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boybandbaby · 1 day ago

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Want Me Back Part II

ex-husband/dad!Eddie Munson x ex-wife/mom!reader

word count: 3960

Part 1: this post

warnings/tags: kids plotting to get parents back together, suggestive comments (mentions of boners, ejaculation, masturbation, sex), mentions of virginity/being a virgin and teens making out, lots of arm squeezing (probably too much touching for a divorced couple), divorce talk, single parenting, panic attacks, kids, kids tantrums

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You wanted to say you were dreading today but how could you? You were spending the day with your eldest and you’d be seeing the man you were still in love with.

You had to bring out the big guns today though. Wear his favorite scent or those pair of bottoms that always made him grip your thighs in impatience to get home and take them off you. It was silly, you know but this is the first time since the divorce that you’d be spending more than the 10 minutes together.

“Mom, are you ready?” Stevie sighs, loudly.

“Yeah, you got my phone right?” You shove your keys and several other items into your bag.

“Yes, mom. Can we please go? Dad is already waiting outside.”

Oh yeah, and Eddie was picking you all up. You won’t have an escape plan if this goes horribly. Not only that, Lennox and Jett were being dropped off at Steve’s so you wouldn’t have two extra buffers in case things got awkward.

After a quick drop off, Eddie continues driving, yapping away with Stevie in the back seat. You stare at his hands on the steering wheel. He was just as nervous as you, that much you can tell by his grip on the steering wheel and his bouncing left knee. He’d also shaved since you last saw him and his hair was shinier.

“Okay, so we just have to buy a few more decorations and my outfit for the party.” Stevie recalls, going through her list of needed items. “Can we eat after?”

“Yeah, you pick though.” Eddie smiles at her through the mirror. He can already tell what she’s doing, extending their time together. He’s thankful, knows the kids want you back together just as much as he does. He’s just not sure it’s something you want ever again. He can only hope.

“Well, why don’t we go to Sal’s?” She shrugs, eyes on her phone. You turn back in your seat.

“You hate Sal’s.” You squint your eyes. “Their sauce is too saucy, remember?”

“Yeah, but dad loves it and he’s paying.” She smiles. She also knows this is one of the first places that you and Eddie went to when you started dating. It is also where all three kids had a birthday party or two over the years.

“I don’t want to hear you complaining then.” You turn back in your seat, looking at Eddie.

“Remember when we got that white sauce pizza and it turned out to be a garlic sauce not Alfredo? You were so pissed.” Eddie laughs.

“I mean, who the hell advertises white sauce and it not be Alfredo?” You groan. “My breath smelled like garlic all night. Kept you away like a vampire.” You lean your head back, letting it loll to the left to watch him.

“That wasn’t why I kept my distance that night.” He mumbles, “you gave me a,” he looks in the mirror, sees Stevie with her headphones in, “gave me a boner before the pizza arrived. I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“Is that why you kept going to the bathroom? Had to whack one out while I ate that horrible pizza?”

“I wasn’t whacking anything out! I was freaking out on the phone with Steve.” He breathes out in exasperation. “Was afraid I was going to give you a different kind of white sauce if I sat in front of you any longer.”

“Ew! Eddie!” You pinch the little sliver of skin under his armpit, peeking through his muscle tee, just under his outstretched arm.

“What? I couldn’t help it. I was just a helpless virgin boy on a date with the prettiest girl in Hawkins.”

“Oh stop.” You hold onto the door with one hand and your hot neck with the other.

“Can you guys keep the flirting to a minimum until after I find my outfit?” Stevie teases, headphones on her lap and amused look on her face. Eddie’s face turns beet red as he pulls into the mall parking lot.

The day goes by with some light teasing and a lot of spending. As you enter Sal’s, you see Sal Jr., the new owner when his dad Sal Sr. passed a few years ago. He’s about a decade older than you but his brain is still sharp and his mouth still quick. That and he doesn’t know about the divorce.

“Well well well, it’s the Munson’s.” He opens his arms, welcoming you three to a table. “Glad to see the little lovebirds still enjoying our establishment. Did you know I caught your parents once making out behind our dumpsters?”

“Thank you for that, Sal.” Eddie grimaces, taking the menu from his hands with a little force. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

Sal lifts his hands and steps back.

Eddie buries his head in his menu, quiet as ever. Stevie looks to you, eyes wide. You nod your head to the small arcade set up in the restaurant and hand her some bills. Eddie’s head doesn’t lift even when Stevie’s chair scrapes the floor.

“Hey.” You nudge his shin with the tip of your shoe. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing just hungry.” He speaks into the plastic of the menu.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else.” You reach a hand to bring down the menu. “We can go.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m okay, really.” He nods, eyes avoiding you at all costs.

You let go of the menu and instead place your hand on his forearm. “Let’s split a large? Half veggie, half all meat?” He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek and you don’t hide the pang of concern on your face. “I’ll pay for breadsticks?” You sing.

“Make it mozzarella sticks and we have a deal.”

“Good.” You smile, giving his forearm another squeeze before calling Sal over.

“Okay, so you’re going to beg mom and dad to sit together at your show.” Stevie whispers as she sits on Lennox’s bed.

“But won’t that make them sad? I don’t want them to be sad at my show.” He hugs his stuffed koala, one he’s had since he was a baby.

“No, they’ll be so excited and happy to see you on stage, they won’t have room to be sad.”

“Are you sure, Stevie?” Lenny’s voice shakes with uncertainty. Of course he wants his parents back together but he also doesn’t want to cause any problems. He’s only 12 but he’s already to most considerate kid you know. He thinks about others, always. Puts others’ needs and wants before his own. He also always goes along with what his older sister says, absolutely idolizes her.

“Of course I’m sure. The more time they spend together, the more likely they are to get back together.” She assures, lying back in his bed and opening his science textbook.

“Do you think they’ll really get back together?” He grabs the book from her, smoothing out the pages.

Stevie thinks for a moment, wondering if she should really be getting not only her hopes up but Lenny’s. “You should’ve seen them the other day, Lenny. They were laughing and smiling together. It was actually pretty cute.”

“Please don’t call our parents cute. That’s gross”.

It really didn’t take much begging from Lennox to get you two to sit together. You’d bought 4 tickets and waited outside for your girls and Eddie to appear.

“Sorry. We’re late I know. Where’s Lenny?” Eddie checks his jacket pocket for his keys.

“He had to go backstage already. Come on, they’re starting soon.” You kiss Stevie’s cheek, complimenting her dress.

The auditorium roars with family members anticipating the appearance of their kids, chatter about which role their kid is playing and how good they are and how hard they practiced. You don’t doubt them as Lenny had been stressing all week leading up to the play, even making Eddie learn the moves with him.

You lead the way and shuffle past a family into your seats. Stevie ushers Eddie into the aisle before her. Eddie carries Jett and sets her between both of you in the ratty chair.

“I wanna sit with Stevie.” She tells Eddie. Eddie stands and gently pushes Stevie to switch seats with him.

“Sorry dad, this is a better view to record Lenny. Sit next to mom.” She puts up no room for a fight, helping Jett into the chair next to her. Eddie sighs, knowing his eldest and her play book too well at this point.

“What? Do I smell? No one wants to sit next to me?” You nudge Eddie.

“You smell amazing.” He reassures. “Our children are just being difficult.”

“Just like their dad.” You raise your brows. Before Eddie can quip back, the lights dim and a voice overheard asks the crowd to silence their phones and reminds of no flash photography.

As soon as Lennox steps on stage, too big costume hanging off of his body, you and Eddie sit up straight. You don’t even realize it but you grab his hand, pulling you both a bit closer together. You’re in the second row from the stage, behind possibly the tallest, most big headed people ever (you’re definitely exaggerating), so you’re both centimeters apart as you peers through the gap between two people in front of you. As Lennox and his cast mates get into position, his eyes scan the crowd for his family.

When he spots you two, you wave and Eddie gives him a thumbs up. Lennox grins and taps his feet on the stage in time with the music. You know how hard Lennox had been practicing his dance moves, sometimes a little clumsy like his dad. As each child comes forward for their little tap solo, you hold onto Eddie’s forearm and hold your breath.

Eddie looks down at your hands on his arm. He regrets wearing his signature leather jacket, a barrier between your fingers and his skin. “Eddie.” You whisper, squeezing his arm twice, bringing his attention back to the stage.

Lennox moves with a stumble, feet tapping the floor as he wobbles to keep his balance. His eyes are on his feet, even though he knows he’s supposed to be looking into the crowd.

When he’s done, Eddie cheers, receiving dirty looks and shushes as the next kid goes on. You pull him down further into the seat, laughing as you do so, more to save Lenny from embarrassment than anything else.

The cast all dances and sings before exiting the stage. Lenny has a few more lines and numbers throughout the musical, each time making both of you proud.

You spend the entire night glued to each other as you watch your boy display his talent. The night ends with all five of you going to dinner then sharing a large banana split while you fawn over Lenny.

The kids beg for Eddie to stay the night and it’s not much for either of you to agree. Eddie still has things at the house, never fully moved out in hopes he’ll be able to come back one day.

You’d never made him take his things or gotten rid of them, savoring what’s left of his scent in his absence.

Eddie thanks you as you hand him a pair of pajama pants, both of you equally unsure of where he should sleep.

“Dad, Jett agreed to sleep with Stevie so you can bunk with me.” Lennox smiles wide, “maybe we can finish the pirate book tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there kid. Warm up the bed for me.” Lenny nods and you know he’ll take Eddie’s request as serious as can be. “Thank you, y/n.” Eddie crosses his legs at the ankles, swaying slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Maybe we should talk about-“

“You should go. To bed, I mean. Don’t want to keep our boy waiting.” You clear your throat, “goodnight.”

Eddie purses his lips, nods and turns, leaving the room you once shared together. He wishes he could snuggle up to you instead but knows he lost that privilege a long time ago.

He knocks on Stevie’s door, opening to find both girls wide awake despite the late hour. Stevie is painting Jett’s nails in neon green and smiley faces.

“Goodnight girlies.” He leans down to kiss Stevie’s forehead, then Jett’s. She lunges up and forward, throwing her arms around Eddie’s neck. She’s happy to have him back in the house even if she doesn’t realize it’s only for the night.

Stevie groans and pulls her back, her nail polish smudged and speckled in Eddie’s long hair.

“I love you.” He laughs, the hair and polish the least of his current worries.

“We love you dad.” Stevie speaks for the two girls.

“You two should go to bed soon.” Eddie suggests. “Maybe sleep with mom so she’s not the only one alone tonight.”

“Okay, dad.” Stevie nods. Eddie waves one more time before heading to the bathroom to change.

You listen as he moves about the house like a ghost. You remind yourself that he’s only here for the night as you lay in bed alone. There’s a quiet him of noise: giggles from the girls, a door creaking open and cheers from Lennox as his dad squeaks into Jett’s small twin sized bed. You’re used to feeling alone, especially when the kids stay with Eddie, but tonight you think you’re okay. It feels nice to have Eddie back in the house, even if he’s not with you.

Lately, things have been a bit rough for you. When the separation happened, it didn’t feel like much of a change for you emotionally or even physically as Eddie had been distant long before that. Now that you’d spent more time with Eddie, you began missing him like crazy.

Ever since he’d slept over a few nights ago, Jett would be defiant about eating her dinner, bathing and brushing before bed, and going to sleep.

You’d have to call Eddie and vice versa when she was at his, in order for her to calm down which brings you to the present.

“Hey, so Jett is throwing a bit of a tantrum right now because you’re not coming to her open house thingy. I told her you were working late and might not make it and she’s really upset.” You sniffle. You had to put aside your own inner turmoil to deal with Jett’s new behavior. Everything felt like all too much.

“Baby, take a breath.” Eddie lets slip. “Let me talk to her.” Eddie slips the phone between his ear and shoulder as he finishes up another quote for a pair of new brakes. “Hey babe, why are you giving your mama a hard time? We talked about this, right? I won’t be able to go to your school tonight but we’re going to go out to eat after, remember?” His voice is calm, gentle even. Although he’s worried, he doesn’t let it cloud his voice.

“But it’s not the same. I want you here with us. I want you to come over for dinner.”

“I know bub but I have to work.” He winces at her loud sob. He can hear the tears in your own voice as you attempt to shush her. He’s sure you’re rubbing her back. The same way you have a technique to calm every other Munson down, even Wayne. You kiss Eddie, or squeeze his arms, scratch Stevie’s scalp with your fingertips, sing to Lenny, and give Wayne a cold beer. The way Eddie calms you down is with a tight hug. He wishes he could give you know now.

“It’s not fair. I want it to be like Lenny’s show.” She slams the phone onto the table. Eddie pulls the phone from his ear, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that getting angry at his child is not going to de-escalate the situation and he is not his father.

“Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie!”

“Oh shit, sorry.” He brings the phone back to his ear.

“I’ll figure something out. See if Robin can come with me. I’ll let you know how it goes.” You frantically rush out, hanging up before he can offer any more words. This exact situation is a reminder of one of the reasons for the divorce: Eddie working more than being present. It started with missing dinners then anniversaries until you finally drew the line at your last forgotten birthday.

You stand alone in the classroom, listening as the teacher explains some of the projects the kids have been working on this year. You’re tapping your foot, watching Jett as she hiccups. Her face is blotchy with half dried tears during the car ride over, and her hair is an absolute mess.

Some of the parents look at you sympathetically and your overthinking mind wonders if they know you’re a single parent now. You know it’s probably just because they’ve also experienced an unruly child in public.

You bite your lip so hard you break skin. At the taste of blood, you hiss and clench your fists.

“Hey,” Eddie gently rests his hand on your lower back to get your attention.Something he used to do all the time to stay tethered to you during social events. His hand slides off your back and wraps around your fist. He wiggles his finger into it and unclenches your hand.

“Daddy, you made it!” Jett waves as she sits with some of her classmates at their desks. She’s taken Eddie’s skin color, almost the exact same shade, even when he’s upset. She’s red but the crying has stopped.

“I’m sorry I’m late and I’m sorry I couldn’t change out of my work uniform.” He whispers, wishing he looked as good as he did in the black button up Stevie made him wear to Lenny’s show.

“I can’t believe you made it.” You turn into him. Your lip wobbles as you let go of any boundaries, wrapping your arms around his waist. Eddie immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s rests his head a top yours, breathing in your scent.

“Let’s take a walk, yeah?” He whispers. “Hey Betty, can you keep an eye on Jett? We’re stepping into the hall for a moment.” Eddie asks Bobbi’s grandma. She is probably the only one in this room that knows about the divorce (Jett let it slip to her best friend, Bobbi during a sleepover.) Betty nods sweetly and gives him a smile.

You both step into the hallway, keeping Jett visible through the window in the door.

You hear your name being called and before you register, there’s several steps of squeaky rubber on the tile floor.

Eddie tenses when he sees the 6 foot, built body, gym bro place a hand on your upper left shoulder.

You tense and jump, “Freddy?” You wipe your eyes, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“I didn’t know your kids went to this school.” The man lets his hand slide down to gently hold onto your bicep. He would’ve known had he listened to a word Nancy said when she introduced the two of you.

You immediately turn, discreetly pulling your arm out of his grasp to introduce Eddie. “This is Eddie, the father of my kids.” He’s so glad you didn’t say ex-husband right then and there. It would’ve been a bigger blow than seeing some guy come up to you.

He knows you’re beautiful, come on, he was married to you. But seeing another man show interest with you while he’s trying to win you back, makes his blood boil.

“Oh, hey.” He chucks his chin towards Eddie, barely an acknowledgement. “It’s such a surprise to see you. I hope you’re available for that date soon.” He winks before who you presume is his son, tugs on his pant leg. “I’ll hopefully see you soon. Bye y/n.” He enters a class adjacent to Jett’s.

“You’re seeing someone?” Eddie immediately inquires when the man is out of earshot.

“Nancy introduced me to him last week while we were out for drinks. He’s a coworker of hers.” You clarify.

“So you’re dating already?” He sasses, arms crossing over his chest.

“No, Nancy is trying to set us up. I hardly know him.” You wave your hand to brush him off, planning to escape back into the classroom.

“Are you interested?” Eddie follows, firmly but not harshly, grabbing your shoulder.

“Eddie, can we drop this conversation for now? It’s not the right place.”

“Are you? It’s a simple question. Are you or are you not interested in seeing someone else? Seeing him?” He nearly gags. Practically spits the pronoun out. “The divorce hasn’t even been finalized for a year and you’re already dating?”

“No!” Your voice echoes against the hallow floors and walls of the hallway. “I’m not seeing him and I’m not interested! There, you happy?” Eddie takes a step back. “Don’t act like you’re interested in me now, Eddie.” You place a hand on the door handle.

“Hey, you can’t just bark out some petty comment and walk away. We need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to do this.” The tears are already coming back. “Not right now and not here.”

“Fine, walk away like you did the first time.” He throws his hands up, scoffing.

“It’s okay for you to make a petty comment but not me? That’s not fair. I asked you for months to do better. I asked you-“

“I know, I know. You’re right.” He chokes out. “I’m sorry. I’m just hurt. Jealous. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to live your life and date whoever you want. I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you would move on so quickly, ya know?” He looks to the ceiling, hands on his hips, spewing his emotions. “I thought I had more time.”

You take a step back, opening your mouth to respond. You lose the words, closing it quickly. Eddie is telling you how he feels, telling you the honest truth, communicating.

The communication between you had gone extinct months before the separation. In turn was a lot of fighting, whispered shouting before turning away from each other in bed and leaving in the morning without a goodbye.

“What do you mean you thought you had more time? Time for us?” You tug at his navy blue uniform. A long sleeve one piece, the top buttons of his coveralls open, exposing the bony collarbones painted with faded tattoos.

“Yes, I thought I was making progress. M-making my way back into your life.” He stutters, chest heaving. He feels his world closing in on him and you sense the oncoming panic attack.

“Eddie, we have all the time in the world.” You urge him to look at you, hand on his chin. He fights you though, trying to keep his head turned so you don’t see him. See his weaknesses and fears. “Listen to me, I don’t want anyone else. I still want you.” You do the only thing on your mind. The only thing you can think of to calm him, and truly the only thing you’ve been wanting to do since he’s crept back into your heart. The thing that has worked on him for so many years. You kiss him. Pulling him in by his open top, lips sloppily misplaced and wet with tears. You’re not sure if they’re yours or his or both.

It doesn’t seem to matter when the door clicks open faster than you can break apart. You’re too late. “Yay! Our plan worked!”

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#eddie munson x reader

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lumosflairr · 2 days ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 - 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑

summary: Ned surprises you and peter by signing you two up for a couples costume competition.

warnings: use of y/n [like 3-4 times]

word count: 3.5k

“I just thought it would be something cute and romantic for you two to do!”

Peter stared blankly across the cafeteria table, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, juice box clutched in a death grip.

“Couples costumes, Ned? Are you kidding me?”

Ned crossed his arms with a shrug, looking completely unbothered by Peter’s slow descent into panic. “It’s Halloween. You’re dating. There’s a contest. You’re welcome.”

Peter leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face like he was trying to disappear. “You signed us up without asking.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind!” Ned defended, pushing his tray across the cafeteria table. “Y/N won’t. She’ll love it. And you—” he pointed a finger dramatically, “are whipped.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, closed it, then muttered, “That’s not the point…”

“Oh my God,” MJ deadpanned from across the table, not even looking up from her book. “You’ve been carrying her books to chemistry for two weeks straight, and you flinch when she looks at you like she might ask for a favor. You’re so whipped.”

“I—” Peter blinked. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Exactly,” Ned said proudly. “So just let her pick the costume, show up, and win the contest. Easy.”

Peter groaned and let his head fall to the table with a thud. “She’s gonna pick something ridiculous. I can feel it. I’m gonna end up in glitter tights or a corset or something.”

“Y’know,” MJ added with zero emotion, “the drama club has a full Shakespearean outfit that would fit you. Codpiece and all.”

Peter gave her an amused look and groaned. His hands ran down his face when suddenly his eyes met yours. You weaved through scattered tables as you made your way to his. You were wearing his favorite top of yours- a nice red long sleve and a pair of light washed jeans.

You plopped your tray down beside MJ, sitting directly in-front of peter and sat.

“Hey guys.” You greeted the three of them cheerfully, adjusting yourself in your seat. You looked at peter again, his face resting on his hands with his cheeks a lighter shade than usual.

You furrowed your brows at him. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“He’s being dramatic.” MJ spoke, her tone flat and honest.

“I am not—” Peter started, but Ned cut in with a grin way too smug for comfort.

“I may have… sort of… signed you guys up for the Halloween couples costume contest,” Ned blurted, clearly proud of himself.

Peter let out another loud groan, slumping further in his seat.

Your eyes widened. “Wait, you what?”

Ned raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, but hear me out! There’s a prize, and you two are literally the perfect couple for it. Everyone’s gonna vote for you anyway.”

You blinked, absorbing the news—and then your face lit up. “That’s actually so cute! I love that idea!”

“I knew you would! At least someone appreciates my favor.” Ned targetted his tone towards Peter as he raised his eyebrows at Peter and shot him a glare.

“Favor? Ned, I’m going to become a walking target at school!” Peter chimed in, his face full of embarrassment as he spiraled.

“I’m gonna end up looking like a total idiot. I’m gonna walk in and everyone’s gonna laugh and take pictures and it’s gonna end up on Flash’s story—”

“You’re already on his story like once a week, Penis Parker.” MJ muttered, not helping.

You laughed and grabbed peter’s hand, squeezing it in your own. “Pete, it’s gonna adorable. Come on, we’ve never done anything cheesy together like this and now we get to dress up and totally dominate the competition. Plus, you’ll have me with you. Flash can’t clown you when he doesn’t have a girlfriend of his own to do things like this with anyways.”

Peter sighed and squeezed your hand in return.. “Please please please dont put me in something glittery or anything that involves spandex. Or a tail. Or ears.”

You smirked at him. “No promises.”

“Y/N, I mean it!” Peter begged, eyes wide as he gave you a dramatic pout.

You let out a small chuckle at his reaction. “I’m joking, Pete. I already have a few ideas that dont involve glitter or spandex.”

Peter sighed at your comment, smiling at you. Suddenly, he then shot you another look.

“Or ears? Or tails?”

You smirked at him. “wellll….”

“Y/N!!”

The house was quieter than usual. Your parents were out for the evening, and your aunt—who had stayed for a while to help with your sewing—had just left after giving you a proud hug and reminding you to “press the seams before he tries it on.”

Your room was warm with golden light, the late afternoon sun spilling in through the window. The final touches of the costumes were hanging behind your closet door in a long black garment bag. You kept glancing at it, nerves and excitement mixing in your chest.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Peter.

“I’m Outside ❤️”

You smiled at the message and ran downstairs, making your way to the front door to open it. When you opened the front door, Peter was standing there in his hoodie and jeans, hands in his pockets, biting back a nervous smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking at you like you were the only person on the planet.

“Hi,” you replied, stepping aside. “Come in, skywalker.”

Peter gave a mock salute and walked inside, pulling off his hoodie as he shut the door. You both made your way upstairs as he glanced around. “It’s weird seeing your house this quiet.”

“They cleared out for us,” you joked, nudging him with your shoulder as you both made your way to your room.

The moment your door closed behind him, Peter turned to face you—and you barely had time to say anything before he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a kiss.

It was soft at first, slow and familiar, his lips brushing yours like he wasn’t in any hurry to let go. His hands settled lightly at your sides, and he tilted his head slightly as he deepened it, smiling just a little against your mouth.

When you pulled back, he looked dazed. “Hi again.”

You laughed, brushing your nose against his. “You’re such a sap.”

“Can you blame me?” he murmured, eyes locked on yours like he was already head-over-heels and still falling. “You kiss like you’re trying to kill me.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, and stepped back toward your desk. “Alright, Romeo. Ready to see what we’re wearing?”

Peter blinked and let out and audible gulp, which you laughed at.

“It’s not even bad, Pete. You’ll love it I promise.”

“I hope so..” He mumbled under his breathe as you went to grab the bag.

“Sit down and close your eyes.”

Peter raised both eyebrows. “You’re not even going to warn me first?”

You gave him a look.

With an exaggerated groan, he flopped onto the edge of your bed. “Fine. But if this ends with me in anything with ears, we’re breaking up.”

“You love me to much and you know it. Now hush.”

Peter huffed but obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut.

You grabbed the hangers from the closet, carefully sliding the bag off, your heart fluttering a little as you walked back over.

“Okay,” you said, smile tugging at your lips. “Open.”

Peter cracked one eye open, then both—and his mouth slowly dropped open.

Hanging in front of him were two perfectly handmade Star Wars costumes: one, a detailed Jedi tunic complete with wraps, a faux leather belt, dark robe, and boots. The other, a dreamy and beautifully made version of Padmé Amidala’s outfit—white and silver with flowing fabric and subtle shimmer.

Peter stared in stunned silence. “Is that - Anakin and Padmé?”

You nodded. “Told you no glitter.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between the costumes and you, his heart beating out of his chest. “You made these?”

“Well… not all on my own. My aunt helped sew everything together, but I did the design. I found the belt pieces online, did the stitching for the wraps, and made a lightsaber clip for your belt. I figured you’d like it more than something generic.”

Peter blinked, still looking completely awe-struck. “You made me a Jedi. You made us Anakin and Padmé.”

You smiled. “I know how much you love Star Wars. Thought I’d give you a reason to show it off in public without being embarrassed.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Then finally stepped forward, gently set the costume down on your desk… and kissed you.

It was less soft this time—more full of feeling, like he was trying to say thank you without words. When he pulled back, he just looked at you, eyes full of warmth.

“I love it,” he said softly. “I love you.”

You smiled up at him, heart full. “Even without glitter?”

“Especially without glitter,” he teased, pressing his forehead against yours. “Though… I’d wear anything if you made it for me.”

You smirked. “Even ears and a tail?”

Peter playfully rolled his eyes. “You had to ruin the moment.”

You laughed at his comment as he held his Anakin costume in front of himself and faced towards the mirror. “I’m gonna look so cool,” he muttered, grinning.

You walked behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, standing on your tip toes to press a kiss to his neck as you let out a whisper. “You always do.”

The gym at Midtown was barely recognizable.

Orange and purple string lights draped the ceiling, fake cobwebs clung to the corners, and jack-o’-lanterns with glowing LED eyes lined the stage. The school had actually tried this year—there was a fog machine going wild in the corner, a photo booth decorated like a graveyard, and the DJ was mixing in spooky sound effects with throwback hits that somehow made it all work.

You and Peter hovered just outside the gym doors, each holding your costume bags, dressed head to toe but waiting for your moment to step in. Your heart thumped with anticipation, but Peter looked like he was about to short-circuit from nerves.

“You ready?” you asked, adjusting your belt and brushing invisible lint from your Padmé costume.

Peter glanced at your outfit—then did a double take. “You look… amazing,” he mumbled, a little breathless.

You smiled. “Thanks, Skywalker.”

Peter peered into the gym, already overwhelmed by the flashing lights and fog machine going full throttle. “Okay, is the fog supposed to smell like feet?”

You snorted. “That’s just the football team.”

Peter grimaced. “Truly terrifying. Happy Halloween to me.”

The second you stepped through the gym doors, it was like the volume doubled. Heads turned immediately—some students actually stopped dancing to watch you walk in. One of the juniors by the snack table straight up pointed and shouted:

“Yo! That’s Anakin and Padmé! That’s so sick!”

A ripple of chatter followed. People pulled out their phones, snapping pics, complimenting your detail work, and asking if you had your costumes commissioned.

You and Peter exchanged a look, eyes wide, but you both smiled—because yeah, this was a moment.

Ned jogged over, practically bouncing in his homemade elf costume (complete with a duct-tape sword), and MJ followed behind in a black hoodie that said “this is my costume” in plain white letters.

“I told you guys,” Ned said, eyes wide as he looked you both over. “You look insane. This is, like, fan film level.”

MJ gave a small nod. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You don’t look completely ridiculous.”

Peter turned to you, smiling like he was just now letting himself enjoy the attention. “This is actually kinda awesome.”

“Told you,” you said, nudging him.

“Wow. Someone clearly had way too much free time.”

Peter rolled his eyes and turned around to see Flash. He swaggered over in a half-baked pirate costume—plastic sword, fake gold chain, and eyeliner that looked like he gave up halfway through. His shirt was untucked, and his bandana was slipping off his head like even it didn’t want to be part of this look.

You shot him a dirty look. “Good evening to you too, Captain Crunch.”

Flash scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying, everyone’s acting like you two walked off a movie set. It’s not that impressive.”

Peter poked his tongue in the side of his cheek, a smirk growing on his face with his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know, Flash,” he said coolly, adjusting the belt on his tunic with just enough flair to make it look better than it had any right to. “I don’t see your girlfriend making you a custom costume to match yours…”

He paused, let it hang in the air—just long enough to sting.

“…Oh wait. You don’t have one.”

Ned made a quiet explosion sound with his mouth. “Boom.”

MJ raised her cup and raised her eyebrows while you tried not to burst into laughter at Peter’s comment and sudden boldness.

Flash opened his mouth, clearly scrambling for something to say—then closed it again. His jaw flexed, but he just sniffed and muttered, “Whatever,” before turning on his heel and disappearing into the fog machine haze.

Peter turned back to you like nothing had happened. “That was kind of satisfying.”

You grinned. “Dangerously polite Peter might be my favorite version.”

He smirked. “Use your powers for good, not petty.”

“Can’t relate.”

The rest of the night passed in a flurry of dancing, compliments, and awkward slow songs. You and Peter took a few photos in the graveyard-themed photo booth—one serious, one funny, and one where Peter kissed your cheek and you were definitely blushing.

At one point, Peter leaned in and said softly, “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but this is hands-down my favorite Halloween ever.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment. “That was the plan.”

The DJ paused the music and tapped the microphone, his voice cutting through the chatter and dim lighting. “Alright, everyone! It’s time to find out who’s taking home the prize for Midtown’s 2025 Halloween Costume Contest!”

A drumroll began to play over the speakers, building tension as eyes turned toward the stage and whispers filled the room.

After what felt like forever, the DJ grinned and announced clearly, “And the winners, by unanimous vote… Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala!”

Cheers erupted instantly as you and Peter shared a stunned look.

Peter looked at you, wide-eyed. “Wait—we won?!”

“Obviously,” you laughed, dragging him toward the stage by the hand. You were handed a hilariously cheap trophy, a pair of $25 gift cards, and—maybe best of all—eternal bragging rights.

Off to the side, you caught a glimpse of Flash near the punch table. He watched you both with an unreadable expression, then muttered something to the guy next to him. You couldn’t hear it clearly, but it sounded like:

“…Okay. It was kinda cool.”

The party came to an end after what felt like only seconds. The gym had finally emptied out, the music cut off mid–Monster Mash, and the fog machine was put out of its misery. You and Peter stepped outside into the cool night air, the soft buzz of leftover laughter and costume rustling fading behind you.

Ned and MJ trailed close behind. “Well,” MJ said flatly, arms crossed over her hoodie, “that was loud, overcrowded, and mildly tolerable.”

“I had a great time,” Ned beamed, adjusting his cape. “I mean, we witnessed history. You guys crushed it. Flash is probably still crying into his pirate wig.”

You laughed. Peter grinned.

“You guys heading out?” you asked.

MJ nodded. “Ned’s mom’s picking us up. She made apple cider and, quote, ‘wants the full gossip.’ So that should be a ride.”

“Tell her we say hi,” Peter said.

“And thank her for raising a man brave enough to wear elf ears in public,” you added.

Ned held up two fingers in a peace sign. “Would wear them again.”

After a round of quick hugs, MJ and Ned waved and crossed the lot, disappearing into the glow of approaching headlights. You and Peter were left standing near the curb, bathed in the soft orange halo of a streetlamp, the air quiet and cool now that the crowd had gone.

Peter shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and let out a breath, the kind that meant he didn’t want the night to end yet.

“So…” you said, rocking slightly on your heels. “Did we win Halloween?”

Peter looked at you for a long moment. “Yeah. But not because of the costume.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

He took a small step closer, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “It was you. You made it the best night. I mean, the lightsaber helps—but still.”

You felt your cheeks flush under the glow of the streetlight. “You’re just saying that because I kissed you in front of the entire junior and senior class.”

“I’m saying that because you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said without hesitation, then immediately looked down like the words had slipped out faster than intended. “And also the coolest. And weirdest. In a good way. Obviously.”

Your breath caught in your throat, smile threatening to break out fully.

Before you could say anything, Peter leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed, or showy, or dipped in leftover party adrenaline—it was warm and soft, sweet and sure. The kind of kiss that said thank you for tonight, and I like you more than I know how to say, and maybe even this could be it. This could be everything.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling like he couldn’t help it.

“I love you, like… way more than I should be allowed to.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb along the edge of his jaw. “That’s okay. I think you’ve earned it.”

A car horn gave a soft beep beep nearby, and you both turned to see Aunt May pulling up to the curb, waving from behind the wheel.

Peter groaned under his breath. “Timing, as always.”

You both grabbed your bags and costume pieces, heading toward the car.

As Peter opened the door for you, he leaned in close and whispered, “Next year, I’m picking the costumes. Just so you know.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. “That’ll be the day.”

May raised an eyebrow as you both climbed in. “So… who’s ready to tell me why my nephew looks like an Obi-Wan?”

Peter grinned. “Long story. But we won.”

May smiled. “That’s my boy.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Peter’s hand found yours again, quiet and steady, and you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you still glowing with the kind of magic only a perfect night can leave behind.

#lumosflair #fluff #x reader #peter parker x reader fluff #halloween #peter parker #tom!peter x reader #tom holland spiderman #tom!peter parker x reader #tom holland #peter parker x reader #mcu x reader #marvel #tom!peter parker #peter parker fluff

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junedenim · 2 days ago

Text

my propeller

bah humbug

warnings: my descending sanity

word count: 13.8k

The glass beers that were chilled in the fridge had formed a frost on the outside, indicating the impending crisp taste. Ines runs her thumb over the neck of the one that has tipped over. She picks it up and cracks it open with the church key magnet stuck to the refrigerator door.

Her shins were hot, piped with urticaria on the sides of them. She keeps reaching down to itch them, causing further irritation, just like when she had the chickenpox at the age of 6 and her parents forced socks on her hands to prevent scarring. She holds the ice-cold bottle to the rash with the condensation drops dripping down, sending shivers down her nerves and up her spine.

The night is simultaneously hot and cold in that dreaded way summer can get. The building is buzzing with heat, but the chill of a late evening breeze forces its way in through the window they propped open with their old textbooks they never returned to their school.

Ines slumps down into the secondhand armchair, which has lost all its firmness somewhere between the First and Second World Wars. She picks at the weaving that has come undone due to the group’s collective cat, Ginsberg—who is technically Mallory’s cat—scratching at the side of it. She curls up her legs onto the chair and slots her beer in the space between her legs and the chair’s arm.

Her eyes pass over the layer of trash that has formed over the center apothecary table. A cluster of empty bottles, an incomplete stack of playing cards, Sam’s unzipped purse, and this week’s collection of junk mail. She picks at her chipped nail polish, trying to listen in on the group’s powwow, though it’s hard to keep track of who is saying what.

“He called her his soul mate! ” Michelle—Meech, as the group affectionately, or not so affectionately, refers to her—she’s four drinks in and beginning to rant, something that will only worsen once she finishes her poorly mixed cranberry vodka (20% cranberry juice, 80% vodka).

Ines leans over to Charlie, perched on the arm of the couch. “Who is she talking about?”

Charlie shrugs. “I think Ben and Jenny, but she might’ve lost me around when she was talking about South Carolina and someone named Laurie.”

Ines furrows her brows. “Who’s Laurie?”

“Laurence Beckley.” Ines shakes her head. She thought Laurie was Lauren, but it could also be Laura, and everyone and their mother is Laura, Laurie, Lori, Loren, Laura, Lauren, etc. “You don’t know him. He plays rugby with Chris.”

“Chris plays rugby?”

“Different Chris. He’s Christian, not Christopher.”

“I’m lost.”

“Don’t bother,” Charlie says. “She’ll go on either way.”

Halfway through the bottle, Ines abandons her beer in favour of Mallory, who is still in her room trying to decide on an outfit. She paces back and forth in her underwear. A pile has formed at the top part of the bed consisting of two skirts, a dress, and three tops, ranging from a grandmother blouse to getting down in the strip club.

“Everyone’s already half-drunk. They aren’t going to be paying attention to what bra you’re wearing,” Ines tries to comfort her, bending down to return a pair of Mallory’s shoes.

“I’ll care. Am I holding up the party?” The party being a gathering getting drunk on a Thursday evening in an overcrowded living room.

Ines shakes her head. “Not even everybody is here. Promptness is not their specialty.”

“Ten minutes. I’ll be no more than ten minutes.”

Ines doesn’t believe Mallory, but she smiles and returns to the living room. Two new people have shown up, mixing drinks in the connected kitchen. She sinks back into the chair with her beer. She could fall asleep if it weren’t for the noise.

She hears the front door open and wonders if she should be more concerned with complete strangers walking in and out of her flat. Maybe if there weren’t men who play rugby in this room. Meech is now completely sucked into a one-on-one conversation with Sam, their foreheads stuck together, their voice levels near a whisper, making the room quieter than she left it.

Charlie comes back around with the new group of people, not a recognizable face in the bunch. One day, Ines will care about people inviting all these unknown faces into her home without so much as a request for permission, but this won’t come for a few more months, and a few more rotten people.

Charlie doesn’t even bother introducing them, though Ines seems to be the only person here not to know them. Maybe Mallory does. It would be comforting if the other person who lived here knew these strangers.

Ines thinks about retreating to her room, feeling like a fly on the wall, completely ignored until one of the strangers, a man, says, “I didn’t know people still wore Adidas tracky bottoms.”

She looks down at the little blue things, tugging at her waist. The comment would be taken as an insult if he didn’t seem genuinely curious about the state of her bottoms. “Guess I’m still lost in the new millennium.”

He chuckles, not all people, mainly men, take her dry sarcasm easily. It’s the other side of the coin of women not taking his chivvying curiosity inoffensively. Neither are intentional, but both tend to come off this way. “No, no. I like it. Being passé.”

She gives him a sideways glance. “Most people would take that as an insult.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

She smirks into the finish of her bottle. He’s dressed in a vagrant style, the collar of his shirt looking like it’s been yanked on all day, the scoop neck becoming a homemade V-neck. The only saviour to this bum look is the belt of his jeans, which looks far too nice to belong to a hobo.

Mallory escapes the labyrinth and becomes the boastful host that a “party” requires. Mallory seems to know everybody, but that’s also her nature, faking it until you make it. She was a tour guide for the Tate Modern and actually enjoyed it when people asked questions, even those dumb, obvious tourist questions. She makes herself a gin & tonic all while talking to the whole group.

Meech then launches back into the Jenny, Mark, Lauren, South Carolina confusion. “They said he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail, but no, he was held up in some love nest in Argentina!”

