom door. 

“so, uh, do you wanna call a raincheck on this? i can come back tomorrow if you’re not busy,” he calls to you, his head finally peeking into the bathroom. you can’t believe he’s seeing you like this, as you let out another heave into the bowl. all you can do is groan again.

a few moments pass, and you finally feel a wave of reprieve, sitting back on your heels.

somehow, he’s still standing there, leaning against the doorframe.  

he stuck it out for this long; surely he could be of help in your time of need?

“please stay,” you whisper, voice barely audible in the echoing bathroom. 

suddenly, he’s by your side, helping you up off the ground. steadying your grip on his arm, his opposite hand skirting your waist, not daring to roam anywhere unwanted. he looks around for a trashcan, unable to locate one in your bathroom. he grabs the closest thing he can find – an empty, cloth laundry bag tucked into a metal basket. normally you would complain, but all you want in this moment is your bed. 

he leads you out of the en suite and back into your bedroom, being careful as to not move too quickly or suddenly.

“that’s it, almost there,” he soothes, not quite in your ear, but close enough to where the words feel comforting. 

he leads you to your bed, attempting to prop your weakened body up against the side of it. 

“that’s it; right there,” he mutters, almost to himself. turning quickly, he lets go, and you immediately flop back onto the bed.

“oh fuck!” he exclaims, quickly moving to catch onto you. all you can do is wince at the impact. 

he runs a soothing hand over your aching head. 

“shhh,” he coos, grabbing one of your pillows. he tells you to lift up, and soon he’s placing the pillow under your head. you look back up at him, babbling incoherently about the embarrassment of the situation. but if he heard it, he chose to ignore it. 

he stands back up, smoothing out the jeans he’s wearing. 

“do you have any pajamas?” he asks, and you realise that you’re still in the outfit you had planned on wearing out tonight.

“top drawer,” you manage to get out, pointing lazily towards your dresser across the room. 

he gets a move on, sauntering over to the dresser, clapping his hands together as if creating a game plan in his head. his concern, coupled with his ability to keep the situation light, made you feel at ease. 

opening the drawer, he spots an old, ratty minnesota wild t-shirt, a shirt that has obviously been a sleep staple for years.

he lets out a small giggle, holding it up to show it off to you.

“you know, i think i could get you some cleaner ones; i’m kind of a big deal around here,” he says, a smile appearing across his face. 

you chuckle to yourself. it’s the first time you have felt any semblance of normalcy since the feeling in your stomach first appeared. 

your eyes meet again, and he closes the drawer with the shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. 

putting the clothes down next to you, he grabs your arms and places them around his neck. you rest your chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, a soft, yet manly scent that makes you feel at ease. 

“i’m so sorry about this again,” you whine into his ear. rubbing your back, he assures you that you have nothing to be sorry about. 

suddenly, you’re standing up, chests pressed tightly against each other. you pause to really take in his features – reddish hair tousled loosely against his forehead, freckles lining the bridge of his nose. looking down to meet your eyes, he brings a hand up to push back the hair caked to your forehead from sweat.

“i’m gonna help you change, if that’s okay. i promise i won’t look.”

all you can do is nod your head. 

his hands fall to your waist, lightly gripping the bottom hem of the top you’re wearing. it’s in that moment that you forgot that you had forgone a bra today, suddenly feeling exposed, but honestly not even caring at this point. 

he lifts the material over your head and lets out a deep sigh.

“okay, i looked. sorry. they’re nice,” he confesses, and all you can do is laugh at the absurdity of the moment. picking the t-shirt from the bed, he tucks it over your head, guiding your arms through the holes. at this point, you are more than aware that you could dress yourself, but there’s something about the intimacy of it all that you find exhilarating. 

next to go is your jeans, the long t-shirt fortunately covering your lower half. you unbutton them yourself, so as not to take things too far too soon. you hold his shoulders to help you stand up, the soft muscle under his shirt making your mind race. he brings the shorts up your legs, his fingers trailing up ever-so-gently your thighs. if you weren’t so ill right now, you might just jump his bones. 

“feel better?” he asks, waiting for your approval. you give him a quick nod, signaling to him that you’re ready for bed. you look back behind you, ready to crawl up on the bed yourself, when suddenly, his arm is scooping under your thigh, and he has you in his arms. you could have walked there yourself, but you must admit, this is kind of nice. 

lowering you to the bed, you hear him mutter, “hey, it’s gonna be okay; there’s nothing left to throw up; i promise!” there’s a sweetness and sincerity to his voice that makes you melt. 

“and if you do, you got your hamper right here,” he continues, and you know he’s being serious, but you can’t help but laugh. 

he gives your hand a squeeze, and you reciprocate, his touch feeling oddly calming to you. he looks around the room for a second, unsure of his next move, until he walks out of your bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. within minutes, you fall asleep. 

you had assumed connor had left. there was no more reason for him to stay, right? so when you wake up to the sound of shuffling in your room, you’re caught by surprise. connor walks toward you, placing a bottle of gatorade on your bedside table. he leans down, pushing a loose piece of hair from your face. you know you must look like a mess.

