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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

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Ningning x Karina x Male Reader | 18k words Tags: 3sum, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, hair pulling, breast play, nipple play, dirty talk, dominance, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, body worship, rough sex, two hot bitches feral for cock

Bio can wait. The two baddest bitches at school just told you to skip class with them. Who the fuck would say no? Especially when its Karina and Ning.

no this is not in the same universe as "dumb" :P

The moment you push through the doors to your school's dance room, you know your plan for a solo practice is finished. Karina and Ningning are sprawled against the mirror wall, a perfect picture of cool indifference that somehow makes the empty room feel smaller.

They're wearing what they always wear—simple but devastatingly effective. Karina in high-waisted gray sweatpants that pool slightly at her ankles, paired with a fitted black long-sleeve crop zip up that rises just enough when she stretches. Ningning in similar wide-leg pants but with a simple white off-shoulder top that somehow makes her collarbones look like art. Both outfits say "I barely tried" while looking impossibly put-together.

They're those girls at school—the ones with presence, the ones who command attention without trying.

Everyone on the dance team is attractive in their own way—but they have that something extra. You've seen it countless times during team practices: the way other dancers give them space, how even the coach seems to hold their breath when they perform.

Karina's scrolling through her phone, platinum blonde waves cascading over her shoulders as she absently twists a strand of Ningning's dark hair between her fingers. Ningning has one AirPod in her ear, her dark eyes drifting up to catch yours before you even announce yourself. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's cool blonde presence against Ningning's warm, dark features—perfectly complementary in the way they occupy space.

"Of course," you mutter, dropping your bag near the door with a thud that's maybe a little louder than necessary.

Of course they taking up the whole floor (they're not)

You try to play it casual, hyper-aware of every movement you make. That's the thing about being dancers—you notice details. Sometimes you catch Karina's eyes lingering on you during practice, or notice how Ningning always ends up stretching near you, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Just the usual dance team dynamics. You're all physical people; boundaries blur. It doesn't mean anything.

Ningning stretches her arms over her head. "What are you pissed for? There's like, so much space."

"I need the whole floor to go full out," you say, gesturing vaguely to the room. "I'm working on that new combo."

Karina snorts without looking up from her phone. "Yeah, because you need the entire studio to practice the same eight-count for an hour."

Ningning laughs, then tilts her head slightly. "You wanna dip with us instead?" Her blonde-tinted waves fall over one shoulder as she shifts to look up at you, dark eyes expectant.

You're instantly torn. Dance has made you disciplined—fit, clean, and sharp on the floor—and that same discipline usually keeps your grades steady. Usually. But there was that chem test last week. And the English paper you turned in late. And now Bio tomorrow, which you're definitely not prepared for.

"Can't," you say, even as your eyes drift to where Karina's top meets the waistband of her sweatpants. "I've got a test next period. If I bomb another one, Coach will bench me for sure."

Karina finally looks up from her phone, golden-rimmed eyes locking with yours in the mirror. Your reflection stands tall behind theirs, and for a moment, the three of you make a symmetrical composition in the glass.

"That's cute," she says, a smirk playing at her lips. "Choosing bio over us." She shifts, her shoulder brushing against Ningning's, and something passes between them—some silent communication that makes Ningning bite her lower lip to suppress a smile.

"Pussy," Karina adds, the word landing soft but deliberate.

The question hangs in the air, and something in the atmosphere shifts. They're still draped against each other—Karina's head now resting on Ningning's shoulder, Ningning's fingers absently playing with the hem of Karina's top—but their attention is fully on you now. The casual indifference is gone, replaced by a focused intensity.

Karina's eyes narrow slightly, calculating. Ningning's lips part, just barely, like she's already anticipating your answer. The way they're looking at you makes your skin prickle with heat. It's the same look they get right before a performance—that blend of challenge and confidence that says they know exactly how good they are.

The logical part of your brain is still calculating how many points you need on tomorrow's test to maintain your eligibility for the showcase. You've already been warned about your grades. One more missed class and you might actually get suspended from the team. This isn't just about one bio test anymore.

But there's something about the way they're waiting, bodies still intertwined but faces turned toward you in perfect symmetry, that makes the decision feel momentous. Like this is some kind of turning point.

Your jaw ticks, just barely.

