#mmf soft now…

[psuejo]

❥ tied him down to my queen bed!

“fuuuck, baby—”

never in toji fushiguro’s thirty-eight years of living has he let himself get tied up. not during jobs, always too quick and nimble to even let them get close, nor when he was sleeping around. he was always on top, always the one tying them down and fucking them silly.

yet here he is, thick wrists and ankles bound to the posts of your bedframe, legs spread just for you. he can’t help it, not when you’re bouncing on his dick like a see-saw, a repetitive up and down that has those lightning veins dragging through your gooey insides.

“mmmgh, s-shit,” he moans, and it teeters off into a breathy chuckle, practically drowning in feigned confidence. even now, toji still wants to save face with that wobbly smirk on his face, though you definitely know better.

god, he feels like a teenager again, balls heavy and aching cock sensitive to every slight flutter and suctioning clamp of your sweet pussy. it’s like you’ve cast a spell on him, made him weak to your soft touches, the gentle bat of your long lashes, the feeling of your reverent lips peppering his face in endless kisses whenever he returns from a job.

that’s precisely how he ended up like this, tied down to your bed with just a small pout of your glossy lips and a few low, choice words whispered into his ear that’d had his pants instantly growing tight.

it hasn’t even been ten minutes, and toji’s ready to cum. you see it in the way his eyes keep fluttering like he’s having to fight the urge to let them roll back, how his hips don’t stop bucking up into you, shoving his dick in deep enough to create that perfect, cylindrical bulge in your tummy that has him drooling with endless moans and barely bitten off whimpers.

“c’mon, doll, un... mmf— untie me.” his hands flex, testing the barely sufficient restraints. “lemme f-fuck you right. that’s what ya want, y-yeah? jus’ untie me, baby, hah—”

you shake your head, hands on his chest as you up your pace, a familiar pressure building low in your spine. “you p-promised, toji.”

he did promise, he knows that, and he hates breaking them, but with the way you’re now swiveling your hips in torturous figure-eights, snug cunt milking him for all he’s worth, he is genuinely not gonna last.

“baby, pleaseee? you feel s-so fucking good, toji, god—” your voice is as sweet as ever, making the thick walls around toji’s mind melt into goopy, lovesick puddles and his balls draw up tight.

he doesn’t mean to cum before you, honest, but when you’re talking to him like that and riding him so good, he can’t help but pump thick, hot ropes of cum right into your womb, jaw slack for a long, whiny groan.

you don’t even get the chance to process the tears in his eyes before the ropes snap, two big hands coming down on your waist and flipping you right onto your back.

“toji, hnngh, wait—!”

your boyfriend just gives a rough shake of his head, the ropes sliding free from his wrists and ankles as he hikes your legs around his waist. his dark fringe falls in front of his face, and, for a foolish moment, you think he’s going to listen.

but toji has never been good at being submissive for long, even with you.

with a rough snap of his hips, he slams home, pushing that previous load of cum even deeper. “n-nah. ‘s my turn now.”

[eraserbread]

midnight messes are no match for your husband, nanami ✧

→ afab!reader, period sex, oral f!receiving, nsfw

he wakes you up with a kiss to the shoulder, golden hair strewn about his head and a tired look in his eye. the bedroom is overwhelmingly dark, you're lying on your side, stirred from sleep.

"my dear," he mutters into your naked shoulder, closing his hand around your arm. under the blankets, your legs are tangled together. you smile into the touch.

"mm,"

"i know," he reassures, kissing you once more. "but, we're a bit bloody under here."

your eyes fly open, staring off into dead space at the realization. now that he's mentioning it, your stomach is tighter–back ringing with the most delicate of aches. you rush to sit up, pushing him away as you pull your knees to your loosely covered chest.

"holy shit kento, i'm so sorry.. i don't know what to do." you can't see much in the darkness, but you can feel. it's warm on your thighs–thick, crimson, and sticky. "I'm usually so good about... a-about avoiding this, I'm so sorry."

if you could see him through the darkness, you would see the confused sort of half-dead stare he gives you when he sits up. "it's just blood, baby. you didn't shit the bed."

if you could get any more flustered you would, but you're already burning hot and aching at his side. aching everywhere. sizzling like a vampire when he reaches to flick the bedside lamp on.

then the murder scene is shrouded in light and you're staring at him like a guilty puppy. he thinks it's so damn endearing, you're so pitiful and pretty tangled in your bloody sheets that when he goes in to kiss you, it doesn't stop.

and when he starts to dip his head between your thighs, you don't stop him. not even when he's peeling your soiled panties from your skin, inhaling the pure scent of you when he finally comes face-to-face.

blood is soaked into the mattress, past the sheets and blankets, so kento doesn't care anymore. he'll drag you to the couch after a shower anyway and coddle you to sleep, but right now, this was too tempting a situation to pass up. he licks his lips.

"god, you're such a freak. it's always the quiet ones." you're holding your breath as he situates between your thighs, laying on his stomach, trapping your thighs between his big arms.

kento's in his element, breathing in your essence like a perfume. "are you insulting me?"

"what normal man goes down on his wife during her period? mmf- it's unheard of." you bite your lip, rustling against the soaked sheets as kento's soft lips trail over your leg.

"men who are obsessed with their wives and worship the ground they walk on," he pauses, sinking his teeth into the fleshy, sensitive inside of your thigh. "and everything that comes with being so close to a woman." he's making his way up to your warm, pulsing cunt, nose digging between your slit as his tongue makes its way to your hole.

he breathes you in, then licks you clean in one thick stroke.

and you immediately reach to tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, your breath sucked from your lungs. "m'god, it's so sensitive."

"focus on me, baby." kento breathes, lapping sloppy streaks through your cunt. his face is covered in it, the dull light paints his red-tinged face in holy hues, casting shadows against his most prominent features.

his fingers dig in your thighs like he'd die if you moved, so you don't. you arch your back, moaning his name into the damp midnight air.

kento does a better job at cleaning you up than you ever could in the shower, especially because he just doesn't stop. his eyes drift shut like that, red lips sucking at your sweet cunt, moaning into it when a fresh wave of bloody arousal passes his lips.

[xaviever]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ଓ overstim with him!

including. xavier, zayne, sylus, & caleb.

summary. scenarios where one or both of you are overstimulated during sex. ˃𖥦˂

cw. (afab!reader) 🔞 mdni. softdom!zayne. kinda sub!sylus. patheticdom?caleb. overstimulation, obvi. breeding (xav & caleb), dumbification (zayne), xavier says ily in it. use of baby, sweetheart, princess, & dear.

ᢉ𐭩 xavier!

this is nothing new. xavier is often overwhelmed by his need for you. his impressive stamina and unbridled desire are a wicked combo, leaving you in for long, long nights when his restraint snaps. he’s had you against the door when you first arrived home, on the couch, kitchen counter, in the shower; now, finally, in bed on your side, slowly and deeply kissing each corner of your insides like some lecherous love letter.

“xav- baby, s’too much,” your voice sounds scratchy and foreign from the amount of strain over the last few hours. in response, your thigh is hiked up further, flush against his sweaty chest for a better angle. "fuckfuck, my god, xavier!"

“made to take me…” his lips find their way to your ear, sucking on the lobe as he rambles, unbelievably pussydrunk and obsessed with the repeated slosh your combined releases have created. he keeps his voice as steady and soft as he can while not losing his pace, fucking as deep inside you as your body allows.

“you’re molded to me, baby. mmf, made to be pumped f-full of my cum. you were made for me.”

all of your senses feel on fire, completely overloaded from your evening of being folded into impossible positions again and again. xavier is nothing if not insatiable when it comes to claiming you, his hunger for you, your presence, your attention, your sweet cunt taking him to the hilt like it was destined for his cock.

he's as sensitive as you are now, gasping each thrust, almost whimpering, "just one more, p-please. aah, you can do it. i feel you, mmfuck. i know you're close..."

you nod dopily, consumed by the way your numbness dissipates, body buzzing as you somehow find the will to cum again. your arm moves back to cage his head against yours, and he fucks you both through the haziness, his moans and your broken cries a symphony in the night. he cums hard, and so much, an insane amount after emptying himself inside you all night. the two of you lay entangled in one another, both too sore and thoughtless to even fathom moving.

"i love you so much. so much..." xavier professes into your shoulder, pressing clammy kisses to every part of your neck he can reach in silent worship before drifting off in your aftershocks together.

ᢉ𐭩 zayne!

you can't even speak. zayne’s fingers and tongue have been working you skillfully for so long, too long. he's memorized everything about your body. how you like your clit sucked, when and how to point and flatten his tongue. he knows all your sweet spots, the exact angle, pace, intensity needed for you to cum the hardest, see stars and make you dumb the easiest. of course, he'd never degrade you and call you such, though there's something so riveting about having you brainless under him, entirely overcome by his expertise in your pleasure.

you're cumming all over his hand for nth time with a weak cry, shivering as he holds your hip down to the bed so he can properly fuck you through the waves, not stopping until he feels you've given him every last drop once more. big tears roll down the sides of your cheeks, which he immediately responds to, bringing the hand holding you down up your body to your face and sweetly caressing.

"you've been so good for me. i'm proud of you, my perfect girl."

his pruny fingers slip from you with no resistance. zayne coos at you hearing your tired whines, softly maneuvering you while he shushes and mutters reflexive praises. you’re okay, safe, he’s going to take care of you. he always does. before you can register it your legs are spread widely apart, zayne’s practiced caution evident in how delicately he handles you.

"i believe you can take a bit more for me, no?" he strokes himself unhurriedly, all while thumbing your clit, keeping you stimulated still. he still appears relatively composed above you, one of his only giveaways being the stuttering of his breath, barely controlled lust seeping through him.

zayne enters you steadily, always being gracious enough to let you adjust to his girth. "hah... she's been waiting for me. i can tell." your messy cunt welcomes him warmly, his heavy tip opening you up in a way his fingers could not. it has you reanimating, thighs shooting up to clench around his hips. you spasm, the ghost of an orgasm making you seize around him and ripping the air from both of your lungs.

he sighs out at the feeling of his full length bottomed out inside you, admiring you pliant and glowing under him. “i... ha-have to hear you, dear.” the same fingers that were previously stretching your cunt softly push past your pouty lips. he splays them all over your tongue, forcing the sounds you'd been too delirious to let out escape while he begins fucking into you like a promise.

