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pitlanepeach · 24 days ago

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Gentle Thing | OP81 + LN4

Summary — They’ve always been something soft, something golden—Oscar and Elodie. But then came F1. Then came Lando Norris, with his fast mouth and wide blue eyes. And suddenly, it’s not just the two of them anymore, because that was never how their fairytale was supposed to end. They were always supposed to be three.

Pairing — Oscar Piastri x Original Female Character x Lando Norris (MMF)

Word Count — 7k

My Masterlist

Melbourne, 2013 - Age 11 + 12

Oscar had a busted lip and a fourth-place karting medal clenched in his fist, and Elodie was painting delicate sparkles onto a pair of old ballet flats on her bedroom floor.

“You’re not gonna win every time,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And fourth isn’t that bad. You still beat, like, sixteen other people to the line.”

Oscar flopped back on her bed with a choked moan. “I don’t like being fourth.”

“Fourth seems to like you.” She grinned at him.

He glared at her. “Don’t remind me. I hate it. I’ve decided that the number four is my mortal enemy. I never want to come fourth again.”

Elodie glanced at him over the rim of her rhinestone-covered sunglasses. They were heart shaped. “You look kind of cute with a split lip.”

He cracked a smile despite himself, and in doing so, re-split the cut that’d tentatively started to heal. “Do not.” He argued.

She sighed. “You do. If I didn’t know that it was from you tripping over your own kart, I’d assume you’d been in a fight. Bad-boys are hot.”

He just stared at her, his eyebrows pulling together in disbelief.

Elodie Jade, his best friend since nursery school, was wearing a pink cotton sundress, smudged with glue and glitter. Her legs were curled under her like a cat and she was surrounded by cheap craft supplies.

Oscar had dirt under his nails and a gravel burn on his arm. He also couldn’t remember the last time he’d put on a pair of clean boxer shorts.

“I don’t want to be a bad boy,” he muttered.

“I know,” she said, flipping one of the shoes over delicately. He leaned over to look at them. They looked good. Better than before. More… Elodie. ”What do you think?” She asked, chewing on her lip.

“Pretty.” He told her.

She beamed.

⸻

Melbourne, 2017 - Age 15 + 16

They celebrated Oscar’s first European test session with pizza. Sat around the table, Elodie had fabric swatches strewn all over the kitchen.

Oscar had engine grease under his fingernails.

Elodie had a sketchbook open and a stress breakout all across her forehead.

“I might not get in,” she whispered, like saying the words out loud might somehow make them more likely to come true. “They only take like, thirty students a year.”

Oscar gave her a look, folding his piece of pizza in order to eat it more effeciently. “You will.” He told her. She blinked at him, venerability flashing on her face, and he sighed. “I mean it,” he said. “You’re really good at this stuff.” He pointed at the mannequin in the corner of the kitchen. It was covered in sewing pins and layered with a million different textured fabrics.

Elodie rolled her eyes and gave a tiny laugh. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She teased.

“It’s not even top ten.” He argued flatly. But then he bumped his knee against hers under the table. And she adjusted her position so that she could wrap her ankle around his.

Her smile was soft. Careful. Neither of them had mentioned the kiss, nor since it had happened. Two weeks ago, behind the garage after his last race, when she’d grabbed his face like she was scared of herself and he’d kissed her back like it was something inevitable, not something downright terrifying.

It hadn’t happened again since. But things felt different between them now. The energy was charged, like a million little sparks of electricity was connecting them now.

A week later, when her acceptance letter appeared in her email, she called him first.

He picked up on the second ring, groggy in some hotel room three time zones away. “Elodie?” He grumbled.

“I got in.” She said on an exhale.

She heard the rustle of sheets, the shift in his voice as he sat up. “You did?”

“I did.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. Wide and unguarded. “Of course you did.”

⸻

Paris, 2019 - Age 17 + 18

Elodie’s first collection debuted at a small fashion week offshoot in Paris; nothing major, but enough to land a few editorials and a feature in a niche luxury magazine. She wore custom satin sling backs to every event. She barely slept.

She was seventeen. In Paris, that passed for adulthood—old enough to wear red lipstick and pretend she wasn’t still full of childlike naivety.

Oscar wasn’t there. He was in the middle of a race weekend in Italy. But he sent flowers. And a note.

“I love you.”

She kept the card in her purse for weeks, until it crumpled. Then she put it in the back of her phone case. Just because.

⸻

Barcelona, 2020 - Age 18 + 19

Oscar had just won his first F3 race.

Elodie was waiting outside the paddock entrance, wearing a dress he hadn’t seen before; white, with puffed sleeves and ribbon-tie shoulders.

“You’re going to be a world champion,” she said, as he leaned into her hug. Squeezed her.

He breathed in the scent of the same perfume she’d been wearing for years and track dust and something sweet, always something sweet, and pretended the words didn’t make his stomach twist. “Just focused on surviving this season,” he murmured into her hair.

She leaned up. Kissed him softly. “You’ll do more than that.“

⸻

Baku, 2021 - Age 19 + 20

Elodie had a migraine and a décolleté crisis. Oscar had a back-of-the-grid start and an angry press officer breathing down his neck.

He called her from the cool tile floor of his hotel bathroom, lying flat on his back with his legs propped up against the door, phone balanced on his chest. His voice was hollow with exhaustion. “Tell me something not about racing.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I stabbed my finger trying to sew lace onto a bias-cut bodice. I bled on the muslin.”

Oscar smiled faintly, eyes closed. “That’s hot.”

“You’re weird.” She laughed.

“You knew that when you started dating me.” He retorted.

She sighed, dramatic and fond. “Don’t remind me.”

He could picture her perfectly, even thousands of miles away, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her Melbourne studio, hair up in a velvet ribbon, sleeves pushed to her elbows, surrounded by half-dressed mannequins and tangled threads. Probably in one of his old team shirts. Probably glowing, even under ugly fluorescent lights.

“What happened with the bodice?” He asked.

“It didn’t sit right on the model. I cut it three times and it still looked off. Like the neckline was holding a grudge.” She paused, then added more quietly, “I think I’m going to reshoot the whole thing. The photos are wrong. The lighting’s wrong. The girls don’t… they’re beautiful, but they don’t feel like they fit my brand.”

Oscar let the silence stretch for a second, then said, “branding is important. Reshoot it.” He agreed.

“You make it sound easy.” She complained.

“Because I’m clueless.” He told her flatly,

That earned a breath of a laugh, all musical and pretty. She shifted on the other end of the line; he could hear fabric rustle, something ceramic clink, probably a teacup or a wineglass. Depending on her mood.

“Are you okay?” She asked eventually, voice somehow gentler than usual. It was impressive, how he’d managed to make someone so soft and goddamn sweet fall in love with him.

Oscar pressed his thumb into the space between his eyebrows. “Grid penalty. Shit quali. Everyone’s thinking the same thing — ‘that Aussie boy is a shit racer’.”

“You’re not.” She retorted.

He grunted. “Yeah. I know. But it’s loud. All the time. Even when they’re not saying it, they’re thinking it.”

Elodie didn’t try to offer empty comfort. She knew him too well for that. Instead, she filled the silence with her presence. Her breathing. The soft rustle of paper. The click of a lighter—one of the candles, probably.

“I miss you,” he said finally.

This time, she didn’t hesitate. “I miss you too.”

He opened his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling light. “Will you still love me if I crash tomorrow?”

“I’ll love you even if you spin into a barrier and throw up in your helmet.” She chimed.

“You’re weird.” He shot her earlier words back at her.

“You knew what you were signing up for.”

Oscar smiled, and it felt easier. He could hear her smiling, too.

They talked for another ten minutes—about the espresso machine in her new studio that hissed like it was threatening to explode, about her satin samples arriving late, about whether she should start doing video content for her website (“Only if I can be your cameraman,” he smirked, and then, just as he predicted, she sharply told him that him and his oily hands were not welcome anywhere near her fabrics).

⸻

London, 2022

The news broke at 8am.

By 8:15, her phone was hot with notifications.

ALPINE ANNOUNCE OSCAR PIASTRI AS 2023 DRIVER ALONGSIDE GASLY

F2 SUPERSTAR PIASTRI ANNOUNCED AS PART OF ALPINE’S 2023 LINE-UP

He didn’t call. Not right away.

Elodie watched the digital chaos unfold from the couch in their London flat. Her inbox buzzed with emails she didn’t open; old friends sending their congratulations, Oscar’s old racing teammates asking her a million questions like they expected her to be able to answer all of them.

Her next runway show was in six weeks. Her dressmaker had the flu.

When her phone finally rang, blocked number, go figure, she picked up before the first ring finished.

“Oscar.” She said, immediately.

“I’m with Mark.” His voice was ragged. “It’s not true. I didn’t sign anything.”

“I know. You would’ve told me.” She said.

“They went public without telling me.”

She closed her eyes. “I know.”

“I’m gonna lose everything.” He breathed.

“No, you’re not.” She whispered.

He let out a sound that cracked halfway through. Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or scream. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

She stared at one of the paint swatches on the wall. They couldn’t decide between eggshell blue and jade green. “Let Mark handle it. Stop blaming yourself. And then come home.”

⸻

Oscar let the door click shut behind him and dropped his keys into the strawberry-print bowl by the front door. The flat was quiet, lights low, warm, but not empty. Never empty.

He could smell bergamot and fabric glue, the unmistakable signature of Elodie in work mode. Therefore he headed straight to her studio, alternatively known as the spare bedroom, exactly where he knew she’d be.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pins between her teeth, measuring tape slung around her neck, one wrist marked up with lipstick and foundation swatches from testing tones against fabric. Muslin mockups draped her mannequins like half-formed dreams. Pattern paper curled like petals around her.

She looked like everything he wanted to protect.

“Hi, baby,” she said, not looking up from the sizing chart that she was editing.

He didn’t answer. Just toed off his shoes and crossed the room in silence. Then, without a word, he sat on the floor in front of her and leaned back into the space between her knees, his shoulders brushing hers. Seeking warmth. Permission to fall apart, just a little.

Elodie blinked down at him, reading the lines in his face instantly.

Without speaking, she set her work aside and slid her fingers into his hair.

She combed through it slowly with her long, artsy nails, brushing it back from his eyes, the way she used to when they were kids and he came home from a karting trip with scraped-up knees, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.

He exhaled shakily. She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, then another to his temple, and another at the corner of his jaw when he tilted his face toward her.

“I’m sorry this is all such a mess,” he said after a long silence, voice rough.

“Not your fault,” she murmured.

He gave a half-laugh, tired and tight. “Still feels like I’m failing. Trusted Alpine. Shouldn’t have.”

“Osc.” She whispered.

He was quiet for a long moment, then said, “you’re the only reason I’ve made it this far.”

Her hand paused against his head.

“I mean it,” he said. “You’ve built your brand, your vision, your whole world. You’re doing so well, Elodie. And I’m still here hoping this F1 thing finally makes me someone worth—” He cut himself off, jaw tight, voice cracking at the edges.

“Oscar.”

She leaned down toward him, eyes glassy with tears, and something twisted in his chest like a blade.

She wasn’t meant to cry. Elodie was meant to be light and elegance and all the soft, lovely things in the world. Seeing her like this—eyes shining, mouth trembling—felt like the universe folding in on itself.

It hurt. It hurt in a way he didn’t have words for.

She was too beautiful for sorrow. Too golden to be anything but happy.

“I haven’t made any real money,” he said quietly, feeling discomfort curl in his gut. “Not yet. And I want—God, I want to be able to give you something solid. A full, comfortable life. I want you to build your empire with silk and organza and not for one second have to worry about how we’re going to pay for your expensive fabric swatches.”

Elodie wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling him into her chest, into her warmth. “You’ve already given me so much,” she said against his hair. “Your love. Your friendship. You.” She breathed delicately. “Oscar, I would live in a hobbit hole, or a tent in the woods, if it meant being with you.”

He was silent for a beat. “Did you see the tweet?”

She hummed. “Of course. I have your notifications turned on.”

He smirked, but it was hesitant. “It felt good.”

She smiled against his shoulder. “I bet. It was very sassy.”

He hesitated, the amusement wavering. “I might never make it to Formula One now. Might’ve burned too many bridges.”

She kissed the curve of his neck, soft and sure. “You will. Trust me.”

⸻

A Week Later - Melbourne, 2022

The evening air was warm, thick with the scent of salt and jasmine. Pale pink bougainvillaea curled over the railing like something out of a painting. The sky over St Kilda was soft watercolor gold, the sun bleeding into the horizon in quiet surrender.

Elodie sat curled on the top step in a white linen sundress, bare feet tucked beneath her, her hair pinned up with one of her mother’s old tortoiseshell clips. She looked like she belonged somewhere else, somewhere older, slower, more romantic. A character from a vintage novel, Oscar often thought, or the ghost of an eighteenth century ballerina.

There was a punnet of strawberries sat between them.

“I signed,” Oscar said, out of nowhere.

Elodie turned to him, eyes wide and impossibly clear. “I— What? Signed what?”

“With McLaren.” He said. “For 2023.”

She blinked once. Then twice. And then she smiled. Slowly. Radiantly. “You’re going to drive in Formula One,” she whispered, reverent and proud.

“I’m going to drive in Formula One.” He confirmed.

The words hung between them like starlight.