"Fuck it," you say finally, slinging your bag back over your shoulder. The relief on their faces is subtle but unmistakable, like you've passed some test you didn't know you were taking. "Say less."

The reason is simple, even if your GPA will suffer for it: you just wanted to hang with the two baddest girls at school. And when they both smile at you—Karina's slow and knowing, Ningning's bright and wicked—you can't bring yourself to regret it.

Not yet, anyway.

…

Ningning's house is just a short drive through the sprawl of suburban Southern California. By the time you arrive, all three of you are armed with Slurpees from a 7-Eleven pitstop—yours blue raspberry, Karina's cherry, and Ningning's a swirled mix of both that she sips like she's solved some great mystery of flavor.

Her room is exactly what you'd expect—a perfect blend of cozy and chaotic. Fairy lights wrap around the ceiling fan, with climbing ivy trailing down from the fixture, casting soft shadows across the walls. Posters cover nearly every inch of white space—Frank Ocean, SZA, Tyler the Creator, Tate McRae, Billie Eilish—with a round mirror breaking up the collage. Monstera plants thrive in the corner next to a small white bookshelf. The whole space glows in the afternoon light filtering through the windows.

You settle on the carpet, back against her bed, Slurpee in one hand, a bag of sour gummy worms in the other. But Karina? She's sitting directly on Ningning's lap, legs draped over hers, body leaned back lazily against Ningning's chest like they've done this a hundred times before. No hesitation, no awkwardness—just pure, easy closeness. They fit together the way bad bitches always do, like they know exactly how to take up space.

Leon Thomas hums from a speaker in the corner, his smooth vocals and the soft R&B bassline weaving into the atmosphere, just enough to fill the comfortable silence.

"Let's play a game," Karina says suddenly, her cherry-red nails tapping idly against Ningning's thigh.

"What kind of game?" You ask, already suspicious.

"Just questions. Truth only." Ningning grins, absently running her fingers through Karina's platinum hair. "I'll start easy. Who's the hottest on the team?"

You glance up from your drink, already knowing exactly where this is going. It's a setup. A trap.

You take a second, not too long, just enough to make it seem like you're actually considering your answer. But you know there's only one right response—the one even they would agree on.

"Chaewon."

"Fuck, such an obvious answer," Karina groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "She's so fucking hot."

"Ugh," Ningning adds, biting her lip. "I tried making out with her at Jungwoo's party last month and she wasn't feeling it. I almost died."

They exchange knowing looks, satisfied, like they'd already predicted your answer before you even opened your mouth. Karina leans back further into Ningning, reaching for her own Slurpee.

"Your turn," Ningning says, nodding at you.

You think for a moment. "Best dancer in the crew?"

"Me, obviously," Karina says without hesitation.

Ningning rolls her eyes but doesn't argue.

"Fair," you concede with a smile.

"My turn," Karina says, her voice dropping slightly. "Ever hooked up with anyone from the team?"

The question hangs in the air. It's an escalation, but not entirely unexpected.

"Yes," you answer, taking a sip of your Slurpee.

Their eyes widen simultaneously. "Who?" Ningning demands, leaning forward.

You shake your head. "That wasn't the question."

Karina narrows her eyes. "Sneaky. I respect it." She turns to Ningning. "That's definitely our next question."

"What about you two?" you ask, deflecting.

Karina shrugs. "Not with anyone from the team."

Something in her inflection makes you pause. "But with each other?"

They exchange a look, this one different—a silent communication you can't quite read. Without saying a word, Karina turns her head, meeting Ningning's eyes with a smirk. Ningning doesn't hesitate. She cups Karina's face and pulls her in, capturing her lips in a kiss that's anything but casual.

Jesusfuckwhat.

Karina's hand slides up to Ningning's neck, fingers tangling in her hair as their mouths move against each other. Ningning's other hand drifts down, boldly palming Karina's breast through her top. You watch, frozen, as Karina lets out the faintest sound against Ningning's lips.

Is this actually happening right now? Your throat goes dry as you try to process what you're seeing, your Slurpee forgotten in your suddenly tense grip.

When they finally part, Karina's lipgloss is smudged, and both are breathing heavier, their eyes dark when they turn to gauge your reaction. Neither says anything—they don't need to. The answer is written all over their flushed faces.