“mmh, say my name. i know you can.”

ᢉ𐭩 sylus!

you just wanted sylus to feel good, like he so often makes you feel. ...and if you maybe got a little power hungry and ended up addicted to the way he falls apart, holding him down, coaxing him into letting you make him cum over and over, on your seventh "one more" of the night... well, that is not a crime.

in all actuality, though, sylus does not need much convincing. he's not one to oppose you, naturally. however, the second you got commanding, a small switch flipped in his brain and he couldn't save face, couldn't stay above his innate call to submit to you. he's unsure why he'd ever fight it now. sylus is enraptured by your hedonism tonight, reduced from his usual weighty presence to something only you can unlock within him. something yours.

"you know you've got such a pretty dick, baby," you purr, flicking your wrist as you jerk him off with a casual pace, one that's become less bearable after multiple releases. "so big, pink and drippy for me. for me, right, sy?"

the prettiest moans fall from his lips when his head lolls against his headboard, barely deciphering what you've said but knowing to agree, anyway. he nods lazily, peering down at you through clouded, low eyes. his brows are knit in the most desperate expression you've ever seen from him, zeroed in on you. sylus gasps in a big breath after you squeeze him at the base, trying to get more of those beautiful sounds from him.

"yes. yes, sweetheart, y-youu, ffuuck-" he drawls, feeling on the precipice of cumming once more with every slight movement of yours. "yours. aagh! haah, fuck, a-all of me. everything."

his words go straight to your pussy, pulsing from your neglect. having him fill you to the brim sounds amazing, hearing him be this submissive under you? you moan a little at your own imagination. sylus continues to whine, grounding you here as you conclude before you satiate your need, you have to hear him cum one more time. just one more. he can take it.

your hand speeds up wordlessly, already knowing how close he is from the way he twitches, so beautiful and sensitive. "kitten, please." he sounds so sultry begging for you, his voice pitching with need, a frequency only for your ears. you're addicted to this side of him. "i want...w-want to cum for you again."

ᢉ𐭩 caleb!

“sh-shit, you- aangh, p-” caleb’s head feels impossibly heavy as he allows it to fall back against the couch cushion. any attempt at a plea falls shorter with each rhythmic bounce of your hips.

you'd jumped him as soon as he settled into your home from his visit, taking initiative and sinking yourself down on him at the first opportunity. he should've known he was in for it with how easily he slipped inside you, like you prepped without him. this was premeditated. the drag of your walls around him, hot and wet and unrelenting, you were fucking him like he owed you something.

“pips! princeeess, ffuck, please. you’re milkin’ me for all i’m worth, haah-” he’s cut off by his own breathy moan. you don’t stop, not even for a second. if caleb really couldn’t take it he’d safeword or lift you with his evol, yet he only has the brainpower to hiccup and whine under you as you use his dick to your heart’s content.

his hands squeeze your hips for relief, kneading your soft skin for any kind of purchase. you lean down, your fucked out moans vibrate against his neck as you nestle your mouth there. you instinctively sink your teeth into him, pulling something lewd, broken from his throat that even he was a little appalled by.

he doesn't think he's ever cum this much in succession. caleb is already very easy, often fighting hard to not cum from the smallest of your intimacies. you can imagine how hard it is to stay lucid when he has no choice but to cum for you over and over again.

the two of you sound like a couple of pornstars, producing some of the most depraved noises you've ever heard come out of each other, and the constant plap! plap! plap! resounding in your living room.

"need you. cum- nghh, cum in me again," you moan a little animalistically as you rise, facing caleb again to speak. you grab his face, smushing it to make him focus, wanting him to hear your words. "want all of you, c-caleb. pleease."

pitiful as he is, caleb whines at your words, the noise jarbled from your grip on his face. he's throbbing painfully at the admission of your need, hands getting rougher, faster, gathering his remaining coherence to make you scream and chase this release as much as you were. your hands fall, gripping his chest for stability, and caleb groans, dipping his forehead down to rest against yours.

"fuck, baby. got me shootin' blanks and you still want 'em. filthy girl."

— authors note. just couldn’t stop thinking abt this one sub!sylus fic i read… all this came from that lolol. rbs are appreciated!

[sturnibby]

SHOWER SEX SHOWER SEX SHOWER SEX

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ Matt blurb - "Fuck me, I don't care where"

content warnings : pure smut, shower sex, slightly rough!matt english is not my first language!!

"Fuckin' hell— That's it, baby–"

Even through the sound of the shower, Matt's groans and panted breaths filled your ears as he fucked you up against the shower wall. Your palms pressed firmly against the slippery wall, holding yourself up the best you could as he pounded into you from behind.

"This pussy's so fuckin' wet, and it ain't just from the shower, huh?" He teased into your ear before his teeth nipped at your earlobe, a whiny moan falling from your lips.

"F–fuck matt—" You gasped out as his hands gripped your hips tighter, the sound of your ass hitting back against his hips echoing within the tiled shower as he fucked you like a damn rabbit in rut.

It'd been a rough day for him, meetings back to back that had him drained the moment he stepped into the house. And being the perfect girlfriend you are, you'd made him a perfect dinner, made sure he was comfortable, and even asked if he wanted to join your shower to help wash all that tension out of his tight muscles.

Needless to say, it didn't take long for his hands to wander over your soapy body under the spray of the shower, his cock needy as he ground against your ass, and who were you to turn down your hardworking boyfriend?

"My dick that good baby?" Matt cooed, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your neck, biting at your shoulder that was already starting to sport hickies from just a few moments prior.

"Yesss," You whined out.

"Making that pretty little head go dumb? Yeah?"

"Mmf- yesss–"

He lifted himself up, biting his bottom lip between his teeth as he picked up pace, fucking into you even harder now as pleasured grunts left him and cried out moan spilled from you. "That's fuckin' right, baby, take this dick–"

The harder he fucked you, the closer you felt to that mind-blowing high, your legs starting to shake as it became harder to keep yourself up, your hands practically clawing at the wall to steady yourself, your cheek pressed against the cold tiles.

"M-matt– 'm gonna– gonna cum–!" You babbled out, eyes rolling back as he found that spot inside you that had you seeing stars, your soft, pink lips parted in a silence moan as he practically growled, his cock twitching within your pillowy cunt.

"That's it baby, cum f'me, cum all over this fuckin' dick," He encouraged you, and it was just the push you needed as you felt that knot within you snap, white waves flashing over you as your body trembled, an orgasm hitting you so hard that you'd hardly realized Matt was cumming right with you, your sweet cunt milking him for all his worth.

The both of you panted together, pressed up against the shower tiles as water washed over the both of your tired and spent bodies, before you felt Matt pepper soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, murmuring against your skin and weak, breathy giggles left your lips.

"You're so fuckin' perfect... I love you so much, baby.."

Lana's thoughts . . . rough matt in the shower is just what i need right now, thank you anon 😋!!

Inbox is always open, requests are always welcome <33

Find more of my work here.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @briizysturn

© 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒃𝒃𝒚

[c4toru]

your overworked bf makes it up for neglecting you ^o^

it was another one of those nights where he stayed up in the dark depths of the night, scribbling down different notes for himself to review the following day. he had been overwhelmed with the amount of preparation that needed to be done for his upcoming project at work.

you couldn’t remember the last time you even kissed properly, aside from the little pecks he gave you when he left for work or when he shushed you to sleep. you perk up as you hear him sigh loudly as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before closing his notebook and setting it to the side.

“you’re still up pretty girl?” he worriedly asks, turning his body over so he can spoon your plush body. he’s met with uncomfortably loud silence but a firm grind of your soft body being pushed against his. confusion is plastered across his face but before he is able to get a word out, you speak up, “i miss you.. i-i want you” you whisper. he is so incredibly dumbfounded but still decided to indulge you further.

“how d’ya want me..?”

your naughty advances are what led you here, your pajama shorts lost on the floor while your full leg is hiked up to allow his now hardened cock to push its way past your warmth. “biiiig stretch honey- ngh!” he mumbles, shoving his girthy cock deep inside of you, hefty balls sitting perfectly against your swollen clit.

“o..oh f-feels so good mmf!” you babble, your dainty hand gripping onto your plump thigh as he’s rubbing slow n agonizing circles on your puffy clit. he’s licking a long stripe up the side of your neck, earning a breathy gasp from your lips. “i’m all the way up in here- hah..d’ya feel it? hmm?” he teases, pressing a heavy hand to the fat of your stomach.

“y-yes! so deep nngh.. gimmie more!” you cry, attempting to bounce your hips back onto his, desperate for friction. he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth before fucking up into you harshly, your aging bed creaking like there’s no tomorrow. he’s bringing his hand up from your clit to fondle your tit, grasping onto it as his leaky tip pounds against your sopping cervix.

“gonna give it all to you, ‘kay? be a good girl and take it.. hah.” he grumbles, your tight cunt creaming all over his cock, globs spilling down to his balls. your plush body jiggles as he rocks his hips into yours, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing tears to prick the corner of your eyes.

“m’cumming! f-fuckk .. don’t stop!” you squeal, his hand moving back down to your clit to rub sloppy circles around your nub. your cunt is fluttering around his lengthy cock when you feel his warmth begin to spill inside you, hot cum filling your insides. your mind exploding in pure bliss as specks of white begin to coat your entrance.

“nngh! so fuckin filthy..” he whines, your head toppling backwards to give him a sweetened kiss. he’s gripping into yours hips, slowly stroking his sensitive cock into you before pulling out and letting his fluids seep out.

he hates making his sweet girl feel so neglected but god.. make up sex sure does feel good

a/n : thank you so much for 1k !! i got a lot of asks for overworked/exhausted drabbles of various diff characters so i decided to write a miscellaneous one to satisfy some of you :D | thank you for all the support <3 , likes & reblogs are appreciated!