She didn’t cheer, didn’t gasp or throw herself into his arms. She just reached for his hand, gently—like it was instinct, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her palm was warm and soft against his. Her nails were painted a pale blush, her wrist dusted with the scent of gardenia, the diamond bracelet that hung off of her delicate wrist real and the most expensive thing he’s ever bought. He went into debt for it—but he’d never once regretted buying it.

She leaned forward until their foreheads touched, her long, painted lashes fluttering against his cheekbones.

“You did it,” she breathed against his cheek.

“Yeah.” He smiled.

The screen door creaked behind them.

“God, you two are terrible,” came Mark’s voice, fond and dry. “Can’t keep you apart for five minutes, ay?”

Oscar didn’t flinch. Elodie only turned slightly, offering the older man one of her serene, almost too-sweet smiles. “Hello, Mark.”

“Evening, angel,” he said, walking down the steps with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. “You look precious as always.” He teased.

“She doesn’t own anything without embroidery,” Oscar muttered, fond.

“I like pretty things,” Elodie replied simply. “And I like them even more when I’ve made them with my own hands.”

Mark snorted, crouching beside them and producing three slightly crushed paper cups from the depths of his jacket. “Alright, then. A toast. To Oscar, McLaren, the downfall of Alpine, and you, Elodie girl. You’ll be the prettiest WAG in the paddock.”

Oscar groaned, low and half-hearted.

Elodie blinked but smiled anyway. Oscar stared at her. The way her lips curved when she smiled, glossed and sparkling with flecks of glitter, caught the last bit of golden light like it was made for her.

Mark poured a generous splash of wine into two of the cups, then offered the third to Elodie. She took it with her fingertips, delicate and careful, and held it like it might bite.

She peered into it, nose wrinkling in the cutest little grimace.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Oscar murmured, leaning in, voice just for her.

Mark caught it. “Shit. Sorry, forgot.” Then, laughing, he pulled a can of Sprite out of his back pocket and handed it over.

Elodie beamed. “You’re my favourite person in the world.”

“Don’t tell Oscar,” Mark said with a wink.

She cracked the can open and leaned against Oscar’s side, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. Her hair smelled like something citrusy and expensive, and he instinctively tilted his head so it brushed against hers.

Mark settled into the step below them, stretching his long legs out and launching into a story about his rookie season—something about a gearbox, a helicopter, and Jacques Villeneuve that probably wasn’t entirely legal.

Oscar only half listened.

His hand was resting over Elodie’s knee, thumb tracing slow, absent circles against the soft cotton of her dress. Her fingers curled lightly around his wrist. The sky was going grey-blue now, city lights flickering on in the distance.

And for the first time in a long time, Oscar let himself feel it.

Pride.

Not just in the contract, though that felt surreal in its own right, but in everything that had gotten him here. The endless hours of sim work. The thousands of karting tracks and cheap medals and grazed knees—bruised eyes. The months at a time spent away from Elodie, feeling every single mile like a knife to his gut.

All of it. Every sacrifice, every near miss.

It had all come together to lead him here.

To this perfect girl with stardust lips and sun-kissed skin. To this quiet moment on a warm Melbourne night, sitting with the two people who’d believed in him without question since the very beginning. To the knowledge that he hadn’t just made it to Formula One—he’d made something for them.

A life. A future.

He squeezed Elodie’s knee gently. She glanced up, emerald eyes catching the light, and gave him a soft, warm stare.

Yeah, Oscar thought. This is what it’s all for.

—

Oscar meets Lando on his first day at MTC.

It’s awkward. Fumbling. Lando fidgets, practically vibrating as he talks, clearly still getting used to the idea of being the team’s senior driver. That’s fine; Oscar has no intention of being anyone’s second driver, so Lando will get over himself soon enough.

They spend a few hours working on the sim before Lando takes him to meet the engineers. Zak’s there—beaming, boisterous, all overzealous shoulder pats and rib-crushing squeezes of enthusiasm.

Lando clings. As soon as he realises Oscar is nice, friendly, and capable of holding a conversation despite being quiet, blunt, and a little stoic, he latches on. Doesn’t stray more than five feet away all day. Talks too fast, changes topics mid-sentence, and circles back like it makes sense. Oscar mostly just nods. He doesn’t mind it as much as he probably should.

They eat lunch together in the cafeteria. Lando leans over the table with sudden, serious focus.

“You’re not allowed to eat fish,” he says.

Oscar blinks. Frowns. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he replies slowly, confused but—strangely—willing to go along with it.

Lando nods like that settles it.

Oscar drives himself back to London in the evening, exhausted in the way that only first days and new environments can make you. Elodie’s in her studio when he gets in, barefoot on the hardwood, her hair twisted up in a silk scarf, glue fumes thick in the air. She’s hunched over a mannequin, hands full of pearl beading, soft music playing from the little speaker on her windowsill.

He pushes the nearest window open to clear the smell before crossing the room and bending to kiss her. She tastes like strawberries and green tea, her lips soft and glossed, and she hums against his mouth like he’s exactly what she needed.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along her cheek, already breathless.

She smiles, warm and dreamy, and the whole world sparkles at the edges.

“I missed you too.”

—

Elodie spends eight weeks hand-crafting her paddock outfit for Oscar’s first race as a Formula One driver in Bahrain.

It’s a labour of love—ivory silk, structured but soft, with a modest neckline and long, fluttering sleeves that catch on the breeze like petals. The beadwork is intricate, papaya-toned to match the McLaren livery, stitched in quiet, looping patterns down the cuffs and hem. Just above the curve of her hip, nestled into the folds of the fabric, is a tiny, hand-stitched OP81.

She steps into the paddock for the first time with her press pass clutched between two fingers, trying not to look as out of place as she feels. It’s loud and busy, the air dry and sun-hot, smelling of rubber and fuel and sunscreen.

Oscar waits for her at the McLaren hospitality entrance. He’s still in his civvy’s, shorts and a plain white t-shirt. He grins when he sees her. “You wore it.”

She smooths her skirt self-consciously. “Of course I did.”

His hand finds her waist. His thumb brushes the little OP81 like it’s a secret just for him.

They don’t get more than a few seconds before a voice interrupts—bright and slightly too loud, bouncing with energy. “Oh, hey!”

Lando Norris.

He’s flushed from the heat, curls damp at the edges, eyes wide behind dark sunglasses pushed back into his hair. He skids to a halt in front of them, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

Oscar steps back a little, hand still on Elodie’s waist. “Lando, this is my girlfriend, Elodie.”

Lando blinks at her. Then blinks again. “Oh. You’re real.”

Elodie smiles, polite, a little hesitant. “Yes. I think so.”

“No, I just—he talks about you a lot,” Lando says quickly, shifting his weight. “Not in a weird way. Just—like, normal. Nice. Supportive.”

Oscar groans softly. Elodie purses her lips softly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you too,” she says, and it’s not a lie. Oscar had mumbled things about “a bit chaotic” and “kind of funny” and “I think he eats four chocolate croissants a day, I’m not sure how it’s even possible.”

Lando rocks back on his heels. “You look amazing. That dress is… like… I don’t even know what it is.”

“She made it,” Oscar tells him.

Lando’s eyebrows lift. “No way.”

She manages a small nod. “I did.”

Lando whistles, low and sincere. “You’re way too talented to be stuck with him.”

Oscar elbows him in the ribs, but it’s gentle. Familiar.

Elodie just smiles again. Soft, poised, unreadable. But when Oscar glances down, he can see the curve of her fingers tightening slightly around his wrist.

Later, when Lando finally wanders off (mid-sentence, distracted by something shiny and unusual near the garage entrance) Elodie watches him go with a curious tilt of her head.

“He’s… nice,” she says softly.

Oscar hums. “He grows on you.”

Her gaze lingers a moment longer. “He races with the number four, doesn’t he?”

Oscar nods. “Yeah.”

She laces their fingers together with quiet ease. “You never liked that number.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

They walk slowly, past tire trolleys and engineers and the familiar hum of a team preparing for a new season. Oscar shows her where she’ll sit, where she’ll be able to see his garage and the track.

He squeezes her fingers once. “No,” he agrees. “I’ve never liked it.”

Elodie smiles, lightly, knowingly, and tucks herself closer to his side. He doesn’t say it out loud, but she can feel it anyway.

Maybe that won’t be true for much longer.

—

Zandvoort, 2023

It started raining midway through FP3. The kind of sudden, wind-lashed downpour that turned everything slick and halted everything. Engineers ducked under awnings, pit crews scrambled to cover tyres, media teams rushed to save their equipment.

Elodie hadn’t moved.

She stood just under the edge of the overhang at Oscar’s garage, rain misting across her face, curls slipping free from the tortoiseshell comb at the back of her head. Her papaya-hued trench coat had darkened at the seams, damp fabric clinging to her sleeves like second skin.

Lando spotted her before anyone else did.

He paused halfway through a sip of Monster, blinking. Tilted his head slightly. “Is she—why is she just standing there?”

Oscar looked up from the telemetry monitor and followed his gaze.

“Elodie,” he said. Softly. Simply.

Lando waited for more. When it didn’t come, he turned toward him, brows raised.

“She likes the sound,” Oscar said after a moment. “And the smell. Of the rain.”

Lando frowned. “She’s gonna get drenched.”

But Oscar didn’t move.

And Lando, already in motion, realised, for the first time, how strange that was. The lack of tension. The stillness. Like Oscar was fully in tune with everything Elodie was feeling, seeing, hearing.

Elodie didn’t flinch when Lando stopped beside her. She only looked up with that small, gentle smile—the kind that made him feel oddly exposed. Her eyes were soft and storm-lit. Her lips glossed with the same faint shimmer that seemed to settle over everything she touched.

“Hi,” she said, voice light.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he offered, extending the McLaren umbrella toward her with both hands, like he didn’t quite trust himself to just hold it over her and not stare.

She blinked up at him. “I’m alright, Lando,” she said. “It’s only a bit of rain.”

He blinked back. “Yeah, but—wet, innit?”

There was a pause. And then—she giggled. Actually giggled. It was light and breathless, like wind chimes. Clear and sudden and completely, utterly unexpected.

He liked the sound of it far more than he should’ve.

Inside the garage, Oscar still hadn’t moved. Arms crossed. Helmet tucked under one elbow. Watching.

He didn’t feel angry. Or possessive. Or anything he was supposed to feel. And maybe that unsettled him more than anything else.

Because Elodie looked lovely in the rain.

Raindrops clung to the edge of her skin. Her cheeks were pink with cold. The coat hugged her frame in a way that made her look even smaller than she was, her embroidery catching faint glints of light beneath the grey sky. She looked like she’d been painted there. Dreamlike. Half-imagined.

Lando adjusted the umbrella, held it closer. His elbow brushed hers.

She didn’t move away.

“I heard you cracked a joke in the drivers’ briefing,” she said. Like she was continuing a conversation they’d already been having.

Lando winced. Smiled around an embarrassed grimace. His cheeks went a little red. “Did Oscar say it was bad?”

“He didn’t need to, Lando.”

She smiled again. Fully, this time. Wide. With teeth. And somehow, it hit him differently. He’d seen that smile before, in passing—on Oscar’s phone, in paddock photos. But not like this. Not when it was for him.

It was beautiful.

And suddenly, painfully, he knew it.

He forgot everything else for a second. The team radios, the storm warnings, the puddle slowly soaking into his races shoes.

She was just standing there—rain in her hair, glitter on her lips, saying his name like it meant something good.

And Oscar was still watching. Quiet. Still. Something flickering behind his eyes.

Lando swallowed, glanced at his teammate and then looked away just as quickly.

Oscar worked his jaw; four had always been his least favourite number—his six-month long fourth place curse when he’d still been in karts had made sure of that.

So why, now, could he picture it stitched right beside 81? Papaya thread. The soft curve of her embroidery font. A quiet, private claim.

OP81. LN4.

He turned away before he could think too hard about what that meant.

Walked further into the garage with his hands curled into loose fists, flexing open and closed in a rhythm he didn’t quite understand.

—

Lando sank onto the little padded bench at the back of the hospitality suite, still damp around the ankles, the McLaren umbrella propped uselessly by the wall. He stared at it like it might tell him something.

Something useful. Like what the hell he was doing.

She was Oscar’s girlfriend.

That was the headline. That was the full story. Had been from the moment they’d first met, when she’d said hi in her quiet, polite way, like it didn’t even occur to her that she might be worth noticing. And maybe that was the problem.

She didn’t seem to know. That she was worth noticing.

He kept thinking about the rain. The way it made her eyelashes stick together in little wet triangles. The way she’d tilted her head when he fumbled through telling her not to stand outside—wet, like an idiot—and how she’d just laughed all sweetly.

He liked the way she looked at people.

But mostly he just liked the way she looked at him.

Lando dragged a hand through his hair and groaned under his breath. Somewhere across the room, someone was talking about tyre degradation, and he tried—tried—to focus. He’d never had trouble focusing on racing before. Racing was simple. Clean. Numbers and instinct.

This wasn’t.

Oscar had said nothing. Had just stood there watching, cool and unreadable as always. Not jealous. Not angry.

Just watching.

That was worse, somehow. Because it meant there was no line being drawn. No boundary to respect. No solid ground to stand on.

There was a brief knock, then a head poking in—one of the engineers. “You coming to the debrief?”