“hey, drink this when you feel like it, baby,” he whispers. baby. hm. you liked how he said that. it must’ve been a force of habit for him, but you wouldn’t complain. 

his calming touch sends you back to sleep almost immediately, you whispering your thanks to him as you drift off.

suddenly, you’re awake again, but you swear you’re still dreaming because you look into your bathroom, and there he is, on his hands and knees, scrubbing your toilet. there’s no way any of this is real, and you think to yourself that you just might have to propose when you’re coherent enough. 

the next morning, you wake up, feeling significantly better than the night before. you quickly retreat to the shower, washing away the sweat and filth that coated your body, and thinking about the absolute fever dream that was last night. slipping into your bathrobe, you brush your teeth to rid the last bits of funk from your palette. 

walking into your living room, you fully expect to find yourself alone, but instead, there connor is, asleep on your couch, cuddled up with your dog, ernie. you smile to yourself, clearing your throat. ernie scrambles off the couch, and connor bolts awake. 

“oh my god, i’m so fucking sorry,” he exclaims, embarrassment settling across his face. 

“no, no, it’s okay, i just wasn’t expecting you to actually stay,” you respond, the smile on your face never wavering. 

he gets up off the couch fully, sauntering over to you. you’re now finally standing face to face, both of you fully coherent. you can see him taking you in, his breath hitching. you look him over, fully realizing just how attractive he is. you take his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“you didn’t have to stay, but you did. that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. thanks for cleaning the bathroom by the way.”

“yeah, it’s no- it’s no problem. i couldn’t let myself leave you like this. i would’ve been kicking myself if i knew you had gotten worse if you were all alone,” he replies. 

“there’s more gatorade in the fridge, by the way. it was 3 for $6 at the bodega and i figured you should probably continue stocking up on those electrolytes, you know,” he continues, a shy blush stretching across his cheeks. 

“wow, you would think you’re some kind of professional athlete or something,” you jest, and his face breaks into a mischievous grin. 

“yeah, i’ve picked up a thing or two, i guess,” he retorts.

“well, connor, i definitely think i owe you a better date. do you want to go get breakfast?” you ask, silently praying that you hadn't turned him off with the awkwardness of the night before. 

he pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time, a wince escaping his lips.

“unfortunately, i’ve got practice in an hour, so i don’t think i can do breakfast. if you give me a few hours, though, i can swing back by and we can grab lunch around 2? if that works for you?”

you nod your head in agreement, and boldly, you wrap your hands around his neck. his hands find comfort on your hips, fingers toying with the belt of your robe. 

“you know, as far as first dates go, this was definitely the most interesting one i’ve had,” you smirk, and he looks down at you, eyes lingering towards your lips. 

“oh is that right?” he teases, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. “can i kiss you?” he mumbles, the nervousness in his voice evident. 

“i did just brush my teeth…” you trail off, your face settling into his hand. 

he leans down, placing a chaste, yet sweet kiss to your lips. you chase him, deepening it, melting into his touch. it was silly, making out with a boy you just met in your living room, after he spent the night cleaning up your vomit. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

suddenly, you’re interrupted by the sound of his phone pinging. 

“oh shit, i forgot i’m supposed to be picking dewey up for practice this morning,” he sighs, not wanting to sour the moment.

“it’s okay, you go. you know where to find me when you’re done,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your voice. 

he gathers up his things, heading towards the door, giving ernie a pat on the head on his way out. you stop him before he leaves, planting one last kiss to his lips, before he’s fully out the door and walking down the hall with a quick “see you later”. you close the door behind you, finally noticing the bouquet of flowers he had left on the catch-all by the door. you let out another deep sigh.

yeah. you were screwed. 

[yauchfilms]

he looked really sexy last night so i guess. boost

[yauchfilms]

Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $60,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future.

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤️‍🩹

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

boosting!

[gansey-like]

how close to an Olympian are you?

i am an Olympic athlete

my friend or family member is an Olympic athlete

someone I played Sports with or against once is an Olympic athlete

someone from my hometown is an Olympic athlete

i'm not an Olympic athlete but I've competed in the Olympic trials for my sport

i am 2-4 degrees of separation from an Olympic athlete

i randomly met an Olympic athlete once out in public

i have no connection to any Olympic athletes

i've been to the Olympics in person and seen lots of athletes that way

nuance/i'm bald/etc

Voting ended onAug 7, 2024

[yauchfilms]

anything with logan and being back in florida ? would appreciate!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

sunburn ✢ logan sargeant (18+)

pairing: logan sargeant x reader (established relationship)

warnings: smut, porn with plot (lots of exposition sorry i got carried away), one use of y/n, soft dom!logan, switchy!reader, fingering, edging, unprotected p in v, lots of pet names, begging, lots and lots of praise, body part worship if you squint, cursing, logan’s a simp, reader is implied floridian, implied childhood friends to lovers, sunburns, fluffy intimacy

summary: it’s been too long since y/n has been back in the states and she is NOT used to the florida sun like she used to be, but don’t worry, logan knows how to take care of her.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: sorry i got soooo carried away with this i don’t know what came over me. this was NOT supposed to be smut but im just a florida girl crushing on a florida boy here y’all lmao. i’m down so bad for this man that i just went kinda crazy. also this was my first time writing smut so pls bare with me. this is inspired by my friend (and fellow logan girly) who just acquired a nasty sunburn lmaoooo. enjoy!!!!

