summary: when you go to the olympics, it's not the competition you're excited for—no, all that fills your mind are the three men who can't wait to destroy you.
word count: 2,641
warnings?:18+ MINORS DNI, age gap between lance and reader/stucky (all over 18 but just know that lance is older than the others since he previously competed and is now a coach), implied threesome, explicitly described foursome, protected sex, oral (m & f receiving), anal, double penetration, pet name (princess), not proofread, probably sucks
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Coming to the Olympics had been your dream since childhood, ever since your momma first brought you in for your first gymnastics lesson. You'd flourished, she always told you, doing somersaults and cartwheels all around the other kids who showed up. Even your coach knew you were brilliant. You were quickly brought in for private lessons, starting competing early on.
By the time you were old enough for school, it was decided that you'd be homeschooled so that you could spend every moment practicing for the day that you could one day represent the United States. You never thought, though, that all of that work would make you eligible for your second Olympic Games, though.
You supposed you owed a lot of it to your coach, former member of the men's team and gold medalist Lance Tucker. He had been...particularly dedicated to your training regimen. He took up coaching for you just before your first Olympics, saying that a shining star like you needed to be under the guidance of a coach who knew his way around the floor. Your momma, well, she knew that this wasn't an offer you just pass by.
She helped move you out to LA so you could be at his gym full time, swearing that he would make you someone America could never forget. And after the first games? When you brought home not one, not two, not three, but four gold medals among the countless other accolades you'd received? Oh, it was a happy day. And Coach Tucker, well, he made sure that you celebrated til dusk turned to dawn.
And now it was your second games, and you were walking out during opening ceremony with your fellow competitors. You were beaming as you and your team, who you considered your sisters, walked out. You looked around at the other American Olympians, sending them smiles and silent well wishes, hoping that your country could bring home plenty of medals. You weren't typically a patriotic person but, when it came to competition, you did enjoy being Number One. And what better way to prove that than during the Olympics?
"Hey, look," one of your teammates, Aisha, whispered, nudging you in the arm.
You whipped your head around, following her gaze. "What?"
"Those two over there," she whispered. "Those two, the boxer and the runner. They've been eye-fucking you for, like, five minutes."
The heat rose to your face as you caught one of them, the blond one's, eyes, and you looked away, giggling slightly. "Oh, that's not true."