[konigslittleliebling]

you are literally the best cod writer on this app. hands down. I was wondering if you could write simon and reader getting a noise complaint the morning after he literally makes dents in the wall from the headboard slamming, reader whining, you choose the rest. your writing is literally art 💋

EHEH ARE YOU SERIOUS 🥹🥹 squealing, blushing, kicking my feet 🤭🌷

MDNI. flashbacks of rough sex, sexual language !!

you couldn’t help the butterflies that ricocheted off the walls of your stomach when your husband shot a coy smirk over his shoulder at you. the feds were at the door — clipboard in hand. “sir, we received several noise complaints throughout the night and into the early hours of this morning. . .”

oh.

‘ungh~ tha’sit, lovie.” he croaked against the shell of your ear — the moist, matted foliage of his pelvic bush kissing your swollen clit with ever piston of his drilling hips against yours. “missed ya s’much, darlin.” his voice, husk and dry, reverberated against your sweat-damp temple where gentle pecks left affectionate stamps in their wake. “feel so good squeezin me like that, mmf~”

“oh yeah?” your husband responds, feigning oblivion. “y’sure they was complainin ‘bout us, lads?” they nod at that, peering past the hunk of your husband to acknowledge your smaller self. “yes, sir. said it wasn’t the first time.” they look back to simon, dragging their eyes up his six-foot-something bulk. “apparently this happens whenever you come home.”

“that so?” simon irks them, his pride potent in his tone and stature. “what’d they tell ya?”

“missed you, si!” you whined, nails raking down the taut flesh of his expansive back. “so big!” you complemented, eyes performing somersaults within their sockets. “so good!” and it was. your husband’s thick cock had never felt better; solid pudge rocking into the soft slope of your now no-doubt pregnant stomach whilst his girthy prick went to town on your innards. you mewled, slender digits clawing the memento of that night into his muscular body as his vigorous movements bashed the headboard into the wall behind.

“your neighbours heard a loud ‘banging’ from about dinner time onwards, mister riley.” one officer informs him. “yeah, and what sounded like screaming up until 4 the ‘morrow.” the other adds. you know your husband’s ego just grew ten sizes bigger, his dick likely swelling also. “really?” simon humours them, smirk blatantly present as he says so. you giggle, hand flying to cover your mouth as an embarrassed flush taints your cheeks a raw maroon.

“s-simon! the wall!” you cried, wept. blissful tears poured from your hooded eyes as you craned your neck backward — the paint on the wall crumbling as the metal frame of your headboard collided with it with each of his aggressive thrusts. “leave it.” he grunted, fucking into your exhausted pussy with increased force. “let the whole fuckin’ house tumble down.” hissed into your gaping mouth; tongues tangling and saliva accumulating. “let everyone know who’s fuckin’ you dumb like this, yeah? makin you scream ‘til you cum nice an’ hard.” and you did — milking his fat prick dry as a ring of cream slickened around his hairy base. “cum on this cock, love”

“just thought we better have a look ‘round, if you’s don’t mind.”

simon looks back to where you’re watching with a blush. “not at all, officers.” he winks, to which the heat that blushes your flustered face dives southbound to narrow on your throbbing cunt. “c’mon in.” and of course he directs them upstairs first.

“you can do it, sweet’art.” he groaned into your moaning mouth. “let ‘em hear ya.” his pace picked up, inflated balls bouncing off the underside of your upturned arse as he hammered his heavy cock against the roof of your bruised cervix. “let ‘em know who’s home.” your eyes rattled until their whites were visible, pupils rolling back to stare your brain down when his weeping cockhead bumped into your cunt’s velvety roof — pre-cum mingling with the cream of your impending climax. “that’s it, love. hug me nice and tight.” you let out a strangled squeal at his words, voice breaking whilst he battered your smaller frame into the creaking mattress. the bed frame shook, swaying back and forth in tandem with his zealous rhythm. “gonna wake the neighbours.” you slurred through spit-covered lips — red and puckered. “good.” simon retorted, muffled by the slaps of skin ploughing skin.

“how did this happen?” one of the cops asks, gesturing to where the wall has eroded. the plaster beneath reveals exposed brick where next door attaches to the structure of your abode, loose wiring and pipes hanging down. the headboard is dented, the paint from it now transferred onto what remains of the wall behind. “wear ‘n tear.” simon shrugs, slinging a lazy arm around your shoulders. you lean into him, legs still aching from last night. “besides.” he adds, slyly pinching your backside. “was happy to see the missus.”

[omiiuvz]

M♡RNINGS WITH U —ੈ✩‧₊˚

SYLUS X FEM!READER

spending a morning with sylus after a “tiring” night, you see a side of him that makes you fall in love all over again.

note: this is inspired from this card, ugh i’m so obsessed with sylus already. he’s giving sweetheart but only behind closed doors 🥹

!! SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE !! MDNI

the suns warmth dawned upon you, the tall glass windows displaying the fresh morning light right onto your eyes. you dug your head into the soft pillow. the events of last night has left you still extremely fatigued—and a bit sore—however the sound coming from the kitchen has you sprawling out of the comfort of sylus’s king sized bed.

slipping on one of his button ups, you make your way out of the bedroom only to he greeted with the smell of freshly baked pancakes. still groggy, you rub your eyes as you make your way to your snowy haired lover. his concentration for the food was cute, you admire his dedication of plating the breakfast. his hands despite being slightly calloused, was delicate with placing your favourite fruit on top of his morning masterpiece.

“where’s the chef?” finally speaking up, you wrap your arms around his waist. and as if on instict, he reciprocates your sweet gesture. his arm brings you in allowing your cheek to press against the side of his chest.

“i dismissed him, wanted to make you breakfast today…plus I get alone time with you.” voice still raspy from waking up, he places a kiss on your forehead. you squeeze your embrace more tightly around him, loving every second you’re having right now.

“there breakfast is done, help me set up the table?” he asks, eyes now fully on you. you can see the slight shock on his face, yet sylus recovers quickly by putting on a prideful smirk. you look at him confused,

“what is it?”

“you’re wearing my shirt.” you look down then back on him smiling, with a small giggle. feeling a little mischievous you respond to his remark with a kiss on the lips, before turning away to get plates.

however you’re stopped with sylus grabbing you by the waist and pinning you against the counter.

“sylus…” he’s inching closer, and his smirk is more sly. his hands are creeping up your waist from underneath the oversized shirt, sending goosebumps up your spine.

“mm? yes my love?” his soft lips are now centimetres away, and your face is extremely red. and before you could exhale one more shaky breath, his lips gently meet yours with so much need.

your hands grip his own shirt tightly, knuckles turning white from how hard your grasping it. sylus only takes this as an initiative to bring himself closer to you, smiling through the kiss.

despite the neediness from it, it’s slow and passionate. his lips softly melding with yours, he pulls away for a quick breath before placing quick pecks, not wanting to stray from your intimacy.

“sylus.. mmf—! breakfast!” with failed attempts to push him away, his pecks only trail from lips down to your neck where clearly he’s already marked in a few areas. he’s just so obsessed with you, he seems to never ever get enough of you.

“breakfast can wait.. how about dessert instead?”

@omiiuvz || 07.08.24

©️ all rights reserved. do not copy / plagiarize my work.

[pitlanepeach]

Gentle Thing | OP81 + LN4

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

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

Word Count — 7k

My Masterlist

Melbourne, 2013 - Age 11 + 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty.” He told her.

She beamed.

⸻

Melbourne, 2017 - Age 15 + 16

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

Oscar had engine grease under his fingernails.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got in.” She said on an exhale.

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

“I did.”

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

⸻

Paris, 2019 - Age 17 + 18

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

⸻

Barcelona, 2020 - Age 18 + 19

Oscar had just won his first F3 race.

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

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

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

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

⸻

Baku, 2021 - Age 19 + 20

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

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

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

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

“You’re weird.” She laughed.

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

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

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

“What happened with the bodice?” He asked.

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

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

“You make it sound easy.” She complained.

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

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

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

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

“You’re not.” She retorted.

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

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

“I miss you,” he said finally.

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

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

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

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

“You knew what you were signing up for.”

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

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

⸻

London, 2022

The news broke at 8am.

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

ALPINE ANNOUNCE OSCAR PIASTRI AS 2023 DRIVER ALONGSIDE GASLY

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

He didn’t call. Not right away.

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

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

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

“Oscar.” She said, immediately.

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

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

“They went public without telling me.”

She closed her eyes. “I know.”

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

“No, you’re not.” She whispered.

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

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

⸻

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

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

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

She looked like everything he wanted to protect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not your fault,” she murmured.

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

“Osc.” She whispered.

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

Her hand paused against his head.

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

“Oscar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻

A Week Later - Melbourne, 2022

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

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

There was a punnet of strawberries sat between them.

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

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

“With McLaren.” He said. “For 2023.”

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

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

The words hung between them like starlight.

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

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

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

“Yeah.” He smiled.

The screen door creaked behind them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar groaned, low and half-hearted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar only half listened.

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

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

Pride.

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

All of it. Every sacrifice, every near miss.

It had all come together to lead him here.

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

A life. A future.

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

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

—

Oscar meets Lando on his first day at MTC.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando nods like that settles it.

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando Norris.

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar groans softly. Elodie purses her lips softly.

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

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

“She made it,” Oscar tells him.

Lando’s eyebrows lift. “No way.”

She manages a small nod. “I did.”

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

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

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

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

“He’s… nice,” she says softly.

Oscar hums. “He grows on you.”

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

Oscar nods. “Yeah.”

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

He doesn’t answer right away.

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

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

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

Maybe that won’t be true for much longer.

—

Zandvoort, 2023

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

Elodie hadn’t moved.

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

Lando spotted her before anyone else did.

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

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

“Elodie,” he said. Softly. Simply.

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

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

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

But Oscar didn’t move.

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

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

“Hi,” she said, voice light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Elodie looked lovely in the rain.

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

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

She didn’t move away.

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

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

“He didn’t need to, Lando.”

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

It was beautiful.

And suddenly, painfully, he knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

OP81. LN4.

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

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

—

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

Something useful. Like what the hell he was doing.