it had been quite a while since you and logan had been back home together. well, not really, but the weather was typically a lot nicer in the winter months than in the spring and summer, and you were not used to it. after you and logan moved to london together full-time, you rarely saw the sun anymore, and your matching pale complexions certainly reflected that sentiment. 

obviously, the miami race weekend was a big deal for the whole sargeant camp. aunts, uncles, cousins, childhood friends, and grandparents would be making their short trip down i-95 to see logan race, but it also meant that you and logan could spend a week together at home, in the sun, in each other’s company. a free vacation of sorts. logan’s parents were busy getting the house ready for the hordes of guests that were to soon occupy the space, so you and logan were more than happy to get out of their hair and into the back yard for some relaxation. 

it was sunday, and you found yourself lounging out on the dock, lost in a romance novel that was probably making you lose brain cells, when you heard a familiar voice calling out to you.

“y/n!”, logan yelled from where him and coco were playing on the grass. “have you been applying sunscreen?” 

you put your book down, letting out a small huff at his question. logan often took a rather paternal role over you, not in a weird or demeaning way, but rather in the sense that he always has your best interest at heart. and you loved that about him, loved how he always wanted to take care of you without being asked. 

you looked down over the chaise longue you were laid out on, thinking there was a bottle of SPF next to your drink, but all that was there was the can of sparkling water you had been nursing. 

“don’t have any; i’ll be okay!” you called back, hoping that would be the end of it.

“you want me to bring you some? it’s no problem,” logan replied, positioning himself to get up off the ground.

“don’t worry about it; i’m coming inside soon anyways!” you half-lied, knowing that logan usually respected your wishes when it came to things like that. you knew you weren’t necessarily telling him the truth, but he knew you and your stubbornness, and he knew it was not his business to try to fix it. 

another few hours had passed, and logan and the dog had long gone inside to find something else to do. you had stayed out, vowing to finish your book in one sitting. as you closed it, you stood up from the lounger, grabbing your long-abandoned can from the ground, wrapping yourself in the towel that you had been laying on, making your way back into the comfort of the house – and the air conditioning.

walking in through the kitchen, you pass logan’s mom, who was cooking dinner for the family. 

“oh sweetie, looks like you got some color on you!” she exclaims, chopping up some vegetables. 

“yeah, it’s been a minute since i’ve had time to tan! i missed the florida sunshine too much.”

“well, logan’s in his room, and dinner’s in about an hour if you’d like to freshen up,”  mrs. sargeant said sweetly, motioning towards the hallway towards logan’s room.

upon your arrival, logan moved his laptop out of his lap and onto the bed next to him. you took the towel off your shoulders, leaving you in just your bikini, when logan’s eyes went wide with shock.

“what, it’s not like you haven’t seen me in a bikini before?” you quipped, reacting to his sudden change of expression. 

“y/n, you are bright red, like ferrari red,” logan replied, serious as a heart attack. you make your way to the vanity over his dresser, taking in your current state. logan was right. you were burnt. 

“what the fuck dude, i swear i wasn’t out there that long,” you snapped, poking and prodding yourself in the mirror, letting out a wince when you stumbled over a particularly sensitive area.

logan gets off his spot on the bed, making his way towards you, joining you in front of the mirror. his hands immediately fall to your hips out of instinct, but he makes sure not to grab too tightly due to your new look.

“baby,” he says, placing his chin onto your shoulder. you let out another wince, reacting to his touch. “i told you to wear sunscreen. now look at you, my little lobster…”

“this isn’t funny,” you pout, and he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips. you spin around in his arms, now facing him face-to-face rather than through the mirror. 

“stop pouting baby, and go hop in the shower, please. the sooner you get some cold water on you, the better you’ll feel. i can feel the heat radiating off you from here,” logan said with a giggle. his hands linger around your ass, and he gives a slight smack to send you on your way, which elicits a shrill yelp from you due to the sensitivity of the area. 

“are you at least going to join me?” you question as you make your way to his en suite, stopping in the door frame with your arms crossed across your chest. logan lets out another giggle.

“and listen to you whine the whole time? no thanks, plus i showered like an hour ago,” he replies, which garners a predictable whine from you.  “if you make it quick, i might have something that can help you,” he adds, and you turn on your heel into the bathroom, shutting the door with a slam. 

and he was right; the shower hurt like hell, but you know that had he been there, you wouldn’t have been able to properly soak in the cold water, so you silently curse him for being right. 

you walk back into logan’s room, wrapped in your towel, when you see him sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. he hears you approach, putting his phone down and grabbing the clear bottle off the bed next to him. 

“i found you aloe; well, my mom did. she said your burn is one of the worst she’s seen,” logan said, presenting the bottle to you like it was a participation trophy. 

“is that supposed to make me feel better or worse, logie?” you questioned, feigning offence from his comment. 