Lando blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”

He stood too fast and stumbled into the umbrella on the way out. It clattered to the floor behind him, and he didn’t stop to pick it up.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how she hadn’t stepped away.

And he didn’t know what that meant.

Not yet.

But he thought maybe Oscar did.

—

The flat smelled like garlic and basil. Warm bread, rain on a pavement. Elodie sat cross-legged on the kitchen bench, sketchbook balanced on her lap, pencil tucked between her fingers like it belonged there. She was wearing Oscar’s sweatshirt. The navy one with the loose hem and faded collar. Her hair was damp, curling where it dried against her neck.

Oscar set down her bowl without saying anything. Pasta with roasted tomato, soft white cheese melting at the edges. He poured her water—over ice, a piece of fresh mint.

Sat across from her.

She didn’t look up. Just kept sketching. Lines, flourishes, thread work. Something soft. Ornate.

Oscar watched her. Ate. The clink of cutlery, the soft scratch of pencil on paper.

“Dinner, Elodie,” he prompted eventually.

She looked up. “Mm. Thank you.”

They ate. Something French and slow playing from the little speaker near the stove. Her foot brushed his knee once. She didn’t notice. He didn’t move.

Then—

She turned slightly, already mid-thought. “Lan, do you…”

Pause.

Her head tilted. She stared at the empty seat on her left. Blinked once. “Oh,” she whispered.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

She looked down at her pasta. Bit her lip, soft and unthinking. “Sorry. I meant—”

“Lando?” he asked.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

Oscar shrugged, like it was fine. Like he didn’t mind that they were sat here, just the two of them, eating dinner as they always had—and still, she’d turned to speak to someone who wasn’t even there. Like it had become muscle memory to expect him to be. Elbows on the table. Half a smile. Talking too loud about something too specific.

“He’s like that.” Oscar told her, quiet. “Clingy. Makes you think about him even when you shouldn't.”

Her fingers rested on the corner of her sketchbook. She didn’t speak, not at first. But he could see it in her—the flicker of thought. That little crease between her brows. Her teeth pressing gently into her lower lip.

Oscar leaned back in his chair. “Elodie.”

She blinked at him, her beautiful eyes shining. “Oscar.” She breathed.

They’d spent the first three race weekends of Oscar’s rookie season with Lando attached to them like a fifth limb. Traveling together, eating together, laughing together.

Hotel rooms that meant for two that ended up fitting three — Oscar and Elodie in the bed, Lando on the sofa (“I don’t really like being alone,” he’d said, once, and Elodie had hurt). Lando stealing the last of Elodie’s lip balm. Oscar accidentally wearing Lando’s boxers, and vice versa.

Now, it was quiet.

A lovely pasta. A one-on-one date night that mirrored a thousand they’d had before.

But suddenly it felt like there was a piece missing. A hyperactive, freckled, Monster-fuelled piece.

Elodie reached across the table, brushing her knuckles against the back of Oscar’s hand. Gentle. Like always. “I didn’t even realise,” she said softly. “That I was missing him.”

Oscar didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

They both already knew.

—

The hotel room was quiet.

Warm light filtered through linen curtains, brushing over the edge of the bed in pale, dusky streaks.

Oscar was on his side, propped up on one elbow. Elodie was tucked beside him, one leg thrown loosely over his hip, embroidery circle abandoned on the duvet. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, curling softly at her temples. She smelled like vanilla body oil and her expensive conditioner.

She always smelled lovely

The TV was playing something neither of them were paying much attention to—some old film, all long glances and black-and-white glamour. Oscar couldn’t tell if she’d chosen it for the aesthetic or if it had just been the first thing she’d clicked.

Elodie shifted slightly, gaze still fixed on the screen. Her thumb traced absent little arcs over Oscar’s ribs. His eyes fluttered shut.

Then the door slammed open.

They both startled. A thump, a muttered curse, and then Lando stumbled in, hoodie half-zipped, curls damp, cheeks splotched with red. “Sorry,” he said, breathless, kicking the door shut behind him. “Media stuff ran long. And then Jensen cornered me in the paddock.”

Elodie sat up a little, smiling, all warm and… Elodie. “Hi, Lando.”

Lando blinked at them on the bed, then dropped his bag to the floor with a heavy, tired thud. “Hi.”

Oscar didn’t say anything, but shifted back just enough to make space. Elodie tugged the duvet up. Without another word, Lando dropped onto the mattress like he belonged there.

His head landed somewhere near Oscar’s knee. He exhaled hard, a long, whiny sigh. “I’m dying.”

“You qualified second,” Oscar said, voice low.

“I’m emotionally dying,” Lando clarified. “That’s different.”

Elodie’s hand found the curls at the back of his neck. She didn’t say anything, just combed through them gently, rhythmically. Lando made a small, pleased noise, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. His eyes slid closed.

Within minutes, he was asleep. Sprawled halfway across the bed, long limbs thrown out like a starfish, mouth open, one hand curled loosely around the edge of Elodie’s embroidery circle. There was a smear of engine oil on his jaw and his socks didn’t match. One of them had a hole.

Oscar didn’t move. Just lay back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Elodie reached for his hand under the blanket.

She squeezed it, gently.

And just like that, they were three again.

—

Lando gives up pretending six weeks later.

Its been six weeks of sharing hotel rooms, of tiptoeing around each other, of lingering touches that were too soft to be anything but an invitation, of pillow talk that lingered in the air even after the lights went out. Of awkward glances when Elodie and Oscar ask the front desk, “Do you have any bigger beds?” because they both knew the time would come. And yet, none of them quite dared to speak the words out loud.

But now, standing in the paddock in Austin, Lando can’t take it anymore.

He corners her, pulling her into the dark corner between the motorhomes, where no one can see them. There’s a strange sense of urgency in his chest, and the way her bohemian dress flows around her, catching the light just right, makes his stomach twist and curl.

She looks up at him, those wide eyes full of curiosity, maybe even a hint of sweet amusement. And that smile of hers, soft and knowing, makes him burn a little on the inside.

“I want to kiss Oscar,” he says before he even thinks about it. The words spill out, heavy with the weight of something he’s been carrying around without even knowing it. The confession hangs between them, unspoken, unasked for. But there it is.

She blinks at him, completely unfazed, and then her hand is on his face, feather-light, fingers brushing over his skin and tracing his moles. The touch is delicate. Her breath, tinged with peppermint, brushes his lips, and he feels like he’s drowning.

Is he even breathing? His chest tightens, and for a second, he swears his heart might stop. Or maybe it’s racing so fast that he’s having a heart attack. Either way, his body feels like it’s no longer his own.

Her eyes meet his, the silence between them is suddenly too loud. And then, with that perfect sweetness in her voice that always makes him feel like he’s being cradled by a cloud, she asks, “Do you want to kiss me too?”

Lando stops breathing. The question hangs there, soft and unexpected, curling around him like smoke. He blinks at her and his mind goes blank for a moment, and his thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

But then, his head nods once. Just once. Small, almost imperceptible.

Elodie doesn’t move away. In fact, she steps closer, so close that he can feel the heat of her body against his. Her long, pretty fingernails linger at his jaw, the unreasonably soft pad of her thumb brushing the curve of his cheek.

Her smile softens.

Everything changes.

—

Glastonbury 2023

The sun had set, and the soft hum of evening wrapped itself around the quiet house. The three of them sat on the outdoor sofa, spread out in a comfortable, easy pile. Oscar’s legs were stretched out, his head resting on Elodie’s lap as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Lando leaned back against the armrest, one leg draped over Oscar’s, his fingers tracing patterns on the back of Oscar’s hand. Elodie glanced up at Lando and blinked, expression open and full of unfiltered adoration, before her fingers shifted to trace the curve of his jaw.

Lando let his eyes flutter close at the touch.

Oscar shifted slightly, pulling his head from Elodie’s lap to tilt his face up toward Lando. Without a word, he leaned in, just a little, and Lando met him halfway. It was slow, soft, a kiss that lingered without pressure. And then, just as easily, Lando pulled back, turning to Elodie. Her smile was bright, her eyes soft, and before she could say anything, he leaned in to kiss her too, a gentle brush of lips that held no rush, no need for anything but the quiet certainty of this.

When he pulled back, Oscar was already watching, his gaze warm, appreciative; so fucking fond. His hand rested on Lando’s knee, fingers lightly tapping in a rhythm that didn’t need to be explained. Lando’s heart gave a little jolt, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he needed to figure out. Not now, not when everything was so perfectly easy.

Elodie leaned over to kiss Oscar on the cheek, then pressed her forehead to his. “It’s good,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This.”

Oscar nodded, lips curling into a soft smile as he kissed her cheek in return. “Perfect, I think.”

Lando sat back, his arm casually wrapping around both of them, pulling them closer.

Because they were both his now—and he could have them as close as he wanted. All the time. Forever.

—

Oscar didn’t hate the number four anymore.

It meant something different now. Something far more tender.

But—he thinks, staring at the photograph he has set as his iPhone wallpaper—maybe he’ll always prefer the number three.

804 notes · View notes

jungkoode · 2 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This.

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either.

Not that you could ever tire of him.

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway.

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck.

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling.

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator.

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight.

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there.

A warning.

A tease.

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you.

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make.

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two.

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together.

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something.

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you.

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

“Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right.

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical.

Yeah.

Practical.

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot.

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point?

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish.

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent.

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.

Except there’s one problem: his arm.

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here.

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t.

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had.

After Tuesday.

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you.

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked.

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him.

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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myth1cs · 2 months ago

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Sweet Obsession (Im Nayeon, Minatozaki Sana x M!Reader)

Uhhh

Word Count: 2,663

The members were told to do things to "excite the fans" and "get them talking" about the fan meet. Sana, naturally, thought that an easy way to get people to talk about the fan meet was to act like she was going to kiss the members.

She knew they would all back up so the thought that she might actually kiss one of them never crossed her mind. And everything was going well. That is until it came to Nayeon.

Nayeon didn't back down and leaned into the kiss. Both thought the other would back away but they ended up kissing by accident on stage.

A lot of people went wild over it. Sana and Nayeon got all flustered about the ordeal but didn't have time to dwell on their feelings as Jihyo, who didn't see what just happened, made Nayeon focus on singing her part of the song.

Once the fan meet came to a close. Sana went over to Nayeon's fitting room to discuss their kiss. Sana opened the door and a soft "Hello?" fell out of her mouth.

What she didn't expect was to see Nayeon changing into her casual clothes. Nayeon was in her bra and panties, and Sana couldn't keep her eyes off her unnie, she was enticed by her boobs and pussy. She watched as her older member took off her pantie revealing a pink pussy. The thought of being able to lick it made Sana's mouth water.

Nayeon reached behind her back to take off her bra but before she did that she noticed Sana peaking through the door. "Sana what are you doing?!"

Sana quickly went in the room and locked the door. Her unnie gave her a "Explain yourself" look which made Sana gulp.

"Well uhm- unnie I just wanted to talk to you about our... kiss."

Nayeon's cheeks flushed pink as the memory of them sharing a kiss played in her mind.

"What about it?"

"I haven't been able to forget the way your lips felt on mine."

Nayeon's cheeks burned a brighter red from Sana's confession. "I haven't either." the older admitted.

The pair got closer together up until they could each feel the others hot breath on the other. Sana pressed her breast against Nayeon's making the older girl moan.

"Agh~"

Neither could resist their lust anymore and they both entangled their lips together. Their tongues rubbed against each others. Sana pressed her body further against her unnies.

Her naughty hand got the better of her and she reached over to grab Nayeon's plump ass giving it a firm squeeze. Nayeon moaned from the feeling and Sana took this opportunity to get the advantage in the tongue war.

Nayeon wasn't about to go down without a fight and started to rub Sana's clothed nipple with her thumb. Sana was really sensitive and the simple rubbing was enough to make her lose her advantage.

Both of them pulled away from each other.

"That's not fair unnie! You can't just rub my nipples like that, they're sensitive!"

"Well maybe you shouldn't have grabbed my ass like that."

"That's different, my nipples are more sensitive than your ass."

"You still lost the tongue war Sana. Now can it and got on your knees and eat me out like a good girl."

Sana huffed but decided to go along with it. She got down on her knees and slid off Nayeon's panties. Her pussy was drenched wet with arousal.

Sana licked Nayon's pussy lips eagerly. "Mmm good girl. You're just as horny as our male fans!" Sana wasn't even hearing Nayeon anymore. She was too focused on lapping up every fluid inside of her unnie.

Something felt incomplete though. Even with all of this stimulation Nayeon didn't feel like she was able to cum yet. She tried to stimulate herself further by groping her own boobs and lightly pinching her nipples.

Still it didn't feel like enough. "Sana add a finger."

"Mhm!" Sana muffled as she added a finger to Nayeon's pussy.

Putting her hands on the back of the youngers head she pushed her further into her pussy. "More! I need more fingers in me!"

She bit her lips hard when she felt the sensation of more fingers being added to her tight pussy.

"I- I don't think I can cum like this."

"Am I being bad?"

"No it's not you. I think I need a cock."

"Did you bring a strap on with you?"

"I didn't. And there aren't any stores nearby that sell those."

"Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Ugh I'm too aroused right now. I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't cum tonight."