She was Oscar’s girlfriend.

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

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

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

He liked the way she looked at people.

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

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

This wasn’t.

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

Just watching.

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t know what that meant.

Not yet.

But he thought maybe Oscar did.

—

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

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

Sat across from her.

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

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

“Dinner, Elodie,” he prompted eventually.

She looked up. “Mm. Thank you.”

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

Then—

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

Pause.

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

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

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

“Lando?” he asked.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

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

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

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

Oscar leaned back in his chair. “Elodie.”

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

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

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

Now, it was quiet.

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

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

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

Oscar didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

They both already knew.

—

The hotel room was quiet.

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

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

She always smelled lovely

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

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

Then the door slammed open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She squeezed it, gently.

And just like that, they were three again.

—

Lando gives up pretending six weeks later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her smile softens.

Everything changes.

—

Glastonbury 2023

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

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

Lando let his eyes flutter close at the touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Oscar didn’t hate the number four anymore.

It meant something different now. Something far more tender.

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

[takes1]

ur blog is so pretty...

if you are okay with it, do you have any headcanons bout what type or p0rn the Karasuno boys would watch? 🌹

what type of p*rn would the karasuno team watch?

warnings. heavy nsfw under the cut. minors DNI

characters. suga. daichi. asahi. tsukki. kageyama. hinata. nishinoya. tanaka. yamaguchi. details. lots of kink discussion - just about anything you can think of

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

suga९᠀ - likes a good storyline video. loves a bad one. shitty acting gets him laughing, and he needs every chance he can get to feel as though he isn't sinning. won't say no to an amateur flick, but he likes the structure of 4k videos, and is a suuuucker for the 'oiled up' aesthetic.

asahi९᠀ - buddy has a rampant size kink that doesn't get much of an outlet. downside: most videos that cater to this are not what he wants, because of the unavoidable infantilization in most of them. so he opts for amateur vids with bigger guys turning out their smaller girlfriends, wives; extra props if there's some real, organic dirty talk, or if it happens to be super low-quality.

daichi९᠀ - has no shame about his oral fixation. face fucking. deepthroat. he's got any video with some lucky dude getting good head memorized by the title and the preview. his favorites are either: when the guy stays hands-off and silent, or when she takes a load down her throat. not much in between.

tsukishima ९᠀ - is a filthy animal with a porn addiction. will watch/has watched just about everything under the sun. he had a bukkake faze, a gangbang faze, but is now proudly serving his bdsm faze with specific interest in femdoms. shiny, black heels get him hard in an instant. has done the tried-and-true bdsm questionnaire in his spare time and does heaps of research on the community, usually as a pregame to jerking off.

kageyama ९᠀ - no particular preferences. but if he's got a crush on somebody, he will strictly watch lookalikes. it wasn't a conscious habit at first, but after the third time it happened, he couldn't articulate any other reason to look up seven descriptors in the search bar and get 0 results. how well/quickly he gets off is based on how well the actor or subject looks his crush. it's a long endeavor, too. he edges for as long as he can, and almost always does it twice.

hinata ९᠀ - can't watch porn long enough to build any strong preferences. has sensitivity/premature ejaculation issues, so he tends to just listen to whatever video he landed on. this has opened more of a pipeline to nsfw audios, instead. loves the sound of two bodies coming together, especially all the little pants and huffs in a video that aren't faked. has gotten insanely good at being able to tell if it's fake, too.

nishinoya ९᠀ - doesn't watch videos; similar problem to hinata. instead, yuu buys physical hentai novels. big fan of monster-fucking. tentacle stuff is a staple in his readable porn. he guards his collection with his life and would sooner lose a limb than have anybody go near the shelf that he keeps them hidden behind. once, asahi stood too close during a sleepover and -naturally- yuu bit him as a distraction, just to get him away from the area.

tanaka ९᠀ - wlw videos. solo-girl vids. he can't stand to watch something with a guy in it. it's huge turn-off, especially when the dude is too loud, or in the way, too soft, or straight-up ugly. learned to love the slow, women-catered stuff that's 40 minutes long and has plot to follow. also picked up a lot of tongue tricks from these vids, too. (congrats, kiyoko!)

yamaguchi ९᠀ - mmf threesomes. i think ya'll know what i'm getting at, here. either he 1: is poly and doesn't know it, 2: is gay and doesn't know it, 3: is genuinely very enticed by the idea of overstimulating a gorgeous girl, OR 4: can't see himself as enough for a potential partner, and this might be a subconscious way of evading that insecurity.

notes. i'm very sorry to any who were looking for ennoshita, kinoshita, or narita. i tried, but genuinely couldn't get anything going for any of them. they all seem like nice guys, but there's no material that i can properly make nasty.

taglist. @integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

links. my masterlist. requests open.

[evie-sturns]

yapper - Chris Sturniolo

summary: you talk, a lot. chris finally has enough of your voice and puts his hand over your mouth, little did you both know that this would let to a lot more than expected.

contains: smut, fluff, shy!chris, yapper!reader, risky sex.

---------------------------✩------------------------------

9:28pm

"okay- but guess what happened next! she literally took off runnings, like- i mean i know she was embarrased but running away is just gonna make an even bigger fool of yourself right?" i ramble on and on, and on... and on.

"but-" i start, cutting myself off with a gasp, "i forgot to tell you oh my god! okay so you know that one girl who i used to work with, wait whats her name?"

chris suddenly speaks up, "baby," he sighs, his voice has a twinge of frustration in it, which doesnt suprise me.

ive been speaking his ear off this whole hang out, but its not my fault that i just have so much to tell chris.

i stay silent for about 3 seconds before instantly starting up again,

"jen-! that was her name, okay so basically i found out that her and her boyfriend are in like this massive fight right now because she fucki-"

chris cuts me off,

his hand clasps over my mouth, which shut me up pretty fast.

i stare at him with my round eyes, his hand still firmly plastered over my lips.

he clears his throat, breaking eye contact quickly.

i slowly reach up, grabbing his wrist and trying to gently lift his hand away.

he keeps it there though, his gaze drifitng back over to me.

chris's eyes are fluttering shut everytime he blinks, his cheeks burning red as the silence in the room grows, its nice for a change though.

i open my mouth to try protest, but my voice is muffled by his palm. "mmf- chris just-" i start,

he shakes his head, "all you do- is just talk y/n! oh my fucking god."

a grin spreads across my face, which chris seems to take note off.

suddenly he sits up right, grabbing my shoulder with his free hand.

he gently lays me down on the couch, his hand still plastered over my lips.

he then hovers over me, staring down into my eyes.

i feel heat pool in my lower abdomen, goosebumps travelling up my arms as the eye contact with chris grows stronger.

he gently removes his hand away from me, his face inches from mine.

he it between my legs, his torso millimeters above mine and his hair tickling my forehead.

“not.. another word.” he whispers,

i nod slightly,

he brushes his lips against mine, our noses brushing.

suddenly his lips connect with mine, my chest instantly tightens as i grab at him,

he inches my legs further apart with his knee, which shortly after brushes against my clothed cunt.

i let out a needy whine against his lips, causing him to pull away,

“shh sh.” he shushes me, his hands on either side of my head.

“i wan’ you..” i whisper,

chris’s cheeks flush red, his eyes darting away for a second,

“yeah?” he mutters, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he blinks a few times.

i nod, “i- i really do.”

i sit up on my elbows before reaching for his belt buckle,

he doesn’t say anything, just letting me.

i unbuckle his belt, a soft thump fills the room as it drops onto the couch.

i tug down his jeans, and he helps me discard them to the side.

his hands rest on my knees,

he suddenly speaks up, “i- i mean- we really can’t.. matt and nick are home and nick has a friend over it’s- it’s so risky..”

i frown slightly, “but- please! that’s not fair!”

he shakes his head, letting it tip back.

“i’ll be really.. really quiet i swear.” i whisper,

“i doubt that..” he scoffs,

“cant we just go to your room?” i groan,

he shakes his head, “nick will be right next door, he’ll hear stuff..”

i look up at him through big wide eyes, toying with the waistband of his boxers,

“i’ll be so good and quiet..” i breathe,

“fine- fine okay- just- god..” he mumbles,

he reaches for my waistband and tugs my small shorts off, before pulling at my panties.

he practically tears my tank top off, leaving me fully revealed.

“we have to be quick though.” chris mutters, pulling his shirt off over his head, leaving him only in his black boxers.

i nod with a smile,

he palms himself through his boxers as he hunched over, clearly overwhelmingly horny.

i tug down his boxers, the cold air hits his tip, causing him to let out a shaking gasp.

“please..” i grin,

he nods, “you- be quiet.” he whispers, grabbing my hip and lining himself up with me.

my arousal coats his tip as he gently presses it in,

the stretch hurts so good, i let out a small moan.

he slowly presses more inside of me, my walls clamping around him at the size,

“fuck- chris-“ i moan out, completely forgetting the one rule he had for me,

he stares down at me, his movements stilling,

“i fucking told you, be quiet.” he grunts,

“i can’t..” i whine loudly, his thickness stretching me out.

he moves his hand, placing it right back over my mouth with a small tut.

he starts to thrust into me, making sure his strokes are deep each time.

i squeeze my eyes shut, my whole body feeling like it’s on fire,

my stomach tingles heavily, i purse my lips together, trying to stop my noises but it’s not working.

a moan rips out of me, muffled by chris’s palm.

“noisy girl, fuck..” chris groans, his pace rapidly picking up speed.

i wrap my legs around his waist as i frantically grip at his back, my nails sinking into his skin.

my moans get increasingly louder as i turn my head to the side, making chris hand on my mouth slip away.

“you just- you just can’t shut up can you?” he grumbles, his voice trembling as he gets closer,

“i- fuck!” i babble out,

suddenly, chris pulls out of me.

empty, is the only word to describe how i feel.

“chris no- please i was so close- please!”

he cuts me off, “sit up.”

i sit up on the couch, the dull ache between my thighs frustrating me.

he gets up on his knees, his cock right infront of my face.

i stare up at him frustratedly, folding my arms,

“since you won’t keep your mouth shut, gonna have to atleast put it to work hm?” he whispers,

i roll my eyes, my hole fluttering from loss of contact.

he reaches two fingers down and taps my cheek, “open.”

i part my lips,

“go on, use that damn mouth for good.” he mutters, his hand reaching round to my hair and twirling it into a makeshift pony.