“well, the comment probably won’t, but hopefully the aloe does,” he replied. “c’mere, baby,” he cooed, his arms outstretched, welcoming you into his arms. you take your spot on his lap, legs draped over his thigh, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you in place. logan places a kiss to the bridge of your nose, and along your cheeks, leaning in to admire the newly-formed freckles that were threatening to peak out from underneath the harsh redness of your skin. 

“your freckles are back; reminds me of when we were little, trying to catch fish with my dad in the backyard. you were so bad at it; still are to be honest, but it’s okay because you still look cute trying to bait a hook,” he laughs, his breath giving a cooling sensation to your cheeks, and you wish he would keep talking just to feel his breath against your skin. 

“logan, baby, the aloe?” you suggest, knowing that the time he’s wasting is killing you. all you crave is the feeling of the lotion on you, and his hands being the ones to apply it. 

“sorry, didn’t mean to get sentimental on you, just being here with you makes me think about stuff like that. i sometimes wish we could go back…” logan trails off, and you know what he’s thinking about. he often thinks about the memories of you growing up, how much he missed you when he moved away to the uk, and what it meant to get you back. you like to think of those moments too, sometimes, but he often gets in his head about it. 

“i know,” you coo, lifting a hand up to card through the longer hair on the back of his neck, as a way to soothe him.

he lifts the bottle of aloe up towards you. 

“may i?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow up in an inquisitive way.

“of course you may. how do you want me?” you ask, a mischievous look in your eye.

“do not say it like that, you minx,” logan shot back, your innuendo catching him by surprise. 

“keep talking crazy like that, and we might have a problem,” he snapped, although with no actual malice behind it. “you can lay on your tummy first, though, and i’ll go from there, if that’s okay,” he said, his expression softening as he looked at you. 

you climb out of his lap and onto your stomach on the bed next to him, and he straddles your back to get the proper angle. 

“this okay?” he asks, tugging slightly at the towel that is still loosely wrapped around your back. 

“log, you’ve seen me naked countless times; of course it’s okay,” you quip, turning your head so he can see the side of your face. he leans down, planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek, blowing a raspberry there. this elicits a giggle from you, wriggling underneath him. 

logan drags the towel down your body slowly, his fingers barely grazing your warm, sensitive skin, standing up on his knees to pull it out from under you. 

“i know we aren’t having sex or anything, but could you at least take your shirt off or something? this feels too clinical,” you say, causing logan to burst out laughing above you.

“you are not a real person, i swear to god,” he quips, pulling his shirt over his head in one quick motion. “is that better, princess?” he says sarcastically, using the nickname he only gives you when you’re acting like a handful. 

between your fits of giggles, you let out a “mhm” that signals to logan that he is free to proceed. this evokes an eye roll from logan that you catch out of the corner of your eye. 

his attitude doesn’t last long, however, because before you can protest, his lips find your shoulder blade, peppering kisses along the top of your back, feeling his stubble graze across your skin. it burns, but feels so good at the same time.

“so sweet for me, logie,” you groan, melting into his touch. he reaches for your hair, still damp from the shower, to move it out of his way, as he makes his way across the plane of your body.  

all he can manage is a drawn out “hmmmmm” as he feels the warmth of your skin along his cheek. 

he pulls away suddenly, and you whimper at the loss of contact from him. 

“i know, i know,” he cooes, and you hear the bottle of lotion being opened just out of your periphery. 

his hands make contact with your skin again, feeling the sensation of the cool liquid as he massages it in. his strong hands make their way up and down your back, causing you to arch only slightly, if it wasn’t for him sitting squarely on your ass. 

“you’re killing me, logan,” you half-whisper, his actions genuinely taking your ability to speak at a regular volume, the intimacy of it all being just a little too much for you. 

“feels good, huh?” he asks, and although you can’t see it, you can tell that he’s cocked his eyebrow at you, and you’re surprised he’s been able to behave himself this long. 

his hands work swiftly, massaging the liquid in with long, deft fingers, the sensation driving you crazy.

“logan, i want you, please,” you whine, looking up over your shoulder to meet his gaze, your eyes softening in an almost begging manor. 

“i thought you said we weren’t–” 

“i lied. i’m a liar. i need you right now,” you beg, as logan stands back up on his knees to allow you to roll over underneath him, him now settled on your thighs.

“fuck, baby, i can’t say no to you,” he huffs, not sure exactly how to make the next move. he looks down at you splayed out in front of him, taking in the sight before him. a hand reaches down to caress down your chest, fingers grazing slightly over your nipple, causing your breath to hitch. 

“we have to make it quick, okay? can you be good for me?” he asks, his hand lingering on your left breast. 

you let out a whimper, shaking your head slightly.

“words, baby,” he sighs, his fingers massaging into the tissue of your chest. 

“yes, i’ll do whatever you want,” you whisper, unable to find your voice with how turned on you were. 

“that’s my pretty girl,” logan cooes, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips, adjusting himself so he’s slotted between your legs. the kiss deepens, his tongue finding its way into your mouth, as he swallows your muffled moans, trying to avoid the awkward conversation with his mom later. 