From behind Ines’s chair, Charlie groans. “She’s on about this again.”

Ines turns around in her chair to face Charlie. “What is she even talking about?”

When Charlie shrugs, the man peeps up, “She’s talking about Mark Sanford.” With the look of confusion from the two conversational counterparts, he explains, “South Carolina Governor caught up in this affair scandal. Cheated on his wife with this Argentinian woman and lied and said he was hiking. He had this press conference today or something…”

Ines looks at him blankly, unsure how to respond to this monologue of information. On his part, Charlie walks past him, slaps his shoulder, and says, “How the fuck do you know that, Alex?”

The man—Alex—shrugs.

Charlie teases, “Keeping up with all the latest sex scandals. Wasn’t that your excuse to watch the Kim Kardashian sex tape?”

Alex’s eyes bulge. Charlie walks away for more liquor.

To distract from the flush on his face, he points to her. “I like your feet.” Peculiar, but it makes sense to Ines. “I mean, your tattoos.”

She smiles. “I know. Or hope, at least.” There’s a regretful dabble of birds living on them. “It’s my own personal aviary.”

“Yeah. I like birds.”

She’s not sure how to respond, so she nods, sips the rest of her beer, and shakes it to indicate that she’s going to grab another one. He’s already turned back to one of his friends.

She stays in the kitchen for too long, not intentionally. She simply gets stuck in her mind, lost in the magnets on the refrigerator, leaning her hand on a countertop. Mallory calls for her, snapping the trance, and calling for the return of Ines.

Back in her seat, the man curiously says, “Your name’s Ines?”

“I guess,” she awkwardly replies.

“You guess?”

“Lauren is my first name. Ines is my middle name.”

“Like No Exit?”

She nods, though she has no clue what he’s referring to. From there, the conversation dies out. Perhaps Ines could’ve continued it, asked about him, asked his name, but she wasn’t in much of a mood for that. Mallory had launched into some fantastical story anyway, and all eyes went to her.

After half an hour and the rest of her beer, Ines slips out of the living room and into her bedroom. She goes onto her laptop, sitting at her desk, so when Charlie or possibly someone else comes to say goodbye, she can look like she’s working. She doesn’t have any work to do anyway, just the appearance of it is good enough to fool people like Charlie, who’s been a bartender since he was a teenager.

She puts her headphones on to cover the ringing buzz of conversation. After an hour passes, nearing midnight, she settles into bed with the computer, no longer caring about finding a need to excuse herself from the party. Nobody comes in anyway. She falls asleep before midnight.

Back in the middle of April, Ines moved in with Mallory. This worked out well because Mallory’s ex-roommate was weird and used to leave cups of piss around her room, and thus the two never got along. She fucked off somewhere in South America on an ayahuasca trip or a cult or something. Ines’s ex-roommate/ex-boyfriend also fucked off somewhere with a new girlfriend.

Mallory, rather nicely, took her in without a second thought, though the rumination of being in a room once covered in piss cups deeply repulsed Ines, who swears she can still catch a sniff of it under her nose. She hasn’t even asked her to pay rent yet. Maybe because she knows Ines can’t, but Ines hasn’t told her that part, the no longer having a job part.

She came over for a career in modeling, built off her looks, which she had been told were generally superior to her average peers, but Bangor, Maine, wasn’t exactly crawling with the next Cindy Crawford. She had a hook of a nose she despised, but her former boyfriend, who at best could be called a pimp, told her she was the next Kate Moss and she must come back with him to London.

She had only ever lived in New England and as a young girl in her twenties, she figured why not move to the namesake. She wasn’t shocked when she wasn’t the next Kate Moss or when the boyfriend did little more than slump around, but she liked London, and when that relationship fell apart, she didn’t want to forgo England because of him.

The morning after the party, Mallory comes in and tells Ines about the man from last night, asking about where she went. “What did you tell him?” Ines asks.

Mallory shrugs. She’s in the doorway of the bedroom. There must be some forcefield set around this room, the faint smell of piss, that stops her from entering. “You had to work early tomorrow.”

That used to be the case. Ines was an administrative assistant for a recruitment agency and that tended to go over the head of everyone in the group that consisted of bartenders, waiters, and cashiers, who would never tell you they were these things, instead saying model, musician, or actor. Some were more legitimate in their career than others—Charlie was in the touring band for some X Factor runner-up—but generally the group relied paycheck to paycheck, hoping to get one gig a month.

Ines tried to act like she was different from them, but her job as an administrative assistant was to fill the void of not being a model, or at least it was. She tried to feel superior in the fact that she no longer had a job, but nobody else knew about that, and being jobless and broke wasn’t a boastful hallmark for her. If she’s rich, maybe it would be, but for now, it was just sad.

Alex’s right shoulder ached from the way he slept on it. He took expired Panadol, which only gave him a headache, or maybe that was last night’s ale; it’s hard to discern. By the late evening, with the new pint he consumed leaning up against the wall at The Buffalo Bar, his shoulder still hurt, but he didn’t want to be a bitch by complaining about it. He shrouded his body under the dark bar’s blaze. It was still early, early enough for the automated Top 40 music to be playing, instead of tonight’s line-up of bands.

When the night skins its knees, he’ll hop up there, but for now, he’d prefer to stay hidden in his hair of the dog. Mallory doesn’t accept this, as Mallory doesn’t accept most things, feeling the need to provide every situation with her exposition. “Awfully hot for leather,” she says, knocking his bad shoulder with her curled-up hand.

“I’m alright.”

“Right,” she says, “but that cow you killed sure isn’t.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Is that your latest diatribe, Mal?”

She nods affirmatively. She’s always brushed off insults as compliments, and maybe that’s part of why Alex likes her; she doesn’t get bent out of shape like dumb shit like the rest of them do. “For the time being. At least you’re putting the jacket to good use, I suppose, it isn’t hiding in the back of your closet. But aren’t you hot? It’s very hot in here. I can see the sweat forming on your brow.”

He gives a smile of acknowledgement, sending Mallory on her way. She bumps his shoulder again in a form of affection and smiles softly. Mallory is like a blinking light, annoying to stand under, but a riot when strobing in a nightlife space. She’s his friend too and a good one at that, so he’ll never fault Mallory for her slight annoyances. “Talk to my friend, Ines,” Mallory parts with, pointing to the girl at the bar, trading paper for a drink.

“I know what you’re up to,” he tells Mallory, who smirks back, leaving to taunt someone else.

Ines is dressed in Mallory’s clothes, he assumes, or she’s wearing clothes a size too small for her. The buttons of the shirt tighten ripples around the cleft between her breasts. He doesn’t mean to stare at her breasts, but they are quite noticeable with the ripples. She’s not wearing a bra either, not that she needs to, there’s not much to show off, other than the nipples poking through the fabric.

He averts his eyes to her jeans, which means he’s just staring at her ass. There’s a rip in one of the back pockets, large enough to allow anything to fit in there without falling out. He assumes these are hers. Mallory likes mending her clothes, insisting nobody ever gets rid of anything, especially denim. Apparently, denim makes up a big part of textile waste because it takes forever to break down, but that was spring; now she’s against leather, so maybe she likes ripped jeans now.

When Ines turns around, Alex casts his eyes elsewhere so he’s not staring at her vagina. He heard about Ines back in spring through Charlie, who told him Mallory had gotten rid of the piss roommate. Alex hadn’t seen Mallory’s flat until last night due to the piss roommate.

Ines seems more tame than the piss roommate. Anyone probably would be, Alex thinks. She’s well-liked, a friend of a friend to Alex, which would probably make her a good friend of Alex’s if he tried.

She’s wandering aimlessly through the room, clutching her glass in both hands. Mallory was a bit of a sod to leave her alone and while Alex would prefer to adjust to the lights quietly, he feels a bit bad for the girl, her eyes searching the room for a recognizable face.

He bounces off toward her. “Hey, there,” he says, which totally sounds like he didn’t remember her name, so he adds, “Ines.”

She stares at him, completely clueless in some trance like he’s Dracula. A fear strikes in his gut, and he’s convinced he messed up the name. Her head tilts. “Hi.”

He’s clueless as to what to say to this. She’s just staring at him, completely wide-eyed, and it clicks to him that she wants him to leave. She’s intimidating him with her eyes, practically a death stare, almost mouthing “fuck off” to him. “Sorry.” He raises his hands. “Mallory suggested I talk to you.”

She presses her lips tightly together. “Yeah. She’s trying to socialize me.” She quirks a smile, warming to him like a cat pressing the side of its head into his hand.

Alex lips his bottle. “She has her pet projects. Did you just move here?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Do I give you that impression?”

She knocks the wind out of him and Alex has a feeling her glint often does this to people because she doesn’t seem off-put by her behavior at all. “No, but socializing you and I heard you moved in with her recently. The American accent. That and Mallory’s got these friends everywhere.”

She nods. Her eyes slid across the room like she’d rather be anywhere else than here talking to him. He can’t blame her because he doesn’t want to be here talking to her very much. “I moved here back in 2006. For an old boyfriend. Among other things.”

“I moved here in 2006 too. From up north. From Sheffield. I assume you know Sheffield if you know Charlie.”

She nods. “Yeah. Never been.”

“Not missing much.”

“I know.” She sips on the small black straw, eyes straight on him.

It’s so ridiculous, something straight out of a movie, that he has to comment on it. “You don’t have much of a problem with eye contact, do you?”

She lifts her lips and swallows hard with the quick finish of her drink. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s an American thing.”

He chuckles. “I know Americans and they don’t stare like you stare.”

“I’ll avert my gaze, if you’d prefer.”

“No, it’s fine. You’ve got nice eyes.”

“Thanks.” She’s staring elsewhere, but they still give off a nice shine. “Do you know the bands tonight?”

He’s pretty sure this is the first question she’s asked. Definitely the first one that pertains to him. “Yeah. Charlie’s band is pretty good. Have you heard them play?”

She nods. “Yeah. Twice and once when Charlie was with that X Factor guy.”

“Oh, yeah, I went to that too. Boy, did that guy suck.”

She shrugs. “I’ve seen worse. Probably will tonight.”

He carefully drops, “I hope you don’t mean my band.”

“I do. That was the joke.”

“Oh.” He awkwardly laughs. He feels like sinking his fingernails into his skin. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Mallory told me. She also told me she’d come make you talk to me.”

“She’s playing matchmaker for me.”

She sheepishly grins. “Me too.”

The tension in his back releases. He begins to feel the heat Mallory was talking about. “Do you want to sit down?” He points behind him to the little pub tables.

“Okay,” she says so softly he can barely hear her over the music. “I’ll get another and meet you there.”

He takes his leather jacket off, letting his arms breathe in his short sleeves. Ines stands with her back to him, leaning against the bar, on her tiptoes, waiting for her glass to return. He knows Mallory is trying to play matchmaker, but he’s not buying into it. “So…?” Mallory inquires, coming up to cross-examine him.

He rolls his eyes and takes a swig. “She’s very nice.”

“You gonna ask her out?” She leans so close to him that he shrinks under her towering figure.

“I don’t know, Mallory. Not looking for a girlfriend. You know that.”

“Whatever. Just fuck her. I don’t care. Just get her out of the house. She’s rotting in that room.”

“You make her sound so appealing, Mallory. Does she know you’re pimping her out here?”

Mallory exasperatedly sighs, pulling away as Ines comes over to the table. Ines sits down and sips on her drink with little else to say. She’s quite pretty, not that looks are even the problem. If it were that simply, he would have been sold the moment he started staring at her boobs.

She pulls her hair behind her shoulders. It’s blonde, she’s very blonde in fact, her eyebrows so light they barely make an appearance that they’re there. She’s alien-esque, at least the hot kind of aliens they have in pornos. He went really far down that porn category one day after the whole Johanna thing.

That was over a year ago. There’s been no girlfriend since and he prefers it that way. Girlfriends are too much work. Any relationship is too much work at this point; the only reason why he still has friends now is because they forced themselves to stick around. It’s shitty to think of them this way, he knew then, but he appreciates it now.

He hasn’t told anyone about the porn thing. He’s completely embarrassed by it, but also saying it out loud would mean there’s a problem there. He looked up addiction before, leaving the porn part out because he’s convinced the internet companies know his search history and would blackmail him with it. The first step is admittance, and saying it aloud would solidify the problem.

And to him, it’s not a problem. He doesn’t cancel plans to stay in and wank, nothing like that. It’s easier to stare at the screen rather than another human, staring back at him. Even when the screen fades to black and he’s stuck looking at his reflection, it hurts. He thinks another human being looking at him after he comes would kill him.

Ines is chewing on an ice cube now. He’s been staring off. Perhaps she thinks of him poorly too. “What do you do for a living?”

Instead of finishing the ice cube, she pops it out into her hand, allowing it to melt in the palm of her hand. She holds it there while she answers, “I’m an administrative assistant.”

“That’s interesting.”

She laughs. “Fuck off, it’s not. Do you do the music thing full time?”

He sighs. “Trying to. I do some bartending gigs, but nothing official. I pick up shifts here and there.”

She does that staring thing again. It kind of freaks him out, like a Kubrick stare, like she might murder him in the alley tonight. It’s disturbing and makes him painfully rub his legs together. “Actually, the assistant thing is kinda over. Well, I got fired.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He sounds fake when he says this, which he is being, but he needs to get better at masking that.

“Don’t be.” She bites on the tip of the black straw. “I stopped showing up. It’s a boring job.”

“What would you want to do?”

She shrugs, then goes quiet again. She’s staring behind him. The music goes dead, and a band comes onstage. He doesn’t know this one. When he turns back, Ines has slinked off elsewhere. For the best.

She gets dizzy on mojitos. She loves the taste of lime; she can feel the sting of it on her lips, licking her tongue on them, and the faint tang still lingers there. She thinks if someone were to kiss her tonight, whenever they see a lime, they would think of her. The thought both possesses and enrages her. She doesn’t like the idea of being forgettable, but she wouldn’t like to be remembered like this, but she probably will be. People are usually remembered by their lowest moments.

When Mallory asks how Alex was, Ines asks who that is. She burns in mortification for the rest of the night and can’t look Alex in the eye based on the disapproving way Mallory says, “The guy you’ve been talking to all night.”

She only sits back in her old seat when Alex’s band goes on stage. The light bounces off his shaggy hair in a way that engrosses her too much to look away. It flops in front of his eyes, preventing him from seeing anything but the guitar below him.

She doesn’t pay attention to the songs he sings or how his fingers strum his guitar’s strings. She’s been convinced for many years that she is going to lose her hearing and this could be the time it finally goes. Her hearing feels like she’s off in the distant bathroom listening to the ruckus outside. It’s the alcohol, not her. The numbing is the ideal part; otherwise, nobody would drink this shit.

This reminds her to go to the bathroom, not to pee, though she does that too. She’s been debating going wild, pushing out of herself and the deep desire to slip into a hibernation coma by asking someone for a bump of something, but she’s too exhausted and terrified to ask for that.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Sometimes, if she did it long enough, she could convince herself she wasn’t real. That maybe she could reach her hand out and slip right through the mirror, falling into a lake, or simply falling, falling, falling for eternity. She oddly liked the way this felt. It made her feel more like an ant in the universe, completely meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It felt less like she was wasting something away. Mallory had said that earlier this afternoon, when she tossed dirty laundry at her and said they needed to go out.

A week or so later, Mallory starts inquiring about rent. Ines shakes her head, rattling her brain back and forth until Mallory leaves her room. Ines holds steady before crying while watching Friends in 10-minute increments on YouTube.

The following day, she calls her mom, crying, saying she got laid off because of the company’s financial performance in the last quarter. It was completely bullshit, something copied and pasted from Reddit. Ines knew her mother wouldn’t help her out if she was lying in a pit of despair and freeloading off her friend. But she sends her the money, with no second thoughts.

He gets stoned at Charlie’s pretty regularly, usually Friday nights, but Saturdays slip in as well. Charlie is much more of a stoner than him, a procurer at this point with all his gear. Before Charlie, Alex had only ever smoked out of a homemade plastic water bottle bong, but Charlie’s got a fine glass kind that he freaks out if anyone other than him picks it up. Alex is terrified to ask how much Charlie invested in this thing, compared to his flat, which he treats like a complete dump.

To be fair, the place kind of already is a dump, six boys stacked atop one another in a three-bedroom flat, only excusable for the egregiously low rent. Charlie doesn’t know them too well, except for Andy, whom he met Alex through.

Around 9 o’clock, with a steady spliff in his hands, the girls arrive. Ines is more bare, wearing a spaghetti strap top, showing off a new tattoo, well, new to Alex’s eyes, not her body. Alex giggles at the memory of the birds on her feet. Her back is a museum with some artsy picture on it. She sits down before he can make out any features on the painting.

Charlie kisses her cheek, smushing her. She affectionately smiles up at him. He wouldn’t perceive her to be as soft of a person as she seems to be with Charlie. She’s more relaxed in his presence. Her hair is up in one of those claw clip things. She’s wearing glasses. Charlie makes some joke about that, and Ines says she ran out of her contact solution.

Charlie introduces her to the group as “Our fabulous trip sitter, Miss Lauren Ines Joseph.” She doesn’t even touch a drop of alcohol, instead drinking water.

Alex leans toward her; this must be after some time has passed since Mallory has taken off by this point. “You don’t smoke?”

She smiles with her teeth. It almost seems like a threat, such an unusual thing. “Not anymore. It’s not good for me, I think. Fried my brain in college.”

He hums. His eyes are closed in a savory blink. “Where’d you go?”

He won’t know and he won’t remember, but she answers, and he forces his eyes open to see her speak when she answers. “Skidmore. Anyone who knows Skidmore knows it’s a weed college.”

“What’d you study?”

“International affairs. I didn’t finish though.”

He leans forward on his knees and takes a sip of water. He doesn’t realize until he puts it down that it’s her cup. “Sorry.” Her face is stone cold. “I can get you another.”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I don't have mono or herpes.”

“Good. Me neither. Sorry ‘bout that.” He scrubs his face clean. She takes a sip out of the cup as a gesture of good faith. “Why international affairs?”

“I was good at Model UN.”

“What country were you?”

“Nigeria.”

He wondered what she had accomplished in the time he didn’t know her. The life she had way before him as the model delegate for Nigeria, the college pothead, the girlfriend, and what possibly changed from the freakish girl he last saw at Buffalo Bar. For the time being, he credited it to his high, which could make even the worst kind of people seem lovely. But he believed she really might be lovely, or had the look that could fool people into thinking she was lovely.

She laughs in that newscaster kind of way that’s half-believable, but always edged with a sense of fakeness. “I know it’s an odd choice.” He blocked out the rest of what she was saying, that laugh repeating in his head. It was feigned, and the smile she gave was so odd, how she held it while she talked.

“Is this your diplomat mode?” He wouldn’t be this sharp if it weren’t offset by the smell of weed coming from him. With that scent, everything seemed like a joke. “The laughing, the blonde hair.”

Her eyebrows scowl. He gets an unrighteous amount of pleasure out of breaking her mask. It’s catharsis to watch the cracks from and water spill out, though that would mean she’s crying, and she’s not doing that, more water boiling over, or maybe lava bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

He lethargically pulls his cigarettes from his pocket, a mindless habit he doesn’t realize he’s doing until she comments on it. “You’re gonna smoke indoors?”

He laughs lowly, a steady bump. “Aren’t we all smoking indoors? Well, I guess not you, unless you—well, I don’t know what you get down to.” She squints her eyes with precocious cuteness. “Anyways, I’m a little lost.”

She breaks again, this time laughing, nodding in agreement with him. “You think?”

He lights the cigarette, unconscious again, something he’ll feel bad about later, this poor girl hanging out with a bunch of high losers, but now also getting undesired smoke blown in her face, but she doesn’t say anything about it. “Your hair’s fine, love. Quite nice, quite nice. You’re like Amalthea from The Last Unicorn.”

In front of him, she puts a makeshift ashtray that used to be a ramekin filled with cashews. He thanks her and she says, “You’re welcome” in a soft, lovely way that he enjoys hearing. “I’ve never seen Last Unicorn, so I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Oh,” he groans like it’s Citizen Kane. “She’s got this white hair and she’s the last unicorn. I had this crush on her. The human form, not the unicorn, I don’t get down with all that.”

She nods at him cautiously. He knows himself to be an oddball, but he’s been desensitized for the time being. “Is my hair white?”

“No. Not like hers anyway. It’s light. I didn’t think humans could grow hair like that. At least not Americans, maybe Swedes. Your family Swedish?”

She’s got this funny grin that he’s quite caught by. “I don’t think so. It’s not real anyway.”

His mouth hangs just a bit before having his cigarette fill the hole. “What is it then?”

“I bleach it. Eyebrows, too, if that’s what you’re about to ask next.”

He palms his forehead. “Oh, god, I’m an idiot.”

She laughs at him. “It’s fine. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“You brunette?”

“No, just not as blonde as this.”

He hums. “I was blonde as a kid. A dirty kind of blonde. Very briefly.”

“You bleach it or put lemon juice in it?”

He puts the cigarette out and leans fully back into the cushions. She leans closer. “No. Just born that way, and then one day.” He snaps his fingers.

“Yeah, tends to happen. Brown suits you.”

“I agree. Otherwise, I’d be using lemon juice. I’d be Kurt Cobain.”

She nods. Her mouth turned shut. She seemed not to want to talk anymore, like the timer had run out on her mouth for the day and it would now be under lock & key until it reset in the morning. He wondered if she tended to get this way with other people or if it was some exclusivity mechanism with him. The way their mutual friends described her was not how she presented herself to him.

He didn’t put that much thought into it then. He was off somewhere else, so he took the conversation in such a way. “Why do you dye it?”

“I like it this way. Did you always have your hair long?”

“No. That’s a recent thing. I moved down here and didn’t have me mum pestering me for haircuts anymore and then I didn’t have me girlfriend pestering me about cutting so I’m growing it out.” He’s talking with his hand excessively, unnoticeably to him.

“You like looking like a girl?” He can’t discern if she’s trying to be insulting.

He pats the sides of his hair, pushing it against his ears. He likes feeling the soft nature of it like a comfort blanket. “Yeah. The ambiguity of it. I find it makes people come up to me less.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Really? I would think people would be hitting on you more. Men are much bolder with that kind of thing.”

“Well,” he pauses to smirk, “they tend to figure out I’m not a girl before they get too far. I don’t think I make too good looking of a girl anyway.”

“Men aren’t picky.”

“I suppose, but most prefer what woman got down there than what I have.”

“And what do you have?”

He chuckles. “Are you asking if I have a penis?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know what I meant to say. I once had a guy ask about the shape of my vagina, well, he was more vulgar than that, saying pussy like it was some fancy French word all fancy pantsy but I didn’t know how to respond. I haven’t seen many other pussies and the ones I have I’ve never inspected, but then I thought about it and men have different shaped penises so I suppose women must have different shaped vaginas.”

He was unable to follow the whole statement, instead just hearing pussy, pussy, pussy over and over again and being slightly turned on by it, the way her lips shape themselves with a small hole between them as she pronounces it. “I don’t know, man. I guess pussy is pretty nice.”

She looks slightly amused and stupefied by him. “What? Like you prefer it, or you’ve never seen one, or what?”

“I’ve seen one. Plenty actually. Seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

“That sounds like they don’t interest you.”

“They interest me, but I don’t examine them much. I would ask one of those OB/GYNers or whatever. They’ve seen far more pussy than I have.” He’s not quite sure what he’s saying and his words are blending together in a rambunctious unit.

“Okay.” He can’t tell if she’s stating this or simply giving up on him and the conversation.

“But penises,” he’s continuing now, “many shapes and sizes. Big, small, carrot, beer bottle, Coke can, and then there’s the whole foreskin debacle, which complicates things heavily. I’m happy with my penis, you know, I’ve accepted that I can’t change these things. Well, I could change things, I suppose, there’s penial enlargement, you know, with those pseudo medicines, and actual surgery, but I don’t have the type of money for those things, and I don’t think I need it. It’s not a pecker or anything. I could also get circumcised, but I’m not Jewish or planning to be Jewish, and I don’t understand the whole health hazards situation, or if there even is a problem with them. I don’t tend to think about my penis very much.”

“Sounds like it.” He’s unable to detect her mocking tone.

“And besides all that, it isn't much more about how you use it rather than what you have. I mean, if it’s really tiny and you don’t have much to work with, I suppose that’s a disadvantage, but I don’t deal with that, I can assure you.”

She laughs. “That’s nice to know.”

“And it might be an advantage if it’s larger than average, but can’t that cause trouble too? I’ve heard about women with tiny, tiny vaginas, like the hole is small. Do you know anything about that?”

“Heard of it,” she supplies.

“But anyway, if you’re able to use it properly, then the size doesn’t matter. Don’t most women hate sex anyway? They’re just faking it in all the pornography, right?”

“I don’t know. Do the women you’ve been with usually fake it?” Her words are flying straight over his head.

“I don’t think so, but isn’t that part of it, you know, you guys are so good at it that we can’t tell at all.”

“Well, sure, but we can’t all be Academy Award worthy. Men are usually more susceptible to thinking they're good rather than bad. A woman could scream in pain and they would think they're God's gift to humanity.”

“Well, aren’t we?” He jokes. “Nah, nah, I’m only playing with you. My judgment of myself wouldn’t be too accurate anyway. I suffer from a distorted view of myself, usually in the poorer direction.”

“Me too.”

“I guess most people have that. It’s hard to see yourself in the way other people see you. How do you see me?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do, we’ve all got opinions, judging books by the cover and all that. I’ve got opinions on you.”

“I don’t want to hear them.”

“Don’t lie. We’re all curious. I’ll be honest with you because I’m in the honest mood. Weed is like a truth serum to me. I was two stones away from showing you my penis.” She lightens up from this and maybe then he sees her in the same light as the rest of them do. “You’re very pretty in the American way. I could tell you were American from one glance.”

“Is it the blonde hair?”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “No. Remember, I thought you were Swedish from that. Just the way you hold yourself is different. The angularity of your face. I don’t know, but you were very beautiful in the messy kind of way.”

“You don’t have to say anymore. I really don’t want to know.” Her eyes are cast down and she’s been taken away to somewhere else. A slight natural frown to her lips, her body language weakened as she pulls herself back in her chair.

“Okay.” He has the latest goodies passed to him and he takes up with that while she shrinks away. “You don’t like your image? Seems rather odd for someone with looks?”

“I just don’t want to know. That’s my opinion on these things.”

“You like mystery? Do you read mysteries?”

She shakes her head.

“What do you like to read?”

“I don’t read much.”

“You should read. I like to read.”

“What do you read?”

“Oh, this and that. It relaxes the mind. My dad always said the mind was the best muscle a person can have.”

“Is that why you don’t work out?”

He wags a finger at her, and she laughs—no, cackles, head tipped back, an unusual disposition for her that he quite enjoys the rareness of. He has earned this from her. “Don’t be mean now.”

“I’m not. I swear. A low jab. I’m sorry.” But she snickers all the same.

“You like picking on people. On men. Don’t you?”

“I like seeing people get wound up. Men are very touchy about certain things.”

“Certain men. No need to generalize.”

“Oh, sorry,” she sarcastically says. “You seem rather touchy about that.”

“Emphasizing your point. You should thank me.”

She sips her water. “I’ll include you in the study.”

The following night, a Saturday one, both parties returned to one another, this time at a club that Mallory’s boyfriend is performing at. Joe, Mallory’s boyfriend, was a “disc jockey” instead of a DJ, according to him, which made everyone, including Mallory, mock him for being so granular about something so unimportant, but Mallory still liked him for it.

He was a nice guy, but a bad DJ, whom Ines adamantly tells, “Don’t quit your day job” when he gets offstage. It makes everyone, except Joe and Mallory, laugh, but Mallory gets rather pissed at her, to which Ines rolls her eyes and sinks herself into her cocktail.

“Joe, you’re great. Great enough that people are jealous.”

Ines mockingly chokes herself with her hands behind Mallory, inducing the group into more laughter, charging Mallory up more at Ines. “Start your stand-up comedy career, Nes, at least then you’ll have a job.”

Ines doesn’t take the obvious bait, instead breaking off from the group to take a seat at a table. Alex follows behind her, mainly to avoid Mallory touching up her precious Joe. He’s been nauseated by romance since his break-up, which makes him lame for getting hung up on that sort of thing, but touchy-feely just doesn’t do it for him.

He doesn’t sit with Ines, not wanting to intrude on her space, instead awkwardly standing beside her table with his arms forced down into his pockets so as not to again talk with his hands too much. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she shortly answers, more occupied with her drink than him. He prefers it this way. Less attention, the better, but she apologizes, “Sorry, I’ve been a bit of an asshole lately. Or always, but a bitch more so than usual. I just worried I might have offended you last night with all that penis talk.”

“Oh, that.” He laughs. “No, I quite like that. You’re fun to talk with. I don’t have a lot of mates who would listen to me ramble about genitals. Mallory gets squeamish over body parts and men don’t usually discuss their penises with one another, at least not in that way. So, yeah, anyway, don’t worry about that. Sorry if I said anything too. I’ve kind of been a bit of an arsehole too.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t mind. Do you want to sit?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m gonna get a beer. You want something?”

Her eyelashes are these long, fluttering wings. She might have make-up on or those extension things. He’s clueless in that department, other than he quite likes it. Betty-Boop-like with her coy smile. “Sure. Another margarita.” She hands him her glass. Her fingernails are an attention-seeking red. When he returns, she’s suggestively biting on them, picking a lock between her teeth. She thanks him as he places the glass on the table in front of her.

He sits across from her. She’s dressed in a pinkish dress, sparkles adorning themselves down to just above her knee. No straps, dress or bra, bare collarbone, and a little necklace charming itself down to her cleavage. He feels like he hasn’t seen a real woman in days, when he takes note of this.

She’s staring at him. He realizes he has been staring too. He breaks the tension with a light chuckle, gaining a faint smile from her. “Sorry, uh, I’m kind of conversationally inept without a little help.”

“You mean me or being under the influence?”

“Both. You don’t start many conversations.”

“Sorry. I think it’s just the way I am. Without something to intoxicate me, at least.”

“How many more margaritas to get you talking?”

She giggles. “Probably just the one. Can you talk with just the beer, or should I roll you something?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. If you’re fine, I’m fine.”

“Fine,” she decides. “I haven’t gone out much this summer. Talked to anybody but Mallory and Charlie, really, so this is nice.”

“I’m not much different. I’ve shunned myself away from that for a while.”

“Why? Is it the ex-girlfriend?” She says like she’s investigating.

He shrugs one shoulder to his ear. “Kind of. People these days. Me these days. It’s a confusing time.”

She hums and plays with her nails. It’s clear she wants to draw attention to them. Her nails, her fingers, her hands might be her best feature. The fingers are slender and delicate to look at. She has a light touch, he’s sure of it. The nails probably feel orgasmic scratching gently down the skin. “Hasn't it always been? It’s a shame we let the world affect us so much. I’ve been trying to become more centered with myself, watching these stupid meditation videos on YouTube.”

“Have they helped?”

“Probably not, but I like to think they weren’t a waste of time. Nothing is really a waste of time. I thought that about my ex-boyfriend, but I would be someone else if it weren’t for him. Wouldn’t be here with you or anywhere near London. Trying to see the good, that’s what the stupid meditation leader says.”

“Well, it’s probably a good thing with all the bad happening, makes you appreciate the distractions. I’m trying not to give up on everything.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The silence sinks back in.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says.

“Talking is a bit of a waste. I’m trying to convey myself better through actions,” she says.

“Like a mime.”

She bursts out laughing. “No. More by doing rather than saying. Or a mime, sure, whatever the fuck.”

“What do you want to do then?”

“Leave.”

“Okay. Let’s leave.”

“I wasn’t inviting you.”

“Well, sure, you didn’t say that, but you were acting it.”

“You’re a pretty good talker. You don’t need actions.”

“Yeah, but I need to get the fuck away from this music.”

He corners her in the alleyway outside the bar. She’s had men do that before in more threatening ways, but here and now, she had expected it, even if it’s sloppy in the way drunk people kiss. “Your lips are really wet,” she says.

He doesn’t listen, simply pecks away at her like he’s slurping the last drops of water out of an arroyo. She’d be rather impressed by this if it were her first kiss behind the school, skipping gym class, but in the moment, it just feels like swimming at the bottom of a lake, rocks, pebbles, and seaweed at your feet.

Though he’s rather nice to touch. His body is small, but rigid, something stuck within it. She hasn’t touched many boys, only one other British boy, and he felt sharper. He’s like the dull end of a knife. Others have been cutting, and he simply presses against her, slots a knee between her legs.

He hits a knot in her back that has her wincing. She knocks him back, just enough so he’s pulled away. “You’re a little much,” she says.

He smirks and pulls away, placing his hands behind his back. “Sorry. You’re…yeah.”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Men take everything as a compliment, at least in the sexual department, anything except no or a kick in the balls seems to turn them off, and for other men, that’s a turn-on. “I’m not a fan of molestation in alleys.”

“Sorry,” he says again. “We could go somewhere. My place or yours?”

She scoffs. “You’re presumptuous.”

He repeats his catchphrase, “Sorry. I don’t mean to be, I just kind of figured.”

She stands up straight and wipes her hands on the front of her dress. A queue has formed for black cabs. She doesn’t have the patience to get into a car with him. She threads her fingers through her hair, pulling it back and away from her face. There’s a sigh, and he’s standing the same as before: one arm bent behind his back, holding his other arm’s elbow, possessing such patience she has not seen before. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “You’re not wrong.”

From there, a quiet walk to his flat. The affection, or moreover the necking and groping of the former location, has now become stagnant, with not even a hand held between the two, or more than a few words shared.

He’s jittery, slapping his hand against his thigh, scratching the denim with his short, bite-to-the-quick nails. He asks, “Do you, um, have somewhere to be early tomorrow?”

“I won’t sleep over if you don’t want me to,” she says. “I’d probably prefer to sleep in my own bed anyway.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify, he says, “I don’t have a problem with you sleeping over, by the way, I just wanted to…”

She nods, and they don’t speak again until he unlocks the door to his place. The front door is so skinny that Ines wonders how any furniture was able to fit through. He leads the way inside, slight shift in his hips, saying, “Sorry, it’s a little messy. Blame that bit on my roommates.”

“Yeah, sure,” she sardonically says. The sofa is covered in various grubby blankets that she doesn’t wish to stare at long enough to find out what’s stuck to them. There’s a scattering of dirty dishes from the sofa to the small excuse for a table on the way to the kitchen.

“Swear. I know most people probably say that, but, yeah, swear.” He crosses his heart. “My room is just back here.” He moves through the hallway converted into a kitchen. She follows slowly behind, trying to avert her eyes from the mess growing in the sink.

His bedroom is the expected tiny size, his queen-sized bed wedged between the walls, beside the sash window. The room has just enough room left to fit a small dresser and some of his music equipment. The messiness compared to the rest of the apartment is minimal, though a few pairs of underwear lie on the ground.

“Sorry about that,” he says as he bends down, collecting them to throw into a trash bag hanging on his door. “I don’t have room for a basket, so I just use this, and I wasn’t expecting guests or you really otherwise—”

“It’s fine,” she assures, mostly just to make him shut up. She’s seen plenty of boys with fungi growing on their walls, so this is a fine improvement, at least he seems to care.

He nods to himself and then looks down at the cracked hardwood floors, utterly lost as to what to do next. She steps out of her shoes, trying to indicate interest to him, but his eyes stay steady on the floor. “Are you okay?”

He finally breaks away, meeting her eyes with a complete look of petrification on his face. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Do you want to sit down?” He gestures to the semi-made bed, sheets crumbled, but tucked.

“Sure.” She sits, and he follows beside her. Silence. She meets his eyes and he awkwardly smiles. “You can touch me if that’s what you want.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah. That’s why I said you could. Yeah. Are you okay with me touching you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says as though he is trying to convince himself. There’s a stare-off, neither party making a move, and then he leans forward with the hesitant tilt of his head, and then she becomes trapped in fear like a Medusa victim.

Then, he lands one on her, more forceful than before, pushing her back until she’s on the mattress. They kiss on their sides with their legs dangling off the edge of the bed. His hand caresses her elbow, pushing her hands onto him. She reaches over to stroke his back until she yanks on the end of his shirt. He breaks away, pulling it off of himself, and then touches the hem of her dress, looking for permission before she says, “Go for it.”

His naked chest pushes against her bra, his hands tangling with the clasp of it. “Take your pants off first,” she says. The cloth of them rubbing uncomfortably against her bare legs. He tosses himself onto his back, reaching down to the button and pulling his jeans off.

She reaches behind herself and takes her bra off. “Lie by the pillows,” he tells her. She scoots back until her head lands on one. “Hold on, I know I’ve got a rubber somewhere in here.”

“Okay,” she patiently waits while he chases around his drawers looking for one.

Bedside table, nothing. Drawers, nothing. Backpack, nothing. “I’m gonna check the bathroom.” He runs off, returning with nothing.

“Your roommates?” She inquires.

He shakes his head. “They’re not the type to…you know. We’re not that close anyway. In that way, I mean.”

He stands with his hands over the front of himself like he just wet his trunks. She props herself up on her side, trying to look like some seductive femme fatale. “We don’t have to do that. We could do other stuff.”

His eyes go wide. “Uh, no, we have to…” His eyes dance around the room. “I can go out and get some.” He’s going for his clothes, squatting for his jeans.

She swings her legs off the bed, sitting up. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. Maybe some other time.”

He deflates, dropping his clothing mess back onto the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He’s at her knees, looking so small and submissive, a tiny little thing. She reaches her hand out to pet his head, downcast like a sad puppy. She pushes his locks behind his ear and he looks up with a tentative pleasure. “We could still fool around. That sounds so juniorish, but,” she sheepishly giggles.

He slots his elbows onto his knees. “Yeah, I don’t know if I can do that for you. I kind of have a bit of a problem with that.”

Her eyebrows cross. “With pleasuring women?”

He uncomfortably chuckles. “Not quite, but yeah. I just.” He sighs and rubs his forehead, trying to scrub away some memory.

“Okay.” Maybe because she feels bad for him and he looks so pathetic, or maybe she just wants something to happen tonight, she offers, “I could still do you.”

He uneasily titters. His calves give out to his unbalanced squat and he goes back onto his butt. “Yeah, no, that’s kind of the problem—me. I mean, I wasn’t even sure I could get it up for putting it in you—and god I’m gonna kill meself.”

“Oh.” She tries to cover up her surprise, locking her lips shut for a moment, processing while his eyes try to avoid her at all costs. “Well, they make stuff for that now. Viagra and all that. Men have all kinds of options for that. My dad is actually a urologist. In America, obviously, but he treats people for this all the time. Not that I’m talking about penises all the time with my dad, but, you know, it’s a popular issue. Men deal with this kind of stuff all the time, especially as they age, and, yeah.”