Sana tried to make her unnie cum despite knowing she wasn't able to get enough stimulation on her own. She stood up and licked Nayeon's nipples while pumping her fingers in and out of her pussy.

"I appreciate the attempt but it's not enough!"

All of this was making Sana soaked. A wet spot could be seen on her pants. "A cock sounds really good right now."

"But who are we going to get? I don't want to ask one of our managers. They're old and probably can't keep up with us."

"Are you forgetting something unnie? We just had a fan meet."

You - along with many other people - gathered around the area where Twice would be leaving. You've been waiting for a while but seeing Twice up close in person would make it all worth it.

The time came and Twice started to walk to the cars and you were hoping to see your bias.

Twice members were handing out Mina dollars that were used in the seven rings performance and you were lucky enough to be handed one by Sana.

You waved the members goodbye as they entered the cars. Once they were all gone you started to make your way back to your car.

When you got in your car you were about to drive back home but you decided to get a good look at the Mina dollar you received first. As you were inspecting it you realized that a small piece of paper was taped to it.

Curious, you took off the paper and turned it around. All that was written on it was an address to a hotel along with the following written text "Room 305, Code: 102015."

"What is this?" you thought to yourself.

Maybe this wasn't meant for you but for the members. Should you give it back?

There were a lot of things you didn't know but you decided to go to the place listed on the paper. Not like you had anything to lose other than a bit of sleep.

You put the address in the GPS and started your drive to the hotel.

Truth be told you weren't sure what you were even expecting. Would you be lucky enough to see a Twice member or would you just run into a manager?

Once you arrived at the hotel you went in. Once you stepped in you could immediately tell that it was way out of your league. Everything looked so expensive.

You walked to the front desk and the lady at the front desk spoke to you "Is there anything I can help you with sir?".

"I'm here to visit someone in room 305."

"Are you part of the staff?"

"Y- yes?" You obviously sounded hesitant and the lady looked at you suspiciously.

"What's the code to the area?"

"102015."

...

"I'll tell them you're on your way."

You breathed a sigh of relief and went to the elevators.

Once you arrived on the third floor you went to room 305. Standing in front of the door you knocked three times and waited not knowing what to expect.

The door opened and your jaw dropped when you saw who was on the other side.

"Sana?!"

She grabbed your arm and pulled you into the room.

"What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Do you want to see a 'special' concert just for you Y/N?"

"Nayeon?! You're here to?"

She nodded her head and rested her head on your shoulders. "Is this what the paper was for?"

"It is what it was for Y/N. We chose a lucky once to give a private concert, and it looks like the lucky once was you."

Looks like it was your lucky day! Getting a private show from 2 Twice members? It was like a dream come true.

"Follow us."

You followed behind Nayeon and Sana to their bedroom. Not exactly sure what to expect but it certainly wasn't this.

Once you entered their bedroom you saw that it was mostly dark with the only light being red LED's which were hung around the room. "What's all this for?"

"Close your eyes Y/N. We have to get your special surprise ready for you before we can start your 'special' concert."

Following their orders you closed your eyes. You heard a few things fall on the floor along with a bit of shuffling.

"You can open your eyes now baby." Nayeon said.

Once you opened your eyes you saw something that immediately made your cock hard.

"Like what you see Y/N?" Sana asked.

"This is so hot."

Sana and Nayeon led you to the bed. "Who do you want first Sana or me?"

"I want both of you at the same time."

"So damn horny huh?"

Sana pushed you onto the bed and started to slide off your pants and boxers. Your hard cock sprung out hitting Sana's cheeks. "Oh it feels so good she moaned out." She started to rub her face against your erection. You put your hands on the back of her hair and gripped it tightly from the pleasure her face was giving you.

"Don't leave me out of the fun Sana!" Like she was some sort of jealous girlfriend Nayeon shoved Sana and started to rub her face against your cock aggressively. "So warm Y/N. This feels so much better than those dildos."

Not wanting to be outdone Sana shoved herself back onto your cock. Seeing two Twice members fight over your cock was something you thought would only happen in your dreams but now it was a reality, and you intended to make the most of it.

"I don't know Sana I think Nayeon knows how to please a cock more."

"That's not true I can please a cock way better than Nayeon!"

"I think you're going to have to prove it then."

Nayeon understood where you were going and got off you. She didn't mind being in the sidelines as long as you fucked her later. Before she completely got off the bed she whispered something to your ear.

"Just so you know Sana is sensitive on her nipples."

With that being said Nayeon got off the bed and sat on the conveniently placed chair that was facing the bed.

You grabbed Sana's arms and pinned her to the bed. "Let's see just how good you can please me then." You rubbed your hard erection on Sana's drenched pussy to make it wet.

"Mhm ah~ so good Y/N."

Leaning down to catch Sana's lips you and Sana shared a passionate slow kiss. Nayeon fingered herself as she was watching the scene unfold in front of her.

You pulled off her lips and started to leave hickeys on her face. "N- no Y/N you can't mark me. We have to film a Time to Twice episode tomorrow."

Smack

Sana yelped from the sudden smack on her pussy. "I don't remember you being the one to give orders. Now shut it and let me do what I want."

"Yes sir."

Continuing down her perfect body you reached her breasts and licked her nipple. "Shit I'm so sensitive there Y/N."

Attacking your lips to her breasts you sucked on them as if her breast were producing milk for you. Her breast were moderately big. Not as big as Nayeon's but they were big enough for you to have fun with.

You put your cock in between her breasts and started to mush them onto your cock. Since your cock was nice and wet from Sana's pussy lips you had no problem gliding her breasts up and down on your cock. She suppressed her moans as best she could knowing her members were next door.

"What's wrong Sana, don't want the others finding out how much of a whore you are?"

She nodded her head.

You gave her nipples a soft bite before you got settled on the main attraction. Positioning your cock in front of Sana's hole you shoved yourself inside her pussy.

Sana's pussy clenched around your erection making it hard for you to get in deep. You put a little force with your thrusts, shoving yourself deeper into Sana.

"Oh~ Y/N I can feel your cock deep inside me. More, I want more!"

"Such a- needy little - slut huh?" You were running out of breath as you felt yourself get closer to climax.

Nayeon decided she had enough of touching herself and joined you in the bed. She sat on top of Sana and shoved her breasts on your face while rubbing Sana's clit at the same time.

"Suck mommy's breasts baby they're all for you!"

You put your tongue all over Nayeon's breasts as you continued thrusting in and out of Sana's pussy.

"Ah! Y/N I'm cumming!"

A violent shake coursed through Sana as she climaxed all over your cock. You kept thrusting to prolong it as much as possible.

So much cum spilled out of Sana that some of it stained the bed sheets. You felt yourself about to cum but before you could Nayeon pushed you off of Sana.

"You can't cum in her. But you can cum in my mouth if you want."

You rapidly shook your head. Nayeon liked your eagerness and took your whole cock in her mouth in one swift motion. She drank the cum that Sana released on your cock.

Nayeon shoved your cock so deep in her throat that it touched the back of her throat. She gagged a little but not by much.

"You don't have a gag reflex?"

"I've had my fair share of cocks in me."

The idol expertly sucked on your cock making you cum in no time. Unlike Sana's cum, every last drop of your cum was swallowed by Nayeon. Her cheeks puffed out but she managed to take the seemingly endless ropes of semen you were spilling.

"Now's not the time to get tired baby. I'm still horny."

How could anyone say no to that? Especially after she just drank your load of cum.

Nayeon pumped your cock a few more times until you were hard again. She got on all fours and looked back at you.

"My ass isn't going to fuck itself Y/N."

Like some sort of wild animal you quickly shoved your hard erection inside Nayeon's ass feeling its tightness which only drove you more feral. You couldn't help yourself but give her big ass a few smacks which left her ass red.

"Yes Y/N just like that!"

As you were thrusting into Nayeon's ass you suddenly felt Sana wrap her arms around you. "I'm still here sir."

She kissed your neck as you continued your assault on Nayeon's ass. "Fuck Nayeon I'm still sensitive! I'm going to cum again!"

"Do it baby, cum in my big ass!"

Once again ropes of cum spilled from your cock onto Nayeon's ass. Her eyes rolled back as she felt herself being filled with the warm fluids. "Sana I like him. We should keep him around for when we get horny."

"Agreed."

Sana fell on the bed, you fell on top of Sana, and Nayeon fell on top of you. You all drifted off to sleep.

And what better way to fall asleep than sandwiched between your favorite idols?

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Uhh

#twice #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #smut #twice x reader #female idol smut #sana smut #nayeon smut #sanayeon #minatozaki sana #im nayeon #sana #nayeon #male reader smut

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clockwayswrites · 3 months ago

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City Pigeons Bleed Green, p29

masterpost

The yellow flowers were bright against the headstone.

Danny had gone with a bouquet of small sunflowers. Something about how cheerful and slightly silly the flowers were seemed right. Bruce thought they were a good choice too.

“I don’t actually know what to say,” Danny started. Bruce had stepped back a bit under a tree with Ursa to give Danny some privacy. “I’ve never actually talked to a grave like this. I don’t have one. A grave, I mean; I don’t have a grave. I’m glad that you do.”

After a moment of debate about appropriateness, Danny sat down next to the grave. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He had always thought graveyards would feel gloomy, but it was oddly peaceful. He wondered if he felt more settled there because of what he was.

“Bruce told me about you. I mean, he said that what he knew was dated, even before your death, but tried. He tries a lot, which I think you must have known if you were friends with him, if you went to him for help.” Danny rested his head on his knees. Despite the years, Annalise’s name was still crisp on the headstone. “I think I understand that about him easier than the other kids, but I guess that’s because of what I am? I know what it’s like to try too hard too.

“He’s actually been a really good dad to me. I know there are things he fucked up with in the past, but for me he’s been good. I also like the rest of the family and I think you’d like them t00, from what Dad has said. You’d be especially good with Damian. I think he could use someone soft in his life that just loved him because he’s him. I mean, I think maybe I could use that too?”

Danny sighed and fell quiet. A damselfly flew past, idly resting on bits of the graveyard.

“I’m sorry that I never got to meet you. I’m sorry that Bruce never got to meet your child,” Danny said when the damselfly had moved on. “I know I’m not her, but I hope it’s okay that we’re pretending that I am. Dad seems so certain that you’d be okay with this since it’s to help protect me, but I kinda hate that we didn’t get to ask you. It’s just that… it makes you my mom, and that shouldn’t be forced on someone. Even the dead should get that right.”

With another sigh, Danny stood and dusted off his jeans. He reached out to lightly rest his fingers on the headstone. “Anyways, I just wanted to come and say thank you. Even though we just did it, thank you for being an option. Oh, and that I’m going to try to be a son that you can be proud of. I hope you and the baby are resting well.”

Once Danny got back to the tree, Bruce rested his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Did you say what you needed to?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Danny bent down to ruffle Ursa’s fur in greeting (and maybe a bit to have to avoid meeting Bruce’s eyes).

“We can always come back if you need to say more,” Bruce said. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

Danny couldn’t help but smile a little. He knew Bruce didn’t believe that talking to a grave did anything. To be fair, Danny didn’t know how much it actually did, but he felt that some of it got through. It had to. But even if Bruce didn’t believe in it, he was so willing to put up with the drive just because Danny did believe in it.

“Thanks. Maybe after our summer trip?”

“I think that would make sense. Now, do you want to eat somewhere or just get something from a drive through?”

Danny’s gut said to do a drive through, but he knew that was still mostly about being afraid. He was trying not to be as afraid. “I guess… if there’s somewhere dog friendly or that we can eat outside at, we can eat here. That has to be easier for you, right?”

“It would be, but it also wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve driven and eaten something,” Bruce said as he handed over Ursa’s leash. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through something.

“You already have a list of places, don’t you?”

Bruce gave a slightly sheepish little smile. “I like to be prepared.”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny said, because he really did get it. “Okay, pick one for us? I could eat whatever.”

“Whatever’ it is.”

Danny found himself drifting off in the car. It was rude, he guessed, to not stay awake and keep Bruce company on the drive, but he almost couldn’t help it. The sunlight through the window was warm. Ursa, who had insisted on sitting on the floor in the front, had her head resting on his lap. Bruce, as if sensing that Danny wouldn’t last, had put on some sort of podcast that was low volume and mellow.

His eyes slipped closed.

Time drifted past as he floated in that spot in between. It was actually one of his favorite states of being. Not awake but just awake enough to know that he wasn’t exactly asleep. It was the perfect sort of state to just spend lounging in bed and relaxing. Or on a warm day on a drive where he knew he was safe.

“Danny.”

“Hum?”

“Open your eyes for me, honey.”

Everything was bright, almost blinding green. It took Danny’s eyes a moment to adjust. It took longer to understand what he was seeing. “How am I in the ghost zone?!”

“You aren’t. I believe it’s more like we’re standing on opposite sides of of a bridge.”

Danny shook his head and tried to focus on the swirling reality. “Who… oh. Oh, you’re Annalise, aren’t you?”

Annalise smiled back. Her hair, pale blue and flame like, drifted around her like she was under water. One pale hand rested on her still round belly. Her eyes were golden and kind. “Or ‘mom’, if you’d rather.”

Even in this odd dream state, Danny could feel the blush climbing up his cheeks. “I don’t mean to—”

“I know you don’t,” Annalise interrupted him gently. “I heard you when you were at my grave.”