“fuck you.” i mumble quietly, a small grin on my lips.

he gently presses his tip to my lips, i wrap my lips around it, tasting myself on him.

i let out small grunts as i take him further down my throat, my lower jaw already aching.

his tip kisses the back of my throat, making me squeeze my eyes shut.

“good, so good..” he groans,

he starts to move his hips, gently fucking my face.

i let him, keeping my lips firmly around him.

his pace quickens, the head of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of my throat.

small gagging noises fill the room as his pace gets even faster.

“oh fuck baby- oh god, gonna— gonna let me fill that pretty mouth up?” he rambles, his grip on my hair tightening,

i nod,

“that’s a good girl,” he whimpers with one final thrust of his hips,

spurts of white shoot down my throat, a smile growing on my face as i swallow it all,

he gently pulls out of my mouth, rubbing my cheek with his free hand.

he flops back onto the couch, his cheeks red and sweaty.

his hair sticks to his forehead from the dampness, he gently pulls me onto his lap.

“can you fuck me now chris, so mean of you to edge me like that.” i huff, rolling my eyes.

“why would i let you cum? you weren’t following instructions properly yeah?” he chuckles, earning a loud groan from me

i tip my head foward onto his shoulder

“my jaw hurts.” i groan,

“does that mean you’ll finally stop all the talking?” he grins,

“no— not at all actually- i still haven’t finished my story!”

-

taglist #1

@jayz4dayz4 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathando-64 esgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 9 @sturnthepot t t @zayyluvz z z @realuvrrr r r r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall l l @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour r @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnn n @sturnioloxlver r @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya a @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney y y @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry y @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees enxtrees @certifiednatelover r r @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast t t t t @yomamaslays4lyfe e @peachmelbaesunpostre @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 9 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc c c @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise e @sturni0l0tripletzz z 0 @ratatioulle  @sturnsforlife @mattsonly @justalittle47 7 @sunsetsturniolos s @downbad4reid  

[lily-bisque]

✦ breath control with suguru ﾉ eighteen plus

“mmf… mm! s-sugu!” your breathy plea laced with a whine, turning your cheek to break the heady and all-consuming kiss. your mixed salivas had slathered against your plush lips and your heated cheeks.

his eyebrows drew in, confusion painting his sharp and dark features, eyes searching your casted cheek. “what’s wrong, darling?” he heaved, voice husky with concern, enough to send a chill creeping down your spine and coiling in your core, your thighs rubbing together for any sense of friction for your needy cunt.

your wrists were pinned to the bed above your head, suguru’s heavy weight crushing you into the mattress as your kiss-bitten lips moved in tandem. you were giggly, squirming beneath his hold, until he prodded his pierced tongue into your slack maw.

and god, did he taste good—like the minty gum he'd been chewing and something smoky you couldn't place.

he licked long, wet stripes across your pink muscle, before sucking on it between his own lips.

your eyes glossed over in lust, allowing him to take full control with your tongue in his mouth, his raven tresses tickling your bare collarbones. his free hand came up to tweak your erect bud, making you twitch and gasp for oxygen but suguru was nothing but desperate.

his kisses didn’t let up, a calloused and rough hand groping you while he sucked the air from your lungs.

you twisted and twitched in his grasp, allowing him to consume you until you were nothing but fuzzy, head buzzing with the sole need to breath.

and now, his firm pressure on your wrists didn’t let up, if anything he was pushing you further into the duvet, purple irises blown wide and low lids as he searched yours for an answer.

“couldn’t b-breath,” you whispered, feeling the heat rise from your nape up to color the crowns of your ears.

it didn’t help that you were naked and he was fully clothed. give it to suguru to utilize his humiliation kink at any given moment.

the lopsided grin that suguru couldn’t conceal had him ducking his head, running his tongue over his teeth, before meeting your eyes again. “that such a bad thing?” he chuckled, mocking, yet soft.

you inhaled sharply, aligning your heat with his clothed thigh, weakly bucking your hips upwards with a shake of your head.

“thought so.”

he reclaimed your lips with his hungrily, a throaty hum from the recesses of his chest leaving him before he tugged your lower lip between his teeth, earning a shaky whine from you.

the feel of his rough washed out jeans against your slick hood made you dizzy, your entrance clenching around nothing as you stimulated the sensitive bundle of nerves that were slick with arousal and already leaving a damp spot against his bottoms.

you were his sick obsession, the one thing he would claw his way to hell for just a taste. so why was it so bad when he wanted to take his sweet time to ruin you, leave you a blank slate he could mark up as just his?

“mmm, that’s the spirit,” he groaned into your mouth, hand coming to the plush underside of your thigh to guide your pathetic ruts. “breathings' overrated anyway, hm?”

you nodded, though you weren’t quite sure what you were agreeing to, before the hand of his that was holding your wrists down came over your mouth. your eyes matched his, a hungry glint flashing in his gaze as he admired your bare figure. “this okay, baby?”

you nodded quickly, a muffle leaving your lips that only dampened his palm.

“good girl. now fuck yourself on me.” he purred, raking his hand through his locks that cascaded down his black tee.

you complied, stomaching caving as your hips began canting a slow up and down on his bulky thigh. he simply watched you now, leaning over to whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

“you like that, sweetheart?”

“doing so good for me.”

“can’t hear you. louder.”

the sounds that trickled from your lips between his parted fingers only steadily increased in volume, thighs trembling with the effort of how your pelvis continued to thrust upwards and drag downwards, a pressure building in your core.

“you close, baby?”

you nodded, tears dotting your waterline, a few streaks already making their way down the sides as you cried beneath him. you babbled uselessly against his hand, saliva wetting his digits that curled over the side of your cheek.

he tugged your ear lobe between his teeth, enough to make you wince, before kissing that sweet spot against your neck until it purpled.

"let go."

on cue, your body responded to him—a strangled, near noiseless sound tearing from the base of your throat and into his hand. you hadn't meant to make such a mess, squirting all over his jeans and the bed sheets, your orgasm ripping through you for nearly ten seconds.

suguru placed a few chaste kisses against your neck, before sitting up and tugging his hand from your mouth to give you a few soft taps against your cheek.

"that's my girl. knew you could do it."

the praise had your brain muddled, a fucked out grin on your face as he moved to unbuckle his belt and pull his top off over his head.

"think you can handle my dick without breathing?"

[weoris]

ACT ᛫ LHS

❪ 勇 ❫ when he takes over a kissing scene teaser

❛ 𝐂𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘 ❜ lee heeseung x 𝒇! drama au 💼 enhypen coldcrush!hee romance a bit of angst ༝༚༝༚ kissing acting 𝘄𝗰━━1OOO. clickdaily.

˶ REBLG﹠LIKE ˵

“NO, YOU DON’T GET ME!” you yelled in his face, in the centre of the main hall, just a few students and teachers around.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed your wrist, “I’ve been trying to get you! you just won’t let me!” Heeseung argued back, looking down at you as he stepped closer, making you step back shakily.

you whimpered in frustration, as heeseung stepped closer again, pulling you by your wrist closer to him.

His eyes trailed down to your eyes, then your lips.. his eyes started to soften, walking walked closer and closer, each step causing you to move back, till the back of your thigh hit the edge of the table prop.

Heeseung’s placed his hands on the table behind you, trapping you. his gaze was intense.. not angry or upset, just desperate.

Your gaze softened, lips trembling as you looked down at him. heeseung had never been this up close, never looked so needy.

you could only stand there frozen, as his large frame engulfed you against the table.

“Just.. let me get you..” he whispered, tilting his head and leaning into to capture your lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

and it felt just like you had imagined.

his lips were soft, and plush. his movements were slow, as if he didn’t want to break you by being too intense, or break himself by letting himself fall too hard for you.

you didn’t move for a second, only letting him move his lips against yours.. till your eyes fluttered close, and you put your hands on his shoulders.

“Mmf..” you sighed, trying to push him back, but your own body wouldn’t listen. the grip on his shoulders to push him away, only served as support for you to stand, and a sign for him to continue.

6 seconds.. 7 seconds.. done.

A 7–second—kiss, that was all it called for.

“Cut!” your drama teacher called out, making your heart sink slightly.. you didn’t want this to end.

the ending scene was simple, he keeps his hands on the table; he kisses you; you pause then restrain; you put your hands on his shoulders, and that was the cue to cut.

but it seemed like heeseung had the same thoughts as you.. or he didn’t hear the director..

because suddenly, his hands weren’t on the table anymore. 4 seconds had passed since you put your hands on his shoulders, it should’ve ended by now..

you opened your eyes and knitted your eyebrows in confusion, but your lips didn’t part.. and suddenly, you felt a pair of hands on your waist.

“Mm..” he hummed into it. he hummed into your kiss, not a grunt of frustration or annoyance. but he pulled you closer, and hummed against your lips.

you couldn’t pay attention to the remaining students backstage, or the drama teacher watching in shock in the seats. suddenly, it all felt too real.

heeseung let the script drop to the ground, as he wrapped his whole arms around your frame, pulling you impossibly closer to him and holding you tight.

a tongue—kiss was not a part of the script either, but the lines of drama and reality had already faded, as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

you whimpered in confusion, but your script dropped shakily, as your arms went up to rest on his shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut.

he pulled you off the table, tilting his head to deepen the kiss at any chance, while his hands gently rubbed up and down your waist.

his fingers reached under the hem of your shirt, the cold contact causing a shiver to run down your spine.

you felt your thigh touch the table again as he placed you against it, a hand on the wooden board to support himself and his other hand holding your bare torso under your shirt, his thumb caressing little circles on your warm skin.

you both pulled back slowly.. heeseung let out a soft sigh, before leaning forward to capture your lips again, pulling you close for a split-second kiss..

he looked at you, as your noses touched and his breath was still somehow stable.. you couldn’t read his gaze, but you knew there was something there.. he had never looked so intense before.

heeseung closed his eyes, taking a breath to calm down.. but suddenly—

“Cut!” Your teacher called out, making you both flinch and breaking your train of thoughts. you both looked at her in shock, her sudden claps and his dramatic cheers shattering the atmosphere.