Her rambling breaks him enough to let a laugh slip through, though his eyes are big, wet, and tired. “I think it’s more psychological than…that. I’m a little drunk too, which makes things harder…or, well, softer.”

They share a humorous smile. She’s been convinced men have been coddled for too long, that’s why every woman, even a stranger, has to be a therapist for them, but she kind of just feels bad for him, all pathetically curled up on the ground. “Do you want to at least get on the bed? That floor can’t be that comfortable.”

“Okay,” he mewls. He stands, covering his torso with his old T-shirt. She moves back to make room for him, and they lie side-by-side on the bed, as if they had done something with one another. “Don’t be offended if I never want to see you again,” he says. “I’m really embarrassed right now.”

“It’s fine,” she assures with a sigh. “We all have our problems.”

“Don’t usually whine about them half-naked.”

“Yeah.”

He folds into himself internally. Over the bed sheets, he lies stiff as a board. For a while, he listened to Ines, but he was lost somewhere around her brother being a physical therapist for crippled children, or something like that.

He likes to watch—prefers it. This has been a learned practice. It could be human nature too, tracking prey, and curiosity & the cat. All he knows is that her breasts sit very nicely in the pink and white striped bra. She’s sitting on her knees, chattering away.

He feels foolish for turning away a girl who looks like that, but he’d be far more embarrassed by not being able to get hard for her. Too many drinks, plus this internal perfectionist mindset to perform well in every aspect of life, leaves him with a sex fear or some sex freak. He’s worried he might become a sex addict if he starts having sex again. He probably needs to get a job.

“...but it reminds you that people have it worse, which I think we should always…” She even looks uninterested in what she’s saying. She’s simply talking to feel the space; he’s sure of this.

“You don’t have to sleep here.” Her face turns to this saturnine frown as if he’s just pissed in her cornflakes, which, he supposes, he probably did, dragging her up here with no reward. Granted, he got nothing either, so what’s the point of listening to her rattle on about some nonsense? He doesn’t know. He’s confused overall. This changes nothing other than making his mind go a mile a minute. But he adds, “If you don’t want to.” Maybe to make her feel better, but really to make him feel less guilty about that dejected look.

“It’s late,” she reasons, glancing over at the glaring red light digits coming from his alarm clock. 3:40. Time hasn’t served much relevance to him since he finished his last college class. Dark, light, that’s all that matters.

They stare back and forth at one another. She leans her hands atop her thighs, and he’s deciding whether he should be saying something or not. “I’ll be off then,” she says.

He nods, the back of his hair scuffing up against his pillow. She rounds her legs back in front of her, puts her feet into her shoes, and zips the sides of them up. She stands. “I didn’t mean to force you out.” Whose wound is his salving his or hers? Well, he can live with either answer, but the voice of his mother telling him to always walk a girl home pounds in his head like an enduring headache.

She looks over her shoulder and smiles. It’s a practiced move of hers, he can tell because he does the same thing. He used to look in the mirror before nights out and practice conversations. He outgrew that once puberty finished, but the mannerisms have stayed the same. He should start up again. It would probably make him less socially awkward, at least less quiet and sulky.

Her hair sways down her back, ending right where her dress begins. He catches a glimpse of her bare, tanned shoulder blade, almost blending in with the colour of the dress. She could be a pin-up model. Not one of those Page 3 girls, but the old-time beauty that left boys dreaming of girls while away fighting a war. Or maybe that Penthouse model from that one magazine he swiped from his mate’s father’s collection.

“You’re not,” she says. She turns, and now he’s staring at her breasts. He feels crude. He flicks his eyes away, but she giggles, so she must’ve caught the lasting stare. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not,” he quickly insists. He’s all curled up in bed, reaching an arm out to her. He feels like a lazy, sick bastard, but he imagines he’s a Second World War soldier on his ailing cot. “I don’t want to make you walk home alone so late.”

“I don’t mind,” she says like she minds.

“Sleep here,” he insists. “I’ll feel bad otherwise.”

She smirks sweetly—no, deviously. “I like making you feel bad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sadist?” He might be playing around. He doesn’t know her well enough to detect the truth in her statements.

“Schadenfreude,” she corrects.

Intrigued, he sits up. “Difference?”

She pops her hip out, getting comfortable in her standing position. It feels like a Wild West duel, two gunslinging cowboys meet in the middle of a stark desert. She crosses her arms. “Sadism is sexual. I don’t enjoy whipping asses.”

“Ah.” He impishly nods.

She raises an eyebrow. She can raise one eyebrow. He always wanted to be able to do that. “You a masochist?” She bites her lip. “You wear a cock cage?” She peers down at his crotch in an obvious fashion. He has a feeling she doesn’t hide much, doesn’t feel much shame about anything.

He’s tempted to place his hand over the area or cross his legs, but the hour is late—or early, depending on who he asks—and he slips his hands back and leans, exposing the area more. The fabric stretch of his trousers is tempting, even to him. God, he’s a narcissist, isn’t he?

“I don’t partake,” he says.

“You castrated or simply don’t enjoy?”

His eyes go wide. “What?”

Her arms drop. “Bad joke,” she excuses. “Unless you are, you know…” She points to his crotch.

He chuckles because he’s grown dumbfounded by this conversation. “No, it’s there,” he confirms. “I can show it to you, it just won’t be…”

“Hard,” she finishes. At least someone is tonight.

“Yeah.” He stands.

“No.” She swats her hand in the air. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” He’s already down to his boxers anyway. He digs his thumbs into the waistband.

“I do. I feel like I’m unmanning you.”

He snorts. “I think I did that about 15 minutes ago.”

She tosses her eyes and purses her lips to one side. He said it, so she didn’t. She resolves. “No. I mean, we probably shouldn’t have done it anyway. Saved me the pain of an STD test or Plan B.”

“Well, I would’ve used a condom.”

“Right. I’m just saying.”

“And I don’t have anything anyway. Haven’t done it enough to catch that kind of stuff.”

“It only takes once,” she teases like his old health teacher used to lecture on and on about, and there was that outbreak of the clap when he was in sixth form.

“Right.” He chuckles. The knot in his stomach feels better, still there, but not as tight.

She sighs and he wonders if the knot in her has loosened too. “I just meant it makes things less complicated.”

“I don’t know. Still feels pretty complicated. Fucking would’ve made this a lot simpler, actually.”

“Maybe. But in my experience, sex doesn’t fix anything either.”

“That’s true too.”

“So, I don’t need to see your penis. Keep that for the doctor or something.”

He chuckles. “Alright. Same to you.” He clumsily points to her like the weird old guy who shoots finger guns at the young girls he finds hot at the bar. He can’t be that old guy yet.

She breaks through the wall of sound. “Can I have something to sleep in?”

He smiles with his lips stuck together. “Yeah.” She bends down to take her shoes off. Her toenails are painted a pale pink, contrasting with the red giants atop her fingernails. It makes her sweeter like she got them done at a slumber party, the imaginary one all guys think girls have with pillow fights in their underwear. “Of course.”

He goes over to his dresser, dropping down to the stiff second-to-the-bottom one that’s desperately in need of the Tin Man’s oil. He hands out an acceptable old Adidas T-shirt that’s not ratty like the majority of his clothes are. “This alright?”

“Yes.”

He scratches the back of his head as a calming mechanism. He’s on his knees to her. “I don’t know if you want some sweats or my, uh, boxers.”

“I can just sleep in my underwear, if that’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“No, no, you’re good.”

“Good, good.”

There’s a stare-off again. It’s his turn to talk, right? But to say what? He stands to feel less subjugated by her. His hands on his hips and a question in his eyes. Still, nothing.

Finally, his inquisition stops and he quits trying. He drops his hands to his sides, gives her one breath, and passes her to lie down. The headache is still there, the hangover encroaching on his tomorrow, his today, yesterday too. That’s the way these things infect him. The disease isn’t just the present; it’s the past too. His eyes close and he only feels her weight press down on the bed beside him, but the air is mute, though his mind buzzing is a sound in itself.

She thinks about him jerking off in this bed. That’s sick, that’s sick, that’s sick. It has her wanting to pound her head through the wall. The same way she used to fantasize about her childhood pastor. Still does from time to time, just to make sure she can still feel something. He wasn’t even that hot; he was just commanding and celibate. The thought of a man giving up sex made her want to have sex with him. It was some crazy paradox and only turned her on more every time she tried to examine it. She fantasized about confessing this to him and then he would fuck her in the booth, but she was old and smart enough—and her family was no longer Catholic and the priest was probably dead or something—by that point, to know not to confess these things.

“Are you awake?” He hoarsely whispers through the dark. He has blackout curtains. She might think of him as a psychopath if she didn’t have impending gratitude for the light being shielded from them during the hangover wake-up.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t respond, so she follows, “Why?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Oh. I guess neither can I.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She looks over and can make out the outline of him staring up at the ceiling. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know. You?”

“Mind won’t shut up.”

He hums. “Mine too. It’s gonna be light out soon and I’m gonna feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Yeah. Might’ve already happened.”

His laughter shakes the bed. She feels like she should confess something to him. Maybe he’d fuck her then. She thinks she’d feel sleepy after sex. His head drifts over and his eyes look over at her. She can see him in that vague black-and-white nighttime vision. “Anything I can do?”

“No,” she wills herself to say. “Just wait for the tides to drift just right.” He hums again, wordless language. “Anything I can do?”

He grins just a little. “No.”

She giggles. “What?”

“What?”

“I saw that grin. What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me. I want to know.”

“Too bad.”

“C’mon. Tell me a bedtime story.” She curls beside him like a little nesting fetus.

He shakes his head. “It’s not a bedtime story.”

“A 3 AM story then. Nothing is too dark for this hour.”

“Well,” he sighs. His hands are resting in fists on the plane of his stomach. “I smoke weed sometimes to go to bed.” She nods along. “But I’m fresh out. Charlie’s brushing me off or something I don’t know, we kind of had this argument, whatever. So, I keep a Sudoku book in my drawer and do that at night. The numbers just…” He draws in the air with his hands, “make me drift.”

He’s suddenly endearing it to her in that cute little teddy bear kind of way. She wants to cuddle him or nuzzle her nose against his like she used to do with her childhood pet dog. “That’s not weird at all. I thought it was going to be something like you go out and kill someone.”

He chuckles lightly so as not to disturb the calm environment. “Nah, I gave that up a few years ago.”

She smiles. He’s earned it from her, even if he’s not likely to fully see it in this light. “Sudoku is normal. It’s like counting sheep.” He shrugs while her mind slowly pieces him together, the grin with the nervousness, fully suspicious. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” He sits up and pulls the drawer open.

“At least not telling the full truth.”

“Well, sure,” he says, taking the Sudoku book out and laying it down in the space between them. “But I don’t need to tell you all my embarrassing stories.”

“Do you fuck a pillow or one of those creepy dolls like Lars & the Real Girl?”

“You’re not shy.” He puts the Sudoku back into the drawer.

“This is very uncharacteristic of me. I’m kind…well, I’m shy. Or maybe anti-social, at least for a few months.” She rolls her whole body onto her back, counting sheep in his bedroom ceiling.

“Yeah,” he chitters up. “Me too. Sometimes. Just sort of happens. You know, can’t turn it on and off.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“And that’s what sucks.” She likes listening to him. He has a soothing voice. He should do nighttime radio or be a voice actor for those smoking hypnosis tapes. “I feel trapped in my own mind sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

Now there’s some other half to this, to her. This knowledge she’s not the only one. They stare up at the ceiling together. They could practically hold hands and lie here forever. “Alcohol usually makes me sleepy,” he says.

He keeps breaking the code, but she doesn’t want to make herself out to be a bitch by telling him she likes it when he shuts up. She’s finally starting to like him, completely, and it would be a shame, might be the nail in the coffin, if he doesn’t like her. “I’m riled up.”

“Oh.”

“Not that way.” Yes, completely that way. “Alcohol excites me. I think I had a Redbull in something too.”

“Makes sense. I might’ve had that too.” No, he didn’t, she noticed he only drank Jameson on the rocks the whole night. She had to notice the sweat dripping down the glass and his clenched hand around it. But she won’t say anything, he has to like her.

“Should we run around the block?”

She turns her head to see him smiling. “I’m not a fan of running.”

“Me either.”

“Let’s see.” He reaches over and picks up his phone off the nightstand, typing something into it. “The Internet says…take a Benadryl—I don’t own that.” She laughs at him, she’s not sure why, maybe the teddy bear quality. “Drink lots of water—great, so I can pee all night.” She laughs at that because she actually found that line funny. “Take a bath.”

“Oh,” she muses aloud. “I love baths. I miss baths.” Since moving out of her parents’ home, she’s never lived in a place with a bathtub. She misses the way the warm water would absorb her, the Epsom salt relieving aches and pains, like being back in the womb.

“I have a tub.”

She turns. “Really?”

“Yeah. One of those tub-shower combos. Only fancy thing in this place. This building used to be a whole house and then they carved it up for flats and ours got the bathroom with the tub. I’ve never used it, though.” He goes back to searching.

“I want to take a bath.”

He absentmindedly says, “Welcome to.”

“Let’s take a bath.”

His eyebrows raised, sketching an adorable ‘11’ between them. “Together?” She descends a little, sliding away. She’s sick with shame and has been for a few months. “Okay.”

She glances back at him but he’s already sat up, moving away from her view to, presumably, the bathtub.

She’s quite mercurial, Ines. At first, it made her something that scared the shit out of him; now, she excites the shit out of him. That’s the case with most things at first glance, he considers, anything that pushes you out of your comfort zone or the icy water that soon warms your skin. “I don’t have any bubbles,” he tells her.

She pacifies him with a smile. “It’s okay. I don’t think I’ve had a bubble bath since infancy.”

He holds his hand under the faucet, waiting for it to turn warm. “You should, it’s quite nice.” It’s too late to care if his earnestness comes off as childish. The water feels so nice, he’s certain he’ll fall asleep in it.

“Next time.” She placates the conversation because this is sure to never happen again. A 3 AM, no, 4 AM bath with a stranger, but it’s a nice thought that they’ll be given the option to repeat this. He’ll note this; it might come in handy for future soul-crushing disappointment.

“That temp good?” He asks her.

The bath fills steadily and she reaches over, delicately places her hand over the rushing water, the force causing her hand to bend at the repeated beating. She stands back up straight. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” His thumbs go into the waistband of his boxers.

“Wait.” She stops her hand in front of her. “Is this an elaborate plan to get me to see your cock?”

He hesitates, relinquishing the waistband with a snap to his skin. Then, he chuckles. “No, if I wanted that I would've, you know, had sex. Quicker method. You’d probably be home by now and I’d be asleep.”

Her face is a steady, stony expression before there’s a crack in the concrete of it all. She molds her mouth to half of a smile. “Fair.”

“And you could always sit in the tub in my shirt. I don’t mind.”

She nods. “And how are we planning to sit in the tub together?”

He holds his hands up. “This tub wasn’t my idea, need I remind you. I can’t figure it all out for you.” He drops his drawers and gets in the water, his ass likely staring at her, and then he swirls it in the water below. There’s a quick, sudden burn that melts into that warm, pleasurable feeling.

She’s standing beside the tub, unmoved. “I can sit against the faucet, if you want,” he offers. He switches directions before she even requests the movement. He’d be uncomfortable with her up against his junk anyway and he weirdly likes the cold metal pressed against the spine.

The shirt is off and her underwear. With a palatable soaking of the skin, up and down his arms, he settles in and waits. He gazes exhaustively at her body, just trying to remember the feeling of someone else’s skin being on his, and then, suddenly, she steps in and her big toe brushes his ankle, and he feels like he could quiver, an out loud utterance like a shock, jolt, gasp to the soul. She settles across and things feel warm inside, just for this moment with her legs slotted beside his, a staking of the ambers of his gut, where all truth seems to lie, a nice candle lit aglow inside a dark, cavernous hole.

She looks off to one side, places her elbow onto the porcelain, then digs her chin atop her closed hand, and stares out at the broken tiled floors. There’s one long fault line going through the bathroom floor from when John dropped that watermelon in here. Things like that always seemed to be happening here—the idiot things. The ones that guarantee they won’t get their deposit back.

Alex looks at the column of her neck. It’s a knack of his to try and discover the minuscule in a person. The part of a person that likely hasn’t been explored, even by themselves. He suspects Ines doesn’t spend much time looking at her neck. The way it stretches further, further out, the muscle jolting out to be seen. She’s probably never even seen what that looks like, along with the temptation it brings.

The temptation in question isn’t the sexual kind, although most things concerning women are sexual for him, but this more concerns the vampiric element. He’s probably not explaining this right, it’s late, but he gets why people made a fuss out of those Twilight movies, you know, the act of biting that slope in her neck. He could ski down it. Oh, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying.

“I feel tired already,” he says.

She hums. “Yeah. I feel so exposed right now, like my nipples are out, but I don’t care much. Maybe because I consider you pretty sexless.”

He snickers, “Thanks.”

“No, no.” She lightly laughs along with him, bringing him in on the joke. “I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I just don’t feel sexualized by you. It’s an odd thing when you’re naked with someone, especially the opposite sex. Like, I didn’t even look at your penis.”

“Thanks.” He shakes his head humorously.

“No, no,” she repeats. Her knee pushes against his, some indication of familiarity, like grabbing someone’s hand and squeezing it as a wordless acknowledgement of existence. “I just didn’t even feel the desire to. I mean, I did earlier, if that helps, but now, if I were to look at it, I think it would only be out of curiosity to see you, not to mangle you or anything.”

“Mangle?” He questions her, sharing a jovial look. “Sadist,” he accuses again, tilting his head toward her.

She does the same, lowering her chin to her chest, and he resists the urge to look at her breasts just underneath his view of her. “Schadenfreude. Swear it.” She holds her middle three fingers up.

“You should Schwurhand if you’re gonna be all German about it.” He gestures, holding his thumb, pointer, and middle finger up.

“Like Inglourious Basterds?”

“I haven’t seen that yet.”

She waves her hand out at him and folds her arms over her boobs. He averts his eyes away from her, fearful he was caught staring too long at the impression of them. “Came out like last week. You aren’t too far behind.”

“Yeah, yeah, but I should see that. I like Tarantino.”

She sinks further into the water, her knees coming up to compensate for space. They sit just in front of him like two mountains. He thinks about touching them, but that would come off too invasive, he thinks, like he’s trying something with her, but he isn’t, he just wants to feel the touch of skin again.

Instead, he places his elbows on them like a deformed Jenga tower. She blows bubbles into the water with the rumble of her laughter. It infects him, has him rumbling rough laughter, the kind when it’s 4 AM and even your voice feels heavy. “What?”

“Nothing. This just feels very communal. Like when my brother and I used to take baths together.”

“You used to take baths with your brother?”

She lifts herself up enough so he can see her obvious rolling of her eyes. She’s almost like a bobblehead, shaking about whenever she reacts to him. “When we were little.”

“Right, right. Don’t want to hop into any incestual relationships. I don’t know what you guys already have established.”

She splashes water at him, a big wave hitting his mouth and the hook of his nose. “Shut up.”

“Hey!” He grabs her wrist, holding it to stop any movement. The grip is tight enough to come off as a threat, but they’ve grown too familiar for him to be perceived as acting harmfully toward her. “The last thing I need is water damage.”

“Sorry,” she bids, sitting up, the submarine of her knees sinking below the sea.

He sighs, scrubbing the lingering water around his face. “We should probably get out anyway.”

“Okay.” Neither move. It’s the staring thing again. Linger, linger, don’t move, linger. And then, she peeks a little smile at him, a melting of the iceberg, if you will. The Ice Age has ended, or the Titanic doesn’t sink, or something, either way, it’s nice and warm. Her lips move first, “You tired now?”

He shrugs. His hand pushes below the water and lands on her knee, in contact with the mothership. “I think. We’ll see how my pillow feels.”

She laughs, raises herself, and her pussy is face-to-face with him for the mere second, enough to see her wetted down bush, and he’s not sure he’s ever come face-to-face with a vagina and viewed it clinically. Just another part of her body, same as her knee, he could place his hand on top of it for warmth, and nothing more. She might not appreciate it, but it’s unnerving for him.

She steps out of the tub and his eyes follow, just to look at her ass because he has to, just to test this theory. The hypothesis is deemed true. He could probably get away with putting his hand on her ass, especially after tonight. He could maybe get away with anything tonight under the guise of darkness, only the nightlight of the moon.

She wraps herself in a towel and he follows, water dripping, and she doesn’t even turn around to look. He finds it to be out of respect, but feels disrespected by it. She really has no interest in seeing his penis? God, he sounds like he jerks off in front of the mirror or something. Whatever, sleep will fix it. Sleep fixes everything, at least, it’s supposed to, he thinks, hopes, something like that.

a/n: i changed ines's name about 100 times so if you hate it, just imagine "y/n" or something. or imagine it's alex and he's just talking to himself, yeah, do that.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #humbug #junedenim #and whatever i'll end up calling this #bah humbug #maybe #shrug

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anythinggoesbutme · 2 days ago

Text

A Seat At Our Table

Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane

Warnings: Mentions of single motherhood, parental abandonment, mild sexual tension (kissing and suggestive jokes), brief discussion of pregnancy and being cut off by family.

Synopsis: Lyra invites Grayson over for dinner at her apartment for the first time, where an unexpectedly intimate night with Wrenly leads to confessions, gentle teasing, and the start of something real.

Song: “Sweet” — Cigarettes After Sex

Word Count: 3,592

Previous Part: Click Here

Tag List: @anintellectualintellectual @aria-filomena @angelnextdooor @runningoutofink8 @saythewordheiress @lyrrrr @laurilovesbooks @sp3ncerre1dsw1fe

Lyra had always believed her apartment was “good enough.”

Good enough to keep the rain off their heads.

Good enough to keep them warm in winter, with the old radiator clanging like a forgotten tambourine.

Good enough to hold her and Wrenly’s mismatched world together — their stack of dollar-store coloring books, her chipped mugs, the curtain she’d tacked up herself to hide the water stain on the living room ceiling.

But tonight, “good enough” felt like a curse.

Tonight wasn’t just another shift at the diner, another tired evening putting Wrenly to bed and half-watching old crime shows with subtitles on low volume.

Tonight, Grayson Hawthorne was coming over.

She should’ve known he’d offer. He was generous in ways she’d never experienced before — a different kind of generosity, one that wrapped itself around her without smothering. Over the past month, he’d become her quiet safe place and her biggest surprise.

Their first real date had been spontaneous: she’d gotten off a late shift, her feet aching, when he called and asked if she wanted to drive out to see the stars beyond the city lights. She’d said yes without thinking, not even caring she still smelled like the fryer and cheap coffee.

Since then, he’d found every excuse to whisk her away — a tiny live jazz club downtown, a flower market at dawn, a bookstore he said reminded him of her because “everything felt alive and waiting.”

And all the while, they’d texted and called every night.

Her phone would buzz under her pillow at 2 a.m. with a simple you up? or tell me something good.

He learned every little detail — how she took her coffee (two creams, one sugar), how Wrenly said “fwowers” instead of flowers, how she hated silence because it reminded her of empty spaces she didn’t want to feel.

He sent them little gifts like it was a routine — a ritual he refused to skip. A box of new colored pencils and a watercolor set for Wrenly. A worn secondhand copy of Little Women Lyra had once mentioned she loved as a teen. A grocery delivery that appeared on her doorstep one rainy Saturday, stocked with fresh fruit and good bread she could never justify buying.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, she had invited him to her space.

A tiny apartment two floors up in an aging brick building with squeaky pipes and a front door that stuck every time it rained.

It was early evening when she began her desperate transformation mission. She’d carefully chosen an outfit earlier that day — a soft, pale blue dress with little buttons down the front. It wasn’t fancy, but it was a step above her usual uniform of old jeans and diner T-shirts. She wore her hair half up, half down, the way Grayson had once told her looked “like sunrise breaking through clouds.”

Now, barefoot on the scuffed linoleum, she surveyed the battlefield.

First, the living room. Wrenly’s toys were everywhere — Barbie dolls missing limbs, plastic dishes, mismatched puzzle pieces, and the now-iconic purple pen that had once doubled as a scepter.

Lyra dropped to her knees, shoving everything into a faded wicker basket she kept by the bookshelf. Every so often, she’d pause to cringe at the state of the floor, running a damp rag across sticky juice spots and a mystery stain she suspected had been there since before they moved in.

Next, the couch. The cushions sagged unevenly, and a threadbare blanket was bunched at one end. She straightened the pillows, fluffing them like she was prepping a model home, and folded the blanket into a perfect square.

The bookshelf came next — a mismatched collection of battered romance novels, kids’ storybooks, and a few cookbooks with water-warped pages. She ran her fingers along the spines, wondering if Grayson would notice the mess of it all, if he’d judge the stacked coupons and old grocery lists tucked into the corners.

She moved to the kitchen. The dishes — oh God, the dishes.

Lyra filled the sink with hot, soapy water and plunged her hands in, scrubbing each plate like it held all her insecurities.

What if he saw the old chipped plates she’d bought at a yard sale?

What if he noticed the cheap plastic utensils she’d collected when she couldn’t afford replacements?

What if he hated the smell of garlic that still clung to the walls no matter how often she scrubbed?

She stacked each dish carefully, wiping down the counters with a vinegar spray that stung her nose. She even polished the small stove, trying to make it gleam in the dim yellow overhead light.

All the while, Wrenly’s chatter echoed through the apartment.

“Mommy, look! Barbie is wearin’ Ken’s hat now!”

“Mommy, I made them a cake, but it’s just a sock.”

“Mommy! MOMMY! I found your shiny shoes!”

Lyra glanced over to see Wrenly holding her only pair of good heels — cheap black patent pumps she wore for job interviews. The child balanced them on her own tiny feet, wobbling dangerously as she pretended to strut down an invisible runway.

“Wrenly, baby, careful with those,” Lyra called, a note of laughter threading through her nerves.

“’Kay, Mommy!” Wrenly sang back, wobbling off to her dolls’ tea party.

Lyra turned her attention to the small hallway. She collected stray socks, a few Barbie dresses, and an empty juice box that had been flattened underfoot. The bathroom door stood ajar, and she poked her head inside.

The cracked mirror reflected her face, flushed and nervous.

She took a breath. Then another.

You can do this.

She scrubbed the sink basin, wiped the toothpaste smudges off the mirror, and rearranged the single hand towel so it looked neat and deliberate instead of sad and overwashed.

When she emerged, Wrenly was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her Barbies arranged around her like a tiny council of advisors. One doll was wearing a sock as a dress and another had marker scribbles on its head.

“Mommy,” Wrenly asked suddenly, “is Mister Gwayson gonna play tea party too?”

Lyra nearly dropped the small trash bag in her hand. Her heart fluttered at the sound of his name on her daughter’s lips — like he’d already taken up a secret space in their little home.

“We’ll see,” Lyra answered, trying to keep her voice light. “Maybe he will.”

Wrenly grinned, missing one front tooth, and shoved another Barbie into the circle. “He can be the prince!” she declared, with absolute certainty.

Lyra pressed her lips together to stop from laughing. “That sounds perfect.”

She ducked into her tiny bedroom, doing one last frantic check. The bedspread was faded, but she smoothed it down, arranging a few mismatched throw pillows to make it look intentional. The small nightstand held her clock, an old framed picture of her and Wrenly at a county fair, and the book Grayson had sent her — Little Women — with a dried flower tucked inside like a secret bookmark.

Her phone buzzed on the dresser. She lunged for it, nearly tripping over a pile of folded laundry she’d forgotten to put away.

Grayson: Leaving now. Can’t wait to see you.

She stared at the words, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might echo in the room.

Lyra: Drive safe. We’re excited to see you too.

She almost erased it three times before pressing send.

When she finally stepped back into the main room, she took it all in with a critical eye. The living room was clean enough — maybe. The kitchen smelled vaguely like lemon now instead of garlic. The bathroom sparkled in a half-hearted way.

Wrenly still sat on the floor, now humming a song she had invented, her Barbie prince doing clumsy twirls.

Lyra smoothed her hair again and tugged at the hem of her dress. It wasn’t perfect — nothing in this apartment ever would be. But it was theirs. And for some reason, she found herself hoping that might be enough.

She sat on the edge of the couch for a moment, staring down at her chipped nail polish and bare feet. She flexed her toes, feeling the cool linoleum under them, grounding herself.

Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the thin curtains in streaks of orange and soft rose. Lyra pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her breath.

For a moment, she let herself think about him — about Grayson Hawthorne with his quiet eyes and quiet strength. About the way he’d slipped that thousand-dollar tip into her apron without blinking. About how he had called her after, just to make sure she made it home safely, even though she lived only a few blocks away.

About the voice messages that would arrive late at night, low and warm, where he’d say things like: I can’t sleep. Tell me something about your day.

And how she’d find herself rambling about the smallest things — Wrenly’s new word, the customer who asked for a triple order of fries, how she’d almost forgotten her keys again.

And he’d always reply, even if it was 3 a.m.: I love that. Tell me more.

Lyra closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

It wasn’t just a date tonight. It was an invitation. To her life. To her mess. To her tiny world that felt so small and so fragile — but also so fiercely hers.

A sudden giggle from the floor jolted her from her thoughts.

“Mommy! Ken falled down again!” Wrenly announced proudly.

Lyra laughed, standing up and going over to help her daughter set the Barbie prince upright again.

“Poor Ken,” Lyra said, adjusting his crooked sock dress.

“Is okay,” Wrenly declared with the authority of a queen. “Mister Gwayson gonna fix him.”

Lyra’s heart squeezed so tight she thought it might crack. She kissed Wrenly’s forehead, smoothing her messy curls, then stood and walked back to the mirror in the hallway one last time.

She took in her flushed cheeks, her worried eyes, her trembling hands.

“It’s okay,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve already let him in more than you think.”

Then she heard it — a car door outside. Footsteps on the walkway. A gentle knock at the front door.

And Lyra felt her breath catch, her heart stall, and her entire body tremble with something equal parts fear and wonder.

Tonight wasn’t just about her anymore. It wasn’t just about Wrenly.

It was about the seat at their table that had been empty for so long.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let someone sit there.

Her whole body felt like it had been plunged into ice water and set on fire at the same time. She smoothed her dress one last time, pushing her hands through her hair and wiping sweaty palms on her skirt.

When she opened the door, she almost forgot how to breathe.

Grayson stood there, framed by the fading glow of the streetlights. His hair looked almost golden under the porch light, every strand falling perfectly as if he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. He wore dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that clung just right to his broad shoulders — casual, but still impossibly elegant.

In one hand, he held a small bouquet of flowers — not the stiff, overpriced roses you found in grocery store coolers, but a soft collection of wildflowers and tiny daisies, all in warm pastel colors.

Her favorite.

He smiled when he saw her, and the world felt too bright for a second.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and almost shy despite everything about him screaming confidence.

“Hi,” Lyra managed, her voice thin and breathy.

“These are for you,” he said, holding the bouquet out.

Lyra’s fingers trembled as she took them. “They’re… they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“They reminded me of you,” he said simply, his gray eyes never leaving hers.

Before she could reply, a sudden shriek cut between them.

“MISTER GWAYSON!”

Wrenly came barreling into the entryway like a tiny hurricane, arms wide. Without waiting for an invitation, she grabbed Grayson’s hand and started tugging.

“Come! I show you my room!”

Lyra’s eyes went wide. “Wrenly, wait—!”

But it was too late.

Grayson let himself be led inside, glancing back at Lyra with an amused, lopsided grin.

The second they crossed the threshold, Wrenly began her grand tour.

“This my Barbies. This Ken but his leg don’t work.”

“This my color book. Mommy say I color on napkins too much.”

“This my tea set but it’s not real tea, it’s water and ‘magination.”

Lyra hurried after them, flowers still clutched to her chest.

“Wrenly, honey, maybe let Grayson—”

But Wrenly was unstoppable. She led him right past the living room, past the kitchen, and straight to Lyra’s bedroom door, flinging it open triumphantly.

“This Mommy room!” she declared.

Lyra’s soul momentarily left her body.

Inside, the bedspread was half on the floor, a pile of unfolded laundry slumped over one end. A few bras and underwear were scattered in a heap on the dresser, bright colors glaring under the yellow light.

Lyra lunged forward, trying to block the view. “Oh my god—Wrenly—”

But Grayson’s eyes had already flicked over the mess. They stopped — embarrassingly — on a scrap of lacy underwear that was definitely not meant for public display.

A mischievous, slow grin tugged at his mouth.

“Charming,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. He tilted his head, his gaze sliding back to her, lingering pointedly. “Very�� personal touch, don’t you think?”

Lyra wanted to melt straight into the floorboards.

“Grayson—”

“Oh, don’t look so mortified,” he teased, chuckling as he turned toward her, arms open in a shrug. “It’s not like I’ve never seen underwear before, Lyra.”

She smacked a hand to her forehead, practically squeaking. “You’re insufferable!”

“And yet… you invited me over,” he shot back, eyes glittering. “I guess you’re used to it by now.”

Wrenly, completely oblivious to the tension, skipped across the bed, scattering socks in her wake.

“Come see Mommy’s books!” she announced.

Lyra was ready to faint. She stepped forward, scooping up an armful of laundry, shooing Wrenly out of the room before she could reveal any more secrets. Grayson followed obediently, his laughter warm and low as she slammed the door behind them.

They finally made it back to the kitchen, where dinner waited. Lyra had set the small table for three, candles flickering weakly in jelly jars she had turned into makeshift holders.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she set the flowers in an old glass vase. “I know it’s not—”

Grayson leaned forward, expression suddenly serious, cutting her off. “Lyra,” he said softly. “It’s perfect.”

She felt her cheeks flame again but forced herself to keep moving, dishing out plates of her homemade pasta. She hesitated, hovering over his plate.

“I… I should warn you,” she started, twisting her fingers together. “I’m not really a great cook. I mean, I used to be. I went to culinary school. But I had to drop out when I got pregnant with Wrenly, and then… life happened.”

She trailed off, suddenly aware of how small the kitchen felt, how quiet the room had gotten.

Grayson set his fork down gently and looked at her, really looked at her, like he could see every crack she was trying to hide.

“You went to culinary school?” he repeated softly, a spark of wonder in his eyes.

Lyra nodded, unable to stop fidgeting with the edge of her apron. “Yeah. I wanted to be a chef. Open my own place one day. But… things changed.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he picked up his fork again and took a bite of the pasta, chewing thoughtfully. When he swallowed, his eyes met hers again.

“It’s delicious,” he said. “Really.”

She scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not just saying it,” he insisted, his tone earnest and unshakable. “You’re good. Really good.”

Lyra’s throat tightened. For a second, she thought she might cry — right there, in her own cramped kitchen with her daughter humming at the table.

Grayson smiled, sensing it, and gently nudged her plate closer to her.

“Sit,” he said. “Eat with us.”

Lyra took her seat slowly, her hands trembling as she picked up her fork. Across the table, Wrenly poked at her noodles, humming some silly little tune, occasionally flicking sauce at her Barbies lined up on the windowsill.

Grayson sat back in his chair, his eyes roaming the small kitchen — the chipped tile counters, the worn wooden cabinets, the haphazardly pinned child drawings on the fridge.

He didn’t look uncomfortable. He didn’t look amused or pitying. He looked at home.

Lyra forced herself to eat, each bite tasting different under the weight of his gaze.

And in that moment — between the flicker of cheap candles and Wrenly’s giggles — she felt something she hadn’t dared let herself feel in years.

Wanted.

After the last bite of pasta was swallowed and the table cleared, Lyra glanced toward Wrenly, who was already bouncing in her seat like a tiny spring. Her bright eyes sparkled with the stubborn energy only four-year-olds could muster at bedtime.

“Okay, baby, it’s time for bed now,” Lyra said softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Wrenly’s hand.

Wrenly’s lower lip jutted out in that adorable pout that melted Lyra’s heart every time. But the little voice was already ringing with defiance. “Nooo! Mister Gwayson help me! Mister Gwayson put me to bed!”

Grayson, who had been watching this exchange with a lazy smile, raised his eyebrows. “Looks like I’m volunteered,” he said, standing and stretching casually. “How could I refuse such a polite invitation?”

Lyra laughed, a little breathless. “Don’t let her fool you, she’s queen of stall tactics.”

Wrenly grabbed Grayson’s hand eagerly and practically dragged him toward her room, chattering nonstop about her day, her Barbie adventures, and the tea parties that awaited them tomorrow.

Lyra followed behind, smiling but exhausted. She watched as Grayson bent down to tuck Wrenly in — smoothing her curls back, reading her stories with animated voices that made the little girl giggle uncontrollably. For a moment, Lyra thought her heart might burst watching them.

Once Wrenly was finally snuggled in with her stuffed rabbit, the door clicked softly shut, and Lyra exhaled a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She sank down against the hallway wall, legs stretched out in front of her, the exhaustion weighing heavy but sweet.

A few seconds later, Grayson appeared beside her, sliding down to sit close. His presence was calm and steady, and when he glanced over, the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

“You’re a good mom,” he said quietly, voice low enough only for her to hear.

Lyra looked up, eyes tired but shining with something tender. “Thanks,” she replied, a little breathless.

He reached out then, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. The moment stretched, thick with something unspoken, and then he leaned in — slow, deliberate.

His lips pressed to hers in a real kiss — soft at first, then deepening with a warmth that made her pulse thunder in her chest.

When they finally pulled apart, Lyra couldn’t help but grin. “I should’ve invited you to my room sooner,” she teased, voice playful but a little breathless.

Grayson’s eyes twinkled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Her grin faded into a mock-serious expression. “But I’m not making that mistake again. One miracle kid is plenty.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. I’m not rushing anything.”

They leaned back against the wall, their shoulders touching, the silence between them easy now.

Grayson’s voice broke through gently. “Can I ask you something?”

Lyra nodded. “Sure.”

He hesitated for just a beat, then asked, “What about Wrenly’s dad?”

The question wasn’t sharp or accusing — just curious, gentle.

Lyra took a deep breath, tracing a circle on the floor with her shoe. “It wasn’t a fairy tale,” she began quietly. “We were young, reckless. Thought we could make it work. But when I got pregnant, everything changed. He wasn’t ready — or maybe he just didn’t want to be. I found out pretty quickly that I’d have to do it alone.”

Her voice cracked on the last words, but she pushed on.

“My parents… they cut me off when they found out. Said it was shameful, irresponsible. I was on my own — no family, no support. Just me and Wrenly.”

Grayson’s hand found hers, his fingers curling around her palm with steady warmth. “That’s… a lot to carry.”

Lyra shrugged, wry. “Yeah. But hey, it made me tough.”

He smiled, that teasing light flickering back in his eyes. “I think you’re a lot more than tough.”

She rolled her eyes. “Careful, or I’ll start thinking you want to keep me around.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, voice dropping an octave, laced with heat and sincerity all at once. “For a long, long time.”

Lyra laughed softly, shaking her head. “Smooth talker.”