“You did?”

Annalise hummed in confirmation. “I don’t think we have much time like this, so there’s something I need you to understand. Are you listening, Danny?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Bruce was right,” Annalise said. “You are my son now and I already love you so very much.”

“But—”

“You don’t have to do anything else to make me proud, honey, okay?”

Danny swallowed back his protest and the lump in his throat alike. “Okay. But what about…?” His eyes dropped to Annalise’s belly.

Annalise’s face fell a little and the hand on her stomach tightened for a moment. She did her best to recover her smile. She seemed to be getting smaller. No, further away. “Well, at least I don’t have back pain like this!”

“Find Clockwork!” Danny called. The green was cracking and shattering around him. “Ask him about the never born!”

“I will!” Her voice was faint now. “I love you, Danny.”

“I—I love you too!”

“Danny?” Bruce asked, his voice coming out of nowhere. “Are you alright? You’re crying.”

Danny scrubbed his palm over his cheek, surprised to find that he really was crying. He blinked the rest of the green away and was back in the sunlit car. He threaded his fingers into Ursa’s fur. “I’m okay.”

Bruce looked doubtful.

“I am,” Danny insisted. “I really… I really think that I’m okay.”

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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freddleafton12345-blog · 5 months ago

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Nsfw thought about doing it with the fiercest warrior of the Echidna tribe (female reader!)

I firmly believe Knuckles will worship your entire being. Even the ground you walk on. He's definitely the type of man who will kiss every inch of your skin. Breasts, tummy, thighs, he wants you to know how much he cares for you.

Though the 1st few tries you guys had with sex were sort of awkward. You felt scared that he might go too rough and accidentally hurt you, so you made up an excuse as to why he couldn't claim you. He bought it.

Then it happened again. And again. And again.

Finally the poor thing asked if you feared becoming his mate. You felt bad for hurting his feelings so you told him the truth that you feared his strength.

"My love.." he began, gently taking your small hands in his. "No force on earth could ever make me even think of hurting you. You are a goddess sent from the heavens themselves. I will make sure you are worshipped, loved, and satisfied for as long as you want."