“That was brilliant! So much more than what I had in mind! Scratch the ending, you two just do exactly that for the play—exactly what you just did!” She said.

heeseung looked down, still breathing heavily, pulling away slightly. he took his hands off you, as you looked down awkwardly, rubbing your neck.

he cleared his throat.. he didn’t even look nervous or affected.. he just grabbed his script and walked off the stage, as the drama teacher had called for a wrap of rehearsals.

you looked around, broken from your trance as you noticed everyone packing up. pursing your lips, you walked off the stage and looked up at him, walking next to him as your belongings laid next to his.

a conversation, a word, anything.. you wanted to say anything to him.. you looked up at him, but the words failed to form in your throat. heeseung didn’t even spare a glance, just packing up his stuff.

you quickly did the same and followed after him as he walked forward. “H—hey..” you let out awkwardly. Heeseung let out a sigh, looking up and trying to hide his annoyance before he turned around face you.

“Yea?” He replied, unamused.

you gulped at his words, but tried to act aloof. “Uhm.. h—how did you think of.. improvising like that? Was it the heat of the moment or..”

heeseung sighed at your words, pausing for a moment as his eyes trailed up and down your figure for a second. “It was just.. a part of the act. I was just acting.”

and you didn’t know why, but his voice seemed a little colder at that.. maybe a bit hurtful.

maybe it was the fact that he was just a rude person trapped in a charming, talented body..

or how he looked at you, almost annoyed, a complete 180 to how he was touching you.. kissing you.. even just looking at you earlier on that stage.

or how he turned around and walked away, not waiting for your reply.

whatever it was, you could only stand in the middle of the floor, frozen at his words. you shouldn’t have overthought anyway. maybe it was just all an act.

🐰 © weoris | tumblr.

신 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘. posting grind is on! @enhablr @kflixnet @kwritersworld @sgz-net

❪ taglist open ❫

[rensukepie]

꫶ུ⃛ᰭ “…is we fuckin’ or what?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— r. s

mdni!!!

ryusei just won’t let you study! that is, until he fucks you dumb.

contains : shidou’s a little FREAKKK, fem reader, size kink (kinda), perv shidou, nerdy reader :3, established relationship, dumbification, tongue kissing, p in v, he reallyyyy likes your boobs, nipple play, squirting, cunnilingus, fingering, pet names (angel, pretty, etc…), shidou’s kinda mean :;;((!, aftercare ofc!

nsfw under the cut

you need to pass this class.

you firmly believe your stupid lecturer is on your ass! always targeting you and you only is actually his profession you think to yourself, but that’s not the point right now.

the point is that you need to study for the upcoming test, otherwise your lecturer is gonna be yapping to you and targeting you once more.

you check your notes and look over at the concepts you had learned, until you hear his keys jingling and the door opening to your shared apartment with shidou.

you continue to check your notes and he comes inside of the room, giving you a quick kiss and holding you from behind the chair you were sitting on.

“what’cha doing angel?” he asks with genuine curiosity, planting a kiss on your neck.

“studying for my test, why?”

“yer such a fucking nerd… that seems so boring!” he says, getting a little more touchy with you with his big hands roaming your body.

“i like this little tank top you’ve got here… your tits look s’pretty… so soft…” he admits, his warm tongue circling your nipples.

“r-ryu…!! not right now… i wanna pass this test.. we can after…” you whimper, a wet spot forming in the middle of your panties due to him touching you in your most sensitive places and his words just got you so wet! yeah, you wanted to pass the test, but you’ve been so needy for him all week! your hands between your thighs wishing it was your boyfriends fingers instead of your own.

“c’mon pretty… jus’ wanna have some fun with you… missed you by the way….” he says before kissing your soft lips with need.

“mmf… r-ryusei… wan’ you sooo bad… missed you too…so much…” you whine, pulling him to the bed.

oh he swears that your whimpers alone can make him cum.

…

“r-ryu!! stop teasing me—mmm…!!” you pout, yearning for more of him.

he’s got his fingers on your clothed cunt while his tongue is licking and sucking your nipples, his big, burly fingers circling your clit very slowly.

“you needy girl… so greedy f’more, hm?” he teases once more before moving down to kiss you all over, his hands on your hips.

he reaches down to your slit and teases you about how needy you are before giving a kiss to the wet spot and taking your panties off, practically drooling at the sight of it.

“so wet… and it’s all f’me, right angel?” he coos at you before inserting his middle and ring finger inside of your gummy walls and licking your at clit.

“m—mhm…! all for you ryu….haah—“ that familiar sensation in your stomach is building up and your whimpers are getting louder and your cunt is getting more soaked.

everything he does makes your brain feel so fuzzy in the moment. all you can whine and babble about is his name! he’s really got you dumb on his fingers and tongue!

“yer gonna cum soon aren’t you? can feel yer cunt squeezing my fingers, pretty…” he coos into your pussy, like you could understand any of his words right now. “it’s a shame you can’t understand me right now though… yer body’s so sensitive…”

“r—ryu!! m’gonna cum… cumm—mmf..!!” you moan as your orgasm washes over you, your fluids everywhere on his arm and fingers.

“aww…. you needy girl…” he laughs before going up to kiss you all over your boobs again.

…

his cock makes you really, really dumb! rubbing it back and forth on your slit now coated with his pre before actually putting it in makes your brain all fuzzy.

“going dumb on my cock now, hm? haven’t even put it in yet, silly girl….”

“ryu…. you’re so mean….haah—…” you pout, but not for long before he puts his whole cock inside of you.

“mm!! ryusei—! s—so big… mmf… s’gonna break me…” you babble, digging and scratching your nails into his muscular back.

he thinks it’s so cute when you get like this! you’re just so pretty whining about how big his cock is.

“ryuuu….! m’gonna cum again! pleaseeee…”

how can he deny such a request from a pretty girl like you?

“mmff… im gonna cum too, baby… cum f’me..”

….

“you okay, angel? did i go too rough?” he says, grabbing you a water bottle.

“no… i liked it actually..” you admit, blush on your face.

“y’know.. you still got yer test you gotta study for..”

“ryu!”

[moechies]

happy father’s day ♡

“happy father’s day.” you purr, turning your face to meet the man behind you.

you grind your clad pussy subtly against the man’s buldge, making him groan.

“whaddya mean , hm ? we don’t got kids, doll.” toji grumbles against your neck, hand coming up under your shirt to grope at your warm tit.

“s’because you’re my daddy.”

he chuckles, warm breath spreading across your skin, sending a shiver down your back.

“is that right?” he whispers, hand now trailing lower and lower, fondling your soft tummy. he reciprocates your neediness, rolling his hips back into yours following your rhythm. his beefy tip nudges against your slit slightly, causing you to jolt.

“mmf— mhm .”

“y’gonna give y’r daddy a blowjob then?”

“you’re so gross, toji.” you giggle.

“don’t be fussy now.” he reprimands, sitting up against the headboard before placing you in between his legs. he crosses his legs behind you, caging you in, leaving you no space to move from the position he set you in.

“make daddy feel good.”

“‘kay, daddy,” you mumble, rubbing your cheek over his clothed bulge. you press hot kisses all over his shaft, starting from his plump balls, ensuring you lick on them to work him up, leading your way up to his cock head. his slit leaves a creamy residue on the fabric of his boxers, bleeding onto the other side.

you waste no time licking and sucking on the little slit of cream through the fabric, sighing at the feeling of your hot tongue pressed against his cock head.

“shit.”

he watches you from afar, mouth so close yet so far from his dick. he really can’t stand it !

“d’you want more daddy ?”

“course, doll face. be good and put that sweet mouth to use.” he pulls down his boxers just below his fat balls before pressing your face inches away from his cock. you watch his tip drool, pre cum dripping down the underside of his shaft. you lick up a stripe, bringing your lips to suckle on the swollen head , running your tongue through the salty divot.

he lets you take your time, enjoying the show you’ve put up for him. your eyes peer up at him once in a while, glassy and full of love, to be met with his emerald ones that glow with a glint of evil. toji truly is an evil man.

“don’t make me wait now. be good f’your daddy ‘nd suck him off, yeah?” you bring your lips further down his shaft, hands coming up to jerk at the large gap of cock that your little mouth is incapable to handling itself. it damn near makes him moan, watching you try to please him to the best of your abilities. he wasn’t used to such treatment , especially when you’re used to laying below him and allowing the hunk of a man do the work. not like he minded, at all.

you continue suckling on him, hot tongue dragging along the veins of his cock. it wraps around his pudgy tip perfectly, pressing a bit of pressure on his slit making him shiver and groan.

“t-that’s enough , get off doll.”

he tugs you off by pulling at your hair, making you whine at the loss. saliva strings from your glossy lips, connecting you to the tip of his cock. you could only think about the loss of his fat load in your mouth, the creamy and salty texture painting your face in fat spurts, now all gone in a matter of seconds.

“n-no, why , daddy ? ‘s supposed to be your gift !”

you whine , a petulant pout spread across your face when he holds you tight by your scalp to prevent you from crawling back onto his dick. he smiles.

“y’only stopped me because you were gunna cum.” you bark, lips quivering at the sight of his drooly cock before you.

“yeah, so? gotta put this load to use . don’t got as much as i used to, doll.” he chuckles, flipping you below him in one quick motion. his calloused fingers come to pull your panties aside holding them in place with a fat thumb, revealing your messy cunt. you gasp , and he allows you no time to reciprocate what’s happening before he begins rubbing his messy cock head in between your folds, separating the fat lips.

“happy mother’s day , doll .”

“what’re you talking about? w-we don’t have kids.” you mock meekly with a giggle.

“oh,” he laughs.

“we’ll see about that.”