They sat like that for a long time, fingers entwined, exchanging small jokes and stories about everything and nothing. The night outside their little apartment deepened, but inside, Lyra felt like she had finally found a place she belonged.

#the inheritance games #jennifer lynn barnes #grayson hawthorne raises my standards #grayson x lyra #grayson hawthorne #lyrason #lyra kane #writers #fanfic #bookworm #fanfiction writer #brynnlee 𓇼 #brynnlee.writes 𓆉

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madamechrissy · 6 months ago

Text

Do I wanna know?

Pairings: Yandere Gojo x Fem reader

Summary: Satoru Gojo knows as soon as he sees you, he'll do anything to have you, but first? He needs you to need him. Ignoring his friendly offer to let you stay with him to save up for a better place, you soon find yourself kicked out by your landlord, and moving in with Satoru. Every thing seems like it's bringing you to need Satoru more and more... yet he doesn't make a move on you, and soon you start putting things together... is Satoru a stalker?? 9k word count

CW - There are SO MANY lol here we go- gaslighting, manipulation, possessive behavior, stalking, Satoru is so Yandere, teasing and tension, explicit sex, rough sex, face smacking, choking, breed kink, videoing without consent, oral sex (both receiving) trying to baby trap mentions of cum, dirty talk (he calls you a slut a lott lol) and misogyny. SATORU BEING PSYCHO but sexy. It's toxic- Based on this drabble

Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one! Thank you for 4k followers omg!!!

You’re not sure how you came to be so close to Satoru Gojo so quickly.

It was as if everywhere you were, he popped up in some way, at first you all met at your work, you were a bartender for a pretty elite club, and Satoru came in along with a few of his CEO friends for drinks once. He had tipped you insanely well, this gorgeous man with shocking white hair, and the most intense blue eyes you’ve seen, you couldn’t even describe the color they were.

Satoru Gojo was rich, handsome, friendly, funny, you couldn’t understand why he even asked for your number. You’re a beautiful girl, but he seemed like the kind of man that had women come to him, but not just that, he’s humble and sweet. He messaged you that night even, hoping you got home safe after your shift, and then asking if you’d like to hang out.

When you pictured hanging out, you honestly pictured maybe a date, or something intimate, but it was just coffee the first time, and he asked real questions about you. The next time you all went to a concert he had tickets for, and you had invited him into your apartment when he’d dropped you off, offering a drink to him.

That’s when Satoru saw your shitty little apartment.

He scoffed, walking around while you went to grab two beers, earning a view of your ass that had him shifting himself in his pants, but he was so upset then, he knew where you lived from the outside, he’d watched you plenty, but this? It’s a teeny one bedroom nothing, surely he could treat you much better than that, you deserved a penthouse, his penthouse.

He’d been watching you since that night weeks ago, he could not get his eyes off you, you took his breath away when his eyes had shifted up your body in that slutty bartending outfit. God he can’t wait until you’re not allowed to wear that anywhere, until you’re all his, and oh he knows you want him, he sees the desire in your dilated eyes, how your lips part when you look at him.

But not just yet.

Satoru can’t just fuck you, no you need to be his and you need to stay his, never, ever leaving him, and to do that he needs you begging for him. He needs there to be no other ideas in that pretty head of yours, so he decides to be your ‘friend’. Even when you step a little closer, lowering your lashes, eyes drinking him in when you take a sip from your bottle.

Beer? You should have top shelf champagne.

Satoru can do that for you.

“Thank you so much for tonight, Satoru.” You say softly, a hand trailing up his chest then, he tilts his head, blue eyes assessing you hungrily.

“Why live here?”

You blink now. “Well, it’s cheap and safe?”

“Don’t you make good money?”

“Um… yeah but I have student loans out the ass for my failed creative writing degree.” You roll your eyes and sigh, earning his chuckle.

“Failed? Didn’t pass?”

“No, I did but it’s useless I guess now. I should’ve gone into medical and been a little smarter, but I didn’t listen.”

“Is it your passion?” You nod then, with a little smile.

Satoru can make it happen, surely.

“You could always stay with me.” You cough then, you all barely know each other. “I have a huge place, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I could never impose like that. Don’t feel so sorry, Satoru, I swear I’m good here.” You lean in now, Satoru leans down, big hand caressing your face, tilting your chin up, his look so intense you can’t breathe. Breaths come in quick pants as your gaze hits his plush, glossy lips, imagining them everywhere.

“It’s an open offer, if anything happens. I’ll be…” He smirks a bit, leaning even closer, so close you taste the sweetness of his cool breath. “All gentlemanly and everything.”

“Would you be?” He chuckles now, lips just an inch from yours, your chest is rising and falling, heart thudding at just what his touch does. “What if I don’t want you to be one right now?”

“What’re you asking, sweets?”

“I…” The phone rings now, you clear your throat, realizing you were about to beg this almost stranger to fuck you.

What’s wrong with you!?

“I am sorry, let me see who it is.” Satoru smiles good naturedly, but you don’t see the glare from behind you, as he scowls at the phone, seeing another man’s name. You text him that you’re busy quickly, earning a little relief for him.

“Boyfriend?” You whirl around now, eyes narrowing a bit.

“No, um… ex boyfriend. We were together for years though, even in college, so we keep in touch sometimes.”

Satoru’s jaw sets, and something… changes then, confusing you a bit, as he sets his drink down. “Who broke up with who?”

“Um, he did.” Your cheeks heat up now under his scrutiny. “I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about my ex though.”

Oh, he does.

He wants your attention all on him, and not a bit of that should be for your ex, who didn’t even want you!? How could anyone not want you? Your gorgeous face that fucks his dreams up, your perfect body like you’re built just for him, how sweet you are, and those damn eyes of yours. He can’t wait to see them fucked out, to see you drooling.

Can’t wait to make sure you never text this man again.

“Is something wrong?” You ask now, he smirks, brightening his face so you don’t figure out all his thoughts.

“Nah, sweets, just curious who’d break up with you.” His casual words hit hard, as he brushes your hair back now, leaning in again and you think maybe he’ll kiss you finally, but he just stares at you, holding your face with strong hands.

So strong he could really crush you if he wants, you feel so small in his presence, so overwhelming. Then he brushes his lips up and against your cheek, your eyes flutter shut, your body throbbing with need, but he pulls away after the little kiss on your face, those blue eyes glittering now, he grins all bright and beautiful, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’m off now, enjoy your night, huh?” You blink a bit at that, wondering then, is something not to his liking about you? You’re studying yourself in the mirror after he left, picking yourself apart.

Your makeup is perfect still, your outfit is sexy, you look really good, and you’d damn near been begging for him silently. Maybe he wasn’t interested? Then why did he look at you like that? You sigh now, washing your face and getting down to just your bra and panties, picking back up the phone and finally writing your ex back, then seeing a text from Satoru.

Satoru: Had fun, sweets. Good night.

You: I had fun too… you didn’t have to leave so early.

Satoru smirks, still in his car, watching your silhouette from behind your curtains, gently walking back and forth, he glares when he realizes you are likely naked or damn close to it. He is going to have to teach you some lessons, it seems, because you are already trying to show the world what’s his.

Or will be.

Satoru: It was getting late, did you want me to stay?

You: Maybe I did. Thank you for tonight though.

Satoru: No problem, love.

Love… that does something to you, Satoru does something to you, when your head hits the bed and you’re staring up at the ceiling. Your ex texts you again, but this time you ignore it, thoughts whirling, you still feel the touch to your cheek, having fucked you up more than even being intimate with someone.

Satoru Gojo, who was he really?

*****

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Satoru knows what’s wrong, he is all sweet hugs and rubbing your back though when you are at his place the next week, sobbing against his chest.

“I’m so sorry… I… My landlord just kicked me out!? And I did nothing wrong, she said she’s renting it for triple to someone? I was past my lease, but shit.” Satoru smiles, but you don’t see it, buried against his strong chest as he strokes your hair softly, pleased that you came to him.

You’re such a good girl.

“Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. Shh.” He’s consoling you so sweetly, you pull back, seeing his concerned gaze as you blink away tears, swiping at your cheeks.

“I can’t afford three times the rent? Satoru I… I make decent enough money, if I could just pay you for a room until I find somewhere? I-”

“Nonsense.” He cuts you off, and your stomach flutters when he’s brushing a hand across your back, palm pressing into the fabric of your dress, like it’s burning you with a touch. “You stay here for free, save up money, yeah?”

“I can’t do that, I have to pay you something. It’s already a huge imposition-”

“Have you seen this place? It’s not shit to have you here, won’t cost me anything anyway.” You have seen it, his insane penthouse with a view that’s fucking ridiculous. It’s spotless, only the finest everything all over, you know Satoru’s very wealthy as a CEO but he screams old money too.

“I would feel terrible. Could I cook, pick up?”

“I have cleaners. Cooking though… yeah, you good at it?”

You smile tremulously, wiping your eyes again. “I’m so good! I also could give the best neck massages after work?”

“Now that sounds perfect. It’s a deal then, stay as long as you need, but cook yummy things. As for a massage, we’ll see if you’re good as you say.”

“Swear, they’re magic! Oh goodness, I have to get to my shift soon, ugh… is there a way you could help me get my things? I’ll just leave the furniture, it’s old, I can buy new shit.”

“Absolutely.”

You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek then, he tenses at it, at the brush of your lips, at the curves of your body against him. Fuck he can’t wait to make you his.

“Satoru Gojo, you're amazing.” He chuckles then.

“I know.”

*****

Living with Satoru Gojo, who walks around shirtless is… difficult. Your tummy clenches, mouth gulping the first time you see him, his chiseled perfect body, all dewy after a shower. Towel slung across his neck, sauntering over to you with that smirk of his, so casual as you’re in the kitchen chopping up veggies, he brushes his fingertips across your back, driving you insane.

Shivers slink down your spine when he leans over you, breath against your neck, you damn near arch back into him as he murmurs in your ear. “Looks yummy.”

Fuck.

You take a shaky breath, hands trembling as you then nick yourself with the knife, you wince then. “Ow, shit!”

“Lemme see.” He takes your hand gently, peering at the drop of crimson that pushes out in droplets then, the way he takes your hand even is too much.

Weeks of living together, walking around in arguably almost nothing in front of him, and he hasn’t hit on you, despite his eyes devouring you, like they’re touching you. No he’d smile and lazily trail his gaze, maybe brush against you in the kitchen, give you a hug after work, you’d rub his neck just so and he’d grip your wrists, smiling up at you, to the point you’re losing control.

All you can think of is him.

Satoru loves it that way, too, he loves hearing you murmur his name in your sleep, he’s got cameras all over, especially in your room, and he can even hear you on them. Your little whines of pleasure, he’d see how your hands would move under your blankets, as you stayed as quiet as can be, but he heard your whimpers, your sweet little moans.

He strokes his cock every night watching you, listening, waiting.

He needs you to really need him.

“Just a little nick, I’m fine.” You assure him, then your mouth drops as he takes your finger, sucking it into his mouth.

He’s sucking on your damn finger, hot wet mouth and the lewd images destroying the fragile hold you have on your sanity, snowy lashes lowered as he presses his tongue up on your fingertip, putting pressure. You stand there quiet, but then there’s a little sound that escapes your throat, a little whine, and when he pulls back he smiles knowingly.

He licks his lips, a drop of blood on them, tilting his head as he releases your finger now. “Better?”

“Um… y-yes. Thank you, Satoru.” You manage to speak somehow, your voice hoarse, you clear your throat then. “Clumsy.”

“Mind somewhere?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Another week goes by, Satoru watches you every chance he gets, when he’s at work he watches you on his phone, he’s got a tracker in yours, for your safety you know, when something concerns him. Your daily trips were work, maybe the store, and a couple times a week the gym. But you’re somewhere he’s never seen you at, and it concerns him then.

Where are you?

He zooms in on the location.

Someone’s house?

Satoru’s jaw tightens then, and when you’re home that night, you notice he’s not friendly, or sweet, or talkative. He barely responds as you try to engage with him, and when you go to rub his neck, he stops your hands with an icy glare. “What’s… did I upset you?”

“How could you upset me?” He stands up, looming so tall, you shrink back just a bit, the backs of your legs hitting the fancy grey couch, until you’re sitting in it, and Satoru’s arms are on either side of you. “How could you, sweets, hmm?”

“I… I don’t know? Um…” Your mouth goes dry when he gets on his knees, spreading your thighs, your breaths coming quicker, pussy throbbing around nothing, thinking of him, feeling his long slender fingers on your skin. “Satoru?”

“You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? A good girl?” Your hips shift, his eyes dart down, smiling as he peeks under your skirt now, a wet spot forming on your panties, he can’t wait to finally taste you, when you’re good of course.

“Good girl? I… don’t know.” Your hands are at your side, his face is right against yours again, your thighs on either side of his body, pressing into him.

“What’d you get up to today?” He asks, all casual like he doesn’t know, as he assesses your body for marks, bites, hickeys. Your body belongs to him, even if you don’t know it just yet. He finds none, making him just a little less furious, but now he feels the plush of your thighs in his grip, picturing shoving them against your chest.

You’d look so sexy in a mating press, wouldn’t you?

“I um… went to grab dinner, then I gave some shit to my ex that I had left from the apartment.” Satoru exhales in relief.

“Oh yeah? I could’ve helped you, love.”

“No, it’s awkward. I was holding onto it, I decided to just let it go, he didn’t choose me, you know?”

“Who wouldn’t choose you?” You lean forward, his eyes dart to your breasts, as a strap slips over your shoulder.

“Satoru, you're too good to me, and why? How have I come to deserve you in my life?” He exhales, adjusting the strap with two fingers, brushing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps, he watches your nipples perk up under your tank top, furious that anyone has ever seen them.

“Is that all? You gave him his shit?” He tries to hide his anger, his jealousy.

“That’s all.” You answer, and he stands again, leaving you wanting and empty when he’s not touching you.

“Should have asked me to help. I’m calling it a night, yeah?” You manage a little nod, he tilts your chin up as he stands over you, your body reacting so violently you’re shaking damn near, unable to stop the reaction. He smiles knowingly, leaving you then, and you glare at his strong, perfect back as he walks off, giving you a little look before going to his room.

Satoru knew you saw him somehow? You can swear it. Are you freaking out for no reason? Surely he didn’t care what you did, he maybe just wanted to make sure you were okay, maybe he could sense you were stressed somehow?

Then why is there this gnawing feeling?

*****

The next day you’re trying to get to work, and your car won’t turn over. You curse it out, it’s old sure but it’s strong and has a good engine. Satoru had already offered to give you one of his cars, saying you could pay him back later, as if you could ever afford a Mercedes Benz. You’d turned him down of course, and now he’s standing in his insanely huge parking garage, right out the side of your window.

You open the door, sighing as you get out of the car. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, ugh!”

“It’s an ancient relic?”

“Hey!” You playfully shove him, laughing then. “It is, I guess. But I don’t know why it won’t start?”

“I’ll have my mechanic check it, he’ll love this archeology.”

“Satoru!” You’re laughing so hard then, god he always makes you laugh, you wish he’d make you moan but you throw those thoughts far back.

“I’m kidding, sweets, kinda.” He narrows those blue eyes, his jaw tensing just a bit then as he assesses your car.

Couldn’t be because he took out your catalytic converter.

“Hmm, maybe a dead battery or alternator went out?” Satoru looks at you amusedly, you’re cute, knowing something about cars. But he needs you to stop worrying about things like that.

“For now, I’ll take you to work, yeah?” You exhale, nodding then.

“Thank you so much, Satoru, you’re so sweet to me.” You say later, as he drops you off at work, top down, grinning with those Gucci shades hiding those baby blues, some of the girls from the bar are out front, they start giggling when they see the two of you.

“He’s so hot!?” One of your friends loudly whispers.

“Shh, I know!” Gojo hears you though, grinning as he swipes a hand through his snowy locks.

“Hello, ladies.” He says, getting out then to come open your door, earning the swoons of everyone. You smile gratefully at him.

“Thank you, Gojo.”

“No worries, tell me when to pick you up, mmkay?” You nod then, he gives you a little kiss on the head, and your friends make no secret of how fine they think he is.

“Is he your man?” Your other friend asks, you shake your head then, while Satoru gets back in the car. “Bitch, why?”

“Is he single?” Your other friend asks.

Something makes you sick then, thinking of seeing Satoru with other women, and surely it would happen soon, yeah? He’s gorgeous and can get who he wants, and he hasn’t yet shown he wants you. You peek back at him as he is starting back up his car, looking at your friend again.

“He’s single.” Satoru wants to laugh at you. He’s not single, you’re his already, you just haven’t gotten where he needs you.

“Why not date him?”

“He’s not interested. Drop it.” You hiss, waving at Satoru, he tilts his glasses down then, the unreal eyes behind the snowy lashes drinking you in.

“Have a good day, sweets.” He leaves a bunch of giggling, whispering friends and heat on your cheeks when he drives off, grin glinting in the setting sun, because now he knows just where you are.

*****

After two more weeks of living with Satoru, you’re at about a month with him, and despite the endless little brushes against your skin, the little touches while you cook, the hugs and pecks on your cheeks, he never makes a move. You moan just a little louder at night thinking of him, wondering then when you’d see him in the morning why he looked so tired.

You’re wondering about lots of things.

“Satoru, do you date?” You ask one day, and he looks at you lazily, trailing up and down your body the way he does, the way that makes you ache with longing.

“Do I date? I haven’t in a while, why?”

“You’re so… you?” He snorts then.

“What’s that mean?”

“Like, gorgeous? Smart and sweet? Rich? How do you not date?”

“When I get with someone it’ll be permanent, there won’t be any dating or fucking around, so I guess I’m kind of picky about it. Why? Would it make you jealous if I brought a girl over?”

Yes, yes it would.

“Oh, no, I’m cool with whatever. It’s your place, I just live here.” Satoru leans you against the counter then, barring you with strong arms, his thigh brushing between yours, he feels it then, the heat that builds as you shift your hips just a bit, eyes darting up to his.

“Wouldn’t mind if I fucked someone right here? Ya sure?”

“It’s your place.” You manage weakly again, watching thin nostrils flare, his pupils blown out as you shift again, and he feels your hot pussy against his thigh, your hands slipping up his shirt slowly. “You like to fuck, Satoru?”

He blinks now, shifting his thigh, tilting his head as he studies you. “You’re asking if I like to fuck?” You nod, just barely, and one of his hands slips down your side, his cock throbbing under his jeans, thinking about devouring your pussy right on the kitchen counter. He already has tasted you off those panties he stole, he imagines it’s even sweeter from the source. “Do you?”

Your cheeks flush, eyes lowering nervously, Satoru tilts your chin up, making you look right at him. “I didn’t like it much, no, but… I like to…”

“Play with your pussy?” You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips once more, waiting for him to break, but he acts casual as he’s ruining what’s left of your addled mind. “You brought it up, don’t be shy.”

“Yes, I like to. Do you… play with…”

“Slutty questions.” He smirks now, backing up, you look in horror as you realize you’ve left a damn wet spot on his thigh, but he brushes it with his thumb leisurely, lapping it off his tongue, leaving you with your mouth open. “Mmm. Have a good night, pretty.”

You’re shaking when you get to your room, literally dying over him, knowing he’s in the next room but won’t come near you is torture, but for him it’s fun. He’s watching you pace around your room avidly, damn near chuckling when you strip off your clothes so quickly, flopping on the bed and covering your face with your hands, pressing your knees together.

He’ll make you feel better soon, don’t worry.

But then, you pick up your phone, earning his glare that of course you can’t see, he picks up his other phone now, the one that shows him every message and call you make. Some guy has been trying to ask you out for a couple weeks, but you’d ignored him, like a good girl. Now, however… you’re texting him back!?

That just won’t do.

He’s so absorbed in staring at your messages, as you smile just a bit, wondering if there was a way to get under Gojo’s cool exterior.

Maybe a date with someone?

******

You’re dressed in some slinky outfit, it hugs your body just right, hitting about mid thigh, a black lacy little number. You step out of your room, his mouth drops open when he sees you, too much of your smooth skin revealed, your breasts on display for everyone who would see, you smile up at him all pretty and do a little spin as he grips his hands into fists.

He wants to rip that dress the fuck off you, bury his cock inside your pretty little cunt and fuck you hard, fuck you so hard you sob those eyelashes off, so hard your perfect hair is a tangled goddamn mess. Teach you that you’re his and only his, that you belong to him, have you cum so hard you can’t form anymore thoughts of ever leaving in your pretty head.

He can’t even speak when you nervously ask, “How do I look?”

How do you look? You look like you need your ass beat, your clit overstimulated to the point you beg him to stop, look like you need to get that pretty neck choked out by his big hands. And that little smile on your face, like you know just what you’re doing to him? Satoru’s teeth click together, jaw tensing now while he sits there on the desk chair looking at you.

“You look gorgeous. But then you always do.” You blush at that, lashes lowering at the praise. “But why so dressed up? Going out with… friends?”

You know he knows.

You hear it in his voice, in how tense it gets. You smile then, shaking your head, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you feel those blue eyes touching your skin. “No, I’m going on a date.”

Satoru’s little facade breaks for just a moment, he can’t keep it up just now, and it’s like you know, you’re being this little brat and not his sweet little thing right now. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude out of you, as hard as it’s making him. “Oh? A date, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while you know.” You step up to him just a bit, smiling so pretty, devious little brat. “A while.”

“A while.” He repeats, voice hoarse, before realizing you’re trying to play him, aren’t you? “Since?”

“Since anything. This guy seems super nice, maybe he’ll… think I’m hot, you know? Be attracted too? We’ll see.”

“Who wouldn’t want you? That’s stupid.” He huffs.

“Oh, is it? Well I’m not everyone’s type, you know?” You blink those damn lashes at him, he raises a brow. “So we’ll see. But don’t wait up for me, hmm?”

“Don’t you need a ride?” He asks, as you head towards the door, grabbing your little purse now.

“Oh no, he’s going to come get me, don’t worry.” Satoru’s hand stops yours on the knob, hard body pressed against your back, your breath catches, quickening now, watching the veins raise on his hand, as it covers yours completely. “Something wrong, Satoru?”

“Just wanna make sure you’re safe, you should let me take you.”

“Don’t even impose yourself, I’ll be fine.” You turn and look up at him, his plush lips just a breath from yours. “Everything okay?”

“Of course it is, you can text me if you need me to get you though, okay?” You exhale now, slightly dejected.

You want him to say he doesn’t want you to go, fuck you want him to grab you and keep you here, he makes you feel so fucking toxic, the insane thoughts making your mind whirl, your tummy coil with desire. One of his hands grips your hip, and you feel his length against your back, your eyes shut as you grip the door knob so hard it hurts.

“I asked you something, sweets.” His grip tightens, you open your eyes again, looking up at him.

“Of course, Satoru.”

“Have fun then.” He is back to being a bright, happy Gojo, blue eyes glittering, letting you go when you ache for him to drag you against him. “Be safe, yeah? Creeps everywhere, stalkers even.”

He’s following you in his car as soon as you take off in this asshole’s car, he tracks your location and finds you’re at some restaurant, he sees you then, up front at a table shivering a bit in your slutty dress. Part of him thinks, that’s just what you get, but another part thinks, fuck this dude for not giving you his jacket, Satoru sizes him up with a flick of his eyes, fists clenching the steering wheel.

You keep peering at your phone, you don’t look like you’re really having fun, what are you playing at? Are you trying to make him insane, trying to make him more jealous than he already was? He was jealous anyone even fucking saw you altogether, he thinks how good it would be to breed you constantly, to keep you knocked up with his babies, stay at home for only his eyes to see.

The thoughts drive him insane, as does seeing this dude’s hand on your bare thigh now, thighs for him to touch, he is so furious he almost blows his cover, taking several breaths as he prepares to rip this dude’s hands off. How dare anyone touch you!? And then he gets it, your text.

Satoru, I’m so sorry, but are you busy?

Satoru exhales in relief, leaning his head back on the driver’s seat, brushing his hand across his face.

Having fun on your date?

Satoru is being petty but he can’t help it, he sees your cute little glare as you poke on your phone, and his hand slips higher up your leg.

Not really. I’ll be fine though, sorry.

Satoru panics now.

What’s wrong?

He watches as you type.

I feel really uncomfortable, could you please come get me? I’m so sorry to put you out like this…

Satoru comes right out of the car, walking across the street now, and your eyes widen in shock, lips parting as he saunters up, grinning and holding out a hand. “Hey pretty, wanna get out of here?”

“Excuse me!?” The man sputters, but you giggle, Satoru wonders if you’re the crazy one here, him or you?

“I’d love to.” You put your little hand in his, following him to his car then, when Satoru slides in however he cups your face, grip tight on you, his eyes glaring and fucking furious. “How’d you get here in ten seconds? Instant transmission like Goku?”

“You’re such a brat.” He mutters, glaring now as you grin, one hand in your hair, pulling, making you cry out, a sound that makes Satoru’s cock leak precum, just from the sound of you. “You did this it piss me off, hmm?”

“Why would you be mad, Toru?” You put a hand on his thigh now, leaning forward, showing more and more of your breasts. “You don’t even want me like that, haven’t you made it clear?”

He starts laughing now, he’s feral, manic in his insane laugh, pulling your hair even harder. “I don’t huh? Then tell me what the fuck this is?”

Satoru takes your hand putting it over his clothed cock now, you whimper feeling him for the first time, hard for you, his breaths coming faster and faster as you go to stroke him, earning his own throaty moan. “Are you jealous?”

“No, because he’s not shit, and you’re mine anyway.”

“How am I yours!? Don’t even kiss me. Don’t even-”

Satoru yanks you to him, slamming his lips on yours then, devouring your mouth, tongue swiping in every inch of it, swirling as he loses his fragile sense of control. You taste so good, you feel so good, he’s wanted you for so long, he’s brutal with his lips, with his teeth, with how he grips your chin so fucking tight. You’re falling apart for him, then, when he yanks back.

His breath is hot on your lips, his hand slipping between your thighs then, you can’t stop the cry that escapes your lips, when he finds you over your panties, soaking wet for him. “This for me, or for him?”

“Stupid- ah!” Satoru pulls your hair so hard tears prick your eyes, stroking you over your sticky panties.

“Watch that mouth, and that attitude before I fuck it out of you.” His whisper and his touch makes you drip down his fingers, you’re arching your hips as he touches you, pressing on your clothed clit now. “So you get this wet for me?”

“You get that hard from me?” You counter, he laughs again, shaking his head at your audacity, slipping his finger under your panties now, finding your bare cunt.

“Stupid fucking soaked, huh? From a kiss?”

“Just touch me, please…” You’re begging him now, leaning closer, lips pressing against his, drinking his moans when he shoves two fingers in your eager hole, stretching you and making you gasp. “Satoru…”

“Do you deserve to cum, after acting this way?” He demands, curling his fingers up in your slick walls, pressing that spot that has your eyes rolling back, entire body reacting to him, dripping down his sleeves, his watch you’re so wet. “Answer me.”

The first slap on your cheek shocks you with the sting that throbs, you glare at him, slapping him back on his pretty face, earning him gripping your wrist brutal as his fingers fuck into you. The car is heating up right in the middle of the damn street, you hear your pussy squishing, hear your cries and gasps.

“Asked you a question, sweets. Seeing your ex, going on a date, showing off this body to everyone? Ya think you’re a good girl?” You shake your head then, and he groans, kissing you messy, tongues drooling saliva, thumb finding your clit now, and you’re close, so close, clinging to him.

“N-no but… please…” He laughs as he pushes you to the edge, sucking you off his fingers then, groaning, cheeks hollowing.

“Fuck you taste even better than your panties.”

“My what!?”

“C’mere, ya wanna be a good girl for me?” You blink rapidly, nodding then, and he revs up the car, pulling out, you are jostled as he begins to drive like a maniac, you’re grasping him, half thrown on his lap.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. You’re gonna make it up to me, being so slutty, huh?”

“Slutty?”

“Slutty mouth.” Satoru unzips his pants then, and you gulp when you see him for the first time, thick and long, veiny cock so pretty, the tip pink, drooling drops of precum already. You stare at it, he feels it as he drives, peeking at you now, grabbing the back of your hair again. “Put it to use, and I’ll let you cum.”

“Fuck…” You have never done something like this, but you find yourself bent over him then, taking your tongue and lapping at the precum on his tip, while he drives with one hand, his other, entangling against the nape of your neck.

“Gonna be my perfect little slut, no one else's, huh?” You nod eagerly, you’re stupid, this man literally stalked you on your date, he’s acting possessive and psychotic, but your pussy is clenching around nothing. “Say it.”

“Your perfect little slut.” You whisper, he moans then, husky and guttural as you suck him in your mouth now, hot and wet, swirling your tongue around the ridge of his tip, earning his hips bucking, cock twitching.

“That’s it, I knew you could behave. There you go, good girl.” You’re trembling, sucking him deep in your throat, over and over as your cunt is drooling, dripping down the panties that are becoming soppy wet and pathetic like you. “Feel that slutty mouth, never gonna suck anyone again, are you baby?”

“Mmm…” You’re moaning eagerly, sucking his cock as deep as you can, he’s shoving your head fully down to where you’re slobbering all over him, tears pricking your eyes, you’re shaking while he uses your throat, your mouth, as your taste his salty precum, shoving it in your throat deeper and deeper.

“F-fuck… you’re finally being good, huh? Bet you wanna cum, bet your pussy is soaked, yeah?”

He knows you can’t answer, he’s loving the choked out sounds you’re making as you suck him down more and more, until he finally pulls up to his house, he pulls you off him, cock glittering with your saliva. He moans, kissing you again, teeth sinking into your lip, tasting himself off your tongue, you’re whining, trembling, he chuckles just a bit then.

“Look at you, sucked it that good? Should I fucking be mad?” He demands then, you gasp at his touch on your pussy again.

“It’s been a long time for me, okay?” You whisper, he exhales now.

“No one will touch you again when I’m done, yeah? No one.” You nod weakly, Satoru smiles now. “Good, you’re so good f’me.”

Satoru’s got you in his penthouse so quickly you’re disoriented, and as soon as the door is closed behind you, he grabs you, slams you against the wall, and kisses you again, hard and desperate. His hands slips down to your ass, squeezing it roughly in his big palms, long fingers pressing in as he takes over everything, making you moan into his mouth.

You can feel his cock pressing against your tummy now, thick and insistent, on your tummy, half put up, his pants unzipped, and you can’t help but arch into him, rubbing against him, tip toeing to get close. He’s so rough with you, so demanding, and it’s making you wetter, making your body respond in ways it never has before, it’s insane what he’s doing to you.

He shoves a hand back up your dress, twisting your panties to the side again, rubbing in teasing circles, as tears fall out of your eyes, looking at them and moaning. “You’re crying?”

You manage a sniffle, fuck you looks so perfect like this, in tears for him, it only makes Satoru’s cock spurt more precum, so hard it hurts, he can’t wait to bury it so deep in you, he’s picturing it as he slides his fingers into your soaked cunt. You moan loudly, you’re tiny hands clinging to him, leg around his hip, letting his fingers fuck you deeper.

“Hear it? You’re so loud, so messy, huh?” He’s whispering, all you can do is nod, pupils so blown out your eyes are dark. “Look at you, fucked out from my fingers? That won’t do, baby.”

You barely register his fingers sliding out of your pussy again, you whine at the emptiness, but then he’s on his knees, shoving your dress up over your hips, yanking your panties off you. He’s throwing one of your legs over his shoulders, bright blue eyes staring up under his snowy lashes, you’re clinging to his hair, chest rising and falling as he places a kiss on your pussy.

“You were so good, I’ll treat you so good, hmm? Make you feel s’good?” You just nod, earning a smack on your pussy, making you gasp. “What do we say, little slut?”

“Please.” Satoru Gojo then his face buried between your legs, his tongue sliding along your slit, tasting your arousal that starts pouring down his mouth. You gasp as he nibbles on your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

He’s eating you out like he’s starved, slutty moans from both of your throats, your head slamming against the wall. His stupidly long tongue is moving in circles around your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you can’t believe how good it feels. You’ve never been with a man who’s so hungry for you, who devours you like this, his fingers making your squelching wetness even louder.

Your hands entangle in those silky white locks as he fingers and licks like he’s always known how to, but it comes so natural, flicking his tongue against your little twitchy clit over and over. Your cunt is so wet his fingers slip, before shoving back in, pressing your spongy spot inside your little hole, all while you’re a pathetic mess, sniffling and hiccuping.

He can’t wait to make you stupid for him, beyond this, beyond anything, can’t wait to own you, possess you in every fucking way. As he sucks your tiny clit in his hungry mouth, he moans against it, looking up and watching you shatter for him. You’re so close to cumming, you can feel it building.

“Gonna cum, please, please-” You whine out, gasping, thighs shaking as you’re too weak to stand, but then he stops, leaving you gasping for breath, your body on the edge, pulsating all over through every vein..

“Beg for it.” He orders, sadistic smirk on a face half soaked with you, as he licks his lower lip, glossy.

“Please, Satoru, please make me cum.” You whisper, your voice shaking, and he groans, shocking you when he yanks you down, you slam onto the ground wincing and gasping as you hit the floor, and he starts palming at your dress, until he’s ripped it completely off you. “Satoru!? What!?”

Your dress is in pieces now, much to his pleasure, all you have now is what’s left of it under you, and you’re naked aside from heels and a bra. “You’ll never wear that fucking dress again, got me? Showing off what’s mine when I wasn’t even with you? Do you hear me?”

You nod then, you should be terrified, but fuck you want him too much, as he shoves your thighs up high, then dives back in, his tongue swirling around your clit, his teeth grazing it again as he bites it. You scream out at the pain, he shoves those fingers back in, three this time.

“Too much, too much!” You’re sobbing out, and he laughs now.

“No baby, your slutty pussy can take it, huh? Lemme hear you scream my name.” He shoves his fingers in so deep and his tongue is drinking you as your orgasm hits you, your body convulsing against his mouth, your juices flowing onto his face, everywhere.

You can hear him, lapping you up, drinking every bit, all while the best orgasm of your existence makes you blind, you’re floating, the only thing that tethers you is when he looks down at you, fingers still buried. He slams his lips back on yours, you taste your pussy on his lips, whimpering and clinging to him desperately, bare as he’s fully dressed.

“You’re made for me, only me to taste, just me.” You just nod, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t talk baby?”

“You, jus’ you… Toru…” He’s picked you up to stand, before he’s pulling you up against him, holding your naked frame against him, carrying you to your bed now, lips not coming up for air until he’s tossed you on your bed.

“Bra off, now.” He orders, you do as he says, tossing it and then peeking at the camera you know is there, smiling before you look back at him. He’s glaring, unbuttoning his dress shirt now. “Looking at something?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you record? Will you stroke yourself to this later?” He slips off his shirt, leaving you speechless until he’s laying on top of you again, eyeing your perfect tits and little smile.

“You knew?” You tilt your head now, leaning up on your elbows, a hand stroking his cheek.

“Did you like how I played with my pussy in front of it? How I moaned your name?” Satoru’s ended now, scowling at you.

“You liked it, being watched? By me?” You nod again, swallowing as he slides off his pants, yanking off your heels, kissing along the tops of your feet before lapping at your ankles. “You did it knowing?”

“You wouldn’t come to me.”

Satoru’s eyes are on you, you’re his entire world now, his obsession, his fixation. He’s going to claim you, fuck you until you forget every other man who ever existed. He’s going to ruin you, and you’re going to love it, he can already tell when his cock is hot and heavy against your inner thigh, when your hips are rolling up, and you’re dripping down the bed.

“You get off on it, me being fucking obsessed, huh?” You nod weakly, and Satoru has your thighs spread and pressed up, his tip drooling precum against your aching hole. “Then let me be clear, you'll never see or date anyone again, got it?”

Satoru grins sadistically as you weakly nod, whispering a- “Yes, Satoru.” He moans then, filling your tight hole in one stroke of his huge cock, stuffing you so full you scream out, pussy gripping him like a vise, drooling down his veiny cock to his balls, pooling under you both as his own eyes roll back.

“Feel her, made f’me, just me? Mine, mine, mine.” He’s whispering it like some insane mantra as he begins to move, fucking into your soppy cunt over and over, you’re pulsing and fluttering around him as he pounds your cunt, nasty words spilling from his pouty lips. “My little slut, hmm? Mine.”

“Ngh…” Is all you manage, when he slams your cervix with his drooly tip, leaning up to grip the headboard and pressing a thigh higher, railing your cunt so much it hurts, but you’re dying, drool pooling out of the side of your lips, eyes fluttering, trying to stay open.

“That’s it, oh look at you, fucked stupid already? I’m just starting with you, baby, gonna fuck your pretty mind up till it’s all me.” He leans down, rolling his hips and grinning with his eyes lit up, so dark they look black for just a moment. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, can’t help yourself huh?”

You do then, you’re cumming all over him, muscles contracting around his cock so hard she tries to push him out with the force, so much wetness dripping it’s streaming across his cock, earning his breathy moan. He’s fucking you through your orgasm, your thighs shaking, you are stupid, you can’t form one thought in your pathetic brain as your orgasm waves over your body.

“Aw, fucked dumb? Poor stupid baby. I’ll keep fucking all those thoughts out of your head, hmm? Till it’s just me.”

“Satoru… jus’ you… s’good I…” You can’t talk anymore, not when his cock’s strokes are hitting just right, not when his tip drags against your gspot before bruising your cervix. You’re clinging to him, nails pressing into his strong back, as pulls back, watching your tummy bulge.

“Fucking up your guts, fucking up your brain. S’all me, huh?” You can’t answer, you’re too fucked out, but his slap brings you too, he smacks both cheeks, gripping your thighs brutal, leaving bruises. “Focus, baby, focus.”

“S’all you…” You answer, you’re so obedient, you’re so good for him.

“You’re such a good girl, perfect pussy, perfect body. Perfect face. Haunting my every fucking thought, torturing me.” He shoves your thighs high, pressing them against your breasts, folding you in half and bottoming out, you scream at it, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you’re stretched and filled so much. “You’re so good you deserve all my cum, all these babies in you.”

You can’t register concern, he’s pounding you while gripping your face so tightly, you feel so tiny as he works his long, muscular body, as he breaks your body and mind with his cock, slamming harder and harder. You hear the sounds of it, the smack smack smack of his skin, as his balls slap your asshole, covered in slick from your cunt that’s drooling down his length.

“That’s it, milk my cock, so fuckin good, you want it, me to fill you, make you drip me for days.” You just weakly cry out, sniffling, tears pouring down your cheeks. “So beautiful like this, crying f’me? Oh baby, you’re perfect like this.”

Satoru loves your tears, your trembling lips, as you grip him so good, he feels it, you’re going to cum again, eager pussy sucking him in loudly, as he fucks you so hard the headboard slams the wall, you’re barely hanging on, sobbing and mumbling. You’re so fucked out it’s cute, opening and closing your mouth, unable to speak.