“gotta be quiet, baby,” he whispers, his hand running up and down your side, the warmth of his hand searing your sensitive skin.

“god, i feel like we’re in high school again,” you say, rolling your eyes at him.

“except i wasn’t nearly as good then as i am now, though,” he smirks, diving down to leave a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to the base of your neck, softly nibbling on your pulse point. 

“are you gonna prove it?” you ask, trying to rile him up.

this question evokes something in him, his breath against your skin coming hot and sudden, and you could feel the deep exhale from his nose.

leaning up to your ear, he whispers, “you are such a brat.”

the sensation from the whisper mixed with the sting of his words sends a shock straight to your core. he’s not always the best at dirty talk, but he still somehow knows exactly what to say and when to say it. 

“touch me, logan,” you manage to squeak out, your breath growing heavier the more you took in his words, and he was eager to oblige.

with that, the hand that found comfort on your hip trailed its way down between your bodies, grazing the softness of your stomach, fingers oh-so-gently teasing your folds. 

“so wet, huh? so worked up for me? you drive me so fucking crazy, you know that?” he growls, his voice rasping as he begins rubbing small circles against your clit with his thumb. “one or two, baby?” he asks, and you know exactly what he means. 

“two, please”, you whine into his mouth, body arching up into him before he even has the chance to touch you properly. 

“good girl, take it so well,” he groans, sliding two fingers into your cunt, almost too slowly. his voice is almost unrecognizable, the threat of being too loud taking over. his thumb continues its pattern on your clit.

you feel the tension building as he fucks his hand in and out of you, but not before you feel him slowing his pace down.

“i know you wanna come now baby, but we don’t have long. i’m gonna stop, and we can come together, okay?”, he half-whispers. 

his hand moves from its spot between your thighs back up toward your lips, as he rests his fingers on your bottom lip, cocking his eyebrow at you. 

“o-okay,” you squeak out, and with that, his fingers push past your lips, urging you to suck them clean, and you oblige, swirling your tongue around his digits, tasting yourself on his fingers. 

your hands trail down between you two, your fingers dipping underneath his shorts and boxers, toying with the waistband. 

logan removes his fingers from your mouth, opting to move back to your jawline, planting lingering kisses along the bone.

“quit teasing, baby, want you on top. let me see those pretty tits of yours, yeah?”, he smirks, knowing that him complimenting your body drives you crazy in the best way. 

you oblige with a searing kiss to his lips, opting to pull his shorts down in one motion, cock bobbing free and slapping across his stomach. he reaches down to finish taking them off, throwing them on the floor with your long-abandoned towel. 

he rolls you both over with ease, you now on top. your fingertips graze his chest, down to his abs, grabbing his cock and giving it a few quick pumps to make sure he’s ready. 

“ready, log?” you ask, your hands now on either side of his head, his blue eyes sparkling back up at you, your hips and ass now up in the air waiting for his cue. 

he leans up to chase your lips, trying to kiss you, just out of his reach. 

“please, baby, i can’t take it much more,” he begs, using his arms to pull you down to him, sinking down on him, and meeting his lips with yours. now it’s his turn to moan into your mouth. 

“fuuuuuck,” is all he’s able to get out, his hands finding their way to your hips, trying to help you relieve the lack of sensation. Your hips roll for the first time over him, and his hips immediately buck up into you.

“patience, baby. i thought i was the desperate one?” your words go right to his cock, making him buck up once again, making you speed up your motions. you feel the effects of his desperation on your body, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every bounce on his cock.

“fuck, you’re close, baby; so am i,” logan pants, the physicality of it all catching up to him. he knows your body so well; he can always tell when you’re about to come. 

with his observation, you lean back with your hands behind you on his thighs, your hips continuing to roll against his body, eliciting a low, grumbling moan from logan. he loved you like that, all cock-drunk and lazy on top of him. it also meant that he had a perfect view of your tits, both his hands reaching to grab at them as he continued fucking up into you. 

“these are so fucking perfect. all mine. i can’t believe you’re all mine, baby,” logan pants, both of your movements becoming lazier, as he rolls your nipples in between his fingers, feeling your already-tight walls close in on his cock.

you can feel your orgasm quickly approaching with his presence on your tits, and you know that he isn’t going to last long, either. you lean forward, diminishing the space between you two, giving logan the opportunity to bear hug you. his thrusts up into you send you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, causing you to let out a muffled moan onto his right pec. your vision goes slightly blurry for a second until you hear a grunted “fuck, baby”, followed by the feeling of logan’s hips sputtering underneath you. he comes shortly after you, spilling into you. 

You collapse onto his chest, your highs riding out together. he doesn’t loosen his grip around your back, planting a sweet kiss to the top of your forehead, pulling out as you lay pitifully on his chest.

“so good for me, baby, so sweet. fuck, i’m so lucky,” he whispers, rubbing your back where, just a few minutes earlier, he was applying aloe lotion. he rolls you both over so that you’re now facing each other on your sides. 

you reach a hand up to caress his face, feeling the stubble from a week’s worth of no races, the hair rough against your smooth palm. 

“logie, you fucked me so good i almost forgot about this damn sunburn,” you giggled, “but now we’re done and it just hurts again!”