And they're just gonna act like that didn't happen? Like they didn't just—

"Your turn," Karina says, her voice noticeably huskier now, acting like she didn't just have her breast grabbed in front of you. "What's your biggest turn-on?"

You blink, trying to recalibrate. The game is apparently still on, despite the fact that your brain is still processing what you just witnessed.

You swallow. "Someone who takes control without asking."

Ningning smirks, running her thumb across her bottom lip to fix her smudged gloss. "Noted."

What the fuck is happening right now?

It's Ningning's turn, and she doesn't hesitate: "Who on the team did you hook up with?"

You consider lying, but decide against it. "Yujin."

That night in her car after the showcase. Her skin under your hands, the way she bit her lip to stay quiet...

"Shut the fuck up," Karina's jaw drops, her eyes widening with what looks suspiciously like jealousy. "Are you serious?"

"She's hot as fuck too, what the hell?" Ningning looks genuinely offended, sitting up straighter, dislodging Karina slightly. "How are you pulling the baddest girls and we didn't even know?"

Karina narrows her eyes. "When did this happen? And why didn't she tell anyone?"

Because she asked me not to tell anyone. Because it was just that one time. But you just shrug, enjoying their reactions more than you should.

The questions heat up rapidly.

"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?" Karina asks, fingers now tracing patterns on Ningning's arm.

You consider your words carefully. "I'd rather show than tell."

"Bold," Ningning says with approval. "But you'll have to wait your turn."

"Ever watched porn with someone else?" Karina asks, changing tactics.

"No."

"Wanna start?" Ningning challenges, raising an eyebrow.

The game accelerates. Boundaries blur. Questions become increasingly explicit.

"Where's the riskiest place you've hooked up?"

"What's something you want to try but haven't yet?"

"Have you ever thought about either of us while getting yourself off?"

"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?"

Your answers grow bolder. Theirs grow filthier. With each revelation, the space between you shrinks, though neither of them has moved from their position.

"Have you ever fantasized about being with two people at once?" Karina asks, no longer pretending this is just a game.

"Yes," you admit.

"Anyone specific in mind?" Ningning presses.

You look from one to the other, letting the silence answer for you.

With each answer, the air in the room grows thicker, charged, until Karina finally shifts on Ningning's lap to face you directly.

"You're pretty hot, you know that?" Her voice is smooth, casual, like she's just stating a fact. She doesn't look at you when she says it, just keeps tapping her nails, waiting to see how you react.

Ningning hums in agreement, finally meeting your gaze. "Especially when you dance."

You shift slightly, a near-imperceptible reaction, but they catch it. Of course they do. Dancers notice everything. The way your grip tightens slightly on your cup, the flicker of something unreadable in your eyes before you school your expression back into something neutral.

You keep your cool. You're unsure where this is going, but you don't back down.

Karina stretches her arms above her head, arching her back slightly against Ningning. The movement causes her top to ride up, exposing a sliver of skin at her waist. It feels too deliberate, too precise to be casual. Your mouth goes dry.

They know exactly what they're doing.

Ningning's hand settles on Karina's hip, fingers splayed possessively as she adjusts her position on her lap. You can't help but track the movement. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer, and you shift your position on the floor, grateful you're sitting cross-legged.

Karina takes a long sip of her Slurpee, her eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the cup. When she pulls away, she runs her tongue slowly over her cherry-stained lips, catching a drop.

Jesus Christ.

You blink rapidly, heart pounding against your ribs. Heat crawls up your neck, and you're acutely aware of every inch of your body—especially the parts now responding all too obviously to their performance.

They exchange one last look, a silent confirmation passing between them. Ningning's eyes darken slightly as she tilts her head, expression unreadable but sharp, like she's weighing something in her mind.

Then, just like that, she drops it.

"Yo, be honest, would you fuck both of us?"

Did she really just ask that?

The shift is immediate.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

Everything in the room feels different now—the air heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you process the question, trying to read their expressions for any sign they're messing with you.

You're caught between laughing it off or taking it seriously. But when you look at them, really look, you realize—

They're serious.

"Are you—" you start, voice catching slightly. "Is this for real?"

Instead of answering, Karina slides off Ningning's lap in one fluid motion, the kind of movement that reminds you why she's first in every formation. She kneels in front of you, close enough that you can smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that's been driving you crazy all afternoon.