“It’s all me in there, yeah? Gonna be all me, gonna fill you so good, baby just wait, f-fuck!” Satoru slows then, pumping your cunt full, hot gooey cum sticking to your walls and making you cum right with him as he fucks it further, deeper.

“Satoru!” You’re mumbling his name, gasping for breath as he fills you, all of you, so hot and deep, until he finally lowers your legs, laughing softly.

“Oh I’m gonna have so much fun with you, you’re never leaving me, are you? Aw, can’t talk baby?”

He’s got you flipped on your trembling knees next, burying his face in your pussy, cleaning all his cum out and groaning. “Too much, too much!”

“Taste us together, fuck. Made for me, just me.” He’s on top of you next, prone over you, fucking out his first load and prepping you for another, all while he’s choking your neck squeezing so hard you almost faint. He’s whispering in your ear, breath tickling, hands over your sensitive skin. “Love it, hands around this neck, beg me to cum in you, fill you.”

“P-please… please fill me- ah!” You’re fading as he chokes you harder, spitting and drooling in your mouth, cock wrecking you as he fills you again, his sweat dripping from his skin as he works you. He groans then, hand pressing on your tummy.

“So full of me, but you need more, need no question in your pretty head who you belong to.”

After another load you’re weak, and he’s still going. When you finally wake in the morning, after several loads pumped in your pussy, you’re a mess, wobbling weakly as you step out of your room, thinking of facing him. Would things be different now, was it all passion, in the moment? Was it just sex? Was it more…

You smell something sweet then, inhaling as you slip on one of his dress shirts, you’d gone from fucking in your room to the bathroom, all the way to his room. At some point he had you bent over the couch, at another he had you pressed against the shower wall. It’s like little fragments, your pussy is aching, your experience has never prepared you for his size or stamina.

But you feel deliciously fucked out.

You catch his eye then, he looks at you, exhaling at how beautiful you are, your eyes are a little puffy from crying, you have bruises and marks littering your neck, you’re wearing his expensive dress shirt and nothing else. He feels himself hard just looking at you like this, remembering all the cum he’d pumped you full, wondering if it was still dripping out?

“Good morning, sweets. Get some shut eye?” He teases, winking at you as he flips his spatula, finishing the stack of pancakes he’s made.

“You cook, Satoru?” You ask, throat hoarse from your moans, from slobbering all over his cock and having him choke you. You clear it nervously, earning his smirk.

“Cute.” He murmurs, pulling out a chair for you. “Of course I cook, I just enjoy you cooking for me, so sexy watching you, barefoot in the kitchen you know.”

“That sounds so…”

“Sit down, you need that energy baby. Last night I know I took it easy…’

“What!?” You blink then, sitting as he plates your breakfast, wincing at how sore your entire body is.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, look at my girl.” The words ruin you, when he leans down, cupping your face and his thumb brushes along your jaw. “Covered in bruises.”

“I am?” You look down and see your thighs, your chest, in hickeys and bruises, red and purple all over. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry you’re not going anywhere today anyway. You should take a break from work, you know.” He chuckles and kisses you. “Fuck I’ve waited so long for you, for you to be mine.”

You are kissed by him then, you eagerly meet his lips, before he pulls back, taking a breath. You frown when you see your phone is over by his coffee. “Is that my phone?”

“Oh, mmhmm. Needed to block any guys, you know, also that period tracker said you’re ovulating today.” You blink again as you sip the orange juice he gives you, nearly choking on it, his blue eyes have gotten even brighter, his grin huge as he watches your expressions.

“Satoru…”

“I threw out your birth control, cancelled your prescription.”

“Satoru!”

“What baby?” He sits you up on the table, between your thighs, your body violently reacts when he grabs you under your chin, his other hand slipping down your breasts. “I know, I should have breakfast first, is that what you want?”

“I… you…”

“Gonna look so fucking sexy full of me.” He lifts your thighs, sliding up the shirt you wear as he sits right on the seat, sliding it up to get a full view of your abused, puffy cunt. “Oooh, fucked her up. Do you hurt, baby?”

“Y-yes… I- ah!” Satoru’s lapped at your pussy now, from your hole to your clit, chuckling as he pulled the lips apart. “T-Toru…”

“Look at her, she’s ready for more, she’s so greedy.” He’s buried his face against you again, and you’re cumming so quickly, he laughs at it. “So easy, too. Ah we’re gonna fill her up more, don’t worry, gotta knock you the fuck up.”

You’re going to protest then, this is insane, he’s crazy, but when you’re getting bent over the kitchen table and fucked again, you soon forget your protests, as Satoru grips your tits and pinches your sensitive nipples, pounding your hole, all you can do is cry out and arch your back. Satoru smiles against your neck as you fall apart, as he pictures breeding you.

He’s got you right where he wants.

And you both know you’re never leaving.

Ahahah this was INSANE, none of this is cool unless it's Gojo, stay safe out here lol. Hope you all enjoyed! (yes all my stories are Arctic Monkeys or Chase Atlantic lyrics loll)

Taglist: @silvarys @strychnynegirl @indiewritesxoxo @alygator77 @moonlitwitchdaisy @cuntphoric @aldebrana @levislug @haruhatake @ninikrumbs @xixflower @star2112 @nanasukii28 @sukuxna0 @naammiii @uhnosav @victoria1676 @thequeenofcurses @targaryenluvs @jinjen @yesdere @shokosmokes @aishi-toru @labelt-san @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @seeing-stars-alt @bunheadusa @alt--er--love @1satoruu @thikcems @plimplimmeiododoi @watermelonslut

#yandere gojo #gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk gojo #yandere jjk #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #yandere satoru x reader

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whatsverstappeningnow · 1 month ago

Text

how f1 drivers react

to girlfriend!reader wearing a necklace with their race number on it (some slightly suggestive lines included) (requested)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

max verstappen

The sun shines in through the kitchen window in golden strings of light. It's a quiet day at home, with no plans till the afternoon and no need to hurry there. Still, you've already dressed yourself in a new summer dress you've bought. The material flows down over your hips, swishing as you turn in the mirror and then as you walk from your bedroom to the living room to show Max your chosen outfit. But you dress isn't the only new item you're wearing.

You'd bought it secretly. A suprise. One you hoped he'd love.

Max spots the necklace right away, his gaze flicking from your eyes, to the dress and then landing on it with a sudden, knowing smirk curling at his mouth. From where's he's sat on the couch, he leans in just a little, elbows on his knees and head resting on his upturned hand. His voice low and teasing as he speaks.

“Well, well, look at you,” he says, voice thick with amusement and something a bit more dangerous.

"You like my new dress?" You ask, giving him a quick spin, hands in the air for a moment and then settling on your waist. His gaze lingers over you with careful precision.

"Not the only new thing you've got on," he muses, tilting his head to the side slightly, "Where'd you get that?"

"Ordered it," you say simply, as if it were nothing at all, as you readjust the necklace chain.

“Careful, schat. Trying to make sure no one forgets who you belong to, huh?”

He stands, slowly, holding your gaze. He stalks towards you, one hand reaching out to hold your waist, the other fingering the chain of the necklace, his eyes lingering on the number and then dragging up to meet your gaze.

You catch the challenge in his eyes and flash him a grin in return. “Maybe I just like the idea of having you close, all the time.”

The teasing in his expression softens in an instant. His fingers gently brush the pendant as he looks at you, eyes warm and serious now.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice softer, “I like the sound of that.”

He pulls you into a quick kiss, no dramatics, just the softnes of quiet love, then he lets his forehead rest against yours.

“You don't know what you do to me,” he whispers into the small space between the two of you, his eyes resting closed like he's still processing the necklace and the dress. It's barely any distsnce at all, yet it feels like a mile. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

"I think I've got some idea." You smile. He does too.

lando norris

He notices it while you’re lying beside each other on the couch, limbs tangled up together in a familar way, and watching some random movie you're only half paying attention to. It's background noise more than anything. You couldn't care less though, just being with Lando was enough to make you relax.

It's about halfway through the movie, with some museum scene plays across the screen, when he notices the new shiny necklace hanging around your neck.

“Wait—hang on. Is that… is that my number?” His voice, though scratchy and slow from tiredness, goes up slightly as he speaks. The little queaks of excitement in his words make you smile.

You can only nod, biting back a smile, desperate to see his reaction. You'd bought the necklace on a whim a few nights ago and were lucy it had arrived while Lando wasn't home. The fun was the suprise of it, after all.

He stretches forward for the remote, sat on the coffee table infront of you two, and pauses the movie dramatically.

“You love me.”

You blink, a small laugh bubbling in your chest at his sudden and sombre declaration.

“I mean, yeah, obviously—”

“No, no. This is serious,” he says, grinning from ear to ear like an madman, all teeth and dimples. “You got a number four on your chest. That’s, like, actual dedication.”

You raise a brow, amused. “It’s just a necklace.”

“Just a—?” He gasps, scandalised, hand to his chest and all, like you’ve personally offended him. “That’s my number. You realise what you’ve done, right? You’re basically branded now.”

“Branded?”

He nods solemnly, though his eyes are still sparkling with excitement. “Yup. You wear that out and people are gonna know. Like, know know. I won’t even have to introduce you anymore. They’ll see it and go, ‘Ah, that’s Lando’s girl.’”

You can't help but laugh now, full bellied and joyful, and he grins wider as he hears it, if that’s even possible.

He tackles you into the cushions, kissing your neck with soft pecks. “Next step: matching tattoos. Just saying.”

"Lando!" you cry out with a huff of amusement, knowing he's entirely joking.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding..." His quiet for a moment, then looks up at you again with a cheeky grin. "Unless..."

"Lando, no. If you want everyone to know you’re mine, I have a few other ways in mind..." Your hand reaches out to his collarbone, then traces soft lines up to his neck and jawline. Your touch is hot and familiar, slow and intentional. You can see him swallow hard as you do it.

"Oh, yeah? Maybe you could show me them. Just to make sure we're on the same page, love."

oscar piastri

Coffee dates with Oscar are a constant in your life. There's a small shop around the corner from his place that you love to visit on quiet, sunny days. When the sun rose that morning, seemingly shinning brighter than normal, and with a particually joyful sparkle, you knew it was a coffee date day.

It was the perfect time to show Oscar your new piece of jewellery.

He notices the necklace while you’re talking, halfway through a sip of his coffee, eyes slipping from your gaze to the number hanging around you neck. The unexpected, but not undesired, sight causes him to do a double take.

“Wait…” he leans in, interupting your sentence, though you don't mind. You only smile softly as he squints slightly, slowly taking in the sight infront of him, then blinks up at you with slight disbelief. “Is that... 81. My number?”

You nod just once, a little shy, and pick up the charm that dangle from the end of the chain, holding it closer for him to see. He leans in to meet you halfway. But before you can say anything else, a deep blush spreads across his face. He cheeks go an adorable shade of pink as you watch the cogs turn in his brain.

His mouth opens like he has a joke ready, but nothing comes out except a breathy little laugh.

“That’s… kinda cute,” he mutters, eyes still fixed on it like he’s really trying to quickly process all the implications of you going outside wearing his number so casually. “But, like, uh, cool cute. Really cool.” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

When you smile and say it’s because you like having him close all the time, he looks down, shaking his head with a small, dimply smile. The blush on his cheeks remains, though he looks less caught off guard than before.

“You’re gonna make me soft,” he murmurs, his hands reaching out to hold yours across the table. Then under his breath, he adds, “Will you wear it to the race next week? Please. Even just under your jumper.”

You agree, of course. You hadn't bought the necklace to hide it away, and you tell him as much. Your words just make him smile and pull you hand closer towards him to plant a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Then it's your turn to blush, squeezing his hand with a smile.

And when you do wear it the next week, proudly walking into the paddock hand in had with Oscar, his smile is brighter than any coffee date day sun has ever been.

carlos sainz

Carlos, the gentleman that he is, loved to plan spontaneous dates. One more occasions than one, what you thought was going to be a quiet night at home had turned into the romantic night out. Candles on resturant tables, hands holding your and taking out the chair for you, the whole deal. Which was how you once again found yourself picking out a fancy outfit, wit no idea which resterant you were going to.

It was sweet of him, though you did wish you had a little more to go on than just wear something pretty, not so hard you you, yes? to go off of while trying to pick your outfit. Settling on an old favourite outfit, you slipped into it with ease, only calling Carlos in when you realised you needed help zipping up the back. Upon hearing his name, he pattered into the room obediently, already dressed in his dress shirt and pants, look perfectly put together.

"Gorgeous, cariño," he whispered into your ear after doing as you asked, "Anything else you need, my love?"

With a barely concelled smirk, you went over to your jewellery box and pulled out your new necklace.

"Help me put this on?" you asked innocently, walking over to him, placing it delicately in his hand and turning around, patiently awaiting his reaction.

“¿Qué es esto?” he asks, his voice light and breathy.

You smile, though it's more of a smirk than anything, but don't turn around. “A little something I got, it's new.”

“Number fifty five?” he says, fingertips ghosting along the back of your neck as he put it on for you, then settling his touch onto your hips to admire your outfit in the mirrors reflection, his head resting on your shoulder. “Dios mío, I’ve turned you into a fangirl, hm?”

“I've always been a fan.”

His brows lift, amused and smug, head tilted slightly to the side. “Of me? Or just the accent?

“Mostly the arms,” you quip, resting your hands ontop of his.

He laughs, pulling you closer and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “That’s permanent, right? Not just for today? Because I kind of love seeing my number right there.”

“So everyone will know I'm yours?” you joke, voice light.

He kisses your temple, voice low. “Sí. I like it that way. I'm yours. And you're mine.”

alex albon

He’s on his way out the door, backpack on and car keys in hand, when he finally notices it hanging from your neck.

You had it on all day and waited patiently at breakfast, then on your walk together, then through lunch, and then while he was getting ready to leave your apartment. for him to notice, but he simply hadn’t. The whole day. That was, until now.

You we're glad he finally had, you would have hated to have spoiled the fun and justed showed it to him yourself after going through all the trouble of buying it secretly and hiding in in the back of your pjamama drawer.

Oh, well. At least he had spotted it before leaving, now the fun could begin.

His mouth drops open into the perfect little ‘o’ shape as he stares at the little shinny 23 hanging down from around your neck. His eyes are glued to the necklace, one outstretched finger pointing at it.

“Wait, what is that?”

You smile, and wave your hands around it with fluttering fingers. “A new necklace. Nice, right?”

He squints, then closes the front door softly and steps closer to you. “Is that my number?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You smirk, and tilt your head slightly to the side, trying to hold in your laugh at the stunned, suprised look on his face.

He dramatically clutches his chest, standing right in front of you now. “Too late. You’ve turned me into a puddle. I've melted.”

Then he leans in, eyes glowing with mischief as his hands reach out to grab your upper arms. “Just promise me one thing. Please?”

His voice drips with glee.

“What?”

“If someone, some guy, ever comes up to you in public... ask for your number or something, you better point to that necklace, and then say my name. Clearly. Loudly. Alex. Alex Albon. 23. Got it? Yeah?”

You roll your eyes, laughing at his bright smile. “You’re unbelievable."

“Unbelievably lovable, yes. Hence you having my number arounf your neck.”

You could only laugh harder at his smug expression and mock dramatic tone. After pressing a soft kiss to his lips, you reply, "You're so stupid. Truly.”

"Stupidly in love with you? Definitely."

"You're lucky I love you too."

"Luckiest guy in the world, I know."

charles leclerc

You'd been wearing it for a few days already, under jumpers and high necked shirts. it felt like a little secret, a constant reminder that Charles was with you even when we wasn't actually next to you. You weren't exactly keeping it a secret, per say, but you hadn't yet put it on display.

He notices it at the most random time, while you’re brushing your teeth, hair up, wearing one of his old shirts. The collor of the shirt, well-worn and stretch, dipped over your collarbone and revealling the shiny little necklace you were wearing under neither..

He squints, rubbing his eye from tiredness, or maybe slight disbelief. “Sixteen?”

You nod around a mouthful of toothpaste, toothbrush sticking out one side of your mouth, the edge of your lips curling up into a small smirk.

“Mon dieu,” he mutters, half teasing, half stunned, coming to stand behind you and wrapping his arms around possessively around your waist. He rests his weight onto you, curling into your warmth. “You’re more sentimental than me.”

You spit, rinse, and smile, Charles never moving from his place behind you. It's a purely domestic scene, a moment that reminds you how comfortbale you exist in eachother's orbit. “I wanted something cute to remind me of you. Something to keep with me when your away.”

He watches you through the mirror, soft eyes watching you move with a tired ease, hands pressing comforting circles into your hips. A constant warm presence. “You should have told me, I would loved to buy it for you. You deserve many pretty things, chérie.”

You lean back into him, letting his body mold to yours. You fit perfectly into eachothers embrace.

“I didn’t need you to buy it,” you murmur, reaching down to toy with the charm. “It felt more special this way. Like it was mine to choose.”

He hums into the crook of your neck, nose brushing softly against your skin. “Still,” he says, voice low and a little hoarse from sleep, “I would’ve added matching earrings. A whole Charles Leclerc collection.”

You snort, turning around to look him in the eyes, hands reaching out to hold his face between your palms. “I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

His expression shifts, tender and quietly overcome. He presses a slow kiss to your lips, then you forehead, and pulls you against him. “You have me. Even when I’m not here. Especially then.”

There’s a pause. A quiet that isn’t awkward or heavy, just full of feeling. He looks down at the necklace again, then back at you with a soft smile, one you only ever see when he's looking at you.

Charles sighs, breath warm and ticklish against your skin. “Sixteen looks good on you,” he says eventually. And those simple words hold within them a hundred different meanings you can't wait to dream about all night.

"I'll have to wear it more often, then," you say simply, and the words make him smile even wider.

lewis hamilton

You and Lewis had gotten to the truly domestic era of your relationship. You had keys to each other’s apartments, and you knew you could let yourselves into each other's spaces. So when Lewis texted you, saying he had work to do at home, but you were welcome to come and sit with him while he did it, exist in his orbit for the afternoon, you were soon letting yourself in his front door. Any chance to spend time with Lewis was an opportunity you took, escpeccialy given his busy schedule.

Lewis notices it the second you walk in, even if you don’t realise he’s looking. He’s lounging on the sofa with his laptop resting on his lap, reading something, probably reviewing data notes or one of the endless supply of emails he recieved, but the moment his eyes flick up and land on your necklace, all his focus slips away from him.

He closes the laptop slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, subtle and calm. The kind of smile that makes your chest ache with warmth and familiarity. Lewis' smiles had a way of making you feel whole.

“That’s for me?” he asks gently, nodding toward your necklace. His voice is quiet, curious. His gaze lingers on the number, just visible beneath the open collar of your shirt.

You glance down, fingers brushing over it self-consciously. “I thought it suited me,” you say, only half teasing.

He stands, putting the laptop on the coffee table infront of him, and crosses the room with unhurried ease.

One hand comes up to cradle the charm between his fingers, his thumb gliding over the number as though memorising it by touch.

“It suits you better than me,” he murmurs, a hint of joking in his tone, eyes lifting to yours. "I’m flattered.”

"Flattered?" you said, giggling slightly at his word choice.

"Well, yeah. A pretty girl is wearing my number, how else should I feel?" He lets the necklace fall back against your skin, then adds with a little smirk, “Might need to get something with your initials now. Y’know, to keep things balanced.”

You smirk, letting your hand rest on his chest. “What, like a bracelet? Property of...”

“Necklace. Tattoo. Your name embroidered on my socks... I’m not picky.” He shrugs and sighs dramatically, clearly enthralled by his own joke.

You lean into his embrace, shaking your head as he pulls you into a sweet kiss, his arms wrapping around you with familiar ease and comfort.

“You’re such a sap,” you murmured into his hoodie, resting your head on his chest as you speak.

“And you’re mine,” he said, grinning down at you, hand lingering on your lower back. “So I think we’re even.”

george russell

It’s a lazy Sunday morning spent at your usual breakfast spot. Just off a main road, the quiet atmosphere was the perfect place to unwind and relax on a slow morning. You were dressed casually, sunglasses pushed up on your head for look more than necessity, and your new favorite necklace catching the light and resting around your neck. The necklace, more than anything, you hoped he’d notice.

You slide into the booth across from him, pressing a kiss to his cheek first before sitting down, dropping your bag and stretching your arms out in front of you with a sleepy smile. You hadn't arrived together, George having to go to an extra early meeting and you prefering to sleep in on such a gorgeous morning. But it made it the perfect time to show off the new addition to your jewellery collection.

George doesn’t say anything at first, but you watch as his eyes widen slightly as he spots it. Instead of immediately reacting, he takes a slow moment to sip his coffee, watching you with that knowing look that makes your stomach flip.

Then, with a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, he tilts his head and says, “You’re really trying to make this obvious, huh?”

You glance across at him, shrugging and feigning confusion. “I don't know what you mean.”

He gestures toward your necklace with his half-finished coffee. “The whole ‘I’m madly in love with a certain F1 driver’ energy you’ve got going on with that necklace.”

You laugh, resting your chin on your upturned hand. “Maybe I just thought it looked cute. Favourite number. Totally nothing to do with you, sorry.”

“Mm,” he hums, matching your posture with his head on his own hand and leaning towards you slightly with a growing grin. “Or maybe you just wanted the world to know you’re taken.”

“Think it's working?”

“Oh, definitely,” he says, eyes gleaming and a light edge colouring his words. “But now I’m going to have to step up my game. Watch out. I might start wearing your initials. Embroidered. Everywhere. Just to make sure everyone knows I'm definitely off the market.”

You snort at his dramatics, but match his teasing tone. “George Russell, turning up to the paddock with my name monogrammed onto his fireproofs? Oh, the scandal!”

He grins, and laughs as he leans back in his chair. “You think I won’t?”

You roll your eyes and sigh, but you’re blushing now, and he can see it. He reaches across the table to tap your necklace gently with one finger and intertwined your hands with the other.

“It looks good on you,” he says, voice quieter now, sincere, like it’s a secret he doesn't want the rest of the room to hear. “I like knowing you carry a little piece of me around with you.”

Your smile softens, the moment suddenly feeling much softer than before. “I always do. Not just the necklace.”

He grins, like he’s won something more important than a race. “Still getting the monogrammed suit, though.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“A menace in love,” he says proudly, then flags down the waiter like nothing's happened.

taglist: @verogonewild

(comment if you would like to be added!)

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hearts4hughes · 3 months ago

Text

RAFECHELLA | RAFE X FEM!READER

note: i’m super jealous of anyone who got to go to coachella. my outfits would go so hard 😓

more like this…

rafe hated coachella. he hated the music festivals, the skimpy outfits, the pure spectacle of a clear money grab.

but you? oh, you loved it.

you asked him if he wanted to go with you. it’d be two weeks in palm desert, spending time together, and partying on the weekends. of course, he politely declined, pressing a button on his phone and wiring you all the money you could need.

but now he knew he fucked up.

he clenched his phone so tightly that it creaked in his hand. the screen illuminated your instagram post: a photo of you wearing next to nothing with some douchebag male influencer next to you. his hand grazed the bare skin of your hip, not obnoxiously, but enough to have rafe dialing your number within two seconds.

it rang two times too many before you answered.

“hi, baby! i miss you so much!” you squealed, barely taking a breath before rambling on. “oh my gosh, it’s so hot out here. i mean i was in a bikini and i was practically having a heat stroke.”

“baby-”

“wait one sec, i have to tell you about charli xcx’s set,” you screeched into the phone. “it’s tonight and i’m praying that she brings out billie eilish or lorde-”

“that’s nice, hun, but-”

“and then julia forgot her shoes at her house and we had to go out and buy a new pair, and-”

“y/n.” rafe snapped, his voice stern and demanding. you stopped blabbering with a furrow of your brows. “who the fuck was next to you in your instagram photo?”

“that was just julia, sarah, and lexi… why?”

he scoffed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. he was losing his patience. “i’m talking about that fucking douche-lookin’ male model that had his hands all over you.”

“oh, you mean mark? yeah, he’s super nice. he’s some influencer that is being sponsored to be here. i only posted the picture because i looked hot.” you said so casually that it made his jaw clench.

“why do you know his name? why does he know your name? why are you even speaking to men? scratch that, why are you even in a ten-yard vicinity as other men?” is what he wanted to say.

instead, he hummed. “yeah, mark, that’s who i meant.”

he thought of twenty ways he could kill mark—half painful, the other half excruciatingly painful.

you thought nothing of it though, continuing to yap about everything under the california sun. rafe sat on the other end of the phone, head in his hands, muscles taut. he crossed the room to his computer with a dangerous stride.

it looked like he was going to coachella after all.

the desert sun was merciless, but you barely noticed it. your body moved to the bass pounding through the speakers, hands in the air, hair a mess of waves and glitter, skin warm and glowing. you were in your own little world; sweaty, tipsy, high on adrenaline, and overpriced festival cocktails.

coachella was somehow even more unhinged than the day before. influencers everywhere. lights flashing. girls in metallic bikinis and guys in fishnets for no reason. and you? you were dancing in the middle of it, laughing with your friends, practically vibrating with the energy of it all.

and then it hit you.

that prickly feeling at the back of your neck.

like someone was watching you. no… staring.

you turned instinctively, and there he was.

rafe.

dressed in all black, looking like a threat, jaw flexing, sunglasses low on his nose. his eyes locked on yours like a heat-seeking missile. he didn’t move right away. just stood there, watching. as if he couldn’t believe his eyes; as if he wanted to scream.

you blinked and he started walking.

not fast but not slow, just determined. people moved out of his way like they could feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

and then he was in front of you. no words. no warning.

his hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying over the bare skin above your skirt. he pulled you back into his chest like it was nothing.

you gasped, breath catching. your head tilted back automatically, lips parting in surprise.

he leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear. his voice was low. dangerous. like a threat and a promise all wrapped into one.

“you’re lucky i like that little outfit,” he whispered, every word laced with heat. “but if another guy even thinks about touching you, i swear to god i’ll put him in the fucking hospital.”

your thighs clenched, your pulse spiked, and all you could do was smile.

#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #coachella #coachella 2025 #rafechella2025

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lambilegs · 2 months ago

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contains: nsft content (minors + ageless blogs dni), modern!au, "daddy" used as a title, reader receiving strap on + fingering from sevika, breeding kink, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, sevika teasing reader for being tight, reader's body is referred to with the terms: "pussy," "clit," "tits," kinda semi-public idk

best friend's older sister!sevika who you need to sneak around with because it's that hard to find a minute alone with her during your friend group's sleepover.

your friends are at your side every minute of the day, all of you sprawled together on the couches through the afternoon, then later helping each other get ready to head to the club. you don't even get a split second to show sevika how you look, for as soon as your outfit is patted in place by your friends, your uber is here and all of you are rushing out.

by the time you all return to your best friend's house, giggling and stumbling through the door, sevika is seated on the couch, typing away on her laptop. as you all pass the living room to head up the stairs, the two of you lock eyes, your stomach twisting and turning with excitement as her eyes scan over your body, her jaw clenching in what you can only hope is desire.

as all of your friends take turns hopping in and out of the shower, you jerk up from where you're lying down on the floor when your phone rings with a notification. the words immediately have your entire body prickling with anticipation, feeling as though the simple sentences have set you aflame.

When it's your turn to shower, text me. I'll meet you in the bathroom.

a painfully, agonizingly long forty minutes later, you carefully push the door open to the bathroom, gulping hard when you find sevika there, already topless and in a pair of basketball shorts. you've seen her in this state before, of course you have, but still, it makes your chest throb in a multitude of ways. both for the eagerness from knowing what's to come, and the domesticity of seeing her like this, casually half-nude and waiting for you in the bathroom. if you let yourself soften the moment with a tinge of daydreaming, you can almost picture how blissful it'd be years from now, doing your skincare routine as she lingers nearby, leaning on the wall and talking to you.

those tender ideas blur away when she faces you, your eyes immediately skipping down to the thick line of hair starting at her stomach and fluttering wider at the centre of her hips. you feel hungry for it, wanting to feel that bush of hair rub against yours as the two of you claw at each other for more touch, more words, more moans. more, more, more. you don't think you'll ever get enough of her.

and just an inch or two lower, and god, there's a bulge.

she leans against the counter, crossing her arms and a subtle smirk. "something caught your eye?"

her voice is low and quiet amidst the blaring fan in the bathroom, the cool touch of which sends goosebumps popping along your sweat-soaked back.

"I should be asking you that," you drawl, sauntering over to her to wrap your arms around her neck. "you're the one who asked me to meet here, remember?"

she wraps her arms around your waist, her rough hand sliding up your top as she pulls your body against the hard planes of hers. the scent of the coconut oil seeping through her hair infuses your nose, and you breathe it in deeply as her nose brushes against yours. "I do remember. but, do you want a verbal answer for that? or can I show you?"

with every article of clothing she peels off you, your skin is met with hot, wet kisses, her tongue lapping the sweat coating it and making your body arch in pleasure. when she tugs your top off, her hands are immediately groping your tits, mouth sucking eagerly on your nipples. she devours your body like a woman starved, soft, pink tongue swiping at the stiffened nubs and making you close your thighs together in sensitivity. it only worsens when she playfully skims the line of her teeth along them, her grey eyes carefully locked on your face, which heats up in response, knowing you must look incredibly glossed over and aroused right now. especially once your noises start joining the mix, a choked out gasp wrenching out of your throat when she takes turn sucking harshly on them, her mouth so rough that your chest keeps pumping out in her direction.

your hand flies to your mouth when a sharp knock is pounded against the door, your name loudly called. "bro, hurry up, I still reek of alcohol."

"s-sorry," you stutter out, nails digging into sevika's shoulders when her large hands cup your ass, fingers digging into the plush of it as she walks backwards in the direction of the shower.

after rubbing your aching pussy and spending a few minutes with two fingers plunging in and out of your hole, she has you cornered in the shower, the steam coating both your bodies in delicious, moist heat. her large chest is lodged right up against yours, her hand kneading at the back of your thigh as she coaxes you to lift one foot up on the ledge. an act with only gets her purple strap hitting even deeper in you, her sharp, measured thrusts making your eyes roll back.

as per usual, she's relentless, keeping you pinned to the wall as her hips snap against yours, creating wet-sounding smacks that only add to your arousal. in the heated, wet cube of the shower, you feel utterly surrounded by her, the two of your bodies intertwining as one as she fucks you hard and fast, the thick length of her drilling into you with such strength that it causes your back to keep sliding up and down the slippery tiles of the wall.

"you'd have thought that I would've loosened you up by now," she mutters against your jaw, her words barely audible from the rain of the shower. "but, no, just as tight as when I first fucked this pussy."

you moan loudly, eyes fluttering shut as your neck arches up. "god-- fuck, sevi--"

she immediately takes the bait in your movements, her teeth sinking into your skin as she sucks a harsh mark, the sting of it making your toes curl.

“you trying to get us caught or something?” she hisses, her tone sharp with discipline. “keep that mouth shut.”

your eyebrows scrunch together in pure, unadulterated pleasure, your pussy tightening when she plasters her prosthetic hand to your face, keeping you quiet as she continues pumping her cock into you. while you can barely tame and hold in your little squeaks and moans, sevika manages to get by, panting heavily as her gaze remains honed in on your face. you can tell all of this is starting to get to her more, her eyes ablaze and unfocused.

"you looked good," she whispers harshly, her nails digging harder into the plush of your thigh. "real good."

you bite your lip from behind the covering of her hand, a wide grin spilling onto your face.

sevika seems to notice it, her gaze shifting over your crinkled eyes, inciting a low chuckle of her own. her hand slides away from your mouth, which is immediately seized by her lips, her hips continue to rut up as her tongue laps softly at yours, wet and messy.

her hand squeezes your thigh one last time before resting on your stomach, pinching it lightly and inciting a soft squeal from you.

"gonna dump so much come in here," she murmurs quietly. "but, that's what you want, right? running in here so eagerly when you realized there’s a chance your cunt’s gonna get loaded. and right in the middle of a sleepover too.”

“daddy,” you gasp against her mouth, your hands reaching behind to dig your nails into her back.

“don’t you worry,” she rasps, the cool metal of her hand sending shivers down your spine as it cups your ass cheek and spreads you out. “I can tell when a slut needs to be taken care of.”

and taken care of is exactly how you feel once she's helping you climb out of the shower, legs wobbly and thighs deliciously achy.

when you two realize that your love-making took a very long, very accidental forty minutes, sevika watches with a bemused smirk as you stumble through the bathroom, rushing to wash your face and get your clothes back on. panic rushing through you, you slowly pinch the bathroom door open, your head snapping from side to side before hissing for sevika to get out, smacking her bare back frantically as you push her in the direction of her bedroom.

she's halfway across the hall when she pauses, her head whipping to the side. your breath catches in your throat, and face tightened into a premature wince, you turn to see someone in your friend group frozen in place, gawking at the two of you.

the three of you watch each other in stunned silence until you finally jolt into action, spluttering over the sight of sevika standing calmly out in the open, her chest bare. a hot fusion of embarrassment and anxiety whirs through you, and it propels you into actions, hands haphazardly scrambling to continue shoving sevika to her bedroom. your efforts double when your idiot girlfriend chooses to chuckle to herself, purposely placing her weight back on you to make your task even more difficult.

as you two finally stumble through the threshold into her bedroom, you very pointedly ignore your friend’s laugh and victorious mutter of, “at least I get five dollars now."

#s.writing #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika fanfic #sevika arcane #arcane x reader

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webslinger-holland · 1 month ago

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wait, you write for all thunderbolts?! then id' love to see your take on what bucky, john, and bob's reactions would be if the reader opened her door and she's just wearing some lingerie

Prompt: Bucky, John, and Bob's reaction to seeing you in lingerie

Warning: NSFW Below the Cut 18+ MINORS DNI

Thunderbolts Masterlist

Bucky: Navigating the hallways had become a second nature to him. He didn't even have to look where he was going to know the route to your room. He was set to train with your this morning, but your notable absence was a cause for concern. He waited a few extra minutes before ultimately deciding to look for you.

He wasn't mad that you didn't show up, just more concerned at this point. He walked straight up to your door and knocked three times, patiently waiting for you to open the door for him.

"Just wanted to check on you since you didn't show up for training. I just thought—" Bucky began. The door opened so quickly there was very little time for recovery.

You're in a sultry, vintage-inspired crimson set. The bra is delicate lace, unlined but structured, with scalloped edges and thin satin straps. The matching garter belt sits high on your waist with black stockings clipped in, giving it that 1940s pin-up flair he’d absolutely lose his mind over. A sheer red robe, slipping off your shoulders, hints at even more underneath.

He didn’t say anything at first—just stared for a heartbeat longer than necessary, lips parting slightly. He thinks about how good you'd look if your lips were red too.

“You always answer the door like that?” Bucky's lips curved into a mischievous smile.

You send him a smirk. “Only for special guests.”

His eyebrow rose just enough to betray the shift under his cool exterior. He raised a hand to casually lean against the doorway.

"Lucky me," Bucky's husky voice breaths.

You laugh softly and move to shut the door, but he quickly stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Wait.” You pause for him. He looks you up and down once more. "You coming to training or not?"

"Yes, I just overslept my alarm." You explain to him. "Give me two minutes."

"Nice outfit by the way," Bucky teases. You roll your eyes playfully before closing the door in his face.

John: Making his way through the hallways, John was carrying a tablet which showcased the latest mission intel. He scrolled through aimlessly, reading some important pieces of information. He had one destination in mind, which was your room because you were being paired together for this mission.

He was already dressed in his suit and he carried his still-bent shield in the other hand. He stopped at your door and knocked with a lazy fist; his eyes still glued to the screen.

"Wheels up in five," John announced loudly through the door. "It'll be a couple hours before we reach—"

The door opened a lot quicker than he anticipated. When John lifted his head to look at you, his words instantly died on his lips and his brows shot up in surprise.

You're wearing a midnight blue set made from sheer mesh and crushed velvet. The bra dips low in a deep V, with soft velvet cups and crisscross straps above the chest that frame your collarbones. The garters are a matching velvet, hugging your thighs perfectly.

"Phoenix," John finished. His eyes shamelessly rack down your body as if he's drinking it all in. "Holy shit—"

"What?" You look at him innocently.

“If I had known you answered the door like that, I’d have knocked sooner.” John takes one look at you in that rich, royal blue and lets out a low chuckle. It's seductive without even trying — teasing without being delicate.

He leans a shoulder on the doorframe and crosses his arms like he’s ready to stay a while. He's clearly enjoying himself.

“You’re loving this way too much.” You observe with a small shake of your head.

“I mean, I’m a patriot." John shrugs. He sends a flirtatious wink. "I support the troops. Especially when the uniform’s that good.”

"John," you warn him, but he loves when you say his name like that. "You done now?”

"One sec," John holds up a finger to stop you. His eyes drag down the length of your body one last time, trying to commit everything to memory. "Okay. You coming on the mission dressed like that?”

"No," you smile.

John clicks his tongue and turns away defeated. "Too bad."

Bob: It was late in the morning, but Bob had tasked himself with knocking on doors to wake the others up and inform them that Valentina was expecting them downstairs in ten minutes for an 'all team meeting'. He nervously knocks on your door, trying to sound casual but already internally spiraling.

"Hey...uh—" Bob calls through the door, leaning dangerously close. "Valentina said there’s a meeting in ten. We’re all supposed to—”

The door swung open before he finishes. What stands in front of him is the last thing he expected to see, especially this early. It's you wearing some very beautiful lingerie right in front of him.

You're wearing something soft, romantic — a delicate ivory lace set with gold-threaded embroidery that catches the light when you move. A light beige silk robe is draped over your shoulders and the color compliments your skin in a way that makes you look sunlight.

He sees you, stammers a bit, and can’t decide if he should look away or keep memorizing every detail. His eyes go wide. His mouth moves but no sound comes out. Then, all of the sudden, it's like his brain catches up to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and puts his hand over them for good measure. His face turned all pink too.

"Bob?" You ask.

"Listen—" Bob tries, but his voice cracks in betrayal. "I'm not looking. I was looking. I’m not now.”

“You were definitely looking.” You tell him, slightly amused even if he can't see it on your face.

"It’s okay—" Bob attempts to excuse himself. "Y’know what? I’m just gonna—"

He spins on his heel and tries to walk away too fast, bumping into the doorframe. You wince at the contact, but he keeps walking down the hallway blindly nevertheless.

“Meeting! Ten minutes! Bye!” Bob called over his shoulder, still slightly traumatizes and blushing harder than ever.

"You could at least tell me if I look good," you yelled teasingly.

Bob answers back in the distance. “YOU LOOK GREAT!”

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okwonyo · 1 month ago

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ⓘ SIM JAEYUN ， WITH MY EYES CLOSED ！

🕷️ where JAKE SIM is nerd but not only.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 ｡ fluff best friends to lovers getting together ◜ᴗ⁠◝⁠ kissing skinship femrea ❪ 1136 ❫ mwah to dani !