“guess that means i’ll just have to fuck you again,” logan smirked, burying his head into the crook of your neck, eliciting more giggles from you. you begin to hook your leg over his thigh, bringing you even closer, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. you almost begin the cycle over again until you hear a knock on the door that has you both frozen in your tracks. 

“dinner!” you hear his mom cheer from the other side of the door, and then her footsteps clearly walking back down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“guess not,” you teased, eliciting an eye roll from logan, who quickly gets up to pull you into the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

[yauchfilms]

reblogging for exposure bc ironically after publishing this i found out i would be moving to florida for a job. so here i am now, posting from the beach!

[puck-luck]

oooo u wanna write a mattias vacation one shot so bad

i feel like i'm being hypnotized LMAO (i really do want to write one LOL but i can never live up to your beach fic 😩)

[yauchfilms]

you are btw. i believe in u

[yauchfilms]

SICK DAY

a max fried one shot

as the title suggests , max is sick

fluffy as heck , a little angsty , very domestic

based loosely on That One Scene from Fever Pitch

max had a cold. it wasn’t career ending and it wasn’t crippling, but he was cranky, and you could tell. despite your best efforts to get him to stay home, he insisted on going to the game since he was starting. you knew him, and you knew it wasn’t going to end well, but you figured you would let him learn his lesson. as he hurried out the door, you had given him a kiss on the forehead and a bottle of emergen-c, reminding him to stay, at the very least, hyrdrated.

the game did not go well. you sat on the edge of the couch the whole time, nervous for max’s start. he ended up making the only hit from the team of the night, which to be honest, was quite shocking. as he was pulled from the game due to hand cramping, your heart sank, but silently cursed him for not drinking his emergen-c. you knew that as soon as he got home he was gonna be pouty, so you set off to preparing.

as soon as midnight rolled around, you heard the front door open. max, freshly showered, walked through, kicking his shoes off and ripping his mask off in frustration.

“that was a fucking joke.”

you got up off the couch to greet him; after you had seen him get taken out you switched the tv to a show you had rather wanted to watch.

“hi love. i saw. is everything alright?”, you asked, your arms opening for an embrace. he gladly accepted, his towering frame practically melting into you. he remained silent, which was a sure sign that he was upset. he didn’t necessarily hide the pout on his face either. you stood there for a few moments, rubbing his back while he swayed back and forth in your arms. he let out the occasional sniffle.

“why don’t we take your things and get you ready for bed, alright. i know it’s been a long day.”

“okay, but can you hold me a little more?” his voice was almost a whisper. the signature max mumble. how could you say no?

you took his hand and led him up the stairs to the bedroom. he was visibly groggy, almost stumbling. he went to sit down on the bed and immediately slumped over.

“max, you can’t sleep in a button down you silly goose,” you giggle in disbelief that your boyfriend could act so babyish.

“can you help me?”

he gave you that puppy dog look, and you obviously couldn’t say no.

“you have to at least stand up so i can get your pants off.” as he stirred, you walked over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of plaid pajamas. as you turned to face him, you made eye contact with the sad, sick boy, and couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

as he stood over you, you started unbuttoning his shirt, he placed his hands on your waist, gently running his hands over you hips as he bent down to plant a sloppy kiss on top of your head. he helped himself out of his shirt, and as you unbuttoned his pants, he raised his eyebrows at you suggestively, but you simply rolled your eyes.

he put his pajama pants on and crawled into bed, you following suit. as soon as you got tucked in, you felt him wrap his arms around you as he rolled into you.

“do you wanna talk now?” you asked calmly, so as not to rile him up.

“i just feel gross today; i let them down,” he mumbled into your neck.

you understood his frustration and knew why he was the way he was, so instead of prying, you opted to make circles on his back with one hand, while running your hand through his hair with the other. his breath felt nice against your neck, and you could feel him plant kisses every few moments on your shoulder and neck. soon this became less frequent, and his breath slowed. since he was sick, he was breathing heavy, but you could hear the light snores escape him, and that was your signal that your job was done.

ps . i posted this on AO3 a bit ago but i figured tumblr might be a good place for it too

[yauchfilms]

this is so vintage. i totally forgot i've already written a one shot based off that scene already. oh well it's cinema!

[yauchfilms]

fever pitch ✢ connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem!reader 

warnings: fluff!, mentions of vomiting, this is a sick fic!!!, swearing, connor being down bad

summary: connor comes to pick up y/n for their first date. he wasn’t expecting to spend the evening playing nurse…..

word count: 2.3k

author's note: based tightly on one of my favorite scenes in cinema, from the greatest film of all time. 

connor grasps tightly onto the bouquet of flowers he had thrown together earlier in the evening from his weekly trader joe’s run: baby’s breath and daisies haphazardly wrapped in yesterday’s edition of the star tribune that he so graciously “borrowed” from the pr office this morning. nervously bringing his closed fist to the door, he sends it; three curt knocks hitting the front door to your apartment. 

he waits a beat, hearing nothing but what he swears is a loud, ominous groan. perplexed, he knocks again. 