Her eyes never leave yours as her fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to trace along your stomach. The touch sends electricity up your spine.

"We've been thinking about this since that showcase last month," Ningning says, her voice softer than usual as she moves to join Karina. "The way you danced that night..."

They were watching me?

Karina's mouth crashes into yours with unexpected hunger. It's not just a kiss—it's a claiming. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tasting like the cherry Slurpee and something sweeter underneath. She sucks your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. Her hands fist in your hair, pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how she wants it.

When she finally releases you, your lips are tingling, slick with her spit. You barely have time to gasp before Ningning turns your face toward her, her fingers digging into your jaw.

Her kiss is even more aggressive—open-mouthed and demanding. Her teeth graze your lip, biting down just hard enough to sting before soothing the spot with her tongue. You feel Karina's mouth on your neck now, sucking hard enough to leave marks, her hands shoving your shirt up roughly.

"Fuck," you breathe against Ningning's lips as Karina's nails rake down your chest.

Is this actually happening? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Without warning, Karina's hand finds the back of Ningning's neck, pulling her away from you. For a brief second, you think something's wrong—until they crash together right in front of you, mouths colliding in a kiss that's nothing short of filthy. Karina's tongue slides along Ningning's bottom lip before pushing inside, Ningning moaning into her mouth, hands gripping Karina's waist to pull her closer.

Your hands move on instinct, reaching out to touch them. Fingers grazing Karina's sides, palm flat against Ningning's lower back. They don't stop kissing, but Karina reaches blindly for your hand, guiding it higher along her body until you're cupping her breast through her top. Ningning breaks the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath when your other hand slides down to grip her ass.

They continue making out, but now it's a performance for you as much as it is for them. Karina bites Ningning's lower lip, tugging it between her teeth while looking directly at you. A string of saliva connects their mouths when they briefly part before diving back in, messier this time, wetter. Ningning's hand finds the back of your neck, keeping you close, letting you feel their breath, almost encouraging you to join.

When they finally pull apart, both their lips are swollen, shiny with spit. Ningning pulls you in for another kiss, the taste of Karina still on her tongue. You can taste both of them now, the flavors mingling as Ningning licks into your mouth with deliberate slowness. Karina's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. She drags her tongue up your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse point.

Ningning's fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back further to expose more of your neck. The sharp pull sends a jolt straight to your groin. She works her way down the opposite side from Karina, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that make your skin burn. You're trapped between them, their bodies pressing against you from both sides.

The sensation of their mouths—one on your neck, one on your collarbone, then trading places with practiced coordination—is overwhelming. Karina sucks your earlobe between her teeth while Ningning's tongue traces the hollow at the base of your throat.

Then they're kissing each other over your shoulder again, but it's nothing like the controlled display from earlier. This is raw, messy, desperate. Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, their tongues visibly sliding against each other. Ningning's hand is still in your hair, Karina's palm flat against your chest, feeling your racing heartbeat. You watch, transfixed, as Karina's teeth catch Ningning's bottom lip, as Ningning's fingers tighten in Karina's platinum hair.

"Get the fuck up," Karina breathes when they finally pull apart, her lips swollen, a flush spreading across her chest. She grabs the front of your shirt, hauling you to your feet.

Ningning's already pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. Her hands immediately explore your torso, fingers tracing the definition in your abs, your chest, your shoulders. Karina drops to her knees, working on your jeans, her knuckles deliberately dragging against your hardness through the denim.

"Goddamn," Ningning whispers, lips against your ear as her hands slide around to grip your ass. "Been wondering what you were hiding under those practice clothes."

"Sit," Karina commands, pushing you backwards until you hit the edge of the bed and drop down.

They stand before you, and for the first time, you get a moment to just... look. To really take them in.

Karina unzips her long-sleeve crop top with deliberate slowness, revealing an expanse of smooth skin inch by inch. Her collarbones cast delicate shadows, her shoulders slim but toned from years of dance. When the top finally falls away, the black lace of her bra is a stark contrast against her pale skin, barely containing her full chest. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, pushing them down her hips in one fluid motion, stepping out of them gracefully, her curves unmistakable even in the fading afternoon light.