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

jake is late. he knows that, he knew that for a while.

the funniest part is that he is late to see you for the sole reason that he needed to go save you from a weird genetically modified gorilla. it isn’t the first time this happens: he is starting to think that you never look around you. from the weird green goblin two weeks ago to the gigantic gorilla today, he might start to think that you really want to be picked off the floor by the spider superhero.

today is different. when he was about to leave you earlier, after saving your life once again, you told him to wait. jake found himself with his head upside down, hanging on the balcony above your room’s window.

your face was close enough that he could see the blush on your face perfectly, “thank you,” you breathed. spiderman was too starstruck to notice that you were taking his mask half way off. his mind went blank when you cupped his face then his brain exploded when your lips touched his.

his dream came true— his first kiss being given by his best friend and crush since kindergarten. his weeb loosened when you pulled away. he would have fell flat on the floor if it wasn’t for his amazing reflex.

like an idiot, he stumbled over his words, thanking you for the kiss or whatever that was before leaving your sight.

he had to pass by his apartment to put his clothes back on. he didn’t look at the mirror, now he is sure his hair looks messy and his glasses are set straight.

he arrives at your apartment breathless, chest heaving and gripping into his backpack for dear life. he rests his head against the door after knocking, he did run all the way there after all.

he almost falls on you. who even opens their door so abruptly?

“you are late,” you deadpan.

jake rolls his eyes, setting himself straight again, “hello to you too, it’s very nice to—” he hisses when you beat his chest, before turning around and walking into the apartment. he frowns, “meanie.”

he closes the door behind him. he can’t help but drag his eyes over your figure and notice the change in your outfit since your encounter with spiderman earlier.

“you can put your stuffs in the living room, like usual,” you say, on your way the kitchen. when you are a bit too far you shout, “you know your way around already so make yourself at home!”

he sits on the far corner of the couch as if he is scared of being too close to you— even if he would actually love that.

he always looks around your living room like it’s the first time he came over when he could redraw every object that is in it from memory.

jake’s awkwardness remains for a while. with his eyes on his knees as he fidgets on his pants. you find it very much endearing. therefore, he may be one hour late but you can’t be mad at him for too long.

“why do you look like that?” you ask, setting the two bowls of popcorn on the table. you give jake a look that makes him blush.

he brings his hand to his hair immediately, “like what?”

you don’t answer, squinting your eyes at his face while you sit down, “wait,” you laugh. “did you ditch me to go make out with someone?”

“what?” through his thick glasses, he gawks at you

“you could have just told me you know,” he is a tad offended when you huff.

but jake, in all honesty, looks around, “w—what are you talking about?”

“oh, please, you have lipstick all over your mouth.”

he isn’t the type to put lipstick on nor the type to make out with someone and forget about that. for a minute, he has no idea of what you are talking about— barely even trusting your statement. forgetting that he isn’t just jake but also spiderman, who you kissed earlier today.

the realization seems to hit you both at the same time. when you press your lips against one another, tasting your cherry red lipstick, your gazes meet and grow wide.

you put your hand in front of your mouth in pure shock. your muffled, “oh my god,” makes jake extremely anxious.

“hey, hey,” jake gets up when you do. he reaches out for you although you step back everytime he gets closer, “listen, i can explain.”

how jake is always running late, the bruises that appears on his body from time to time, his shoulders getting broader all of sudden, his weirdly fast reflexes. everything adds up so perfectly.

jake’s heart sinks when you hide your face in embarrassment, although he finds it very cute. he takes you a while to process the information. jake being a superhero is already big enough but him knowing what your lips taste like is another.

“i’m sorry for earl—” he starts, feeling like he needs to stop the heavy silence. you stop him soon enough:

your face is red when you look at him again, “are you spiderman?”

he nods, “yes.”

you are so done for. jake was already a little too perfect before, but it’s all different now that he saves life. right when you decided to get over him, he had to reveal himself as the guy who saved you from death two times.

“i’m sorry for kissing you earlier.”

“it’s okay, i, um,” he looks away. “i liked it. a lot.”

oh. that may change everything.

you tilt your head to the side. “yeah?” he gulps.

he feels sweaty all of sudden. “y–yeah.”

“take off your glasses.”

he doesn’t have much time to do so before you cup your face with more fervor than you did last time. but your lips taste as good, even better now that you are so eager. it makes jake waek in the knees.

he walks stumbles backwards, unable to stand on his feet properly. with his fast reflex, he gets to swap your position while you fall on the couch, so he can be on top of you when the landing arrives.

he grips onto you waist, sighing into your mouth the more the kiss goes on. he is such a loud kisser; so whiny that your stomach aches in pleasure.

how he says your name and sound he makes when you deepen the kiss make you completely mad. you can tell he isn’t experienced by the way he lets you lead. but he is fast to learn how to twist your tongue, how to run his hands over you body.

“thank you for saving my life.” you whisper between kisses.

jake’s voice his hoarse when talks back, “any time.”

분지 ܃ honestly i have no idea of what this is ..

taglist ( open )

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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

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Ningning x Karina x Male Reader | 18k words Tags: 3sum, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, hair pulling, breast play, nipple play, dirty talk, dominance, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, body worship, rough sex, two hot bitches feral for cock

Bio can wait. The two baddest bitches at school just told you to skip class with them. Who the fuck would say no? Especially when its Karina and Ning.

no this is not in the same universe as "dumb" :P

The moment you push through the doors to your school's dance room, you know your plan for a solo practice is finished. Karina and Ningning are sprawled against the mirror wall, a perfect picture of cool indifference that somehow makes the empty room feel smaller.

They're wearing what they always wear—simple but devastatingly effective. Karina in high-waisted gray sweatpants that pool slightly at her ankles, paired with a fitted black long-sleeve crop zip up that rises just enough when she stretches. Ningning in similar wide-leg pants but with a simple white off-shoulder top that somehow makes her collarbones look like art. Both outfits say "I barely tried" while looking impossibly put-together.

They're those girls at school—the ones with presence, the ones who command attention without trying.

Everyone on the dance team is attractive in their own way—but they have that something extra. You've seen it countless times during team practices: the way other dancers give them space, how even the coach seems to hold their breath when they perform.

Karina's scrolling through her phone, platinum blonde waves cascading over her shoulders as she absently twists a strand of Ningning's dark hair between her fingers. Ningning has one AirPod in her ear, her dark eyes drifting up to catch yours before you even announce yourself. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's cool blonde presence against Ningning's warm, dark features—perfectly complementary in the way they occupy space.

"Of course," you mutter, dropping your bag near the door with a thud that's maybe a little louder than necessary.

Of course they taking up the whole floor (they're not)

You try to play it casual, hyper-aware of every movement you make. That's the thing about being dancers—you notice details. Sometimes you catch Karina's eyes lingering on you during practice, or notice how Ningning always ends up stretching near you, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Just the usual dance team dynamics. You're all physical people; boundaries blur. It doesn't mean anything.

Ningning stretches her arms over her head. "What are you pissed for? There's like, so much space."

"I need the whole floor to go full out," you say, gesturing vaguely to the room. "I'm working on that new combo."

Karina snorts without looking up from her phone. "Yeah, because you need the entire studio to practice the same eight-count for an hour."

Ningning laughs, then tilts her head slightly. "You wanna dip with us instead?" Her blonde-tinted waves fall over one shoulder as she shifts to look up at you, dark eyes expectant.

You're instantly torn. Dance has made you disciplined—fit, clean, and sharp on the floor—and that same discipline usually keeps your grades steady. Usually. But there was that chem test last week. And the English paper you turned in late. And now Bio tomorrow, which you're definitely not prepared for.

"Can't," you say, even as your eyes drift to where Karina's top meets the waistband of her sweatpants. "I've got a test next period. If I bomb another one, Coach will bench me for sure."

Karina finally looks up from her phone, golden-rimmed eyes locking with yours in the mirror. Your reflection stands tall behind theirs, and for a moment, the three of you make a symmetrical composition in the glass.

"That's cute," she says, a smirk playing at her lips. "Choosing bio over us." She shifts, her shoulder brushing against Ningning's, and something passes between them—some silent communication that makes Ningning bite her lower lip to suppress a smile.

"Pussy," Karina adds, the word landing soft but deliberate.

The question hangs in the air, and something in the atmosphere shifts. They're still draped against each other—Karina's head now resting on Ningning's shoulder, Ningning's fingers absently playing with the hem of Karina's top—but their attention is fully on you now. The casual indifference is gone, replaced by a focused intensity.

Karina's eyes narrow slightly, calculating. Ningning's lips part, just barely, like she's already anticipating your answer. The way they're looking at you makes your skin prickle with heat. It's the same look they get right before a performance—that blend of challenge and confidence that says they know exactly how good they are.

The logical part of your brain is still calculating how many points you need on tomorrow's test to maintain your eligibility for the showcase. You've already been warned about your grades. One more missed class and you might actually get suspended from the team. This isn't just about one bio test anymore.

But there's something about the way they're waiting, bodies still intertwined but faces turned toward you in perfect symmetry, that makes the decision feel momentous. Like this is some kind of turning point.

Your jaw ticks, just barely.

"Fuck it," you say finally, slinging your bag back over your shoulder. The relief on their faces is subtle but unmistakable, like you've passed some test you didn't know you were taking. "Say less."

The reason is simple, even if your GPA will suffer for it: you just wanted to hang with the two baddest girls at school. And when they both smile at you—Karina's slow and knowing, Ningning's bright and wicked—you can't bring yourself to regret it.

Not yet, anyway.

…

Ningning's house is just a short drive through the sprawl of suburban Southern California. By the time you arrive, all three of you are armed with Slurpees from a 7-Eleven pitstop—yours blue raspberry, Karina's cherry, and Ningning's a swirled mix of both that she sips like she's solved some great mystery of flavor.

Her room is exactly what you'd expect—a perfect blend of cozy and chaotic. Fairy lights wrap around the ceiling fan, with climbing ivy trailing down from the fixture, casting soft shadows across the walls. Posters cover nearly every inch of white space—Frank Ocean, SZA, Tyler the Creator, Tate McRae, Billie Eilish—with a round mirror breaking up the collage. Monstera plants thrive in the corner next to a small white bookshelf. The whole space glows in the afternoon light filtering through the windows.

You settle on the carpet, back against her bed, Slurpee in one hand, a bag of sour gummy worms in the other. But Karina? She's sitting directly on Ningning's lap, legs draped over hers, body leaned back lazily against Ningning's chest like they've done this a hundred times before. No hesitation, no awkwardness—just pure, easy closeness. They fit together the way bad bitches always do, like they know exactly how to take up space.

Leon Thomas hums from a speaker in the corner, his smooth vocals and the soft R&B bassline weaving into the atmosphere, just enough to fill the comfortable silence.

"Let's play a game," Karina says suddenly, her cherry-red nails tapping idly against Ningning's thigh.

"What kind of game?" You ask, already suspicious.

"Just questions. Truth only." Ningning grins, absently running her fingers through Karina's platinum hair. "I'll start easy. Who's the hottest on the team?"

You glance up from your drink, already knowing exactly where this is going. It's a setup. A trap.

You take a second, not too long, just enough to make it seem like you're actually considering your answer. But you know there's only one right response—the one even they would agree on.

"Chaewon."

"Fuck, such an obvious answer," Karina groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "She's so fucking hot."

"Ugh," Ningning adds, biting her lip. "I tried making out with her at Jungwoo's party last month and she wasn't feeling it. I almost died."

They exchange knowing looks, satisfied, like they'd already predicted your answer before you even opened your mouth. Karina leans back further into Ningning, reaching for her own Slurpee.

"Your turn," Ningning says, nodding at you.

You think for a moment. "Best dancer in the crew?"

"Me, obviously," Karina says without hesitation.

Ningning rolls her eyes but doesn't argue.

"Fair," you concede with a smile.

"My turn," Karina says, her voice dropping slightly. "Ever hooked up with anyone from the team?"

The question hangs in the air. It's an escalation, but not entirely unexpected.

"Yes," you answer, taking a sip of your Slurpee.

Their eyes widen simultaneously. "Who?" Ningning demands, leaning forward.

You shake your head. "That wasn't the question."

Karina narrows her eyes. "Sneaky. I respect it." She turns to Ningning. "That's definitely our next question."

"What about you two?" you ask, deflecting.

Karina shrugs. "Not with anyone from the team."

Something in her inflection makes you pause. "But with each other?"

They exchange a look, this one different—a silent communication you can't quite read. Without saying a word, Karina turns her head, meeting Ningning's eyes with a smirk. Ningning doesn't hesitate. She cups Karina's face and pulls her in, capturing her lips in a kiss that's anything but casual.

Jesusfuckwhat.

Karina's hand slides up to Ningning's neck, fingers tangling in her hair as their mouths move against each other. Ningning's other hand drifts down, boldly palming Karina's breast through her top. You watch, frozen, as Karina lets out the faintest sound against Ningning's lips.

Is this actually happening right now? Your throat goes dry as you try to process what you're seeing, your Slurpee forgotten in your suddenly tense grip.

When they finally part, Karina's lipgloss is smudged, and both are breathing heavier, their eyes dark when they turn to gauge your reaction. Neither says anything—they don't need to. The answer is written all over their flushed faces.

And they're just gonna act like that didn't happen? Like they didn't just—

"Your turn," Karina says, her voice noticeably huskier now, acting like she didn't just have her breast grabbed in front of you. "What's your biggest turn-on?"

You blink, trying to recalibrate. The game is apparently still on, despite the fact that your brain is still processing what you just witnessed.

You swallow. "Someone who takes control without asking."

Ningning smirks, running her thumb across her bottom lip to fix her smudged gloss. "Noted."

What the fuck is happening right now?

It's Ningning's turn, and she doesn't hesitate: "Who on the team did you hook up with?"

You consider lying, but decide against it. "Yujin."

That night in her car after the showcase. Her skin under your hands, the way she bit her lip to stay quiet...

"Shut the fuck up," Karina's jaw drops, her eyes widening with what looks suspiciously like jealousy. "Are you serious?"

"She's hot as fuck too, what the hell?" Ningning looks genuinely offended, sitting up straighter, dislodging Karina slightly. "How are you pulling the baddest girls and we didn't even know?"

Karina narrows her eyes. "When did this happen? And why didn't she tell anyone?"

Because she asked me not to tell anyone. Because it was just that one time. But you just shrug, enjoying their reactions more than you should.

The questions heat up rapidly.

"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?" Karina asks, fingers now tracing patterns on Ningning's arm.

You consider your words carefully. "I'd rather show than tell."

"Bold," Ningning says with approval. "But you'll have to wait your turn."

"Ever watched porn with someone else?" Karina asks, changing tactics.

"No."

"Wanna start?" Ningning challenges, raising an eyebrow.

The game accelerates. Boundaries blur. Questions become increasingly explicit.

"Where's the riskiest place you've hooked up?"

"What's something you want to try but haven't yet?"

"Have you ever thought about either of us while getting yourself off?"

"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?"

Your answers grow bolder. Theirs grow filthier. With each revelation, the space between you shrinks, though neither of them has moved from their position.

"Have you ever fantasized about being with two people at once?" Karina asks, no longer pretending this is just a game.

"Yes," you admit.

"Anyone specific in mind?" Ningning presses.

You look from one to the other, letting the silence answer for you.

With each answer, the air in the room grows thicker, charged, until Karina finally shifts on Ningning's lap to face you directly.

"You're pretty hot, you know that?" Her voice is smooth, casual, like she's just stating a fact. She doesn't look at you when she says it, just keeps tapping her nails, waiting to see how you react.

Ningning hums in agreement, finally meeting your gaze. "Especially when you dance."

You shift slightly, a near-imperceptible reaction, but they catch it. Of course they do. Dancers notice everything. The way your grip tightens slightly on your cup, the flicker of something unreadable in your eyes before you school your expression back into something neutral.

You keep your cool. You're unsure where this is going, but you don't back down.

Karina stretches her arms above her head, arching her back slightly against Ningning. The movement causes her top to ride up, exposing a sliver of skin at her waist. It feels too deliberate, too precise to be casual. Your mouth goes dry.

They know exactly what they're doing.

Ningning's hand settles on Karina's hip, fingers splayed possessively as she adjusts her position on her lap. You can't help but track the movement. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer, and you shift your position on the floor, grateful you're sitting cross-legged.

Karina takes a long sip of her Slurpee, her eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the cup. When she pulls away, she runs her tongue slowly over her cherry-stained lips, catching a drop.

Jesus Christ.

You blink rapidly, heart pounding against your ribs. Heat crawls up your neck, and you're acutely aware of every inch of your body—especially the parts now responding all too obviously to their performance.

They exchange one last look, a silent confirmation passing between them. Ningning's eyes darken slightly as she tilts her head, expression unreadable but sharp, like she's weighing something in her mind.

Then, just like that, she drops it.

"Yo, be honest, would you fuck both of us?"

Did she really just ask that?

The shift is immediate.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

Everything in the room feels different now—the air heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you process the question, trying to read their expressions for any sign they're messing with you.

You're caught between laughing it off or taking it seriously. But when you look at them, really look, you realize—

They're serious.

"Are you—" you start, voice catching slightly. "Is this for real?"

Instead of answering, Karina slides off Ningning's lap in one fluid motion, the kind of movement that reminds you why she's first in every formation. She kneels in front of you, close enough that you can smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that's been driving you crazy all afternoon.

Her eyes never leave yours as her fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to trace along your stomach. The touch sends electricity up your spine.

"We've been thinking about this since that showcase last month," Ningning says, her voice softer than usual as she moves to join Karina. "The way you danced that night..."

They were watching me?

Karina's mouth crashes into yours with unexpected hunger. It's not just a kiss—it's a claiming. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tasting like the cherry Slurpee and something sweeter underneath. She sucks your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. Her hands fist in your hair, pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how she wants it.

When she finally releases you, your lips are tingling, slick with her spit. You barely have time to gasp before Ningning turns your face toward her, her fingers digging into your jaw.

Her kiss is even more aggressive—open-mouthed and demanding. Her teeth graze your lip, biting down just hard enough to sting before soothing the spot with her tongue. You feel Karina's mouth on your neck now, sucking hard enough to leave marks, her hands shoving your shirt up roughly.

"Fuck," you breathe against Ningning's lips as Karina's nails rake down your chest.

Is this actually happening? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Without warning, Karina's hand finds the back of Ningning's neck, pulling her away from you. For a brief second, you think something's wrong—until they crash together right in front of you, mouths colliding in a kiss that's nothing short of filthy. Karina's tongue slides along Ningning's bottom lip before pushing inside, Ningning moaning into her mouth, hands gripping Karina's waist to pull her closer.

Your hands move on instinct, reaching out to touch them. Fingers grazing Karina's sides, palm flat against Ningning's lower back. They don't stop kissing, but Karina reaches blindly for your hand, guiding it higher along her body until you're cupping her breast through her top. Ningning breaks the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath when your other hand slides down to grip her ass.

They continue making out, but now it's a performance for you as much as it is for them. Karina bites Ningning's lower lip, tugging it between her teeth while looking directly at you. A string of saliva connects their mouths when they briefly part before diving back in, messier this time, wetter. Ningning's hand finds the back of your neck, keeping you close, letting you feel their breath, almost encouraging you to join.

When they finally pull apart, both their lips are swollen, shiny with spit. Ningning pulls you in for another kiss, the taste of Karina still on her tongue. You can taste both of them now, the flavors mingling as Ningning licks into your mouth with deliberate slowness. Karina's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. She drags her tongue up your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse point.

Ningning's fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back further to expose more of your neck. The sharp pull sends a jolt straight to your groin. She works her way down the opposite side from Karina, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that make your skin burn. You're trapped between them, their bodies pressing against you from both sides.

The sensation of their mouths—one on your neck, one on your collarbone, then trading places with practiced coordination—is overwhelming. Karina sucks your earlobe between her teeth while Ningning's tongue traces the hollow at the base of your throat.

Then they're kissing each other over your shoulder again, but it's nothing like the controlled display from earlier. This is raw, messy, desperate. Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, their tongues visibly sliding against each other. Ningning's hand is still in your hair, Karina's palm flat against your chest, feeling your racing heartbeat. You watch, transfixed, as Karina's teeth catch Ningning's bottom lip, as Ningning's fingers tighten in Karina's platinum hair.

"Get the fuck up," Karina breathes when they finally pull apart, her lips swollen, a flush spreading across her chest. She grabs the front of your shirt, hauling you to your feet.

Ningning's already pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. Her hands immediately explore your torso, fingers tracing the definition in your abs, your chest, your shoulders. Karina drops to her knees, working on your jeans, her knuckles deliberately dragging against your hardness through the denim.

"Goddamn," Ningning whispers, lips against your ear as her hands slide around to grip your ass. "Been wondering what you were hiding under those practice clothes."

"Sit," Karina commands, pushing you backwards until you hit the edge of the bed and drop down.

They stand before you, and for the first time, you get a moment to just... look. To really take them in.

Karina unzips her long-sleeve crop top with deliberate slowness, revealing an expanse of smooth skin inch by inch. Her collarbones cast delicate shadows, her shoulders slim but toned from years of dance. When the top finally falls away, the black lace of her bra is a stark contrast against her pale skin, barely containing her full chest. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, pushing them down her hips in one fluid motion, stepping out of them gracefully, her curves unmistakable even in the fading afternoon light.

Ningning watches your reaction to Karina, a smirk playing on her lips before she pulls her own shirt over her head. Her body is different—more delicate frame with gentle curves, her light blue bra a perfect complement to her fair skin. She stretches her arms overhead, an unnecessary movement that's purely for your benefit, showing off her slender waist and the subtle definition in her stomach. Her sweatpants come off next, revealing slim legs that somehow look even longer than they are.

They stand there for a moment, letting you drink them in. Karina in black lace, Ningning in light blue cotton that somehow looks just as sexy. Their dancer's bodies—Karina's fuller curves and Ningning's delicate frame—on full display.

Holy fucking shit. This cannot be real.

"Like what you see?" Ningning asks, head tilted, eyes dark with want.

Words fail you entirely. You just nod, mouth dry.

They move toward you in perfect tandem, the bed dipping as they climb on either side of you. The heat of their bodies is scorching against your skin. Karina's mouth finds your chest first, her tongue tracing a wet path from your collarbone down to your nipple. She bites down gently, watching your reaction through hooded eyes. Ningning works on the other side, her lips softer but no less insistent, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder.

Their hands explore every inch of you—Karina's nails scraping down your abs, Ningning's fingers tracing the V-line of your hips. You feel Karina's teeth against your ribs, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow at practice. Ningning's tongue darts out to taste the salt on your skin, her hands gripping your biceps, feeling the muscles tense under her touch.

They work their way down your body with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth blazing a trail along your stomach while Ningning's lips press against each vertebra of your spine. The dual sensation of their tongues—one hot against your abs, the other tracing the dimples at the small of your back—has you practically panting.

"Fuck, he tastes good," Karina murmurs against your skin, her words vibrating through you.

"Let me," Ningning replies, and suddenly they're trading places, Karina's weight shifting behind you while Ningning moves to kneel between your legs. She presses her mouth to your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans.

Karina's breath is hot against the back of your neck, her full breasts pressed against your back, nipples hard even through the barrier of her bra. "You like that?" she whispers, her hands sliding around to your chest, fingers pinching your nipples just enough to make you hiss.

Ningning looks up at you from under her lashes, a wicked smile on her lips as she moves lower, her mouth now hovering just above the visible bulge in your jeans.

Karina slides around to your side, impatient. "Let's see what you're working with," she breathes, hunger evident in her voice.

Karina's mouth finds yours again, swallowing your groans as she continues to grind against you. Ningning turns your head, breaking the kiss so she can claim your mouth instead. You feel Karina's lips trail down your neck, your chest, moving lower with clear intent.

Their hands work at your jeans in tandem, Ningning popping the button open while Karina drags the zipper down with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth finds yours again, kissing you deeply as Ningning tugs your jeans down your thighs, taking your boxers with them. She pulls them completely off your legs, tossing them somewhere behind her, leaving you fully exposed as your cock springs free, harder than you can ever remember being, already leaking at the tip.

"Oh my god!," Karina breathes, breaking the kiss to look down, genuine surprise in her voice.

Ningning crawls back up, pushing Karina aside to get a better view. "Let me see," she demands, her eyes widening as she takes you in. "Goddamn."

"Fuck, no wonder Yujin kept quiet about this," Karina says, wrapping her hand around you, testing your girth with her fingers barely meeting around your shaft. "Selfish bitch kept this all to herself."

"I can't believe our first threesome is with a dick this good," Ningning murmurs, her eyes fixed on Karina's hand stroking you slowly. "Wish I'd known what you were hiding under those practice sweats."

Karina nods in agreement, her thumb collecting the bead of precum from your tip and smearing it down your length. "Goddamn, we picked the right guy to skip with today."

Their reactions send a surge of confidence through you. The power dynamic shifts—their impressed expressions giving you an unexpected edge in whatever game you've all decided to play.

Maybe I can handle these two after all.

Karina recovers first, her confidence returning as she slides back onto your lap, this time with just her underwear separating you from her heat. She takes your hands, guiding them deliberately to her body—one to her breast, the other to her hip—while leaning in to kiss you deeply. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming your mouth as she grinds down against your exposed cock, the thin fabric of her panties already soaked through.

"Touch me," she commands against your lips, and you don't need to be told twice. Your fingers knead her full breast, feeling the hardened nipple through the lace as your other hand grips her hip, guiding her movements against you. The wet patch of her panties drags against your length, the friction making you both groan.

"Fuck, your tits feel even better than they look," you murmur against her mouth, gaining confidence as you squeeze harder, making her gasp.

Ningning circles behind you, her knees bracketing yours on the bed. Her hands slide over your shoulders, down your chest, her lips finding your ear. "She thinks she's in charge," she whispers, her teeth grazing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, "but we both know better, don't we?" Her fingers pinch your nipples, the sharp pain making your cock twitch against Karina.

You're sandwiched between them—Karina's weight on your lap, her body rolling against yours in a perfect rhythm, the lace of her bra scraping against your chest as she moves, and Ningning pressed against your back, her breasts soft against your shoulder blades, her breath hot on your neck. Karina's mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to mark you, while Ningning's hands roam lower, one sliding between you and Karina to wrap around your cock.

"Fuck," you hiss as her cold fingers encircle you, giving a slow, tight stroke that has your hips bucking involuntarily, pushing you deeper into her grip and harder against Karina's core.

Karina moans at the increased pressure, her head falling back, platinum hair cascading down her back as she rocks harder against you. The movement pushes your cock along her slit through the thin fabric, the head catching on her clit with each stroke.

"I knew you'd feel this good," Karina breathes, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as she watches your face, her lipstick smudged, her cheeks flushed. She takes your hand from her hip, guiding it between her legs, pressing your fingers against the soaked lace. "Feel what you're doing to me."

Your fingers press against her through the fabric, feeling the slick heat there. You can feel how swollen she is, how wet, even through the barrier. You rub your thumb in slow circles, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Goddamn," you breathe, feeling her wetness seep through the lace onto your fingers. "You're fucking soaked."

"Can you blame me?" she says, grinding harder against your hand, her movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure builds. "Who knew you were hiding all this..." She gasps as your thumb presses harder, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily.

Ningning's hand continues to stroke you, her grip tightening just beneath the head on each upstroke, twisting slightly in a way that has your thighs tensing. Her teeth find the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to make you groan. "Don't forget about me," she whispers, her other hand reaching around to pull Karina's face toward her.

They kiss over your shoulder, messy and aggressive, all tongues and teeth, while their hands continue to work you both. You watch, entranced, as Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, her hips still moving against your hand, Ningning's fingers still wrapped tight around your cock.

The image of them kissing while touching you, while grinding against you, is almost enough to push you over the edge right there. You feel the familiar tightening, the building pressure. Ningning must sense it because she squeezes the base of your cock, staving off your orgasm.

"Not yet," she breathes against Karina's lips. "I want more than just my hand on him."

Karina pulls back from the kiss, lips swollen and wet. "Greedy bitch," she says, but there's no real heat behind it, just desire. She grinds against you one more time, the friction delicious but not enough, before lifting herself off your lap.

Before you can process what's happening, Karina drops to her knees between your legs, shoving them apart roughly. Her nails dig into your thighs as she positions herself, looking up at you through her lashes, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

"Hold on," she says, sitting back on her heels. She reaches behind her head, gathering her platinum hair in her hands. The movement lifts her chest, her arms raised, exposing the soft skin of her armpits and stretching the fabric of her bra against her breasts. She works quickly, twisting her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.

The sight of her—arms raised, back arched slightly, body on display—makes your cock twitch with anticipation. She catches your reaction and smirks, knowing exactly what she's doing.

"Fuck, I need to taste it," she murmurs, her breath hot against your length. She runs her tongue from the base to the tip in one long, slow stroke, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When she reaches the head, she pulls back slightly, letting a string of saliva fall from her lips onto your cock. She works it in with her hand, coating you before wrapping her lips around the tip, sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks.

Ningning watches intently from beside you, her hand absently stroking your thigh. As Karina works you deeper into her mouth, Ningning reaches behind her own back, unclasping her light blue bra. She slides the straps down her arms slowly, revealing her small, perfect breasts, the nipples already hard.

Your hand instinctively reaches for her, palm cupping the soft weight, thumb brushing over the hardened peak. She sighs at your touch, leaning into your hand as she watches Karina suck you.

The sight alone is almost enough to make you cum—Karina, the girl half the guys at school would kill to talk to, on her knees with your cock in her mouth, her platinum hair pulled up to give you a perfect view, while your hand explores Ningning's bare breast.

Karina takes you inch by inch, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, creating delicious pressure as she sucks. Her hand works what doesn't fit, twisting in tandem with her mouth's movements, spit already making her fingers glide smoothly along your shaft. You feel the vibration of her moan around you as she takes you deeper, the hot, wet pressure of her mouth making your toes curl.

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing against your tip. "Fuck, you taste so good," she breathes, her eyes heavy-lidded with genuine pleasure. "Better than I thought you would."

She descends again, moaning around your length in a way that tells you she's enjoying this just as much as you are. The vibrations from her throat send shockwaves of pleasure through your cock.

"Jesus Christ," you breathe, your free hand instinctively going to Karina's hair, tangling in the loose strands that frame her face. She moans around you as you tug slightly, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine.

Just as you're settling into the sensation, she's yanked backward, Ningning's hand fisted in her hair, pulling hard enough to make Karina yelp.

"My turn," Ningning says, her voice sharper than before, edged with hunger. She moves between your legs, but first reaches behind Karina, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. "Take this off. I want to see you."

Karina complies, shrugging the black lace from her shoulders, her full breasts bouncing slightly as they're freed. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them now topless, their dancer's bodies on full display.

Ningning sits back momentarily, mimicking Karina's earlier motion as she gathers her hair, arms raised above her head, body stretched long and lean. The position emphasizes the delicate curve of her waist, the subtle definition of her stomach. She secures her hair in a high ponytail, a few strands falling to frame her face.

"Much better," she says, settling between your legs. Rather than starting slow, she spits directly onto your cock, the warm saliva dripping down your length, trickling over your balls in a sensation that makes you shiver. She spreads it with both hands, stroking you a few times before wrapping her lips around you.

The first slide of her mouth around you is electric—different from Karina's technique, more aggressive from the start. She takes you deep immediately, your tip hitting the back of her throat, the muscles there contracting around you in a rippling sensation that makes your vision blur momentarily. You feel every millimeter of her throat closing around your head, squeezing in a way that's almost too intense.

She pulls back, gasping for air, but her eyes are bright with excitement. "Fuck, you're so big," she breathes, stroking you with her hand. "Feel so fucking good stretching my throat." She dives back down with enthusiasm, humming in satisfaction as she takes you deep again, the vibrations traveling through your entire length.

Karina moves to your side, pressing her now bare chest against your arm. Your hand immediately finds her breast, significantly fuller than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your palm. You squeeze gently, drawing a soft moan from her as she watches Ningning take you deep.

The dual sensation is overwhelming—Ningning's hot mouth around your cock, taking you deeper than Karina had, her throat constricting rhythmically around your tip with each swallow, while your hands explore Karina's body, feeling the softness of her skin, the firmness of her breast in your palm.

This is not real life. This cannot be real life.

The sight of Ningning on her knees, lips stretched wide around your cock, eyes watering slightly as she takes you to the back of her throat, is almost too much. Her technique is different from Karina's—less teasing, more focused on depth and suction, her hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. Each time she pulls back, you feel the cool air against your saliva-slick skin for just a moment before she descends again, taking you impossibly deep.

Karina presses closer, guiding your hand to her breast again while she watches Ningning work. Your fingers pinch her nipple lightly, drawing a soft gasp from her that turns into a smile. She leans in to kiss your neck, her teeth grazing your pulse point as Ningning continues to suck you, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room.

"You're doing it wrong," Karina says after a minute, tugging Ningning's hair hard enough to make her release you with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva still connecting her lips to your glistening cock. She moves between your legs, gently pushing Ningning to the side.

Ningning doesn't move far. Instead, she shifts to your other side, pressing her small, firm breasts against your arm, guiding your hand to touch her as Karina had done. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller, heavier breasts against Ningning's smaller, perkier ones, both equally perfect in different ways.

Your hands explore their bodies as they continue taking turns with your cock—feeling the taut muscles of their dancer's bodies, the softness of their breasts, the hardness of their nipples against your palms. Karina arches into your touch, more vocal in her enjoyment, while Ningning responds with subtle shifts of her body, pressing herself harder against your hand.

Karina pushes Ningning aside, but instead of taking you directly into her mouth, she gathers saliva and lets it fall in a long, obscene strand onto your cock. The warm wetness slides down your shaft, pooling at the base and dripping onto your balls, the sensation making your cock twitch visibly. She spreads it with both hands, one working the shaft while the other focuses on the head, applying more pressure on the upstroke. Her technique is more deliberate—twisting motions, varying pressure, her thumb occasionally swiping over the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

"Watch and learn," she tells Ningning before taking just the tip between her lips, sucking firmly while her hands continue their assault, working you with practiced precision. Each stroke is wetter than the last, her spit making obscene squelching sounds as she pumps you. You feel the suction of her mouth intensifying as she hollows her cheeks, the pressure building at the base of your spine.

She releases you with a gasp, her eyes glazed with arousal. "So fucking good," she moans, jerking you faster. "Love how you throb in my mouth." She's not performing anymore—the pleasure in her voice is raw and genuine as she takes you in again, moaning around your length like she's tasting something delicious.

Not to be outdone, Ningning moves closer. "Let me show you how it's really done," she says, nudging Karina to share. She gathers a mouthful of saliva and lets it drip directly onto your cock where Karina's hands are still working, the added wetness making the glide even smoother. The warm spit runs down to your balls, the tickling sensation making your thighs tense.

Then she ducks lower, her mouth finding your balls. She takes one gently between her lips, sucking lightly while Karina continues working the shaft, their combined efforts making your head spin. The contrast between Karina's firm strokes and Ningning's gentle suction creates a dual sensation that has you groaning, your hands tangling in the sheets.

Ningning hums against your sensitive skin, the vibration traveling up your shaft. "Mmm, I can feel you getting closer," she purrs, her breath hot against your balls. "Getting harder for us." She sucks again, moaning like she's savoring the taste and feel of you, her enthusiasm unmistakable.

Karina watches Ningning with growing arousal, her own breathing heavy. "He tastes so fucking good," she tells Ningning, almost reverently. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"Fuck," you groan, hips lifting involuntarily, the muscles in your stomach clenching. "This really your guys' first threesome? There's no fucking way you're both this perfect at this."

They exchange a look, something passing between them that you can't quite read. Then, without warning, they both move at once. Karina releases your cock from her grip, allowing Ningning to take you deep into her throat in one smooth motion, her nose pressing against your stomach as she swallows around you. The tight squeeze of her throat has you seeing stars, the rhythmic contractions milking your length as she holds herself there, her eyes watering from the effort. You hear a muffled moan vibrating around your cock as she takes you, a sound of pure pleasure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.

The sensation is indescribable—hot, wet pressure surrounding every inch of you, her throat muscles rippling involuntarily around your head, her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your shaft. You feel yourself hit the back of her throat and then push beyond, into the tighter passage that spasms around you.

When she pulls back for air, a thick strand of spit connects her lips to your cock. Before it can break, Karina leans forward, connecting her mouth to Ningning's through the spit strand, the two of them sharing a messy kiss with your cock between them. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.

"Holy shit," you breathe, unable to look away as they kiss, their tongues visibly sliding against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.

Now they work in tandem, taking turns—Karina sucking the head while Ningning strokes the shaft with spit-slicked hands, then switching, Ningning taking you deep while Karina's hands massage your balls. The constant switching, the different pressures and sensations, the visual of them trading your cock between their mouths, is mind-bending.

Karina pulls off with a gasp, a line of spit connecting her bottom lip to your cock. Ningning immediately takes her place, but not before Karina spits directly onto your length, adding to the mess. Ningning works the extra wetness in with her hand before taking you deep again, her eyes watering as she pushes past her gag reflex.

The competition escalates further. Karina yanks Ningning off by her hair, replacing her mouth with her own. She takes you as deep as she can, gagging slightly but pushing through it, determined to outdo Ningning. When she comes up for air, Ningning is ready with another gob of spit, this time letting it fall into Karina's open mouth. Karina takes it, letting it mix with her own saliva before dripping it all onto your cock.

"Fuck," you groan, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The sight of Karina's mouth open, receiving Ningning's spit, then the combined wetness falling onto your cock, is filthier than anything you've ever seen.

They're getting progressively sloppier, wetter, messier with each passing minute. Ningning holds your cock at the base, pointing it toward Karina's waiting mouth, but before Karina can take you in, Ningning spits onto the head. Karina smiles, working the wetness in before adding her own spit, creating a growing puddle of saliva that drips down onto your balls.

The visual is obscene—both of their faces are wet with spit, their lipstick long gone, hair messed up from where you've grabbed it, eyes dark with desire as they work you between them. Your cock is coated in a sheen of their combined saliva, glistening in the fading light of Ningning's room.

The wetness is incredible—warm spit running down your shaft, pooling at the base, dripping onto your balls and beyond. Each stroke of their hands spreads it further, creating a slick, frictionless glide that has your toes curling. The sounds are just as filthy—wet suction, obscene slurping, the squelch of saliva between their fingers as they stroke you.

Then they change tactics. Instead of taking turns, they position themselves on either side of your cock. Karina takes the head into her mouth while Ningning works the shaft with her tongue, both of them moving in a synchronized rhythm that has your thighs tensing. You feel the different textures—Karina's soft lips sealed around your tip, the suction of her mouth pulling at you, while Ningning's tongue traces patterns along your shaft, occasionally dipping lower to tease your balls.

When they switch, it's seamless—Ningning taking the head while Karina's tongue traces patterns along the underside. Their eyes meet over your cock, some unspoken competition still driving them, but now they're working together to destroy you completely.