“hey, it’s, uh, it’s connor? kaylee and du- uh, brandon’s friend,” he calls out, not entirely sure that he’s even speaking to anyone. 

suddenly, the handle turns, and he’s met with you – pale, chapped, hair a sweaty, matted mess and totally unlike what you looked like in the photos that his teammate’s girlfriend had showed him last week when she decided you two needed to grab a drink together. 

“oh my god,” you utter, “come back; i’ll call you tomorrow. i’m so sorry, i’m so fucking sick.”

you attempt to close the door, trying to retreat back into the comfort of your apartment to stake your claim back on the toilet bowl, when suddenly an arm is blocking your path.

“wait, wait! what kind of sick? are you- are you in pain?” connor probes, a look of genuine concern washing over him. his blue-gray eyes meet with yours, pleading with you, and suddenly, the amount of guilt in your mind increases tenfold. 

“i- i ate at this new place for lunch, and i think –” you muster, and suddenly a wave of nausea overtakes you once again, and you sprint your way back to the safety of your bathroom, leaving your date at the door once again. 

“are you faking it? because, you know, we don’t have to really do this. we can lie and tell kaylee we went out, if you want,” you hear connor call out to you, him still not daring to cross the threshold. 

you don’t respond, your head too busy shoved into the toilet, trying to empty out the contents of your stomach. you plead to anyone you can to save yourself from this torment – your mom, god, any higher power at this point. 

you hear footsteps suddenly approaching, and you let out another groan. he really won’t take the hint, will he?

suddenly, there’s a knock on the open bathroom door. 

“so, uh, do you wanna call a raincheck on this? i can come back tomorrow if you’re not busy,” he calls to you, his head finally peeking into the bathroom. you can’t believe he’s seeing you like this, as you let out another heave into the bowl. all you can do is groan again.

a few moments pass, and you finally feel a wave of reprieve, sitting back on your heels.

somehow, he’s still standing there, leaning against the doorframe.  

he stuck it out for this long; surely he could be of help in your time of need?

“please stay,” you whisper, voice barely audible in the echoing bathroom. 

suddenly, he’s by your side, helping you up off the ground. steadying your grip on his arm, his opposite hand skirting your waist, not daring to roam anywhere unwanted. he looks around for a trashcan, unable to locate one in your bathroom. he grabs the closest thing he can find – an empty, cloth laundry bag tucked into a metal basket. normally you would complain, but all you want in this moment is your bed. 

he leads you out of the en suite and back into your bedroom, being careful as to not move too quickly or suddenly.

“that’s it, almost there,” he soothes, not quite in your ear, but close enough to where the words feel comforting. 

he leads you to your bed, attempting to prop your weakened body up against the side of it. 

“that’s it; right there,” he mutters, almost to himself. turning quickly, he lets go, and you immediately flop back onto the bed.

“oh fuck!” he exclaims, quickly moving to catch onto you. all you can do is wince at the impact. 

he runs a soothing hand over your aching head. 

“shhh,” he coos, grabbing one of your pillows. he tells you to lift up, and soon he’s placing the pillow under your head. you look back up at him, babbling incoherently about the embarrassment of the situation. but if he heard it, he chose to ignore it. 

he stands back up, smoothing out the jeans he’s wearing. 

“do you have any pajamas?” he asks, and you realise that you’re still in the outfit you had planned on wearing out tonight.

“top drawer,” you manage to get out, pointing lazily towards your dresser across the room. 

he gets a move on, sauntering over to the dresser, clapping his hands together as if creating a game plan in his head. his concern, coupled with his ability to keep the situation light, made you feel at ease. 

opening the drawer, he spots an old, ratty minnesota wild t-shirt, a shirt that has obviously been a sleep staple for years.

he lets out a small giggle, holding it up to show it off to you.

“you know, i think i could get you some cleaner ones; i’m kind of a big deal around here,” he says, a smile appearing across his face. 

you chuckle to yourself. it’s the first time you have felt any semblance of normalcy since the feeling in your stomach first appeared. 

your eyes meet again, and he closes the drawer with the shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. 

putting the clothes down next to you, he grabs your arms and places them around his neck. you rest your chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, a soft, yet manly scent that makes you feel at ease. 

“i’m so sorry about this again,” you whine into his ear. rubbing your back, he assures you that you have nothing to be sorry about. 

suddenly, you’re standing up, chests pressed tightly against each other. you pause to really take in his features – reddish hair tousled loosely against his forehead, freckles lining the bridge of his nose. looking down to meet your eyes, he brings a hand up to push back the hair caked to your forehead from sweat.

“i’m gonna help you change, if that’s okay. i promise i won’t look.”

all you can do is nod your head. 

his hands fall to your waist, lightly gripping the bottom hem of the top you’re wearing. it’s in that moment that you forgot that you had forgone a bra today, suddenly feeling exposed, but honestly not even caring at this point. 

he lifts the material over your head and lets out a deep sigh.