And that's all it took for you to feel more eager to go all the way

~~~~~

- he tends to focus on your pleasure. Not his own. However he would like to release as much of his seed as he can into you, so he KNOWS your truly his

- he's got tons, and I mean TONS of stamina. He can probably go for 10 rounds before he needs a break

- he's always asking "is this okay, my love?" "My dear, are you sure you want me to go faster/harder?" He wants to make sure you aren't hurt!

- bites. He claims his mark will let others know you're taken, and already claimed. Expect to wake up in the morning with hickeys everywhere on your body (Tom and Maddie didn't notice because you put on makeup to hide the marks, much to Knuckles dismay XD)

- he loves it when you scream his name and grab his quills as he eats you out. You're like the best feast he ever got to taste. Your screams let him know he's doing his most valuable mission, aka, pleasing you till you're satisfied. (Tho the 1st time you screamed in pleasure, he thought he hurt you and stopped immediately 😭)

- he doesn't know much about how humans have many different positions. He's usually got you in a mating press, or he's on his knees, eating you out. He'll be open to other positions if you bring it up. He wants to learn as much as he can so he can properly treat you like the queen you are!

- when you 1st sucked him off he was honestly baffled. You sure had guts to be the one who started engaging in such activities with the last member of the Echidna's. It turned him on, but he won't admit that XD

- he doesn't get super loud. He typically let's out soft grunts and growls, and his tail wags a bit when he's nearing his release

- I think he probably has struggled in the past with heat seasons/ruts, because he never had a mate in the tribe. So when he experiences these issues, he holds back unless you DEMAND he go all out with you

- he doesn't really care if you make expressions from the pleasure. If it's an indication he's making his queen feel good, then he's happy

- Knuckles is the master of aftercare. He gets you anything you want, and his fur is nice and soft. So yes, he's an excellent cuddle buddy!

- if you happen to have a small happy trail/hair down near your vagina, he doesn't care. He just thinks it makes you more intriguing

- if you're on the chubby side, great! Means you'll be the prime candidate for his aftercare snuggles!

- say you've even got stretch marks. He thinks they're interesting. If you're sensitive about them, he won't talk about it further, as to not upset you

- overall he's always focusing on what makes you feel good, because you're his beloved mate, who will soon become his queen♡

PLZ REBLOG IF U WANT!))

#sonic 2 #sonic move 3 #knuckles the echidna #knuckles wachowski #knuckles x reader

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elliesngirl · 2 months ago

Note

Anything with reader being mean to loser ellie who is down bad?

Loser!Ellie Williams x Mean!Reader: Masterlist

Warning: Reader is very mean to ellie, men, d slur, angsty, happy ending though, suggestive kinda at the end,

btw let me know if you want to be on the taglist + send requests! not proofread lol

Work count: 2.8k

You frowned in the mirror as you tried on clothes. You needed to make a good impression on the first day of your second year of college. You convinced them to allow you to get a private room; having roommates was too much to handle.

You decided on a denim skirt, brown knee-high boots, and a red top, matching the boots with a belt, then adding jewellery.

You posed in your mirror, snapping a selfie for your Instagram story, getting tons of likes and replies instantly, all complimenting your looks.

You strutted into class, not caring that you were 20 minutes late. It's pretty normal for you. You sat down at the back, one leg over the other, pulling your phone out of your pocket and replying to all your friends.

"You're late." The teacher said, making everyone look at you, rolling their eyes, you looked down and mumbled, "No shit." You went back to your phone. "Ms Williams, could you please catch her up."

She nods, then shyly walks up to you, almost feeling bad for being in the same room as you. She stands next to you waiting for you to acknowledge her, but you're too busy looking down at your phone.

"Umm.." Ellie says quietly, grabbing your attention, you look up from your phone, looking Ellie up and down, "Yeah?" you say with an attitude filled in your voice.

"I need to tell you about what you missed..." She said, looking down at the fingers she was playing with, you laughed at her, turning your phone off and then putting it down. "Why?" You asked, "The teacher told me too...." She admitted, only honesty laced in her voice.

"Yeah, I don't really care.." You giggled, showing her a fake smile, then picked up your phone, texting your friends.

You: Guys you wouldn't believe who is talking to me rn Scarlett: Girl who? You: Ellie Williams Charlie: That dyke? ew You: yeah lmao Scarlett: Tell her to leave? You: She won't take the hint.

"Are you texting crap about me...right in front of me?" Ellie asked shyly, scratching her neck, rolling her eyes, "Why do you care?" you ask, she looked down, "Oh no reason."

Silence.

"What's with your shirt?" You asked, laughing at her, but she didn't process it.

"Oh! my shirt! It's got all the dinosaurs on it!" She starts to point to all the dinosaurs telling you which one is which. "This is a Tyrannosaurus, This is a Triceratops, and this is a Velocirap-"

"I don't care!" you say a little louder, grabbing her attention, she looks down once again, "Oh.. sorry."

"Aren't you meant to be smart?" you ask and she can't say anything, she doesn't have anything to say, "Those clothes are for boys." You remind her, before turning away and rolling your eyes.

"You realise this is college, not high school, you don't need to be a bully," Ellie says quietly, taking a lot of courage to stand up for herself.

"If this is college then why do you dress like a 3-year-old boy?" You fight back, making Ellie's face go red, "You're right, I'm sorry." Ellie whispered as you rolled your eyes, "Can't hear you, you need to speak up." You teased, messing with her was so fun.

"I'm sorry.." Ellie said a little louder, but you weren't done, "Still can't hear you.." you pouted.

"I'm Sorry!" Ellie shouted, making everyone look at her, you couldn't help but laugh at how humiliated she looked, she quickly grabbed her stuff and left, the humiliation was too much for her.

You were hanging with your friends, sitting on the bench and eating lunch, Charlie came back to the table, with an annoyed look on his face, "I can't believe Jasmine rejected me." He gowned, you giggled, his eyes glared at you. "Oh please.. like you can easily get anyone's number." He uttered.

You rolled your eyes at him expressing "I bet I can."

"I bet you can't," Charlie said, smirking.

You stood up, ready to ask some random guy, but Charlie stopped you. "Ah, that would be too easy." He says, you sit back down. "What?"

"You have to not only get someone's number, you have to have a thing with them for at least 6 months, then break their heart." He says, smirking but that just seems normal for you, "Done." You smirk, "but not just someone, Ellie Williams." Charlie added, with a smirk.

Your eyes go wide, "are you kidding me?" You grew, making his smirk grow wider, "What? You can't do it?" He scowls, and you reach your hand out, ready to shake his. "Deal."

With that you leave him to walk around the campus to find Ellie Williams.

You find her in the library, reading books about astronomy, you slowly walk up to her, hoping that she can't hear your footsteps, but the old floor gives your presence away and she looks up, as soon as she makes eye contact with you, she closes the book and starts to walk away quickly.

“Please don’t leave.” You state, she turns around to look at you, “Why not?” She questions, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for how I treated you in class..” You apologised, “You like space?” You asked, trying to get her to move on. “Me too.” you smiled, making hers light up.

“Really?” She asked, “What’s your favourite planet?” She questioned, “Ummm. Venus.” You spoke fast, making something up on the spot, she smiled, “Really?” You shook.

“What are you doing, maybe we could get coffee..” you offered, Ellie’s eyes lit up, “Yes please!” She exclaimed by then her eyes went wide, “I mean... sure.. sounds great.” You nod, giving Ellie your phone. “Here, put your number in.”

Ellie puts her number in and you snicker at how easy that was, part one of the bet done, only six more months left to finish this.

You stuttered away, with a smirk on your face, eager to tell Charlie how well you did.

“Boom, got her number,” You said, showing him Ellie's contact number, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, still got a date with her for 6 months.”

You whine, “What do I get if I do?” You ask, clearly irritated, “Umm bragging writes.” you roll your eyes, “And! I will…buy you coffee for the rest of the year, and clean your room.” You smirk, “Make it food too and deal.” He nods.

“And if you lose. You have to buy my lunch and date me” You gang, you couldn’t imagine dating him, “Ew, I am not losing the bet now..” You speak, walking away.

The next day you walked into the café, dressed in a black mini skirt, white stockings, black heels and a pink top.

You were 15 minutes late, you looked around and caught Ellie, sitting in the corner, wearing dark wash jeans and a flannel. As soon as she made eye contact with you, she stood up and waved at you.

“Hi! You look gorgeous..” She voices, giving you a soft smile, “Thank you.” You smile, and she pulls out the chair for you, waiting for you to sit down. Once you do, she sits down and gives you a silver necklace, she grins brightly when passing it to you.

You give her an awkward smile, not knowing what the charm was on the necklace, “It’s Venus.. your favourite planet.” Ellie tells with a cute smile, “Oh... right, thank you..” you say, moving the necklace to the side. “Do you want me to put it on you?” Ellie asks and you're about to say no, but you decide to just say yes, for the bet.

“Yes please.” You say with a smile, she walks over and moves your hair, her fingers brushing against your neck, you couldn’t deny the tingling feeling you felt in your stomach when you felt her touch. She grabbed the necklace and put it on you.

She moved, “What do you want? I can order lunch for us!” She questions, smiling brightly, you smile back, “Can I get banana bread and a latte.” You asked, Ellie nodded, “ Of course.” She said, walking away, as soon as she was out of your vision you rolled your eyes, texting Charlie

You: Bro this bet will be a piece of cake, she is down bad Charlie: it’s been two days of the six months, calm down You: I got this.

You put your phone down as Ellie sat down, “So.. Tell me more about yourself.” She expressed, smiling, like she wanted to hear about your life, no guy you have dated ever really cared about what you did.

“Well. I used to cheer in high school, my dad has this business and I work there sometimes.” You tell her, noticing that Ellie maintains eye contact with you while you're speaking. “Really? That’s so cool, what do you do?” She asked.

“Oh, I just design clothes.” You smile, her eyes widen, “seriously? That’s so cool!” she exclaims, “Really? Everyone tells me its name and I'm better at being a nepo baby.” Ellie sighs, “Well whoever is saying that is just being mean, can I see your work”

You pull out your phone and show her your designs, her smile grows brighter as you swipe through them, “Wow, you are really talented,” Ellie declared. You showed her a genuine smile.

The food came out, and Ellie ordered banana bread and a hot chocolate, you found yourself having a weird feeling, you were starting to enjoy her company.

You had to brush yourself out of your thoughts, there was no way you were thinking this.

You let her talk about her interests, she mainly yapped about Spiderman, dinosaurs and space, you barely listened but you pretended to.

“Hey, so do you wanna come to my dorm tonight? my roommate is out so I could order food and make hot chocolate.” You hear Ellie suggest, you smirk, nodding your head quickly “Yeah that would be great.” You state, smiling. Ellie let out a deep breath, it took a lot of courage for her to ask. “You can just wear pyjamas, nothing fancy.”

You put on your pink Peter Alexander pyjamas, grab your phone and make your way to Ellie’s dorm. You knock on the door, and she almost opens instantly, wearing a blank top and Spiderman pants. Hair messy, looking like a dork, you almost said it out loud, but thankfully you stopped yourself.

“You look pretty.” Ellie told you, her green orbs staring into yours, looking down you felt your face grow red, “I’m not even wearing makeup” You admit, Ellie giggles, “You don’t need makeup.”

You smile at her, and then there are a few seconds of silence, “Wanna play Minecraft?” Ellie asks you to nod your head and you sit on her couch, she passes you the controller and then grabs her own. “Umm. I’m pretty bad at the game.” you admit, she touches your shoulder, making you feel butterflies, she pouts at you, “It’s okay, we can play on easy mode.”

The two of you make a survival world and you keep getting stuck in situations where Ellie has to come to save you, you even convinced her to turn the inventory on.

After a while, you couldn’t help but notice that Ellie kept losing focus on the game and was staring at you, more specifically your lips, putting the controller down and you turned to make eye contact with her. “What’s up?” You ask, her eyes keep switching between your eyes and lips.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, voice soft, like you were the only two people in the world, you give her a small nod, whispering, “Yes.” back, allowing her to hold your face and bring you into her, her soft lips landing on yours.

The kiss was short, but it was meaningful. When you pulled away, Ellie had the cutest smile on your face. It almost made you feel bad. Why were you doing this? But you couldn’t let Charlie win the bet, you would have to date him, but if you followed through with this, you would have to break her heart.

You dug yourself in a hole, you had no way out.

You decided to keep going with the bet.

The next months with Ellie were exciting, the two of you made it official after 1 month of hanging out, Ellie is the happiest she has ever been, she writes songs about you and sings them to you whilst playing the guitar, it only makes you feel more emotional.

“6 months coming up now, bet you're excited.” Charlie said, with his stupid smirk on his face, “Yeah, super excited.” You say sarcastically, “Don’t tell me you're falling in love.” Charlie exclaims, and you roll your eyes, “Of course not!” You lie, “It’s just I feel bad, I mean I got the losers' hopes up. For nothing” You giggle, you feel bad for saying this, you knew it wasn’t right.

“So. how are you going to break her heart?” Charlie asks, you shake your head, “I don’t know, I have the bitch wrapped around my finger, breaking her heart will be a piece of cake.” You smirk, “Well see.” Charlie, says walking away.

You make your way to Ellie’s dorm, taking a deep breath, before knocking. It took her a while to answer this time, but when she did, her eyes were red and her cheeks were tear-stained.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” You ask Ellie to let out a small sob, “Oh come on, you know what’s wrong.” your eyes widen, “what do you mean baby?” you ask, hopefully trying to ease the situation. “I heard you and Charlie talking, I am just a bet?” her voice sounds broken. “Listen I can explain-” you start, but Ellie cuts you off. “Well congratulations, you have successfully broken my heart.” She cries, slamming the door in your face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You mumble to yourself, and you knock on the door again, hoping that she will at least hear you out.

“What do you want!” She exclaims, not opening the door, “Please just listen to me..” You whisper, hoping that she will hear you, after what feels like years she opens the door.

She pulls out her phone, “You have one minute.” she says starting the timer.

You wasted no time to explain, “Okay, I will admit you were a bet, but I grew to like you! It was on the second date when I realised that what I was doing was wrong, but I made the stupid decision to keep going. I don’t know how to prove it, but I do love you!”

Ellie shakes her head, before her timer goes off, “Times up, I can’t believe I was so dumb, my roommate even tried to warn me.” You looked down, you felt so guilty and there was nothing you could do to fix it.

“Ellie..” Your voice is quiet and soft.

“What.” Her voice was stern and cold, a tone you had never heard from Ellie before.

“You were right.. Bullying in college is stupid, I am just dumb, I am stuck up and believe that I could take that out on you because I’m privileged, but I really do love you, I was gonna come here and tell you the truth.” You admit, not noticing that you started to cry.

“How do I know you’re not lying.” She asks, You reach into your purse, pulling out your phone, “This was meant to be a surprise for your birthday, but I got these!.”

You showed her that you bought tickets to the Jurassic World exhibition, and her eyes lit up, “You got this for me?” you nod, but her face drops, “This is in Thailand.” You sigh. “Well… it happens to fall during our summer break so I did get tickets to Thailand. One ticket under your name and this one is under my name but we can change it if you want.”

She sighs, looking at the ticket, “One condition.” You nod, waiting for her to tell you, “Stop being friends with Charlie.” You don’t even have to think before saying, “Done.” Making her smile, then, you look at her lips, you miss them, you notice that “Can I kiss you? You ask, Ellie shakes her head, teasing you, but then quickly nods her head, saying “Yes.”

You lean in slowly, but Ellie wastes no time bringing you in for a passionate kiss, holding her head, pulling you closer, “Wanna make a bet?” Ellie whispered lips over your ear. You could only mumble a yes in response. “I bet I could please you better than all the guys you have slept with.”

You smirk, pulling away from the kiss to say, “You know I can’t even bet against that.” Leaning back into the kiss, kissing away Ellie’s stupid smirk.

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m0nsterqzzz · 1 year ago

Text

The Three Times Natasha Proposed to You and the One Time You Said Yes

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

summary: your girlfriend has a habit of proposing, and you have a habit of saying no.

a/n: I was gonna do this with katniss but decided it worked better with my favorite spy and also its been way to long since I wrote for herrrrrr ahhhh anyway, I LOVE HER YOUR HONOR

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The first time Natasha proposed to you, you had only known her for 18 hours.

You were new to the team. So new in fact that you only knew three people’s names at a table with eight people since the other five were too busy all day to introduce themselves. Dinner was awkward, for you at least, as everyone else was busy chatting about their days with each other. They’re laughing, the bond they all share clear as joy feels the air.

You don’t feel that joy.

It’s not like you’re not happy to be here; you’re insanely grateful that Fury was willing to see past your history and allow you to join forces such as the incredible ones around you, but you just don’t feel very welcomed.

You don’t blame the team. After all, it’s only the first day, and Fury already told you about the fact that most of the people on that team aren’t very warm and friendly. It does kind of bug you though, how now the people you’re not familiar with even seem to notice your presence in the group.

It’s just the first day. Things will get better. You repeat for the 100th time, eyes trained on the table as you spoon some more of the food that was in the kitchen when Jarvis called for you into your mouth. It’s chicken over rice, a simple recipe, but the chicken is covered in some type of delicious sauce that you can’t get enough of.