[alg3a]

auspicious (pt. 2)

jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x reader

3k, MDNI, no use of y/n

description: After confronting the boys and teasing them for long enough, you finally get what you want.

warnings: nsfw content, full complete total smut, MMF threesome, f!receiving oral, double penetration, all characters are sort of switches i suppose, double creampies! hooray!

a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE!!! it was entirely unexpected, but i loved hearing that all of you enjoyed it. it was my first ever tumblr fic, but there will be plenty more and my request box is VERY open.

Something in their eyes turns dark when you utter those words. Not utter, exactly, they were more of a proclamation. Maybe it was your confidence that threw them off so intensely, but how could you not be confident in a dress like that, after two glasses of wine, and knowing that the two most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on have been wanting you for months?

It made all the late nights and restless mornings worth it to be sprawled out on their cozy lab couch wearing practically just a strip of fabric, watching them eye you like dogs.

“What is it with you two? Do I need to write you a formal invitation?”

Surprisingly, Viktor moves first. When he gets to the couch he drops his cane as if it was a crumb off his coffeecake. Then Jayce follows, filling the spot behind you as you face Viktor on the other end of the couch. Jayce’s calloused hands wrap around your waist, feeling every inch of the delicate skin exposed by your low hanging dress. Viktor’s delicate hands cup your jaw.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” Viktor says, his voice raspier than you’ve ever heard before.

“Hey–” Jayce squeezes your hips firmly and pulls you back into his chest. His fingers trace the long slit up the side of your leg and brush the fabric to the side, exposing your thighs. “How long we have been waiting for this.”

“Did you ever talk about me–about this–with each other?” You have a million dirty questions to ask them now that you have them at your disposal, and this seems like a good place to start.

“It’s hard not to,” Jayce says. “Every time you would come into the lab in that little skirt…”

“Things as small as lingering touches when passing tools…” Viktor added, his mouth dipping low to kiss your exposed collarbone.

“Anytime you did anything vaguely exciting… let’s just say the thought of sharing you is very familiar to us.” Jayce’s low, rough voice mutters against your neck. He punctuates his sentence with a nip at the soft skin as Viktor pulls away from your clavicle.

“Would you like that?” Viktor asks, his fingers delicately wrapping a strand of your hair around his long, slim finger. “For Jayce and I to share you?”

And suddenly they’ve monopolized this interaction. So much for all that confidence–thrown out the window as soon as they show a sliver of dominance.

“Speak up,” Jayce says, grasping your chin firmly and lifting it so that your face is flush with Viktor’s.

“Yes,” you finally utter. “I’d like that very very much.”

“Good,” Viktor says, his accent thicker and his voice raspy.

His thumb traces along your jaw until his hand seats itself on the back of your neck. His fingers slide into your hair. You’d never realized how big his hands were until then, as one wrapped around the back of your head, tugging softly at your hair as Jayce rubbed your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling gently downward to part your pretty lips. They really were fantastic partners, aiding each other in research. And there you were, their perfect little assistant, providing them with something to study.

You don’t realize how heavily your heart is thudding against your ribs until Viktor’s lips are exploring yours and your heart is the loudest thing in the room, second only to your little whimper as you realize Jayce is doing some exploring of his own. His calloused fingers brush your bare thigh beneath the slit of your dress and dip between your legs as his chest presses against your back. With the hand that once rested on your chin, he pulls the apex of the slit higher, so that your lacy black panties are exposed to the cold air of the lab.

“Fuck,” Jayce mutters at the sight of them. You feel as his hardening cock twitches against your back, eliciting a moan from your mouth that vibrates against Viktor’s lips.

You whine as he pulls away from the kiss to take a look at what Jayce has discovered.

“Don’t everyone look at once,” you joke, but your breathlessness and heaving chest don’t exactly contribute to the punchline.

Viktor smiles for a moment, but his eyes drift to your shoulder. More specifically, the fallen strap of the dress which leaves your shoulder exposed.

“You’ve been in this dress all night,” Viktor says, smiling as he looks at Jayce over your shoulder. “I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable…”

“Do you often imagine how uncomfortable my clothes are, Viktor?” You ask, returning his smirk as Jayce slips the remaining strap off of your other shoulder.

“All the time,” he says, taking the next step off of Jayce’s hands and sliding the bodice off your dress downward, then letting Viktor return to pushing down the remnants of the dress so that it pools around your ankles.

“And much more, it would seem…or sound, rather.” Jayce laughs in a low tone, the vibrations of his chest against the bare skin of your back causing your stomach to flutter. “Loudest housemate ever.”

“Oh really?” You ask, mouth agape as Viktor slides off the couch with a smirk on his face, bringing your legs with him. He pivots you so that you’re sitting with your back against the cushions now, and he’s kneeling between your parted legs. Only your cute little panties separate his face from your best kept secret.

“Hearsay,” Viktor rolls his eyes as he kisses up your thigh. “And from the man who doesn’t even close his door when he thinks of you…”

“I close it. The walls are just…thin.” Jayce replies, placing his hand on your chin once more to turn your face to his. “And I can’t help how much noise I make.” His voice lowers and his eyes flutter shut, preparing for his turn with your lips.

Jayce is a much rougher kisser than Viktor. Handsier, too. His hand slides up your waist, grazing your chest, before finally landing on the expanse of your tilted back neck. If he choked you to death right now, you could die happy. But he won’t. He just squeezes gently as his tongue explores your mouth, his grip a reminder that he’s been wanting you for three long months. You can imagine how it must have felt for both of the boys to have you within arms reach, pushed away only by their own semblances of professionality. Actually–you can taste it, too. And you can feel it as two fingers press against your clothed cunt and you let a moan echo into Jayce’s persistent mouth.

Viktor lifts a leg onto his shoulder, and you feel two of his calloused fingertips pulling aside the lace of your panties. With only the tip of Viktor’s tongue, you’re a whining mess against Jayce’s. Jayce pulls away from you with a condescending laugh, wanting to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s meal.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “I never thought my lab partner and I would have our tongues on the same girl at the same time.”

“Don’t lie,” Viktor looks up, a grin on his glistening lips. “I’ve heard my name through those thin walls, too.”

“Shut up,” Jayce groans, and guides Viktor’s head back to your cunt. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to utter, miraculously. You’d heard Jayce tease Viktor time after time about his inexperience with women. You’d be surprised that Viktor was this good at eating you out if you weren’t familiar with what a meticulous learner Viktor was. A true perfectionist.

As Viktor sucks on your clit, Jayce lowers his head and sucks marks onto your neck, one hand still on Viktor’s head, feeding you to him.

“Please…” you whimper, not sure exactly what you’re even asking for until you feel your impending release.

Viktor laughs against your core. “Please what, my love?”

“Please, I’m gonna… mmph! I–” The leg that rests on Viktor’s back bends so that he’s pulled closer.

“Don’t stop, Vik, she’s close.” Jayce’s grip on your jaw tightens and he pulls you ever so slightly downward to watch Viktor. “Is that right, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You nod emphatically, opening your lips but fuck it’s so incredibly difficult for you to form words when there isn’t an adjective on the planet that can describe how he’s making you feel. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, please, please don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jayce says, his grip loosening as he goes in to kiss you again while your climax hits you like a tidal wave. Jayce feels the impact of it against his mouth in the form of your own, needy, whimpering moans.

Your legs begin to shake, but Viktor’s hands wrap around your thighs, holding you still as he shows no signs of stopping. He’s going to grant your begging wishes and ride this out with you, his tongue dancing along your clit, his fingers spreading you wide so it’s certain he won’t miss a spot.

Once you’ve settled, Viktor pulls away, wiping the arousal from his lips with the back of his hand. You’ve seen him exhausted, aching, and messy, but you’ve never seen him with such a powerful glint of desperation in his eyes.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” Jayce asks, his fingers combing through your hair.

Viktor seats himself on the couch again, drawn to your collarbone again, this time using his fingers to navigate the delicate clavicle.

You nod, but it takes every ounce of effort you have to lift your head up repeatedly.

“We’re not done with you just yet,” Jayce says, getting up off of the couch, “if that’s alright with you.”

The request is almost rhetorical. Of course it’s alright with you. He knows that. If the wanton, needy little noises you were still making in agreement were any sign of the pleasure you derived from this arrangement, you could go on until morning.

“Viktor, take your pants off,” Jayce demands, standing over the two of you.

“Who decided you’d be calling the shots for tonight?” Viktor asked, breathlessly, raising one eyebrow.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll gladly take your pla–”

Viktor rushed to take his pants off. You helped him with the belt buckle and in sliding them down his legs. As you do, Jayce fully removes your panties. It doesn’t make much of a difference, now that the two men have seen every inch of you.

As Viktor’s pants come off, you see the impressive imprint of his cock underneath his boxers.

“Can I?” You ask gently, lowering your hand to hover over his cock.

“We’re past that,” Viktor says, grinning as he takes your hand and guides it to his length. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pull them downward so that they pool at his thighs.

Wow.

You’d always sort of assumed that since Viktor was so skinny that he couldn’t be hiding much. How wrong you were. Your lips part slightly, already salivating for him. You begin to stroke his cock, ready for him to push your head onto his shaft until you can’t breathe, but you hear a tongue clicking behind you.

“No need for that,” Jayce says. “I think we’ll save that treat for the workday. For now…”

Jayce’s strong hands find their grip on your waist on your right leg, pulling you to straddle Viktor’s lap.

“I don’t think either of us can wait any longer for this,” you look back at Jayce as he speaks, watching as he unbuckles his own belt and shed his pants along with his dress shirt.

Now this one, you expected. With the amount of female “advisors” you’ve seen watching Jayce in the forge, there’s no way he wasn’t packing.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Viktor says, his hands falling at either side of your waist and lining you up with the wet tip of his cock, already ruined with precum.

“I should start preparing you back here…” Jayce says as his large hands find purchase on the round of your ass.

“Are you ready, my love?” Viktor asks with a kiss to your wrist as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance, swiping it a few times to ensure you’re wet enough for his entry. You’re beyond wet enough. “It would seem you are…” He laughs as he pushes your hips down on him.

Even though you hadn’t taken your eyes off of Viktor’s cock since you took it out, the size still surprised you as he pressed into your wet cunt.