“okay, i looked. sorry. they’re nice,” he confesses, and all you can do is laugh at the absurdity of the moment. picking the t-shirt from the bed, he tucks it over your head, guiding your arms through the holes. at this point, you are more than aware that you could dress yourself, but there’s something about the intimacy of it all that you find exhilarating. 

next to go is your jeans, the long t-shirt fortunately covering your lower half. you unbutton them yourself, so as not to take things too far too soon. you hold his shoulders to help you stand up, the soft muscle under his shirt making your mind race. he brings the shorts up your legs, his fingers trailing up ever-so-gently your thighs. if you weren’t so ill right now, you might just jump his bones. 

“feel better?” he asks, waiting for your approval. you give him a quick nod, signaling to him that you’re ready for bed. you look back behind you, ready to crawl up on the bed yourself, when suddenly, his arm is scooping under your thigh, and he has you in his arms. you could have walked there yourself, but you must admit, this is kind of nice. 

lowering you to the bed, you hear him mutter, “hey, it’s gonna be okay; there’s nothing left to throw up; i promise!” there’s a sweetness and sincerity to his voice that makes you melt. 

“and if you do, you got your hamper right here,” he continues, and you know he’s being serious, but you can’t help but laugh. 

he gives your hand a squeeze, and you reciprocate, his touch feeling oddly calming to you. he looks around the room for a second, unsure of his next move, until he walks out of your bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. within minutes, you fall asleep. 

you had assumed connor had left. there was no more reason for him to stay, right? so when you wake up to the sound of shuffling in your room, you’re caught by surprise. connor walks toward you, placing a bottle of gatorade on your bedside table. he leans down, pushing a loose piece of hair from your face. you know you must look like a mess.

“hey, drink this when you feel like it, baby,” he whispers. baby. hm. you liked how he said that. it must’ve been a force of habit for him, but you wouldn’t complain. 

his calming touch sends you back to sleep almost immediately, you whispering your thanks to him as you drift off.

suddenly, you’re awake again, but you swear you’re still dreaming because you look into your bathroom, and there he is, on his hands and knees, scrubbing your toilet. there’s no way any of this is real, and you think to yourself that you just might have to propose when you’re coherent enough. 

the next morning, you wake up, feeling significantly better than the night before. you quickly retreat to the shower, washing away the sweat and filth that coated your body, and thinking about the absolute fever dream that was last night. slipping into your bathrobe, you brush your teeth to rid the last bits of funk from your palette. 

walking into your living room, you fully expect to find yourself alone, but instead, there connor is, asleep on your couch, cuddled up with your dog, ernie. you smile to yourself, clearing your throat. ernie scrambles off the couch, and connor bolts awake. 

“oh my god, i’m so fucking sorry,” he exclaims, embarrassment settling across his face. 

“no, no, it’s okay, i just wasn’t expecting you to actually stay,” you respond, the smile on your face never wavering. 

he gets up off the couch fully, sauntering over to you. you’re now finally standing face to face, both of you fully coherent. you can see him taking you in, his breath hitching. you look him over, fully realizing just how attractive he is. you take his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“you didn’t have to stay, but you did. that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. thanks for cleaning the bathroom by the way.”

“yeah, it’s no- it’s no problem. i couldn’t let myself leave you like this. i would’ve been kicking myself if i knew you had gotten worse if you were all alone,” he replies. 

“there’s more gatorade in the fridge, by the way. it was 3 for $6 at the bodega and i figured you should probably continue stocking up on those electrolytes, you know,” he continues, a shy blush stretching across his cheeks. 

“wow, you would think you’re some kind of professional athlete or something,” you jest, and his face breaks into a mischievous grin. 

“yeah, i’ve picked up a thing or two, i guess,” he retorts.

“well, connor, i definitely think i owe you a better date. do you want to go get breakfast?” you ask, silently praying that you hadn't turned him off with the awkwardness of the night before. 

he pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time, a wince escaping his lips.

“unfortunately, i’ve got practice in an hour, so i don’t think i can do breakfast. if you give me a few hours, though, i can swing back by and we can grab lunch around 2? if that works for you?”

you nod your head in agreement, and boldly, you wrap your hands around his neck. his hands find comfort on your hips, fingers toying with the belt of your robe. 

“you know, as far as first dates go, this was definitely the most interesting one i’ve had,” you smirk, and he looks down at you, eyes lingering towards your lips. 

“oh is that right?” he teases, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. “can i kiss you?” he mumbles, the nervousness in his voice evident. 

“i did just brush my teeth…” you trail off, your face settling into his hand. 

he leans down, placing a chaste, yet sweet kiss to your lips. you chase him, deepening it, melting into his touch. it was silly, making out with a boy you just met in your living room, after he spent the night cleaning up your vomit. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

suddenly, you’re interrupted by the sound of his phone pinging. 

“oh shit, i forgot i’m supposed to be picking dewey up for practice this morning,” he sighs, not wanting to sour the moment.

“it’s okay, you go. you know where to find me when you’re done,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your voice. 

he gathers up his things, heading towards the door, giving ernie a pat on the head on his way out. you stop him before he leaves, planting one last kiss to his lips, before he’s fully out the door and walking down the hall with a quick “see you later”. you close the door behind you, finally noticing the bouquet of flowers he had left on the catch-all by the door. you let out another deep sigh.

yeah. you were screwed.