“Is the food okay? It’s my family's recipe.” A girl with brunette hair and jade colored eyes sitting across from you speaks, nervously smiling as she pushes her fork around the food on her plate. She’s young, younger than everyone else on the team, and it makes you feel a bit better about being new as you remember what Fury said about her only joining about half a year ago.

You give a hesitant smile, answering honestly; “Oh…yeah. I love it. It’s delicious.”

The girl smiles brighter, reaching across the table to hold out her hand for you to shake. “It’s nice to officially meet you. Fury’s told me alot about you. I’m Wanda.”

“All good things I hope.” You giggle before introducing yourself, and she laughs along with you before you both go back to eating. The rest of the team slowly introduces themselves, and out of the corner of your eye you go see the way Wanda cringes when they only do it after she gave an example.

Even if they only did it once the girl made them realize, you still feel a bit more comfortable here then you did a while ago.

You notice Wanda eyeing your rings as you guys continue to eat, so you put your hand on the table in between you too. Her eyes shoot up to you in surprise, clearly not knowing that you noticed it. “Sorry for the staring. I just…I really like your rings. I love wearing them myself and I’ve never seen any like that. They’re beautiful.”

That’s how you guys start up in a conversation about rings, and then a few minutes later you’re sliding off one of your rings to give to her. She seems like the nicest person here, and you can already tell you’re going to be great friends. When you get it off, it accidently flies out of your hand, bouncing on the table before it falls off and lands somewhere on the floor. You turn red in embarrassment at the way everyone falls silent, staring at you in amusement before a redheaded woman slides out of her seat and kneels down on one knee to search for the item.

You met her earlier when you went to the gym to train, and she even helped you learn a few awesome fighting moves before she left to let you do your own thing. You can’t deny that Natasha is beautiful.

The woman smiles when she finds it, grasping the metal in her hand before she turns to face you, still on one knee as she holds it out for you to take as if she’s proposing.

If she notices the way it looks, she doesn’t say anything until Tony, the man you met when he blew up a lab earlier, laughs and mumbles under his breath, “I’m not paying for that wedding.”

You giggle, watching as Natasha stands up and turns to glare at him before facing you once again and putting it on the table near your plate. “Shut up Tony.” She mumbles before sitting back down in her own seat, and you say before shoving food into your mouth when the embarrassment sets in, “I’m not ready to settle down. Sorry Nat.”

Everyone just chuckles, and you are left with a small smile and new found happiness.

The second time she’d done it, she’d almost had you fooled that it was real.

You and her had been dating for three months, and you guys were absolutely inseparable. You’ve learned a lot about her in the year you’ve been an Avenger, and she sometimes opens up about her past. Her little sister, the red room, Dreykov.

Anyway, Fury had sent you on a mission with her, your best friend Wanda, and Steve Rogers to go and steal a flash drive from a destroyed hydra base then find some place quickly to look at what's on it. He said to find the nearest place as people would already be on the search for us, so that's why you got Nat to pull over at a mall. Not for clothes or a new pair of shoes, but to go into one of the electronic stores and use one of their computers to read what's on the file.

It was easy until Natasha noticed one of the workers looking at Steve in suspicion as they see him inserting the drive into one of the computers, and you’re about to abort the mission before your girlfriend grabs your hands and tugs you to the middle of the store, dropping into one knee and glancing at Wanda. The witch seems to get the hint even though you don’t understand what's happening, but you do when the young girl uses her magic to make a ring appear in Natashas hand. It’s beautiful, but you can tell it’s just an illusion to fool the people around you as small red whisps surround your best friend's hands.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” The redhead starts, loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the store but too loud as to not seem unusual. “I know you’re having my brother's baby,” She continues with that most serious face you’ve ever seen, and you have to try your hardest not to burst out laughing. “But I can treat you better than he ever could.”

The whole crowd of people in the store are now focused on you, even the workers which gives Steve the time he needs to enter the hard drive into one of the computers and read what's on it.

“So what do you say hottie? You wanna do this or not? Marry me?” You stare at her for a few minutes, eyes glancing at the blonde haired man who silently laughs at the scene in front of him before sending you a thumbs up to show he’s done and you guys can go.

“No!” Everyone quietly gasps, all looking away as Natasha fakes offense. “No! What the fuck? What kind of proposal is this? I’m just trying to buy a new phone, Stacy! And you’ve got a huge barbecue stain on that sweater. This is truly the best you could do?”

You're having way too much fun with it as you scoff before gently slapping her, trying your hardest not to laugh at the way everyone gasps even louder while you storm out.

Your friends and girlfriend quickly catch up with you, and you all finally burst out laughing by the time you’re getting in the car and driving away from the mall right as some scary looking military vehicle pulls up to the building. “Did you have to slap me?” Natasha laughs out, the ring box Wanda had magically created is now gone as she sits next to you in the back seat. “I feel like you enjoyed that way too much.”

“I did enjoy it. I’m also just practicing for the day you do propose to me.” She lets out a fake annoyed groan, slinging an arm over your shoulder as she pulls you to lay against her side.

Despite the playful mood, you can’t help but feel a fluttery feeling in your chest and a warm blush coating your face at the thought of being married to this girl. Little did you know, she was feeling the exact same.

When she did it a third time, it almost seemed like it was second nature for her to pull out a ring box and propose to you.

You had just got back to the Avengers tower after a lunch date, and she froze on the doorstep when she realized you were no longer beside her. She turns in circles, panic filling her when she doesn’t see you. She’s a spy for fuck sakes, how could she have not noticed something happening to you.

Her panic fades when you pop out from behind a thick tree, a snowball made from the small amount of snow on the grass in hand as you send her a mischievous smile. She doesn’t have any time to move before you’re launching it in her direction, practically falling over with laughter as it hits her forehead and then breaks into pieces.

The redhead still seems a bit shocked, but she quickly gets over it as she groans with a grin and runs over to harshly tackle you to the ground. It knocks the wind out of you, but you’re both still laughing so hard your stomach hurts as she grabs some snow from beside your head and then lets it fall onto you. “You wanna play that fucking game? Oh we can play that game honey.”

You shake your head, but the bright smile on your face tells her that you’re not actually scared. “No. I’m sorry Tasha. We can talk this out.” When she makes a, “tsk…tsk” noise with her mouth, you use all your strength to push her off of you, sprinting towards your home even though you can hear the sound of Natasha’s boots hastily crunching the snow beneath them as she runs after you.

She wraps her arms around your waist, easily picking you up off the ground and spinning you around. As cringy as it is, your laugh makes her laugh, and the moment is so perfect as she slowly lets you down so she can look you in the eyes.

“Wait a second.” Natasha mumbles, before grabbing something from her pocket, telling you to turn around for a minute while she makes you a surprise. You draw shapes in the snow in the meantime, your fingers practically numb but by the time you’re done, every planet is drawn into the frozen canvas. “Alright. Turn around.” She speaks again, and your smile grows- if possible- at the sight.

She’s messily formed a ring with the wrapper from a straw at dinner, and now she’s balanced on one knee in the icy snow as she grins up at you. “Will you marry me, and be mine forever?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, finally holding at your left hand for her to put the ring on as you yell out, “Of course I’ll marry you!”

The russian girl laughs, once again picking you up to twirl you around before she sets you down to kiss you easier.

From a window high up in the Avengers tour, Wanda watches the interaction while drinking her tea and then closing her curtains. “When is she gonna do it for real?” She whispers to herself, already so done with the fact that Natasha has proposed to you three times, and yet she hasn’t been able to wear a pretty bridesmaid dress in her whole live.

The day Natasha proposed in the privacy of the cabin Tony’s letting you borrow for a weekend, twinkling lights dressing the living room and the dining table decorated with candles, rose petals and fancy wine that’s probably from Pepper, was the time you know she wasn't kidding.

As the sun sets behind the clouds, you and Natasha sit across from each other with your free hands hooked together beside your plates. The setting sun casts gentle rays upon your face from the window, illuminating your features with a golden light. You two share a quiet, comfortable silence for a moment before she looks up from her plate to you, a smile gracing her lips. You look at Natasha, heart beating softly in your chest from the soft, gentle atmosphere of the moment. She lets go of her fork to use that hand to grab ahold of your other hand, your fingertips intertwined gently. Your eyes meet across the table, and for a second it’s just you guys in the world.

The girl then speaks, her words sincere and clear, as she makes her proposal. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you; I’ve wanted to since the first date we went on. I was scared though…..scared of finding someone I love in a world that could take it away so easily. But now….now I realize. It doesn’t matter. As long as I get to be with you for what time we have left, it’s worth it. So," she says softly, tilting her head to the side and smiling as she grabs a ring box from her pocket and opening it so you can see the diamond ring inside before standing up from her seat so she can get down on one knee next to the table.

"Will you marry me?"

The question hangs in the air as you gaze into the girl's eyes and processes the words. Your mind reels from the unexpectedness of it all, but you also can't help the surge of joy welling in her chest.

“Yes. Yes of course I will!” Her grin brightens, and she’s still kneeled as she wraps her arms around your waist to hug you as tight as she can. You join her on your knees so you’re on her level, grabbing her face with both hands and pulling her into a passionate kiss. You would’ve married her the first time she asked, but you’re somehow glad you waited until now to say yes. This is perfect.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

#natasha romanoff x you #marvel x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #marvel x you

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hayakawalove · 9 months ago

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Untouchable

Summary: Satoru stays out late one night so you're forced to punish him.

A/N: I fixed this up a bit and decided to post it to this blog! CW: Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Sub!Gojo, Readers kind of bitchy, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, Dirty Talk, Voyeurism, Come Eating, Choking Mention, Humiliation, Praise, Gender Neutral Reader, AFAB Reader W/C: 2,138

You hate him.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time he came home late. You knew it wasn’t true, not in the slightest. Every fiber of your being loved him, that’s why it hurt so bad every time he failed to show.

More often than not it was because he got caught up at work. “Being the world's strongest sorcerer keeps you busy” so he put. Everyone wanted a piece of Gojo Satoru, and you couldn’t say you blamed them. You wanted a piece too. He was your husband, but you felt like you were begging for crumbs of him all the same.

Tonight however, he was surprisingly free from work. That didn’t mean he wasn’t busy, though. He got invited to dinner with his friends from work; all of them were celebrating Nanami’s birthday. Satoru invited you to go as well but you didn’t feel like socializing. Truth be told, you wanted him to deny his invitation as well. You knew that was selfish.

“I’m home!” His voice bellows from the front door.

You lay in your shared bedroom, flicking through a book. It’s one you’ve read countless times; Satoru got it for you for your birthday last year. Sure, he may have teased you for it, saying something along the lines of “my little nerd”, but that didn’t matter.

The door clicks shut and you can practically hear him deflate. Most nights you ran up to greet him, but perhaps you were playing hard to get tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Satoru calls out for you, his long limbs bringing him to the bedroom.

His body fills the doorway, his height being yet another one of his strong suits. How annoying. You really want to stay strong tonight to show your grumpiness. You fight every urge to jump up and pull him in.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were here. You didn’t come to the door.”

You arch a brow at him, looking over the top of your book. You weren’t even reading it. You hadn’t been for at least an hour.

“Am I some kind of dog?” You ask flatly.

“Last time I checked, no.” Satoru walks up to the edge of the bed. His lithe fingers grab one of your ankles, rubbing slow circles on your skin. His warmth instantly spreads over you. You want to melt into his touch and never look back.

“Sorry I got back so late, we were at the bar.” He sounds apologetic. The tone of his voice causes you to deflate a bit, but you force your walls back up.

“You don’t even drink.”

His bright blues flick up to your eyes.

“No,” a grin spreads across his lips, a dangerous glint in his gaze. “Why, you want me to?” You can see his eyes shining as he speaks.

You roll your eyes and fight back a smile, snatching your leg back up and pulling it closer to your body. He always knew how to cheer you up, but tonight you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Oh come on baby, I said I was sorry.” One of his knees dips in the mattress, his hands splaying across the bed as he crawls over to you. Satoru almost looks comically big as he traverses the sheets on his way to you.

“You don’t seem sorry.” You say, pressing your foot on his shoulder to keep him from advancing any further.

“No? What do I gotta do to convince you?” His voice is muffled as he turns his head to grab your foot, pressing gentle kisses into your ankle. He may be the strongest man in the world, but he treats you like porcelain.

One of his arms shoots out and glides across your calf, sliding up and down your skin, sending shivers barreling through you. Your body instantly reacts, heating up the second he touches you. You bite your lip and resist the temptation to pounce on him.

“Want me to make you feel good?” Satoru asks, his eyes locking with yours.

Damn his long arms. He can practically reach your core from where he’s at. Satoru’s hand snakes its way down to your pelvis, the warmth from the pad of his finger seeping through your pajama shorts. He gets in one swipe before you wiggle your hips backwards out of his reach.

“Baby.” His eyebrows furrow while he pouts.

You place your book down and slip your fingers in the band of your shorts. “You’re not allowed to touch me.” The tone of your voice is smooth as you maintain eye contact.

Satoru’s mouth drops open in retaliation while you shimmy your shorts off. You’re left only in your underwear and a sheer tank top. Your legs spread wide open while your fingers dip down, rubbing against your clit. You can’t help but let out a moan at the feeling.

“Baby, please-“ he begs.

Your eyes drift closed while you immerse yourself in pleasure. His pleas fall on deaf ears as you continue working yourself. You can feel the fabric getting soaked even though it had only been a couple minutes.

Fuck, it felt good.

You needed more, body aching to pull down your underwear. But you didn’t think he deserved to see.

“Feels so good, Satoru.” You murmur, hand pushing your tank top up to expose your chest to him. He could at least see that much. How generous of you.

You open your eyes while continuing to rub your clit. You can see Satoru adjusting himself, his hard cock surely painful by now. The outline of his dick bulges through his pants, making your breathing stutter. You lick your lips and drag your eyes up to his.

“Fuck, baby. Please let me touch you.” He asks, his voice straining.

You don’t respond, too afraid that if you do your words will betray you. You stuff your hand in your underwear, needing more contact. Your fingers slip into your pussy, two of your digits not even comparing to one of his. Strangled moans fill the room; a mixture of yours and his. You’re sure there’s a wet patch forming in his underwear by now.

Good, let him know what it’s like to be left wanting.

“T-Think I’m gonna cum, Satoru.” Your fingers speed up.

Satoru’s sitting on his knees now, eyes switching between your blissed out face and your fingers between your legs.

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly, as if he’s getting off to this just as much as you are. Knowing him, he’s probably enjoying himself more than you.

“Yeah, fuck, feels so good!”

Satoru lets out a mix between a sigh and a moan. You could hardly contain yourself any longer.

“Satoru! I’m-“

“Yeah baby, come on.” He was just as invested as you were, encouraging you from the sidelines.

With a moan you cum hard, your underwear drenched. Your hazy eyes trail Satoru’s body. His breathing is labored, his long fingers splayed over his knees.

“Take it out.” You order.

Right as you finish your sentence, Satoru is sliding his pants and underwear off, exposing himself to you. His cock looks harder than ever, the tip angry and leaking. The sight of it nearly has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. He makes a move to slide between your legs but you stop him. You weren’t finished yet.

“Did you already forget what I said?” You question, the words clawing at your throat as you speak. Part of you craved the feeling of him between your legs, but you knew it would be much more fun this way.

Satoru frowns. He was clearly aching to be inside of you already.

“But-“

“What? You think you deserve to fuck me? You told me you’d be home hours ago.”

His cock twitches at your tone. There’s a bead of precum dripping from his tip, begging to be licked up.

“You’re mad at me?”

“Text me next time so I know that you’re at least safe.” You were concerned. Even though he was the best, that didn’t mean you didn’t care. As much as Satoru would disagree with you, he wasn’t invincible.

He nods quickly, his eagerness wearing you down. Your body feels a bit lighter now that you’ve driven your point across.

“Good. You still can’t fuck me though.”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

You think for a moment before a glorious idea pops in your head. You slide your underwear down and hold them out to him. His expression is nothing short of clueless.

“Get yourself off with my underwear.” You say, hoping your voice doesn’t waver. Your heart pounds in excitement, the mere prospect of him desperately humping your underwear leaving you reeling.