"He tastes so fucking good when he's about to cum," Karina whispers to Ningning, her voice raspy with desire. "Can you taste it?"

Ningning nods, her lips never leaving your skin. "Mmm, getting saltier," she agrees, moaning as she takes you into her mouth again. She pulls off with a wet pop. "Love how he twitches on my tongue."

Their obvious enjoyment, the way they're talking about you like you're some delicious treat they can't get enough of, pushes you even closer to the edge.

The most obscene moment comes when they both press their open mouths to either side of your shaft, essentially making out with each other with your cock between their lips. Their tongues slide against your skin and occasionally touch each other, sharing spit as they work you from base to tip. The sensation of both their tongues, both their mouths, both their breaths against your most sensitive skin has your head spinning.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you groan, your hands fisting in the sheets, hips lifting involuntarily. "I'm gonna—"

"Not yet," Karina says, pulling back, her hand squeezing the base of your cock hard enough to stave off your orgasm. Her lips are swollen, her chin and chest slick with spit and precum. "We're just getting started with you."

Ningning's eyes are dark with want as she looks up at you, her mouth and chin equally wet, a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to the side of your cock. "We haven't even decided who goes first," she says, her voice raspy from taking you so deep.

Karina wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze predatory. "And I'm not done showing off what I can do with my mouth."

Is this actually my life right now? How the fuck did I end up here?

The tension between your need to cum and their determination to edge you builds to a breaking point. Just as you think you can't take anymore, Ningning makes a decisive move, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backward onto the bed.

"My turn to feel good," she announces, climbing up your body with predatory grace. Her small, perfect breasts hang above you as she straddles your chest, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your torso. "Scoot back," she commands, waiting for you to shift until your head is properly on the bed.

Without hesitation, she moves forward, positioning herself directly over your face. Through the thin fabric of her panties, you can see how wet she is, a dark patch spreading across the cotton. The scent of her arousal hits you—sweet and musky and intoxicating.

"Show me what you did to Yujin," she demands, lowering herself until her covered core is just inches from your mouth.

You reach up, hooking your fingers into the sides of her panties, pulling them to the side to expose her completely. The sight of her pussy makes your mouth water—she's got a neat landing strip of dark hair leading down to otherwise perfectly bare lips. The contrast of the carefully maintained strip against her pale skin speaks to her personality—controlled yet still wild underneath. Her folds are delicate, pink and glistening with arousal, already swollen and parted slightly, revealing the deeper pink within. She's absolutely soaked, her wetness visible from her entrance all the way up to her small, perfect clit that peeks out from beneath its hood.

"Fuck, you're pretty," you murmur before lifting your head to run your tongue through her slit in one long, firm stroke, tasting her fully for the first time.

"Shit," she gasps, her thighs trembling slightly as she grips the headboard for support.

You continue exploring her with your tongue, learning what makes her breath hitch and her thighs quiver. You trace around her entrance, gathering her wetness before moving up to circle her clit, alternating pressure and speed to keep her guessing.

Meanwhile, Karina hasn't forgotten about your cock. You feel her mouth envelop you again, picking up where they left off, but with a new urgency. She takes you impossibly deep, her throat constricting around your head as her hands massage your balls.

"Don't forget about me down here," she whines when she comes up for air, her hand replacing her mouth as she strokes you firmly. "Just because she's getting your tongue doesn't mean I'm done with your cock."

The dual sensation—Ningning's wetness on your tongue, Karina's mouth and hand working your length—creates a sensory overload that makes your head spin. You grip Ningning's thighs, pulling her more firmly against your face, your tongue diving deeper into her heat.

"Fuck, your tongue is fucking insane," Ningning moans, her hips beginning to roll against your mouth with more purpose. "The way you—shit—the way you flick it right there."

You focus your attention on her clit, alternating between fast flutters and firm circular motions, watching her reactions to learn exactly what drives her wild. Her thighs tense and tremble around your head, her breathing becoming more labored.

"Oh my god, oh my god," she chants, grinding herself shamelessly against your face now. "Your fucking tongue, holy shit—don't stop, please don't stop."

From below, you hear and feel Karina's response—the wet suction of her mouth intensifies, her pace increasing to match your efforts on Ningning. The competition continues, each trying to divert your attention and pleasure to themselves.

"He's already shaking," Karina observes after pulling off your cock with a wet pop, her hand continuing to stroke you firmly. "His cock gets harder every time you moan, Ning."

Ningning looks down between her legs at you, then back over her shoulder at Karina. Without breaking the rhythm of her hips against your mouth, she reaches back with one hand. Karina meets her halfway, their fingers intertwining in a brief moment of unity despite their ongoing competition.

"Fuck, I think I could die on his tongue," Ningning confesses, her voice thick with pleasure but not quite at the breaking point. "No wonder Yujin kept coming back."

You feel a surge of pride at her words, doubling your efforts, flattening your tongue to provide a broad surface for her to grind against while occasionally dipping into her entrance. Her taste is addictive—tangy and sweet with a hint of something uniquely her. Your chin and lips are completely coated in her arousal now, the obscene wetness making filthy sounds with each movement.

As amazing as it feels having Ningning on your face, you're acutely aware of Karina working diligently between your legs, her mouth and hands tag-teaming your cock with relentless precision. Each time you feel yourself getting close, she backs off just enough, squeezing the base or slowing her rhythm to keep you right on the edge.

"You taste so fucking good," you murmur against Ningning's pussy, the vibration of your words making her gasp. "Could eat you for hours."

"Please," she whimpers, her body trembling with the effort of restraining her orgasm. She's close—you can feel it in the way her thighs tense, see it in the flush spreading across her chest, hear it in the pitch of her moans.

But before she can tip over the edge, you pull back slightly, easing the pressure on her clit, focusing instead on long, slow strokes through her folds. Her frustrated groan makes you smile against her wet flesh.

"Evil," she hisses, recognizing what you're doing—giving her just enough to keep her on the edge but not enough to push her over.

Two can play at that game.

You feel a newfound confidence swelling within you. Making Ningning tremble above you while Karina worships your cock below has awakened something primal and commanding. You're done being the passive recipient of their attention.

You grip Ningning's hips firmly, lifting her off your face despite her whine of protest. "Move," you tell her, your voice rougher than usual. "I want to try something else."

Ningning slides off you reluctantly, her chest heaving, lips swollen from biting them to hold back her moans. Karina looks up from between your legs, her chin wet with spit, eyes questioning.

"Get on your hands and knees," you tell Karina, sitting up and pointing to the middle of the bed. "Facing Ningning."

Karina's eyebrows raise, a slight smirk playing on her lips, but she complies, crawling into position on all fours across the bed. Her platinum hair falls around her face as she looks up at Ningning, who's watching this shift in dynamic with undisguised interest, still breathing heavily from her near-orgasm.

You position yourself behind Karina, taking a moment to appreciate the view—the elegant curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the way her hair cascades down her back. You run your hands over her skin, feeling the goosebumps that rise in the wake of your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her thighs. The reveal is exquisite—unlike Ningning's landing strip, Karina is completely bare, her pussy smooth and flawlessly waxed. Her lips are fuller than Ningning's, her pink folds more pronounced, glistening with an abundance of arousal that's already begun dripping down her inner thighs. She's swollen with need, her entrance visibly pulsing as you watch.

"Fuck, look at you," you breathe, running a finger through her slick folds, collecting her wetness. She's so wet it makes an obscene sound, a lewd squelch that fills the room. "Soaked just from sucking my cock."

Karina looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark with want. "What are you waiting for?" she challenges, but the slight tremble in her voice betrays her desperation.

You grip your cock, still slick with their combined spit, and drag it through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. The head catches on her clit, making her gasp and arch her back further.

"Please," she whispers, and the vulnerability in that single word hits you hard.

"Look at Ningning," you command, waiting until she turns her head forward.

Ningning has positioned herself cross-legged in front of Karina, close enough to touch, her eyes darting between Karina's face and your cock poised at her entrance.

This is it. This moment. After all the teasing, all the build-up, you're finally about to be inside one of them. The significance isn't lost on you—or them, judging by the anticipation crackling in the air.

You position yourself at her entrance, gripping her hips firmly with both hands, and then thrust forward in one smooth, relentless motion, burying yourself to the hilt inside her.

"Fucking hell!" Karina cries out, her arms nearly buckling from the sudden intrusion. She's impossibly tight around you, hot and wet and perfect. Her inner walls grip you like a vise, pulsing around your length in a way that nearly makes you cum on the spot.

"Goddamn," you hiss through clenched teeth, fighting for control. "So fucking tight."

You hold still for a moment, both to let her adjust and to regain your composure. The sensation is overwhelming—better than anything you could have imagined. Better than Yujin, better than anyone you've been with before.

Slowly, you pull back until just the tip remains inside, watching your length emerge coated in her arousal, before driving back in with deliberate force. She makes a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets.

"Eat her out," you command Karina, nodding toward Ningning. "Show her what that pretty mouth can do."

Ningning's eyes widen at your directive, but she doesn't hesitate. She scoots closer, positioning herself so her pussy is directly in front of Karina's face. Karina leans forward eagerly despite the distraction of your cock still pumping into her, her tongue darting out to taste Ningning.

You establish a rhythm, your hips meeting Karina's ass with increasingly forceful thrusts. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, mixing with Karina's muffled moans against Ningning's pussy and Ningning's sharper gasps.

"That's it," you encourage, your hand sliding up Karina's spine before tangling in her platinum hair, pulling just enough to arch her back further. "Make her feel good while I fuck you."

The visual is pornographic—Karina on all fours, her face buried between Ningning's thighs, her ass raised high as you pound into her from behind. Your cock glistens with her arousal each time you pull back, her wetness making the glide effortless despite how tightly she grips you.

"Fuck, she's good with her tongue too," Ningning moans, her hand coming down to grip Karina's hair, holding her firmly in place. "Not as good as you, but still—ah!—still fucking amazing."

The praise spurs Karina on, making her work harder to prove herself. You can feel her determination in the way she pushes back against your thrusts, meeting you halfway, taking you impossibly deeper.

You bring your hand down on her ass in a sharp slap, watching the flesh jiggle and redden under your palm. Karina jerks forward with a muffled cry, her inner walls clenching around your cock in response.

"You like that?" you ask, doing it again, harder this time.

Her answering moan, vibrating against Ningning's core, is all the confirmation you need. You develop a rhythm—thrust, slap, thrust, slap—each impact making her tighten around you, each moan making Ningning gasp.

"Fuck, don't stop," Ningning pants, her hips rolling against Karina's face with increasing urgency. "She gets better every time you spank her—fuck!—it's like she's trying to earn it."

You can tell they're both getting close, teetering on the edge of release. Karina's pussy is gripping you with almost painful intensity, fluttering with each thrust in a way that signals her approaching orgasm. Ningning's thighs are trembling, her chest flushed, her breathing ragged as she grinds against Karina's eager mouth.

But you're not ready for this to end. Not yet.

You pull out of Karina suddenly, making her whine against Ningning's pussy. At the same time, you reach forward to pull her away from Ningning, denying them both their release.

"Not yet," you tell them, your voice rough with desire but commanding in a way that surprises even you. "I'm not done with either of you."

They both look at you with identical expressions of frustration and arousal—lips swollen, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. Karina's mouth and chin glisten with Ningning's arousal, while Ningning's thighs are visibly trembling from how close she was.

"Don't forget about me," Ningning says, her eyes fixed on your cock, still hard and slick with Karina's juices. "I want to feel that too."

"You had his mouth," Karina argues, turning to glare at her friend despite her breathlessness. "My turn to have something."

"Your pussy isn't the only one that needs attention," Ningning shoots back, crawling closer to you. "He obviously likes how I taste better anyway."

"Bullshit," Karina scoffs, reaching for your cock possessively. "He was practically shaking inside me. Weren't you?" She looks up at you, seeking confirmation.

The competition between them reignites, both vying for your attention, both desperate to be the one who makes you lose control first. But you've found your footing in this dynamic now, no longer overwhelmed by their beauty or intimidated by their confidence.

You know exactly what you want to do next.

After pounding into Karina with increasingly forceful thrusts, your control begins to waver. The wet heat of her pussy, the sight of her platinum hair bouncing with each impact, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting—it's all becoming too much.

"Fuck," you growl, suddenly pulling out completely with a lewd, wet sound. Your cock springs free, glistening with her arousal, bobbing heavily in the air between you. Karina whimpers at the loss, looking back at you over her shoulder with confusion and frustration in her eyes.

You take a deep breath, fighting for composure, and shift backward until you're settled against the headboard. Your cock stands at full attention, slick with Karina's arousal, veins prominent against the flushed skin, pulsing visibly with each heartbeat.

"Get over here," you command, voice rough with barely restrained desire. "Both of you."

The frustration on both their faces at being denied release only heightens your newfound confidence. Their flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and desperate eyes tell you everything you need to know—they're as close to the edge as you are.

"Ningning," you command, your voice leaving no room for argument. "Come ride me. Karina, you're on ball duty."

Their eyes widen at your sudden assertiveness, but neither hesitates. Ningning practically scrambles toward you, her small breasts bouncing with the movement, eyes dark with hunger. She straddles your thighs, positioning herself above your cock, while Karina crawls between your spread legs, her platinum hair falling around her face as she looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal.

Holy shit, who am I right now? When did I start giving orders to the two baddest girls at school?

You take a moment to truly look at Ningning hovering above you—her skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, making her body gleam in the scattered light. Droplets trail down between her breasts and along the defined lines of her dancer's abdomen. Her dark hair, once perfectly styled, now falls in messy strands around her face where it's escaped her ponytail. The contrast of her disheveled appearance against her usually perfect composure makes your cock throb with anticipation.

You reach up to trace the elegant curve of her collarbone, your finger dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat where sweat has pooled. Impulsively, you lean forward to lick the salt from her skin, dragging your tongue along the defined ridge before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She gasps at the sensation, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance.

"You taste fucking incredible," you murmur against her skin, your lips moving down to capture a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts. "Even your sweat is sweet."

Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as you continue to explore her body with your mouth. Your hands roam freely, cupping her small, firm breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. They're incredibly responsive, stiffening further at your touch, drawing a whimper from her lips.

"Please," she whispers, her voice so different from her usual confident tone. "Need to feel you inside me now."

Ningning hovers above you, her entrance just brushing against your tip, teasing you both. You've had enough teasing. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingertips digging into her soft skin as you pull her down onto your length in one forceful motion.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out, her body going rigid as you fill her completely. She's even tighter than Karina, her walls gripping you like a vise, her heat enveloping you in a way that makes your vision blur momentarily.

Her pussy feels different from Karina's—tighter, with more texture, gripping you in rhythmic pulses that suggest years of dance have strengthened muscles you're now benefiting from. Every tiny movement sends lightning through your nerve endings.

This cannot be real life. There's no way I'm inside Ningning right now with Karina watching. No fucking way.

You feel Karina's presence below, her breath hot against your thighs as she watches Ningning take you. The anticipation of her mouth on you while you're buried inside Ningning makes your cock swell even harder.

"Move," you growl, your hands still gripping Ningning's waist, guiding her into a rhythm. She begins to ride you, her hips rolling with a natural fluidity that showcases her dancer's body. Unlike Karina's more controlled movements, Ningning rides you with complete abandon, her head thrown back, small breasts bouncing with each drop of her hips.

Your hands slide from her waist to her ass, squeezing the firm globes, feeling the muscles flex and contract as she moves. Her skin is impossibly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You spread her wider, your fingers digging into the supple flesh, controlling her movements even as she sets the pace.

Sweat drips down her temple, following the curve of her jaw before trailing down her neck. You lean forward to catch it with your tongue, tasting the salt of her exertion, the evidence of how hard she's working on your cock. Her hair has come further undone, dark strands sticking to her damp neck and shoulders, the ponytail now hanging by a thread.

"Fucking hell, you're deep," she gasps, her internal muscles clenching around you as she adjusts to your size. "Shit, shit, shit."

You feel Karina's mouth on your balls, her tongue lavishing attention on the sensitive skin while Ningning continues to ride you. Her lips are impossibly soft, contrasting with the occasional graze of teeth that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She sucks one into her mouth, the wet heat surrounding you from below as Ningning envelops you from above.

The dual sensation—Ningning's tight heat surrounding your cock, Karina's wet mouth on your balls—creates a pleasure so intense you have to grit your teeth to maintain control. Your hands tighten on Ningning's ass, fingers dipping between the cheeks, exploring every inch of her.

"Look at you," Karina murmurs against your skin, her breath hot and teasing. "Already about to bust for her. Your balls are so tight."

She's not wrong—your entire body is wound like a spring, tension building with each drop of Ningning's hips, each swipe of Karina's tongue. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing with the effort of holding back.

Her observation spurs you to reassert control. You tangle one hand in Ningning's hair, finding the loose ponytail and wrapping it around your fist before yanking her head back sharply, exposing the elegant line of her throat. The remaining hair tie snaps, releasing a cascade of dark waves that fall around her shoulders. She gasps, her pussy clenching around you in response, her rhythm faltering momentarily.

"Fuck, I love when you pull my hair," she moans, her pace increasing, taking you deeper with each drop of her hips. Her nails dig into your chest, leaving crescent-shaped marks that sting deliciously, adding tiny crescents of pain to the overwhelming pleasure.

You pull her down to crush your mouth against hers, swallowing her moans as you thrust up to meet her movements. Her lips are swollen from earlier kisses, softer now, yielding to your assault. You taste yourself on her tongue, mixed with her own unique flavor and the lingering sweetness of the Slurpee from earlier. The combination is intoxicating.

Your free hand slides up her sweat-slicked back, feeling each vertebra, each ripple of muscle beneath her skin. You trace the definition of her shoulder blades, the delicate curve of her spine, the subtle dimples at her lower back. Her body is a masterpiece of lean muscle and subtle curves, honed by years of dance but still undeniably feminine.

Karina's not content to be forgotten. She moves from your balls to nip at Ningning's thighs, leaving small red marks that make Ningning jerk and gasp above you. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin where thigh meets ass, leaving a trail of light bruises that will remind Ningning of this moment for days to come.

Then she presses her tongue flat against the place where your bodies join, tasting both of you with each of Ningning's movements. The added stimulation makes Ningning shudder, her inner walls fluttering around you. Karina's tongue slides up to tease Ningning's asshole, circling the tight ring of muscle before dipping back down to where you're connected.

"Oh god," Ningning whimpers, the added stimulation nearly pushing her over the edge. Her movements become erratic, desperate, her inner walls fluttering around your length in warning.

You can feel how close she is—her thighs trembling against yours, her breathing shallow and rapid, her pussy contracting in those telltale rhythmic pulses that signal impending orgasm. Her eyes are unfocused, lips parted, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck to her chest.

Not yet. I'm finally in control here, and I'm not letting it end this fast.

You're not ready to let her finish yet. With a sudden burst of strength, you lift her off you entirely, eliciting a cry of protest that cuts off when you manhandle her to the side, practically throwing her onto the mattress beside you.

Her body bounces slightly with the impact, her hair splaying across the sheets like dark ink, chest heaving with exertion and denied release. Her skin is flushed pink, nipples tight peaks begging for attention, thighs still spread with the memory of having you between them. A thin sheen of sweat makes her entire body glisten, highlighting every curve, every muscle, every dip and hollow of her dancer's physique.

"My turn with Karina," you state, your voice rough with arousal but commanding enough that neither questions you.

Karina's eyes darken with desire as she moves to take Ningning's place, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is hot to the touch, slightly damp with exertion, surprisingly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You can feel her pulse racing beneath your palm.

"Get your ass up here," you direct, indicating your face. "Wanna taste you while you ride me."

Her breath catches, pupils dilating until her eyes are nearly black, a fresh wave of arousal evident in the way she presses her thighs together momentarily. She complies immediately, positioning herself over your face, facing your feet, while reaching back to guide your cock into her waiting heat.

The position allows you full access to her pussy with your mouth while she controls the depth and pace of penetration. The view is spectacular—her round ass hovering above your face, her slick, swollen pussy lips parted and ready, the perfect curve of her spine leading up to her platinum hair cascading down her back.

As she sinks down onto your length, you grip her hips, pulling her core against your mouth simultaneously, your tongue finding her clit with unerring precision. The taste of her explodes across your tongue—tangy, sweet, with an underlying muskiness that's uniquely hers, different from Ningning's flavor but equally intoxicating.

She cries out, her body jerking at the dual penetration, her inner walls clenching around you. You feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, her weight shifting as she struggles to maintain balance in the face of such intense stimulation.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, beginning to move on your cock while grinding against your mouth.

Where Ningning rode you with wild abandon, Karina's movements are calculated, controlled—each roll of her hips designed for maximum pleasure, each contraction of her inner muscles deliberate and devastating. She knows exactly how to angle herself to take you deepest, how to twist to hit her most sensitive spots, how to clench around you to create the perfect pressure.

Your hands roam her body, one gripping her hip to guide her movements, the other sliding up her sweat-slicked torso to find her breast. It fills your palm perfectly, heavier than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your skin. You pinch it between your fingers, rolling it, tugging slightly, feeling her inner walls contract around your cock in response.

Your tongue works her clit relentlessly, circling the swollen bud before flattening against it, applying perfect pressure as she grinds down. Her taste becomes more intense as her arousal builds, her wetness coating your chin, dripping down your neck. You trace her entrance with your tongue, feeling where your cock stretches her, the tight ring of muscle yielding to your thickness.

That's the difference between them—Ningning all passion, Karina all precision. Both fucking incredible in completely different ways.

Ningning watches for a moment, her chest heaving, before moving to participate again. She positions herself beside your head, leaning down to whisper in your ear, her voice husky with arousal. Her breath is hot against your skin, her lips brushing your earlobe with each word, sending shivers down your spine.

"She thinks she can take you better than me," she murmurs, her hand trailing down to massage your balls as Karina continues to ride you. Her fingers are cool against your heated skin, gentle yet firm as they cup and roll, occasionally dipping lower to feel where you stretch Karina open. "But I had you deeper. I felt you throbbing inside me."

Karina hears her and responds with a particularly skillful twist of her hips that makes you groan against her flesh. The movement changes the angle, taking you impossibly deeper, her inner walls rippling along your length in a way that makes your toes curl.

"He's rock hard inside me," she shoots back, looking over her shoulder at Ningning with a triumphant smirk. Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-dampened back in places, strands darkened by moisture. "Like, literally throbbing."

Their competitive banter continues as they trade positions again, this time with Ningning straddling you in reverse, her back to your chest. The view is spectacular—the elegant line of her spine, the subtle dimples at the small of her back, the perfect curve of her ass as she positions herself over your cock once more.

She sinks down slowly this time, savoring each inch as you fill her, her head falling back against your shoulder with a gasp when you're fully seated. Her hair, now completely free from its ponytail, spills all around you, tickling your chest, your neck, your face—dark, silky strands that smell faintly of coconut shampoo and her own unique scent.

Karina kneels beside you, her mouth finding your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of her platinum hair against your skin is stark, beautiful, the strands sticking to your sweat-dampened chest as she moves.

You grip Ningning's hips, guiding her movements as she rides you with increasing urgency, her head falling back against your shoulder. Your hands slide up her torso, feeling the taut muscles of her stomach contract with each movement, the delicate ribs beneath her soft skin, before finding her small, perfect breasts.

They fit perfectly in your palms, the perfect handful, nipples stiff against your fingers. You pinch them lightly, rolling them between your fingers, feeling her pussy clench around you in response. Your mouth finds the side of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that will be visible for days.

"Fuck, the way you fill me," she gasps, her hand reaching back to tangle in your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss over her shoulder. The angle is awkward but intensely erotic, her tongue sliding against yours as she continues to move on your cock.

Her body is a furnace against yours, heat radiating from every inch of her skin, her sweat mingling with yours where your chests press together. You can feel her heartbeat, rapid and strong, her pulse fluttering beneath your lips when you break the kiss to suck at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

Karina's hand slips between Ningning's legs, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that make Ningning's rhythm stutter. "Let me help you," she offers, her voice innocent but her eyes calculating as she watches Ningning respond to her touch.

It's not cooperation so much as an extension of their competition—each trying to prove they can give and receive pleasure better than the other. Still, the effect is the same: Ningning moaning loudly as Karina's fingers work her clit, her pussy clenching rhythmically around your length.

They might be competing, but holy shit does it work in my favor.

You break the kiss to watch them, fascinated by the shifting dynamic. Karina leans forward to capture Ningning's mouth in a passionate kiss, swallowing her increasingly desperate moans while continuing to work her clit. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, the kiss open-mouthed and filthy, a performance as much for your benefit as for their own pleasure.

Your hands slide to Ningning's ass, spreading her cheeks, feeling where your cock disappears into her tight heat. The visual of them kissing while Ningning rides you, Karina's fingers visible between her legs, is almost enough to push you over the edge.

Sweat drips down your temple, your chest, your back—every inch of you is damp with exertion, muscles burning with the effort of maintaining control. The room smells of sex now, the sweet musk of their arousal mixed with sweat and the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo creating an intoxicating blend that fills your lungs with each ragged breath.

"Switch," you command, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "Karina on my cock, Ningning on my face."

They separate reluctantly, exchanging a look that speaks volumes before repositioning themselves according to your instructions. The brief moment it takes them to adjust gives you a chance to regain some control, your breathing ragged, your cock throbbing painfully with need.

Karina sinks down onto you with a satisfied sigh, her pussy still incredibly tight despite how wet she is. Ningning straddles your face, her thighs bracketing your head, her scent intoxicating as you pull her down onto your waiting tongue.

What happens next is the most seamless teamwork you've seen from them so far. Karina leans forward to kiss Ningning deeply, their breasts pressing together as they move in synchronized rhythm—Karina riding your cock with deliberate precision, Ningning grinding against your tongue with increasing desperation.

Their hands explore each other's bodies, pinching nipples, tangling in hair, tracing curves with obvious familiarity. It's clear this isn't the first time they've touched each other this way, but the addition of you between them brings a new intensity to their interactions.

They work together now, their earlier competition forgotten in favor of a united goal: pushing you past the point of control. Karina's inner muscles contract around you in waves, milking your length with expert precision. Ningning grinds against your tongue with shameless abandon, her wetness coating your chin, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.

"Fuck, he's gonna cum," Karina observes, feeling your cock swell and pulse inside her. "I can feel it."

The sensation is overwhelming—Karina's pussy gripping your cock like a vise, her inner walls rippling along your length with practiced control, while Ningning floods your mouth with her arousal, her taste growing stronger as she gets closer to her own release. You feel the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, the tension building in your balls, the telltale throb of impending orgasm.

Ningning looks down at you between her legs, her eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," she says, both to you and Karina. "We're not done with him."

They exchange another look, some silent communication passing between them, before they both lift off you simultaneously. The sudden loss of stimulation makes you groan in frustration, your cock twitching in the cool air, your mouth still chasing Ningning's retreating heat.

"What the fuck," you hiss, your voice rough with need.

Are they seriously edging me right now? After I was finally about to—

They smile at your frustration, identical expressions of satisfied mischief on their flushed faces. The power dynamic shifts again as they move to position themselves on either side of you, their hands trailing teasingly across your sweat-slicked skin.

Your body is hypersensitive now, every touch amplified tenfold. Karina's fingers along your ribs feel like fire, Ningning's breath against your neck like a physical caress. Your cock stands proudly between you, harder than it's ever been, the head swollen and purple, veins prominent against the shaft, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

"We told you," Karina purrs, her fingers wrapping loosely around your aching cock, not providing nearly enough pressure. The touch is maddening—just enough to keep you on edge, not enough to provide relief. Her platinum hair falls across your chest as she leans over you, a few strands sticking to your sweat-dampened skin. "We're not done yet."

"You'll cum when we say," Ningning adds, her tongue darting out to flick across your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Her dark eyes hold yours as she does it again, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of sharp pain and soft pleasure makes your cock jerk in Karina's loose grip.

Your earlier dominance wavers in the face of their united assault, but you're not ready to surrender control completely. With a growl, you reach out, one hand tangling in Karina's platinum hair, the other gripping Ningning's hip hard enough to leave marks.

You feel the damp heat of Karina's scalp as you fist her hair, the moisture from her exertion making the strands cling to your fingers. On Ningning's hip, your fingers dig into the subtle curve, feeling the contrast of soft skin over firm muscle. Your grip is possessive, commanding, a clear statement that this power struggle isn't over yet.

"No," you state firmly, pulling Karina's face close to yours. Her platinum hair falls around you both like a curtain, individual strands clinging to the sweat on your face and neck. You can smell her shampoo—something expensive and floral—mixed with the musk of sex and the salt of her sweat. "I decide when this ends."

The authority in your voice makes both of them freeze, their eyes widening in surprise before darkening with renewed arousal. Karina's pupils dilate so completely her eyes look almost black, while Ningning's lips part on a shaky exhale.

"Yes, sir," Karina whispers, the unexpected honorific sending a shock of pleasure through your system. The word falls from her swollen lips with surprising naturalness, as if she's been waiting for the opportunity to say it.

Sir? Oh fuck, that's hot coming from her mouth.

Ningning nods her agreement, suddenly docile under your grip. "Whatever you want," she adds, her voice softer than you've heard it all day. The contrast between her usual sharp-tongued confidence and this new, yielding tone makes your cock throb painfully between you.

The surrender in their responses ignites something primal within you. You pull Karina into a bruising kiss, your teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper. Her mouth opens immediately under yours, tongue sliding against yours in eager submission. Her platinum hair tangles around your fingers as you hold her in place, controlling the angle, the pressure, the depth of the kiss.

When you release her, her lips are even more swollen than before, a tiny drop of blood where your teeth caught her too hard. The sight of it—evidence of your intensity—makes something dark and satisfied unfurl in your chest.

You turn to Ningning, claiming her mouth with equal ferocity, your tongue pushing past her lips in a clear mimicry of what your cock has been doing to both of them. She yields immediately, moaning into the kiss, her small hand coming up to grip your bicep, feeling the muscle flex under her fingers.

The taste of them mingles on your tongue—Karina's cherry-sweetness, Ningning's slightly spicier flavor, both layered with the salt of sweat and the unique taste of their arousal from when they rode your face. The combination is intoxicating, driving you to deepen the kiss, to take more, to claim her completely.

You break the kiss, looking at them both with undisguised hunger. Their faces are flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with desire. Sweat makes their skin gleam in the fading afternoon light, highlighting the contours of their bodies—the swell of Karina's breasts, the elegant line of Ningning's collarbones, the defined muscles in both their stomachs from years of dance.

"Get on your backs," you command. "Side by side. Now."

They scramble to comply, positioning themselves as instructed, their earlier bratty competition replaced by eager compliance. They lie beside each other, legs spread, bodies on display for your approval. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller curves and platinum hair against Ningning's more delicate frame and dark waves.

Both are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, their skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal. Ningning's small breasts rise and fall with her rapid breathing, the subtle definition in her stomach more visible now as she lies flat. Karina's fuller curves create shadows and valleys across her body, her platinum hair spread out across the pillow like spilled moonlight.

You move to kneel between them, looking down at the feast before you—Karina with her full breasts and perfectly waxed pussy, Ningning with her smaller, perkier breasts and neatly trimmed landing strip. Both of them flushed, breathing heavily, watching you with identical expressions of desperate need.

Your own body bears the marks of your encounter—small crescent-shaped indents from their nails, light bruises forming where their mouths have been too eager, sweat dripping down your chest and back. Your cock stands painfully erect between you, harder than you've ever been, throbbing with each heartbeat.

"Now," you say, your voice calm despite the fire raging through your veins, "let's see which one of you can take me better."

They exchange a glance—half challenge, half solidarity—before turning their attention back to you, waiting for whatever comes next.

I've got the two baddest dancers at school spread out for me. Bio test be damned—this is worth getting benched for.

And what comes next will test all three of you to your limits.

You move between them, your body radiating heat, muscles tense with anticipation. Your hand trails up Ningning's inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath your touch, while you lean down to capture Karina's mouth in a hungry kiss.

"I want it first," Ningning demands, her voice a mixture of need and command. Her slender fingers wrap around your wrist, trying to guide your hand higher between her legs. The desperation in her tone sends a fresh surge of arousal through you.

Karina breaks the kiss, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. "Make him choose," she challenges, her eyes locked on Ningning's, then flicking back to yours. "Let's see who he really wants."

Jesus, even now they're competing. And I'm supposed to pick?

You pull back slightly, looking between them—both flushed, panting, their bodies on display just for you. An idea forms, something that will satisfy them both while maintaining your newfound control.

"I choose both," you state, your voice leaving no room for argument. "But I'm calling the shots."

Without warning, you move over Ningning, positioning yourself at her entrance. She's so wet you can see it glistening on her inner thighs, pooling slightly beneath her on the sheets. The head of your cock slides through her folds, gathering her arousal, the contact drawing a whimper from both of you.

When you finally push inside, the wet sound is obscene – a lewd squelch that echoes in the room, matching Ningning's sharp gasp as you stretch her open.

"Fuck, you're splitting me in half," she cries out, her back arching off the bed, small breasts pointing upward as you fill her completely. Her inner walls clamp down around you like a silken vise, rippling with involuntary spasms that nearly end you on the spot.

The sensation of her tight heat surrounding you again nearly makes your vision go white, but you hold on to your control by a thread, fingernails digging into your own palms as you fight the urge to come immediately.

You don't give her time to adjust, setting a brutal pace immediately, each thrust punctuated by the wet sound of her arousal and the sharp slap of your hips against the backs of her thighs. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, heels digging into your lower back, urging you deeper.

"God, don't stop," she gasps, each word punched out of her with your thrusts. Her hair splays across the pillow in dark waves, sticking to her sweat-slicked temples and cheeks. There's something almost painful in her expression as she takes you, a mixture of pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

You shift your angle, driving deeper, searching for that spot inside her that will make her fall apart. When your cock brushes against it, her reaction is immediate – her entire body seizes, back arching further, a broken sound torn from her throat.

"There! Right there!" she sobs, eyes wide and glassy, unfocused with pleasure. "Oh god, I'm gonna—"

But you haven't forgotten Karina. Your hand finds her core, two fingers sliding easily into her wet heat, thumb circling her clit with deliberate pressure. She gasps at the contact, hips bucking up to meet your hand.

"I need more than fingers," she demands, voice cracking with need as she watches you pound into Ningning. "She's hogging you."

You lean down, capturing one of Ningning's nipples between your teeth as you continue thrusting, the dual sensation making her cry out louder. The taste of her sweat-slicked skin is addictive – salt and something uniquely her that makes you want to lick every inch of her body.

Your fingers pick up speed inside Karina, curved perfectly to hit her g-spot while your thumb continues its assault on her clit. Her hips rise to meet each thrust of your hand, grinding against your palm, seeking more friction.

"I can feel how wet you are," you tell Karina, voice rough with exertion as you continue pounding into Ningning. "Soaked through. All for me."

Sweat pours down your back, drips from your forehead onto Ningning's chest, mingling with the perspiration already coating her skin. It slides between her small breasts, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Impulsively, you lean down to lick it away, tasting the salt on your tongue, feeling her pulse hammering beneath your lips.

The room fills with the sounds of your collective panting, moaning, the wet slap of flesh, the squelch of your fingers in Karina's pussy, the creak of the bed frame protesting your vigorous movements. The air is thick with the scent of sex – musky, primal, intoxicating.

Ningning's nails rake down your back, leaving burning trails that sting deliciously. Her inner walls flutter around you, signaling her approaching orgasm. Her eyes, which have been locked on yours, suddenly squeeze shut, brows drawing together in intense concentration.

"I can't—it's too—" she gasps, words failing her as pleasure overtakes her ability to form coherent thoughts.

You pull out suddenly, leaving her empty and gasping, hovering right at the edge of release. Before she can protest, you shift to Karina, removing your fingers from inside her only to replace them with your cock in one swift movement.

"Finally," Karina gasps, body arching up to meet your thrust. Her pussy welcomes you with a gush of wetness, the lewd sound filling the room as you bottom out inside her. She's different from Ningning—slightly less tight but wetter, hotter, inner walls undulating around your length in deliberate pulses that suggest years of practice.

Her legs immediately wrap around your waist, ankles crossing at the small of your back, pulling you deeper. The change in sensation is mind-bending – from Ningning's tight grip to Karina's silky heat, both equally devastating to your self-control.

Now it's Ningning's turn to receive your fingers, sliding easily into her abandoned pussy, still stretched from your cock and dripping with arousal. You find her g-spot with unerring accuracy, applying firm pressure that has her keening, back arching off the bed.

"No fair," she whimpers, eyes glassy with frustrated tears. "I was so close."

"You'll get your turn again," you promise, voice barely recognizable through your labored breathing. "Want to make it last."

You lean down to kiss Karina as you thrust into her, swallowing her moans. Her mouth is voracious against yours, tongue tangling with yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip. One of her hands tangles in your hair, pulling hard enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure down your spine.

"Feel how fucking wet I am for you?" she pants against your lips, inner muscles clenching deliberately around your length. "Been thinking about this since I first saw you in homeroom."

The confession, unexpected and raw, sends a fresh surge of arousal through you. Your hips stutter in their rhythm before driving deeper, harder, drawing a choked cry from her throat.

Beside you, Ningning grows impatient with just your fingers. She rises to her knees, moving closer until she can press her body against your side. Her small breasts brush against your arm, nipples hard points of contact that make your skin tingle.

"Let me help," she murmurs, surprising you as her hand slides down to where you're joined with Karina. Her slender fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with a practiced touch that suggests this isn't the first time she's touched her friend this way.

Karina's reaction is immediate – a sharp gasp, inner walls clenching around you, back arching to press her breasts up toward you. Her platinum hair fans out across the pillow, damp strands sticking to her flushed face and neck.

"Fuck, Ning," she breathes, using a nickname you've never heard before. "Just like that."

The sight of Ningning's darker fingers against Karina's pale flesh, the contrast of their skin tones as they work together to maximize pleasure, is possibly the hottest thing you've ever seen. Your cock throbs inside Karina at the visual, drawing a knowing smile from both girls.

"You like watching us together, don't you?" Karina purrs, voice thick with satisfaction. "Been playing with each other since sophomore year. Wondering when we'd find someone worth sharing."

The casual revelation sends your mind reeling, imagination filling with images of them together – Karina's head between Ningning's thighs, Ningning's fingers buried inside Karina, their bodies entwined in countless configurations.

Holy shit, this is actually happening.

You increase your pace, pounding into Karina with renewed vigor while maintaining the curl of your fingers inside Ningning. The awkward angle strains your wrist but the dual sensation of both their bodies clenching around different parts of you is worth any discomfort.

Suddenly, you withdraw from Karina, her disappointed whine cutting off as you move down her body. Your tongue finds her clit, sucking the swollen bud between your lips while three fingers thrust into her soaked entrance. She tastes incredible – tangy, sweet, with an underlying musk that's uniquely hers.