“Fuck…” Viktor groaned as his neck fell back against the couch cushions. “You feel…even better than I imagined.”

You can’t even form a sentence to reply. The stretch is so intense you’ve forgotten every word in the English language. You can’t even move, paralyzed on his length. Luckily, Viktor solves that problem for you, thrusting up into you suddenly, so that all you can do is let out a strained squeal. Your hands grip his shoulders but you can’t even worry about how your nails might be hurting him, although if his grin is any consolation, he might even be enjoying the pain.

Jayce trails a line of kisses down your spine and when you look back, he’s kneeling on the ground, spitting on two fingers. You barely have time to process what that might mean before those two fingers plunge into your unfilled hole.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, the first word that you can remember in these trying times. The pain lasts only a second before the feeling sends flutters into your stomach, and elsewhere. With renewed vigor, you begin to let yourself bounce on Viktor’s cock, eliciting a lovely little whine from him.

“Tell me how he feels, baby,” Jayce says, removing his two fingers.

“So…so good.”

“I know you can be more descriptive than that,” Jayce laughs as he gets up to stand, wiping some spit onto his plump tip and stroking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” you say, the truest sentence in your head the first full one you can form. “So long… it’s so long…” Okay, back to putting the “senseless” in “fucked senseless.”

The boys laugh, but Viktor’s is a strained, breathless laugh.

“Please Jayce…” you beg, looking back at him over your arched back. “I want both of you…”

“Whatever you say,” Jayce says with a crooked grin as he wraps his hands around your waist, just above Viktor’s, who finds it in him to stop you from bouncing to allow Jayce his entry.

With a full, unexpected thrust, Jayce is completely in you. The stretch burns like Hell at first, but God you’ve never felt so full before.

Jayce lets out a desperate groan, not moving for a few more seconds. When Viktor thrusts into you, Jayce reacts with a moan.

“Fuck, I can…I can feel your cock, Vik,” Jayce says, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Lucky you,” Viktor laughs as he continues to lift his hips to meet your cervix.

With a dismissive scoff, Jayce finally finds the will to thrust again, even if it just results in more wanton, wasted little moans from his mouth: noises you didn’t even think he could make.

With both of them inside you at once, thrusts alternating and hitting spots within you that make you scream their names, it won’t be long until your second orgasm of the night.

Jayce’s hand reaches for your hair, taking a cluster of it and pulling you so that your back arches and your shoulders are flush with his. He cheeks your cheek with a contrasting delicateness and whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for us. Isn’t she the best, Vik?”

“Better than our hands, absolutely,” Viktor jokes as his chest heaves and his forehead contorts. He’s close, you can tell.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jayce says, releasing your hair and focusing all of his efforts onto your tight little hole, stretching you impossibly wide.

“I-I don’t think I can take much more,” Viktor utters.

“Me neither,” you whimper, pressing your head into the nook between Viktor’s head and shoulder. “Oh fuck…”

“Cum for us, baby,” Jayce says, squeezing your ass cheeks as his last few thrusts are used up. It’s not long before you feel his cock twitching, sending spurts of hot cum into your bottom. “Gods! Fuck, baby!”

The sight of the two of you losing your composure above Viktor is enough to send him over, and as you fall onto the full length of his cock after riding out your own orgasm, he pumps you full of his seed as well, whimpering like a wounded puppy as he ruts into you helplessly one final time. You’re all a pile of spent, sweaty, fucked out messes.

Jayce reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving a splatter of cum falling from your hole onto Viktor’s lap.

“Sorry,” he laughs as he collides with the couch beside Viktor.

You try to pull off Viktor's cock to provide him some relaxation, but he holds you still. “Please, don’t…don’t move yet. I want this to last as long as possible.”

“Feeling sentimental, Vik?” Jayce teases, running a hand through his lab partner’s sweaty hair.

“Feeling…like I’d like to memorize this feeling before I go to bed tonight.”

You laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose before resting your head on Jayce’s neighboring shoulder. “I should’ve put ‘handling two cocks’ on my resume. Maybe then you two would have actually read it.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to list us as references on future resumes,” Jayce laughs, rubbing your hand softly as the three of you come down from your shared highs. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight. To the gala, I mean.”

You and Viktor both laugh.

“Next time, you won’t have to deal with crude men asking you to dance,” Viktor says as he kisses the top of your head. “You’ll be busy at our side the whole night.”

“I’m never going to move past the pretty little lab assistant allegations, am I?” You smiled into Jayce’s sturdy, shuddering shoulder.

“Maybe not,” Viktor said. “But why should you? You are our beautiful little lab assistant.”

@jeromeslilhoe @justaproudslytherpuff @onyxistired @sseleniaa @clearlycaffeinated-blog @darknessbyme @shoyofroyoyoyo

(pretty much just tagged everyone that commented asking for part two)

[yameoto]

giving fuckgirl!cait (+basketball) the best head of her life (she still doesn’t know what the hell to do about it)

sub!caitlyn, blowjobs, caitlyn cums in approx 2 seconds and is then humiliated, smut n fluff, ohhh she’s definitely in love with you

fuckgirl!cait who is just a little needy. the first time you ask her she’s all wide-eyed and her mouth is dry and suddenly she’s nervous for the first time in her life. which makes zero sense because (“not to sound like a dickhead—“ “prefacing that everytime doesn’t make you any less of a dickhead, cait.”) she’s been bobbing her cock down willing girls’ throats since she hit puberty. to destress or for fun or if she felt like it. whatever. the point is; she’s well-versed in this.

so, why her palms are suddenly sweating and her cheeks are glowing she has no idea. croaks. “uhm. are you sure? because you really don’t have to—“ like she hasn’t been harassing you for the past couple months and even if she’s had countless fantasies of this moment; imagining you, and your plush, soft lips wrapped around her cock as she splatters her load against the shower wall or a tissue or her dedicated cumsock (ok, sometimes she is just a jock. sue her. she’s a busy woman! and she, admittedly, no longer has a maid waiting on her beck and call.)

you laugh, all deep and throaty and it makes caitlyn want to sink between your couch cushions and die.

“what’s with the deer in the headlights look?” you’ll never grow tired of teasing her, even if you no longer think of her as the arrogant basketball prick who pads around you like a lost puppy and instead; now, something closer to an.. acquaintance with benefits.

(caitlyn has no clue how she made it this far with you. it’s like you just randomly decided to give her a shot one day, on a whim, and she desperately doesn’t want to blow it. even if acquaintance-with-benefits is a title that disgruntles her, at the very least. hurts, at the very most. like, very very most, okay?)

“i just..” caitlyn lets out a quiet whine when your fingers curl against the hem of her basketball shorts and—ah, shit. and now she’s hard. “now look what you’ve done.” she hisses, though she’s not quite sure what she expected when you texted her for netflix and chill like it’s still the 2010s.

“there’s that pretty thing.” you completely ignore her in favour of continuing your blasted teasing, fingers snaking underneath her waistband and pulling, guiding the shorts down the sharp v-line at her crotch and eyes travelling down the fine, inky lines of her happy trail to the spring of her cock, over the edge; half-glazed and all pretty and pink.

“you really want to..?” she doesn’t know why she keeps backtracking, like she hasn’t been talking and talking about how fucking good she’d be. and now that it’s really happening she’s getting cold feet, of all things.

“it’s just a blow, cait.” you roll your eyes.

right. just a blow. like she’s done, a million times before. god. god. she doesn’t know where the fuck this performance anxiety has suddenly arose from (pun unintended). she’s (gracefully and intentionally) bruised countless girls’ throats, for fuck’s sake. twisted her hand in the hair and yanked them sharply with each forceful snap of her hips, and told them to swallow without so much as a blink.

except you—you—

“mmgh—“ caitlyn throws her had back, as she lets out an exceedingly unflattering grunt, with the gusto in which you take her into her mouth. your tongue swirls, along her tip, and—hah—her mind melts to butter. her eyes are all cloudy, head spinning. “wait—mmf—i didnt—“

caitlyn’s hips buck, heedlessly, into your mouth. fuck. she usually has more rhythm than this. more—control. but then your tongue is sliding underneath and your hand running over to curl around her base and she’s rutting upwards aimlessly, like some stupid teenage boy who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. only that—shit—she’s never felt this good in her life and this is not just a blow—this is the most beautiful, nirvana-inducing, mind-shattering experience she could’ve ever—ungh.

oh.

oh, nononono. nono— no. she didn’t just—

your mouth hangs open, still, as you stare up at her with wide, surprised eyes; throat bobbing as if you were preparing to maybe do that really hot vacuum-type motion again except there’s kind of no fucking point because her dick is twitching uselessly as it slips out of your mouth and she watches in horror, as cum drizzles down your chin.

you swallow. caitlyn dreads that glimmer in your eyes, already.

“i usually—i last longer than that!” caitlyn’s cheeks are beet-red and she’s blinking up at you with those big, sad blue eyes and you’re laughing. crawling on top of her stomach as her dick presses flush and sticky against your lower torso and you’re laughing at her plight. ok, that’s it. it’s over. her reputation that she’s fought and fucked so hard for is dead and gone. she’s got to pack her bags, move countries, and start over.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck. surprisingly, you don’t push her away. “you can’t tell anyone.” she orders, petulant. she’s fucking humiliated.

“why would i tell anyone?” you snort. she whines.

“i don’t want you to think—“ caitlyn digs her short-cut nails into palms, looking frustrated; brows knit and cheeks still flushed, stray strands of hair a mess against her forehead. “i didn’t come over just for a blow.”

“i know, cait.”

caitlyn doesn’t know how much you know, frankly, because she doesn’t know how much she knows—considering she’s just had the most earth-quaking orgasm of her life in all but two seconds like some lame loser virgin and not the cool, suave playgirl that caitlyn kiramman is so known to be; but you’re sinking back into her arms and letting her keep leaking leftover dribbles into your couch as she clings and maybe, she doesn’t care. just wants to stay like this for a little while, and blink the spots out of her vision.

“i’m normally really very good.” she insists, words spilling out in an accented rush against your skin, half-slurred. “seriously.”

“caitlyn.”

“seriously!”