“What?”

“You heard me. Make yourself cum with these.”

His breath hitches in his throat, his hand grabbing the fabric from your fingers. He could feel how cum soaked they were.

“You’re cruel, baby.”

“You’re lucky that I’m letting you have anything at all, Satoru.” The second his name falls from your lips you hear him exhale hard. You catch the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing from the corner of your eye.

Satoru bites his lip and looks down, wrapping your underwear around his cock. It’s soaking wet from your cum, the damp fabric clinging to his tender skin. A shiver goes through Satoru’s body as soon as it makes contact. You can tell how sensitive he is from where you are. His hand starts to move up and down as he grips his cock, jerking himself off with your soiled underwear.

“G-got so wet, can feel it- fuck, can feel it against me.”

You could cum again from the sight of him. The world's strongest at your beck and call.

“Want more, please let me have more.” He whimpers as his hips buck into his fist.

“Poor baby, if only you were a good boy earlier.” You tut.

Satoru whines, throwing his head back. His pale throat is on display for you, and it’s tempting to reach your hand out to choke him, but you refrain. The sight of him is nothing short of appetizing. His face is completely red, body shaking from how hard he’s breathing. Seeing the strongest person in the world crumble into a puddle because of you made you feel so good; you craved more.

His hand speeds up, precum seeping into the underwear.

“You should’ve just texted me earlier, now you have to fuck my underwear instead. How pathetic, baby.” Your voice is not your own anymore. It belongs to someone else, someone much more powerful and confident than yourself.

Satoru’s eyes close from pleasure. A strangled whimper rips from the back of his throat, the sound making you shiver.

“Oh no, that won’t do. Keep your eyes on me.” You instruct.

He drags his eyes down to look at your figure laid underneath him. Your legs are spread, showcasing the strings of cum that cover your pussy and inner thighs. A sob racks his body, his shoulders begin to tremble from lust.

“How does it feel?” Your sultry voice asks.

“Good, so good- need more, need your pussy baby, please!” You almost feel bad at the way his voice cracks.

“But you look so beautiful for me right now.” You coo, your fingers tracing your slit. “You’re such a mess.”

Your eyes flick down to the clothing wrapped around his groin. You can’t see where your juices end and where his begin. Satoru continues stroking his cock, imagining your warm walls hugging him. It’s not hard enough, fast enough, tight enough. And you knew that. His hips desperately chase his hand, needing more. Even though it couldn’t compare, his high was building, bubbling in his stomach. It was so close, he could feel it.

“Need to cum!” He shudders.

“Gonna ruin my underwear, Satoru?” You hope he does.

“Yes, yes, gonna ruin them, gonna ruin them just for you baby!” He winces and drops his head, eyes scrunching shut. You’ll let him off the hook for that.

His moans fill the bedroom while he strokes frantically. You can see spurts of his cum shooting up, oozing into the fabric. His body relaxes once he stops, hissing at the way your underwear clings to him.

“Did so well for me, baby.” Your words are hushed but full of love. You get up and sit on your knees in front of him, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

Satoru looks up at you, his fucked out expression irresistible. Poor guy, you’re only getting started. Your hand grabs at the underwear, pulling it off, and shoving it in his mouth. His eyes fly open, shock evident on his face.

“Now, be a good boy and clean these up for me.”

#my writing #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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gayvorestories · 1 year ago

Text

Mike wiped his forehead as he set the last load from the daily delivery truck onto his dolly and waved at the driver, letting him know he was clear to back out. As the man backed down the bakery alley, he waved back to Mike, who was pushing an entire load of flour up a short ramp by the door alone. As he pushed the door open, he heard a familiar voice behind him and sighed deeply in frustration.

"Well, well, they really did get the right guy to move the heavy stuff."

"Not today, Alan."

"Oh, right, I forgot someone gets cranky when people compliment him."

"Not people, you." Mike rolled the dolly to the closet where they kept the dry ingredients and started unloading them, his thick arms bulging as he set the hefty flour bags onto the shelf.

He turned around and saw Alan standing in the doorway, looking him up and down like a cut of meat.

"You can't be back here Alan, what the fuck, get out!" he shouted.

"Oooh, feisty. You gonna slap me, daddy? Choke me a little, spit in my mouth?"

Mike grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the supply room as Alan laughed.

"What are you gonna do big boy, call the cops on me? I'm sure they'd looooove to hear what I have to say."

Mike stopped dead, still holding Alan by the collar.

"Yes officer, that's him! I saw him do it! He said he'd eat me too if I told, boo hoo!" Alan said in a mocking tone.

Mike released his collar and looked down at him, fuming but knowing he was powerless to do anything else.

"Now that's a good boy," Alan said as he straightened his shirt, "how about you follow me in here and keep being good?" He tugged Mike's shirt in the direction of the supply room, but he didn't budge.

"Alan please, I-"

"I own you," Alan said in a much more aggressive tone, "I caught you red handed eating that stupid slut from grindr and I got it on video." He stuck his finger in the middle of Mike's chest and smiled, "so how about you and be go back in that closet, you be a good boy, and give me what I came here for?"

Mike looked down, feeling defeated. "Everyone else is gonna be here in half an hour, can't we-"

"Then you better stop bitchin' and get on your knees." Alan grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the supply closet, this time with Mike right behind him. The door closed behind them and Alan started to undo his pants. "What a good boy. Come on, on your knees," he said in the most degrading tone he could muster.

Mike stopped in the middle of the room and started at him. "Is this just how it is now?"

"You're mine now, handsome. This is what you do."

Mike looked at the floor for a moment. Fuck it, he thought to himself. He closed the gap between them in two steps and shoved Alan against the shelf. Hard.

Alan fell to the ground, the breath knocked out of him and his pants around his ankles. "Wh... what... the fuck?" he wheezed. He pulled up his pants as he stood, backing away from Mike and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Mike grabbed his hand firmly, squeezing the tendons in his wrist until he yelped in pain and dropped the phone. They both looked down at hit as Mike put his full weight on it with the heel of his boot, the screen letting out a crunching sound as it splintered and popped apart.

As Mike loosened his grip, Alan met his eyes and his blood ran cold. "M-Mikey, c'mon man. I won't bug you anymore, I swear."

"No, you will."

"No, no man I swear I won't ever come near you again, just lemme go."

"I don't believe you."

"Mikey please-"

"Don't call me Mikey. You lost that right a long time ago."

"Baby-"

"Shut up!" Mike yelled as he gripped Alan by the shoulders, "I can't fucking stand you anymore. I should've done this a long time ago!"

"No, no!" Alan said as Mike opened his mouth wide. Stuffing Alan's head into his throat, he gripped him like a vice as he squirmed, slowly engulfing his shoulders as his head slid deeper into his gullet.

Alan's screams were muffled by the Mike's throat, but no one was around to hear them even if they hadn't been. Mike swallowed him down quickly, his thin, small frame easily slide into Mike's tall, broad body. As his waist passed Mike's mouth, he felt warm breath on his cock before it slid across his tongue, and down Mike's hungry throat with the rest of him.

On the outside, Mike was surprised how easy he was going down. He had been a small guy, but he was slipping into his stomach far easier than any other guy he'd ever eaten. As Alan's thighs started to go down, he leaned up and let gravity slide him the rest of the way in. His mostly-flat belly was bowed out and squirming, growing larger as the rest of Alan tumbled into his stomach. Giving one last gulp, he felt his body expand as his meal finished settling in.

He picked the phone up off the floor and started out the door towards his car. His white work shirt was riding up his belly significantly, but he kept an extra large in his trunk in case of an unexpected meal. Despite being muffled, Mike's yelling could be heard from inside of him, so he hurried, his belly swaying as he jogged across the back alley.

Alan kicked violently as he slipped his shirt over his head and pulled out the large button-up that looked like his usual wear.

"Please! Please don't do this!" Alan pleaded, "you can't do this to me!"

Mike flexed his abs as he put on the shirt, squeezing Alan painfully as he cried out. Once the final button was done, he tossed the apron onto himself and slipped back in. Checking himself in the mirror, he was definitely rounder, but as long as he stayed out of the way, no one would notice.

"Mikey, please, let me out!"

Ah, right. That, he thought to himself. Time to start the electric mixer I guess.

The surface of his stomach shifted and squirmed as he looked over that days pickup orders, deciding which ones to pick out first. His stomach groaned and gurgled as he scooped out ingredients into the mixer, Alan's panicked form making bulges and movements under his clothes as he worked. Just as his coworkers were coming in, he flipped the switch and the loud mixer drowned out any sounds Alan was making.

As they entered, he kept his back to them, giving a friendly wave over his shoulder but otherwise pretending to work at the counter on the far wall. When they walked into the front to begin opening up, he quickly slipped into the walk-in and grabbed all the ingredients he needed to start working on the filling for the pastries, avoiding everyone's gaze while his stomach worked overtime trying to shut up his meal.

Pouring the various fruits and liquids into the pot to start making a fruit filling, he winced in pain as Alan started kicking against him frantically. Turning the heat down, he looked around the room and started for the employee bathroom when he nearly walked directly into his coworker Marshall.

"Oh, hey Mike, you get started on those orders?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got the first one going, just gotta step to the bathroom real quick, waiting on the water to boil."

"Cool, cool." Marshall walked away and Mike let out a sigh of relief that he'd completely missed the movement in his midsection.

Locking the door behind him, Mike hung up his apron and leaned on the wall, unbuttoning his shirt and rubbing his fuzzy, bloated belly.

"God, you're almost more annoying like this," he said to Alan, who squirmed in response. "What's wrong, not having fun in there?" he taunted, "is my belly gross and uncomfortable?"

Alan's muffled voice was barely audible, "please, let me out, I won't say nothin' to anyone, please!"

Mike grinned and rubbed his belly, "I don't know, after months of this bullshit it's nice to have the upper hand for a little while. Besides," he said letting out a little moan, "it feels good."

Alan let out a sob and kicked as Mike rubbed the firm surface of his belly.

"Mmm, just like that. I can't wait to feel you sliding around in my guts tomorrow."

"You're a fucking monster!"

"I thought that's what you loved about me," Mike cooed as he rubbed his belly firmly, "that and my biceps. I bet I'm gonna get some good gains out of you, been a while since I've eaten a man."

Alan made no noise in response other than a muffled yell as he punched and kicked in vain.

"Mmm, keep doing that. Feels so good, almost makes me wish my stomach wasn't gonna pulverize you." Mike's stomach let out a low grumble and he chuckled, "almost."

He buttoned his shirt and threw his apron back on, washing his hands quickly and heading back out the door and to the kitchen where his pot was starting to boil. He went back to his job, the squirming in his stomach slowing down considerably as he worked. The time passed quickly as he rolled, shaped, baked, filled, and packaged the pastries for the afternoon pickup. Leaning back on the table, he wiped his forehead on the back of his wrist as Marshall walked by.

"Damn bud, big lunch?" he said as he walked by.

Mike's eyes widened and he scrambled for a reply. "Oh, yeah, I'm on a bulk right now," he chuckled nervously.

"Hey man, clearly whatever you do works," Marshall laughed back. He gave Mike's belly a pat as he walked past, "just keep off the customer orders and we're all good."

Mike laughed and started filling up the mixer again, feeling his heart slow down to a normal rate again. The pat disturbed Alan enough he started to shift around again and Mike gave his belly a gentle rub while he was alone. "Shh, just relax," he whispered, "no more fighting."

As if answering for Alan, his stomach let out a low grumble.

"There you go," he whispered as he gave his belly a pat.

He switched the mixer on and went back to work, the kicking and thrashing replaced by shifting, squeezing aches as his stomach worked on Alan's body. As he popped open a set of boxes to fill up, his evening coworker showed up and put on his apron.

"Woah, dude," Tyler said looking at his belly.

"Oh, uh. I'm uh... bulking," Mike said nervously.

"Oh. Okay," Tyler said, "one hell of a bulk, what'd you eat?"

"Just a big lunch. Buffet spot."

"Cool man. We got any more orders left?"

"Just this one, gotta fill the boxes and put the stickers on 'em."

"Neat, Marshall is good up front so I'll help."

"You don't-" Mike tried to say as Tyler read the sheet and went back for the pastries.

He returned quickly and set the tray down on an empty spot on the table. Mike handed him one of the first boxes he had ready and he started to fill it, taking his time to make sure the warm pastries were arranged neatly.

Every minute they had to stand close to each other Mike got more nervous, trying his best to focus on assembling the boxes. As he handed Tyler the next one his stomach let out a low groan and he caught Tyler's eyes wandering towards his belly.

As he popped open another box, his stomach let out smaller groans and wet digestive sounds. Tyler could clearly hear them, but was feigning ignorance and ignoring it. The timer on the mixer buzzed and it slowed to a halt, the background noise slowly fading out. When the room was completely quiet, the low grumbles of his stomach echoed on the walls.

Tyler kept glancing at his belly and Mike kept looking away nervously as he put the final box together and started to fill them himself. Unlike Tyler's precise placement, Mike simply filled the box and moved to the next one, desperate to get away from the table.

"Hey man, no need to rush, last order of the day right? We just gotta clean up and wait for closing time."

"Yeah, yeah, just eager to sit down is all."

Tyler nodded and kept working, the two of them finishing quickly. "Alright, you sit back, I got cleanup."

"I can-"

"I got it, I got it," Tyler insisted, "you did all the other orders without me, I'll at least clean up."

Mike was in no mood to argue over it and sat down on a chair in the back of the kitchen. "Thanks, man." As Tyler swept up and wiped the counters down, Mike leaned back, his stomach starting to really pick up in intensity, groaning and gurgling loud enough Tyler could hear it across the room.

Just as Tyler was finishing up, Marshall walked in, wiping his hands and shutting off the lights up front. "Alright boys, closing time. I got the front locked up. Mike, try not to throw your back out on this bulk, we need a baker and your ancient mixer scares the shit out of me."

All three of them laughed as Marshall grabbed his keys and slipped out the back.

Mike stood up and started towards the employee office to grab his own keys as Tyler came in behind him.

"So... what'd you actually eat?"

Mike froze. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I think you do."

Mike turned and looked at Tyler. He was short and scrawny, Mike could probably lift him with one hand. He took a step towards Tyler, cornering him and nearly pressing his belly against him. "I think I'm not sure what you're tryin' to say."

Tyler's face turned red as Mike's belly was directly in front of him. "I-I, uh."

God I hate double-entrees, Mike thought to himself as he steeled himself to force Tyler down too. "You what?"

"I... think you look good... like this," Tyler said, a mixture of fear and arousal in his voice as the reality of the situation started to hit him.

"Like what?"

Tyler swallowed. "Please don't eat me, I've known a while, I think it's hot," he said quickly and nervously.

Mike was caught off guard by how forward he was and furrowed his brow. "I uh. Oh."

"Yeah, uh. Can I... touch?"

Mike blinked a few times. "Sure, go ahead."

Tyler's eyes widened as he touched Mike's belly. "Fuck, it's so firm."

Mike took off his apron and started unbuttoning his shirt before Tyler took over. He backed away from the corner and leaned back on the table in the middle of the room as Tyler slowly unbuttoned his shirt and gently touched his belly. Opening it slowly, Tyler looked Mike in the eyes as he gently rubbed the sides of his belly. "When?"

"This morning, just before we opened."

"Holy shit, is he still moving?"

"No, he stopped a little while ago."

"Fuck... that's so hot."

Mike snorted, "you like that?"

"Fuck yeah. Do... do you like it like that, or is it just eating?"

"Oh, I like it like that too," Mike said with a wink.

Tyler bent down and kissed the top of Mike's belly and looked up at him. He kissed down the surface slowly, lowering onto his knees as he reached the underside of Mike's belly. As he undid Mike's pants, he ran his tongue around his bellybutton, sticking it deep in and nibbling the surface of his firm, round belly.

"Fuck, keep going," Mike moaned softly.

Tyler slid his pants down and was greeted by Mike's hard, thick cock in his face. He slid his lips over the tip slowly, getting it nice and wet as he bobbed further and further down. The head of his cock pressed hard against Tyler's throat as he reached the bottom, his firm, fuzzy underbelly pressed against Tyler's face.

He bobbed up and down on Mike's cock as Mike gently tugged his hair. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good," Mike moaned.

Tyler let out a soft moan as Mike started to thrust hard into his mouth, grabbing the back of his head and using him like a fleshlight.

"I'm... oh fuck I'm gonna cum," Mike moaned as he started to shoot. He gripped Tyler's hair tightly and let out a low, husky moan as Tyler eagerly swallowed the load he pumped down his throat. He licked Mike's cock clean and sat back on his knees, panting and fixing his hair.

"Are you... still.. gonna eat me?" Tyler panted.

"Did you want me to?" Mike said with a grin.

"No, no but I wanna watch."

"I think I can arrange that."

Tyler smiled, "I'd like that."

"Do that with your mouth again, and I'll give you anything you like," Mike said as he buttoned his shirt.

Tyler stood and ran his hand along Mike's bloated stomach, "oh, I'll do that any time you want." He leaned in for a kiss and Mike followed through, kissing him gently on the lips.

"How about my place, this weekend?"

"Need me to bring a friend?" Tyler asked with a sly grin.

"Oh I have a dinner guest in mind," Mike chuckled, "just bring yourself."

The headed towards the door together, and before splitting off to their respective cars Mike paused, "oh, and bring some lube, too."

Tyler smiled and nodded, "see you then."

#male pred #male prey #unwilling prey #digestion #m/m vore

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