"Oh my GOD," she cries out, thighs immediately clamping around your head, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you in place. "Right there, don't you dare fucking stop!"

Your free hand continues working inside Ningning, her wetness covering your fingers, dripping down your wrist. The position is challenging but the sound of both girls moaning, their bodies writhing on either side of you, spurs you to push through the discomfort.

"His tongue," Karina gasps to Ningning, eyes wild, pupils blown wide. "You have no idea."

Instead of responding with words, Ningning leans down to capture one of Karina's nipples in her mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The unexpected cooperation between them – Ningning pleasuring Karina while you work between her legs – creates a tableau of feminine beauty that's almost artful in its eroticism.

You alternate between them, mouth moving from Karina to Ningning, fingers filling whoever doesn't have your tongue, never letting either girl get too close to the edge before switching again. Their frustration builds with each denial, whimpers turning to pleas, then to demands.

"Please," Ningning begs, voice cracking, a tear escaping the corner of her eye to disappear into her hairline. "I need to come so bad it hurts."

"Let her finish," Karina surprises you by saying, her own voice shaky with need. "Want to watch her fall apart on your cock."

The request – so unlike her earlier competitive attitude – makes your decision for you. You move up Ningning's body, positioning yourself at her entrance once more. She's so wet now that you slide in effortlessly, her body accepting you with a soft squelch that should be embarrassing but is just incredibly hot.

"Yes," she hisses, hands immediately finding purchase on your shoulders, nails digging in. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You comply, setting a relentless pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust. Her small body takes everything you give her, inner walls gripping you like a vise, fluttering with the beginning of her orgasm.

"Look at me," you command, one hand moving to cup her jaw, forcing her gaze to meet yours. "Want to see your eyes when you come."

Her gaze locks with yours, dark irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils. There's something raw and vulnerable in her expression that contrasts sharply with her usual guarded demeanor. A single tear tracks down her temple, disappearing into her hairline—overwhelmed by sensation, by the intensity of feeling you so deep inside her.

You grip her small, firm breast in one hand, thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, while your other hand finds her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. The gesture is possessive, dominant, and her response is immediate—pupils dilating further, inner walls clenching around you.

"Going to come," she warns, voice thin and reedy, barely audible over the sound of your bodies meeting. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't—"

Her words dissolve into a high-pitched keen as her orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy spasms around you in powerful waves, each contraction stronger than the last, milking your length with incredible strength. Her entire body goes rigid beneath you, back arched so dramatically only her head and hips remain on the mattress.

The sight of her coming undone – face contorted in ecstasy, throat working as she gasps for air, body surrendered completely to pleasure – burns itself into your memory with crystal clarity.

You continue thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it, feeling each aftershock ripple through her overstimulated body. Only when her whimpers take on an edge of discomfort do you finally pull out, your cock glistening with her release, harder than it's ever been, angry red and pulsing with need.

Before you can move, Karina pushes you onto your back with surprising strength, swinging one leg over to straddle you. Her eyes are wild, desperate, platinum hair hanging in damp strands around her flushed face, lips swollen from kisses.

"My turn," she growls, positioning herself above your cock. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

She sinks down onto your length in one fluid motion, taking you to the hilt with a satisfied groan. The wet heat of her pussy surrounds you, different from Ningning's but equally intoxicating. Where Ningning was all tight, gripping heat, Karina is velvet smoothness with deliberate control, her inner muscles rippling along your length in waves that suggest she's done her Kegels religiously.

"So fucking thick," she gasps, beginning to ride you with the perfect combination of speed and pressure. Her larger breasts bounce with each movement, nipples stiff peaks begging for attention. You reach up to cup them, feeling their weight in your palms, thumbs brushing over the sensitive tips.

She leans forward, changing the angle, her platinum hair falling around your faces like a curtain. The new position has the head of your cock dragging against her front wall with each movement, hitting that spot that makes her thighs tremble.

"Right there," she breathes against your lips, not quite kissing you, just sharing breath. "Can feel you so deep like this."

Ningning, still trembling from her recent orgasm, moves to join you. She positions herself beside you, her small hand sliding down your chest, over your stomach, to where you and Karina are joined. Her fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with practiced ease while her mouth finds your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

The dual sensation – Ningning's mouth on your chest, Karina's pussy gripping your cock, the visual of both girls working together to maximize pleasure – sends jolts of electricity down your spine, coiling at the base, threatening to push you over the edge embarrassingly quickly.

"Not yet," Karina commands, reading your expression with unsettling accuracy. She slows her movements, rising until just the head of your cock remains inside her before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. "Want this to last."

Ningning shifts positions, moving behind Karina now, her small hands reaching around to cup Karina's breasts, taking over where your hands just were. The visual is incredible – Ningning's darker skin against Karina's paleness, her delicate fingers pinching Karina's nipples as she continues to ride you.

Karina's head falls back against Ningning's shoulder, throat exposed, eyes closed in concentration as she chases her pleasure. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the beginning of what promises to be an intense orgasm.

"She's close," Ningning murmurs, looking down at you with dark eyes, her chin resting on Karina's shoulder. One of her hands slides down Karina's stomach to find her clit again, rubbing in tight circles as Karina continues to ride you with increasing urgency. "Can feel how tight she's getting."

The sight of them together – Karina bouncing on your cock while Ningning touches her from behind – combined with the incredible sensation of Karina's pussy gripping you like a silken vise, brings you dangerously close to the edge again. Your balls tighten painfully, pressure building at the base of your spine, every muscle in your body tensing with impending release.

"Gonna come inside you," you warn, voice tight with the effort of holding back. "Can't wait any longer."

"Yes," Karina hisses, movements becoming more erratic as her own orgasm approaches. "Fill me up. Want to feel it."

Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-slicked back, strands darkened by moisture. Beads of sweat roll down between her breasts, along her stomach, glistening in the fading light. The scent of sex fills the room – musky, primal, intoxicating – mingling with the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo and the cherry sweetness of Karina's lip gloss.

Behind her, Ningning continues her ministrations, one hand on Karina's clit, the other reaching down to cup your balls, feeling their tightness, the way they draw up close to your body as you approach your peak.

"He's about to explode," Ningning announces, voice husky with renewed arousal despite her recent orgasm. Her fingers massage your balls gently, adding another layer of sensation that pushes you closer to the brink. "Can feel how tight they are."

Karina's movements become more deliberate, grinding down on each downstroke, creating a corkscrew motion that has the head of your cock hitting every sensitive spot inside her. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the telltale beginning of her orgasm.

"Don't stop," she gasps, eyes locking with yours, pupils so dilated her blue eyes look almost black. "Please, I'm so close, I'm right there—"

Her words cut off as her orgasm hits, body going rigid above you, thighs clamping down on your hips with bruising force. Her pussy contracts around you in powerful waves, each pulse threatening to pull your own release from you. Her face contorts in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream, a single tear tracking down her flushed cheek as the intensity overwhelms her.

The visual of Karina coming undone above you – head thrown back against Ningning's shoulder, throat working as she tries to breathe through the pleasure, body trembling with the force of her release – combined with the rippling contractions of her pussy around your cock, finally shatters your control.

You grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as you thrust up into her spasming heat. The first pulse of your orgasm hits with such intensity that your vision whites out momentarily, pleasure radiating from your core outward until every nerve ending is alight with sensation.

"Fuck, I'm coming," you growl, the words torn from your throat as you empty yourself inside her in hot, powerful spurts. Each pulse seems stronger than the last, your entire body seized in the grip of the most intense orgasm of your life. Your hips buck uncontrollably, driving deeper, prolonging the pleasure for both of you as her inner walls continue to milk every last drop from you.

Karina collapses forward onto your chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Her skin sticks to yours with sweat, her breathing ragged against your neck. Behind her, Ningning strokes her back gently, fingertips tracing the knobs of her spine with surprising tenderness.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the room are your collective breathing, gradually slowing as your heart rates return to something approaching normal. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, mingled with sweat and the faint traces of their different perfumes – Karina's expensive floral scent, Ningning's lighter coconut notes, both now thoroughly blended with the musk of shared pleasure.

Eventually, Karina shifts, wincing slightly as she lifts herself off your softening cock. A mixture of your release and her own arousal follows, dripping onto your stomach in a lewd display that somehow still manages to send a weak throb of interest through your spent cock.

She collapses beside you, one arm thrown across her eyes, chest still rising and falling with slightly labored breaths. Ningning moves to your other side, curling against you like a satisfied cat, her small hand coming to rest possessively on your chest.

The three of you lie there in sweat-soaked, satisfied silence, the reality of what just happened slowly sinking in as your brain begins to function again. Your body feels simultaneously weightless and heavy, every muscle pleasantly exhausted, skin hypersensitive as you come down from the most intense experience of your life.

Ningning's fingers trace lazy patterns across your chest, occasionally circling a nipple, making you twitch despite your complete exhaustion. Her head rests in the crook of your shoulder, damp hair tickling your skin. You can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing where her small breasts press against your side.

Karina reaches for your free hand, intertwining her fingers with yours in a gesture that feels surprisingly intimate after everything you've just done. Her thumb strokes the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, sending tiny shivers up your arm.

"So much better than bio class," she murmurs, voice still slightly hoarse from all her moaning. "Worth missing that test for sure."

You laugh, the sound pulling from deep in your chest. "Coach is gonna kill me when I get benched, but yeah... definitely worth it."

Ningning lifts her head to look at you, dark eyes still soft with lingering pleasure. She leans in to place a gentle kiss on your lips – so different from the desperate, hungry kisses you shared earlier. This one is almost sweet, her lips soft and yielding against yours.

When she pulls back, Karina immediately takes her place, claiming her own kiss. Her style is different – a little deeper, her tongue briefly tracing your lower lip before she pulls away with a small nip that makes you gasp.

"We should make this a regular thing," Karina suggests, trying to sound casual despite the hint of eagerness in her voice. Her fingers continue their gentle exploration, trailing down your stomach now, circling your navel, deliberately avoiding your spent cock.

"Mmm," Ningning agrees, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Next time I go first though." The competitive edge is back in her voice, though softer now, wrapped in playfulness rather than genuine rivalry.

You find yourself laughing again, equal parts disbelief and delight. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Duh," they say in unison, then exchange a look and burst into giggles.

Karina props herself up on one elbow, pushing damp platinum strands behind her ear. With her makeup smudged and her hair a mess, she looks younger somehow, more like the girl who sits behind you in English rather than the untouchable dance team captain.

"I wonder if Yujin would want to join us sometime," she muses, glancing at both of you. "Now that I know about your little secret hookup."

Your face heats up at the mention of what you thought was your private encounter. "You think she'd be into this?"

Ningning shakes her head slightly. "She kept that whole thing with you totally quiet. Didn't even tell us, and we tell each other everything." She shoots a meaningful look at Karina. "She might not be into sharing."

"Maybe," Karina concedes with a thoughtful expression. "But I've seen how she looks at Ningning during practice."

Ningning rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Whatever."

"And I'm still determined to finish what Chaewon started with you at Jackson's party," Karina continues, poking Ningning's side playfully. "Before she chickened out."

"She didn't chicken out, she just got weird about it," Ningning protests, but there's a wistful quality to her voice. "Said she wasn't ready or something."

"Trust me," Karina says confidently, "if she saw what I just saw, she'd definitely be ready. We just need to ease her into it."

Your eyes widen at the casual way they're discussing expanding this... whatever this is. Your cock gives a valiant twitch despite being completely spent, drawing knowing smirks from both girls.

"Look at that," Karina teases, glancing down at your slight movement. "Someone likes the idea."

"Don't break him," Ningning warns, reaching across you to flick Karina's arm lightly. "We need him functional for next time."

Karina catches Ningning's hand, bringing it to her lips for a quick kiss before releasing it. The gesture speaks to a depth of connection between them that goes beyond the competitive dynamic you've witnessed so far.

"So what do you say?" Karina asks, blue eyes fixed on yours, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Ready to be our regular class-skipping buddy?"

"With benefits," Ningning adds with a suggestive smile, her hand drifting dangerously close to your cock again, though it's far too soon for you to respond.

You think about your day just hours ago – boring, predictable, defined by classes and swim meets and the constant pressure to maintain your GPA. Then you look at these two incredible girls curled against you, their bodies warm and soft, offering something you never imagined would be within your reach.

"Bio test was today," you remind yourself aloud, wincing slightly. "I'm definitely getting a zero."

"You can make it up," Karina says with a dismissive wave. "Just tell Mr. Park you were sick or something."

Ningning nods in agreement, her fingers drawing circles on your chest. "No one's gonna believe you'd skip for no reason anyway. You're like, annoyingly responsible."

As they continue chatting, arms draped across your body, heads resting against your shoulders, you find yourself wondering what exactly you've gotten yourself into. The dance team's secret hookup? Their shared boyfriend? The guy lucky enough to be their favorite distraction?

Whatever this is, whatever label might eventually apply, one thing is certain: there's no way you're backing out now.

Bio test be damned, you think, pulling both girls closer as you sink into the comfort of Karina's bed.

This is definitely worth getting benched for.

#malereader #kpop smut #cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #smut #karina x reader #ningning x reader #karina #ningning

2K notes · View notes

jungwnies · 2 months ago

Text

f1 grid | dts moments

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : how they would react if you were featured on drive to survive with them

୨ৎ : word count : 1070

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : these headcanons have become one of my favorite things to do in my free-time ugh i just love how simple they are but so real >.<

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

tries to act chill but lowkey watches your interview segments like they’re race replays

gets very territorial when they show another driver being even remotely flirty

“why are they zooming in on your face like that?”

begrudgingly admits you looked hot in the paddock footage

pretends not to care but checks your social media comments at midnight

yuki tsunoda

instantly comfortable with cameras; pulls you into frame constantly

brings you snacks during confessionals like "babe, tell them about baku!"

swears once and it ends up in the final cut — becomes iconic

pokes fun at your “serious face” in interviews

wants joint merch after your segment goes viral

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

preps you beforehand like it's a media training boot camp

wears matching outfits on purpose so fans “know you’re his”

gets adorably flustered when you’re shown hyping him up on the pit wall

gives the producers a “we’re a great team” quote with heart eyes

proud boyfriend mode activated when you’re trending

kimi antonelli

pretends he hates it but secretly gets smug seeing you support him

“whatever, just don’t say anything embarrassing” (blushes when you do)

gets a little shy in couple shots but stands close the entire time

whispering jokes in italian while cameras roll = your shared love language

starts calling you “netflix star” to mess with you

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

camera loves you two — like, full soft-focus couple montages

gives your hand little squeezes when they film to calm his nerves

talks about you once and social media explodes

gets a bit pouty when your fanbase rivals his

looks at you like you hung the moon during your confessionals

lewis hamilton

total professional but insists they showcase your advocacy/work too

“if she’s going to be in it, show the full picture”

takes you to glitzy events and makes sure netflix captures the glam

wraps you in his arm during chaotic press moments

posts a soft pic the day your episode drops — “my peace 💫”

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

encourages you to be chaotic on camera with him flirts with you mid-interview just to see if they’ll air it “they’re gonna cut this, but i love you, btw” fans call you the mclaren power couple and he lives for it insists on watching the episode premiere together — popcorn, blanket, the works

oscar piastri

tries to act like it’s no big deal, but gets bashful when they show you laughing at his jokes

his dry humor + your reactions = editing gold

“this is oscar’s girlfriend—” cut to you roasting him for his socks

won’t admit it, but checks reddit reactions

keeps a screenshot of your joint confessional like a proud boyfriend

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

entire segment is him being smug while you keep him grounded

“you see her? smartest thing i ever did.”

glares at the camera crew if they cut away from you too fast

gives a mic-drop quote about love and competition

ends up soft-launching your anniversary mid-season

lance stroll

doesn’t like talking about his private life but lets you be front and center

smiles more when you're around and fans notice

will 100% take you biking in the mountains and let netflix follow

looks at you in the background of shots like you hung the stars

accidentally gives a whole monologue about how much he values your support

ʚ・williams

alex albon

teases you nonstop on camera — “she’s the boss, really”

holds your hand under the table in interviews

your fashion gets its own b-roll montage

lowkey lives for the fan edits of your scenes

netflix producers love him for giving the perfect blend of silly + sweet

carlos sainz

makes sure you're filmed doing something elegant, like wine-tasting

drops a smooth line in spanish that leaves fans feral

secretly coaches you on how to pose for the camera

talks about “balance” and then gives you all the credit

gets a little smug when fans say you outshone everyone

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

nervous at first but relaxes when you make a joke on camera

accidentally goes viral for blushing when you kiss his cheek

shows you around like it’s your paddock too

netflix makes him the golden retriever boyfriend of the season

proudly brags about how smart and grounded you are

esteban ocon

calm and composed until they film you cheering for him

gets a little camera shy if you say anything affectionate

holds doors for you like a gentleman every time the crew follows

talks about your support like it’s his secret weapon

fans swoon when they see how gentle he is with you

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

makes goofy faces at you between takes

lets you sit in the garage while he does interviews

producers catch him mouthing “love you” before a race

shares snacks with you during down time, says it’s “team bonding”

viewers call you the surprise fan-favorite couple

isack hadjar

completely chill until they start asking about you

“oh, her? she’s everything” — cue flustered look

lets you borrow his team jacket on camera

posts a behind-the-scenes photo of your filming day together

doesn’t realize he smiled the entire time you were interviewed

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

total flirt — smirks at the camera when you're near

refers to you as “my sunshine” and the internet implodes

pushes for a date night scene to make things spicy

winks at you during press and fans catch it

still gets butterflies when you walk into the paddock

jack doohan

gets super shy at first but grows more confident with you around

you’re the reason he’s smiling during every talking head

talks about you like you’re his whole world

shows you off in the most lowkey, sincere way

gets adorably pouty if they don’t include enough of you

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

veteran energy — teases you and the netflix crew

“why don’t you interview her? she’s the interesting one.”

always makes sure you have a headset during quali

gives a rare soft moment when talking about how far you’ve come together

keeps you close during chaotic scenes — protective without saying much

gabriel bortoleto

baby driver energy — gets giggly when you're around

tries to act cool but full-on blushes when you wave at him

you jokingly call him “netflix’s golden boy” and he never lives it down

will drop everything to fix your hair or mic

ends up being everyone's new favorite young couple

2K notes · View notes

screampied · 1 year ago

Text

MONEY HONEY! — ☆ GOJO SATORU.

➤ popstar!gojo masterlist

headline. fucking your client wasn’t on your bucket list. the famous popstar 'toru' says he can’t perform because of issues he’s having with his voice. but he finds another way to warm up his vocal cords—it involves being between your legs.

word count. 4.2k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo, pwp, unprotected sex, modern au, he's a whiney brat, overstim, degradation, praise, semi public, impact play, cunnilingus, fingering.

an. lol this was fun 2 write !! ty @osaemu as always for beta'ing

“…nono, you don’t understand. i can’t go out there, i just…can’t—!” gojo mutters, and he’s pacing back and forth. talk about a drama queen. to think you had to deal with this every day, being the infamous satoru gojo’s personal assistant was never an easy task. his attire was…quite enthralling, to say the least. gojo was draped up in a sheeny black one-piece with rhinestones attached in a few places, he always had his outfits designed a certain way. not too tight, not too big.

you sat on the sofa, taking a sip of a latte he bought you as thanks for saving him to deal with the hoards of paparazzi that practically lived outside the stadium back-way entrance.

“satoru, you do this before every show,” you sigh, glancing at him. you couldn’t lie to yourself, he was strikingly handsome. gojo’s hair was a tad bit messy and ruffled. it was a slight v-cut towards his chest to show a bit of skin. his fangirls always went wild over the most minimal things such as that. “you do realize you’re supposed to be performing in front of 10,000 people? canceling right before a show isn’t a good l—”

“i know…i know,” he pouts, and he’s so unserious, you sort of found it hard to believe this was a millionaire pop star who’s such a household name. gojo lets off a loud sigh before walking towards you with a sheepish grin. “these cough drops you’ve been givinʼ me haven’t done shit.”

“really...” you deadpan, casually giving him nothing but a sly eye roll.

gojo sulks and he’s just a few feet apart from you now. “mhm…really,” he says, and the slight rasp in his voice catches your attention. his earpiece was still on, as well with his mic that hung just barely underneath his chin. “i did research though. about other methods that help with heh, um vocal fry..”

you stare up at the popstar, and he’s returning the gaze…as if he was trying to hide the smile that was already forming against his pink lips. you don’t give him an answer and this time, he’s the one to roll his eyes.

“…well since you asked so nicely,” he grumbles, the same pout going against his face before he pulls out his phone. gojo scrolls a thumb down against his bright screen before clearing his throat. “hm, according to this accurate article, it says… to fully recover from vocal fry, a guy must uh, receive a special treat within a woman’s—”

you blankly stare at him, already second-guessing his fake response. “just say you want to eat me out, satoru.”

“wha— where’d you get that impression?” he plays dumb, furrowing his eyebrows and cowardly looking around the room. a few seconds go by before he shrugs, speaking quickly, defeated. “….fine i wanna eat you out. hmph.”

you turn your head for a brief moment, hearing the defending roars of the crowd just a few areas down from the dressing room the two of you currently stayed in. “maybe after your show, they're chanting for y—”

“they can wait,” he frowns, and he turns you around, two hands softly holding onto your shoulders. gojo remained with a pout, bottom lip just slightly tucking underneath the top one. “i can’t.”

the both of you grow quiet for a long moment, and gojo seems serious—dramatic, but serious. you and him both exchanged sensual eye contact, and you were so close to gojo that you could practically smell the strong cinnamon scent of his intoxicating cologne. the popstar smooths his lips together before briefly shifting his eyes down at the floor and then back up at you.

“five minutes…five minutes, that isn't too long is it?” he stammers, and the gaze the two of you made starts to get more and more intense. “i won’t get into too much trouble if it's just five minutes right?”

“you’re insufferable.” you mumble, letting off a soft sigh. “okay, five minutes. if you say this helps with your—vocal whatever.”

not much to your surprise, five minutes turned into half an hour.

you held back a moan the sudden second you felt gojo’s warm tongue swiftly lap against your drenched folds. he made you wriggle against him, and you maintained a rough grip against the laid-back sofa.

“s-satoru,” you’d whimper out, gasping at how sloppy he was. you were prompt up in such a position to where you were bent over the arm part of the couch, skirt lifted, fishnets just barely pulled down, and the most vulgar expression. “oh my g-goddd, you're gonna make the others outside h-hear.”

“you’ll just have to be a little more quiet, assistant,” he whispers, cool breath fanning against your pussy. perhaps this was unprofessional, no it was very unprofessional. a plethora of following consequences started to race through your mind. “what time is it?”

you moaned, reaching near the wooden half table for his watch and read the time, “um.. quarter past eight.”

“aw man,” he sulks, softly licking the your tender pulsating numb with the very tip of his tongue. with a quick second, he maneuvers circles all over your clit to feel you squirm and jitter against him. “that much time passed? can’t stand rushing…”

as you cling onto the fluffed couch, your black pencil skirt that was just sluggishly raised, and yet, you continued to gnaw the inside of your lip from the feelings of his tongue, entirely sloppy.

the slurps that exited from his mouth had your bottom lip quivering in such desire. you craved more, the way he swirled and curved the length of his tongue throughout your pussy earned umpteen gasps and whines from you.

“s—satoru,” you’d croak out, and he’s casually taking the time to make out with your folds. languidly, your slick race down his chin, and between breaks to breathe, he'd lap up his tongue before diving back in. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again, think ‘m gonna cum..”

“wait a little longer, yeah?” he murmurs, grabbing the fat of your ass with two rough hands. you felt bundles of butterflies stir inside your stomach, feeling gojo’s nose swipe against your folds for a few jiffs. “let me eat, haven't had a good meal all fuckin’ day.”

you swallowed, not even facing him but you could practically see the grin stretching across his lips. “and…and who’s fault was that?”

he chuckles, warm breath fanning against your cunt. “okay, you have a point,” and your thighs feel feverish—you’re so hot, and not because of the sudden humidity wafting around the small dressing room.

the popstar lolls out his tongue, humming before you moan, feeling him lick your pussy in a straight direction. “mhm, this is better than anything else though.”

you were about to speak, but all that did was make you let out a shaky whine. the smooth pads of his thumbs graze against both parts of your ass as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. it was as if time stood still, your mouth grew exceedingly dry and your legs felt like they could barely stand up on their own.

“sa..satoru,” you once more repeated, not knowing how long you could last. simply, his tongue was dangerous—god, it was just the way he moved it in every direction.

he knew where to lick, where to suck, and even nibble. gojo found himself tickling his tongue against your little nub before sucking on it. all to hear you cry out in desperation. cacophonies of whimpers depart from your glossed lips such as, ‘satoru,’ ‘please-please,’ and ‘m gonna c-cum.’

there was no denying, gojo had you an entire stammering mess. you found yourself even questioning how this became, the two of you were never intimate. although, there's always been steamy moments between the two of you.

for instance, there was a moment where gojo took you with him to the hot springs while he was on tour…which non-surprisingly led to a hot make-out sesh. that was a few months ago, and the two of you decided to not think much of it. of course, though, there are always assumptions being made about the two of you—always from the nosy journalists and interviewers.

each interview, it’d always be questions they’d ask about the precious little assistant that’s essentially attached by the hip to the famous gojo satoru.

“are you and that girl exclusive yet?”

“how long have you two seen each other?”

“please. describe to us. what’s she like in b—”

they’d get more perverted each time. alas, gojo always loathed it whenever the press referred to you as ‘that’ girl.

his jaw would always clench in sheer annoyance. perhaps he didn't have the right to feel that way, but he was somewhat protective over you. it wasn't like you were his bodyguard or anything clearly, but still. he always liked how you treated him just like you’d treat anyone else.

“satoru..” you'd cut him off from his deep thoughts. “your phone keeps beeping.”

“huuuuh?” he grouches, ears perking at the annoying screech of his device. gojo’s thumbs remain against both edges of your ass before he breaks off his lips, a long string of his saliva running down your slit. “oh, can you hand it to me?”

he's so nonchalant, and with your back still arched, you lightly fling his phone towards him.

he grumbles.

picking up the phone, typing in his twenty-one digit passcode of ‘sexymansexyspraycan69’ before with a click, it unlocks. gojo darts his eyes towards his phone and hums at the five messages left by his manager, kento nanami.

‘Greetings. Where are you? Message me Ass.’

‘ASAP. Autocorrect.’

‘Your fans think your dead.’

‘Don’t tell me you're busy with that assistant of yours again.’

‘When your sales start going low, don't blame me.’

and many more unread, “blah blah yeah yeah,” gojo murmurs, skimming through the loads of unread gray bubbled messages. “nothing important. geez, can't have a single moment to myself.”

you were so close to orgasming and that's when gojo flips you over to face him—you're panting and he flashes you a soft smile, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “aw, waiting for me?” he whispers, bringing a gentle kiss towards the inner corner of your neck. his touch was immensely warm, something you just couldn't describe. “you wanna cum don't you, baby?

“m-mhmm.” was all you could manage out, wrapping your arms around him as he got right between you. gojo continues to trail kisses down your neck before chuckling.

“use those words, c’mon. don't be shy. i wanna hear ya tell me what you want.”

the way he was such a tease, you couldn't stand him, then again you could. so annoying, gojo’s warmth of his performing outfit brushed against your skin. the perfectly knitted fabric of it dancing against your skin as he inched closer towards you. “tell me how much of a messy girl you wanna be.”

“i—” you started, and he took a moment to stare into your eyes. gojo looked so pretty, smug yes, but pretty. long lashes each time he blinked, fluttering against him. whenever he showcased that well-known cheeky smile of his, his dimples would poke right against his lips. “i-i wanna cum. please, lemme cum, ‘toru..”

“pretty girllll wants to cummmm,” he sings in a playful melodic tune. again, you couldn't stand him. singing right in the middle of something so intimate. gojo runs a hand down your buttoned-up shirt before chuckling. “hm, i suppose. go ahead, let go fʼr me.”

once you do, immediately your vision turns dizzy. all you saw was a few blotches of white, and it feels so good that the feelings have you biting down on your lip. gojo leans into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against you while giving your ass a soft caress.

“good girl, just let go…yeah,” he purrs, giving your collarbone a gentle suck. you taste so sweet to him. you're addicting, simple as that. like candy, he can't get enough of.

gojo satoru had a sweet tooth for you, there was no doubt about it. “fuck, i can just suck on you all day,” he utters in a low voice, and his warm hands part your thighs so he can get a bit more between you. “i need more…fuck the fans, i need you.”

“idiot, don’t say that..” you moan, and he's kissing all down the crevices of your neck again. gojo’s lips against your tender skin gave you chills. even still, you were so hot, from the neck down. it felt amazing, the feeling of him sucking and kissing against your skin to such a point that you're just throbbing. “t-they’re waiting for you.”

“they can keep waiting,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss near your chest, moving the exclusive backstage lanyard pass away with a slight grip. “damn, you don't know how hard i’ve been during rehearsal. i—i think about you, you know?”

you gawk up at him as his body towers over you, his costume glimmers in the light before he starts to peel it off carefully. you were taken by surprise so you mutter, “you…you do?”

“well yeah girl,” he rolls his eyes, such sass in his tone, following with the low rasp that hid underneath his voice. “you drive me crazy in the worst way.”

“the feeling’s mutual, popstar.” you utter, a glint in your eye.

“hmpf. now that i was nice enough to let you cum, you decide to be a brat, huh?” he raises a brow, using two fingers to brush his mic piece aside.

a coyish grin goes against your lips. “sorry. are you gonna do anything about it?”

“…shut up..” he grumbles, and he does.

pretty much, you then found yourself on your hands and knees on the couch, feeling gojo caress your ass briefly before meeting the mounds of your skin with a mean spank.

you suck in shortened breath. “ooh,” he says as you moan in unison with the light thwack. “you get off on spanks, huh?” he utters in a grouse, the feeling of his palm kissing against your skin making you continuously pulse.

“n-no.” you spat.

“liar,” he matches your snarky tone, and you let off a gasp once you feel him finally rub the tip of his dick against your folds. gojo grows abnormally quiet the minute your slick coats his length freely. “fuckkk,” he sighs, eyes closing for a short second. you teasingly wriggled your ass against him and he spanks you again. “you’re so impatient, wait.”

“do you even know how to fuck?” you slip out, and you held back a giggle. perhaps you shouldn't have said that, your thoughts did speak way more than they should anyway.

gojo’s eyebrows curl into a furrow, and his voice genuinely sounds offended. “wha—?! of course i do.”

“just asking.” you tease.

“just asking,” he mocks your tone, completely butchering it purposely and gojo slowly starts to make his way inside of your tight pussy. he's gradually moving himself in, and you let off a moan before he continues, “yeah. shut the f-fuck up.”

a small grin stretches against your lips because you hear how gojo stutters whilst sinking inches into you. even while trying to be mean and degrading, he was so close to moaning himself. it was simply adorable. you maintained a mere pristine arch while biting the inside of your cheek once more.

“you're s-so wet ‘n sloppy,” he huffs out a groan, and the squelches your pussy made against him were simply enticing. for a second, you grew mute once you gave your own body a listen. just the faint sounds of gojo’s jagged breathing, “f-fuck, ‘s good. keep facing that way, just like that. good.”

gojo’s touch against your spine was purely gossamer.

he was soft, gentle, delicate.

yet the minute he started to create a pace with his rollicked hips, he couldn't contain himself. the way his dick probed throughout your walls, you kissed your teeth in longing—just for him to just hurry.

gojo was always such a tease, the fat plump head of his cock dabbing against your pussy.

“s-stop playing and just put it in.” you moaned, growing impatient by the mile.

“heh, you know what they say,” he mumbles, you pulse even more once you feel him slide in about a single inch or two…only to then go right back out. “patience is a virgin.”

“…it’s virtue.”

“that’s what i sai—”

“just fuck me.” you whined.

gojo giggles, and finally, he starts up his slovenly pace again. he grips your hips before sighing. he takes note of the way you progressively suck him in.

you linger over the couch, the fabric of your pencil skirt just hovering over your waist before gojo starts to sway his hips.

you had to stop yourself from being so noisy, executives were probably in the other room.

some kind of meeting perhaps occurring, yet here you were, happily entangled with your client. such thick inches he was dumping into you had nearly drooling. gojo’s base was rotund and fat, thwacking and thwacking against you to where you were so dizzy.

“f-fuck, ‘toru.. ‘s good,” you whined, every few seconds he’d smack your ass to watch your ass jiggle with such recoil. it was one of his favorite moments to witness. as your lips stuck together, your thighs already felt weak and tremulous.

“damn girl…didn't expect you to s-start throwin’ yourself back again me,” he sibilates, and for a concise moment, his head goes back. a groan flies past his glossed pink lips as your ass continued to thrash against him. “you're such a needy girl. tryna…f-fuck me back..”

the way his voice unintentionally got low whenever he was in such a trance had you throbbing, such convulses making you nearly weak in the knees.

to you, the feeling was indescribable. such pools of heat ran between your legs the more his thrusts picked up.

his dick reached every spot, so much so being precise—you felt the curve of his length analyze throughout your inner walls. it didn't miss a spot, he reached deep and you let off the cutest whimper. “god, r-right there. please, ‘toru. y-your curve, ‘s reaching me deep.”

“you f-flatter me,” he pants, trying to ignore his flusteredness. gojo’s right hand, the hand that had a half-cut open glitter glove that coordinated alongside his outfit ghosts against your ass. his lip quivers from his pace, and the way your pussy just sucks him dry, a few splotches of pre-cum cutely coated against the outer part of your ass. “fuck, dunno how much i can take with you movin’ your ass against me like that…shit, shit.”

“…s-satoru,” you breathed, biting down on your arm to suppress your moans a bit. not before long, he deepens the angle and you feel his sharped hips piston in utter contentment. “fuck, f-fuck. ‘s deep.”

gojo groans, swallowing the nonexistent lump in his throat before he feels himself coming close.

“think you’re gonna m-milk me dry,” he gasps, jerk after jerk his hips go against you at full throttle. the base of his dick, you hear the pap pap pap noises commence, and it’s so obscene. “shit, think ‘m in love,” and then you grow hot. it’s a long inelegant pause before he adds to his words, “…i-in love with your pussy.”

you were gonna comment on something, but you were too fucked dumb to comprehend anything. you’re being fucked stupid into the cushioned sofa. the cottony bristles of the fabric went against your skin as your body lurched forward each time.

splaying at an almost animalistic pace, gojo’s ears, the very tips of them at least grow incredibly hot, you’re making his body heat up, scorching. the way your pussy tightly hugged around him like a vice, he was obsessed.

he just couldn’t get enough. to think this was the first time he’s been this intimate with you—oh, how he could only imagine what it’d be like for a second time, or a third time, or a…

“s-satoru, your phone’s ringing..”

he grunts, glancing down to see the bright-lit screen display, and this time it’s geto. with an eye roll, he ignores it, still gripping your hips, he’s attaining his peak before he lets off a husky groan. “f-fuck, ‘m gonna cum.. can i—?”

“y-yes, jus’ do it, ‘toru,” you spoke, not even letting him finish his sentence—you knew what he was gonna ask though if he could shoot inside. you were so drunk from his dick, thoughts on your mind were straight mush.

“okay, okay,” he breathes, and even his moans were pretty. figures, gojo was a soprano, so he was bound to sound angelic, even while moaning his head off. it had the perfect pitch to it, such rasp in it, almost breathy.

you feel gojo’s pelvic bone thrust a bit more at a quickened pace, accelerating just a bit more and his nerves were just going wild. “fuck, f-fuck..” he grunts, and he starts to grow a bit whiney, his sloppy hits against your rear made out to be a tad bit voluntary, rhythm a bit more expedite, and he clenched his jaw.

once gojo came, it's so much.

thick ropes that seeped right into you. you moan, and he pauses his hips just to watch, feeling himself pouring all inside. velvety ropes of the popstar’s cum fills you up to the brim. you're panting, he's panting, and gojo was in love.

was it love? he didn't know, but his pupils were dilated for sure.

his breath hitches once he pulls out, watching his cum slowly spill out between your folds and he lets off a moan. “made me fuck such a mess into you,” he spouts, running a thumb down your slit to watch you cutely jounce against his touch.

“you ruined my panties,” you whined, turning over to face him—gojo leaned in for a kiss, and you returned the favor, tasting yourself once more on his lips. the sweetened taste of your slick that remained all over his tongue.

“baby, it's not like you need them,” he rasps, grabbing ahold of you, and he positions you to get on his lap. “besides, i was gonna ask to keep them.”

“why?” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck, slipping off a moan at his already sensitive tip hovering against your entrance as you realigned yourself.

timidly, he runs a hand down his neck. “y’know. for uh…good luck? was gonna keep them in my pocket or something.”

“you're so—”

“shhh.” he hums, interrupting your words for another tender kiss. your tongue slides against his, and he tastes minty.

as his breath collides against yours, you playfully bite down on his lip. gojo grunts, and he’s making your way inside again. gingerly, you sink against his thick base and he gives your ass a mean squeeze before spanking it once you start to move.

“oh f-fuck…fuck, forgot how sensitive-” he hiccups, watching with half-lidded eyes at your hips rotating against him in an orderly fashion. you moan from his pleasure, taking a second to swallow before whimpering—softly, you kiss against his neck and he grunts. “you-you make me feel so good, baby.”

gojo’s almost at a loss for words, he’s had his fair share of women, but none could make him feel like this.

besides, he's never had the time. touring day in and day out was a hassle, and intimacy was a straight no due to his overly busy schedule.

although, whilst the two of you were screwing around, making out and you're riding him, cowgirl, that’s right when the wooden creaky door bursts open.

not to anyone’s surprise, it's no one other than gojo’s best friend and bassist, suguru geto.

“you've got to be joking,” he utters with crossed arms, immediately darting his eyes away. “everyone’s been calling you, there's a search party, and—”

geto pauses, tilting his head. “…is that my clothes you're wearing, satoru?”

“suguru…hey man,” gojo gasps, nervous laughter following his tone—you jump in surprise, and he wraps an arm around your waist. “i’m… kinda busy here.”

“i don't give a fuck,” he grumbles. “by the way. your mic was on the entire time. you moan like a girl more than her.”

gojo’s eyes widen, reaching for the tiny button near the edge of his mic.

indeed, the switch was turned on and he awkwardly laughed, bringing the speaking part up to his lips.

“eheh…hey mic check?” and he could hear himself echo through the earpiece. embarrassing.

despite you still being inside, you just sat there—geto staring away, not even trying to comprehend what was happening before gojo coos out a subtle cheeky, “uh…i didn't know my mic was on. my bad.”

“you're so stupid...” you run a hand against your forehead in disbelief. an entire stadium practically heard the both of you.

the heels of geto turned before gojo brought a finger against your lips to shush, and he pouts. “sugu wait,”

“what.” he mutters, turning back around.

“wanna join…? don't think a few more minutes wouldn't hurt…r-right?”

“…….”

9K notes · View notes