Ningning watches your reaction to Karina, a smirk playing on her lips before she pulls her own shirt over her head. Her body is different—more delicate frame with gentle curves, her light blue bra a perfect complement to her fair skin. She stretches her arms overhead, an unnecessary movement that's purely for your benefit, showing off her slender waist and the subtle definition in her stomach. Her sweatpants come off next, revealing slim legs that somehow look even longer than they are.

They stand there for a moment, letting you drink them in. Karina in black lace, Ningning in light blue cotton that somehow looks just as sexy. Their dancer's bodies—Karina's fuller curves and Ningning's delicate frame—on full display.

Holy fucking shit. This cannot be real.

"Like what you see?" Ningning asks, head tilted, eyes dark with want.

Words fail you entirely. You just nod, mouth dry.

They move toward you in perfect tandem, the bed dipping as they climb on either side of you. The heat of their bodies is scorching against your skin. Karina's mouth finds your chest first, her tongue tracing a wet path from your collarbone down to your nipple. She bites down gently, watching your reaction through hooded eyes. Ningning works on the other side, her lips softer but no less insistent, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder.

Their hands explore every inch of you—Karina's nails scraping down your abs, Ningning's fingers tracing the V-line of your hips. You feel Karina's teeth against your ribs, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow at practice. Ningning's tongue darts out to taste the salt on your skin, her hands gripping your biceps, feeling the muscles tense under her touch.

They work their way down your body with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth blazing a trail along your stomach while Ningning's lips press against each vertebra of your spine. The dual sensation of their tongues—one hot against your abs, the other tracing the dimples at the small of your back—has you practically panting.

"Fuck, he tastes good," Karina murmurs against your skin, her words vibrating through you.

"Let me," Ningning replies, and suddenly they're trading places, Karina's weight shifting behind you while Ningning moves to kneel between your legs. She presses her mouth to your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans.

Karina's breath is hot against the back of your neck, her full breasts pressed against your back, nipples hard even through the barrier of her bra. "You like that?" she whispers, her hands sliding around to your chest, fingers pinching your nipples just enough to make you hiss.

Ningning looks up at you from under her lashes, a wicked smile on her lips as she moves lower, her mouth now hovering just above the visible bulge in your jeans.

Karina slides around to your side, impatient. "Let's see what you're working with," she breathes, hunger evident in her voice.

Karina's mouth finds yours again, swallowing your groans as she continues to grind against you. Ningning turns your head, breaking the kiss so she can claim your mouth instead. You feel Karina's lips trail down your neck, your chest, moving lower with clear intent.

Their hands work at your jeans in tandem, Ningning popping the button open while Karina drags the zipper down with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth finds yours again, kissing you deeply as Ningning tugs your jeans down your thighs, taking your boxers with them. She pulls them completely off your legs, tossing them somewhere behind her, leaving you fully exposed as your cock springs free, harder than you can ever remember being, already leaking at the tip.

"Oh my god!," Karina breathes, breaking the kiss to look down, genuine surprise in her voice.

Ningning crawls back up, pushing Karina aside to get a better view. "Let me see," she demands, her eyes widening as she takes you in. "Goddamn."

"Fuck, no wonder Yujin kept quiet about this," Karina says, wrapping her hand around you, testing your girth with her fingers barely meeting around your shaft. "Selfish bitch kept this all to herself."

"I can't believe our first threesome is with a dick this good," Ningning murmurs, her eyes fixed on Karina's hand stroking you slowly. "Wish I'd known what you were hiding under those practice sweats."

Karina nods in agreement, her thumb collecting the bead of precum from your tip and smearing it down your length. "Goddamn, we picked the right guy to skip with today."

Their reactions send a surge of confidence through you. The power dynamic shifts—their impressed expressions giving you an unexpected edge in whatever game you've all decided to play.

Maybe I can handle these two after all.

Karina recovers first, her confidence returning as she slides back onto your lap, this time with just her underwear separating you from her heat. She takes your hands, guiding them deliberately to her body—one to her breast, the other to her hip—while leaning in to kiss you deeply. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming your mouth as she grinds down against your exposed cock, the thin fabric of her panties already soaked through.

"Touch me," she commands against your lips, and you don't need to be told twice. Your fingers knead her full breast, feeling the hardened nipple through the lace as your other hand grips her hip, guiding her movements against you. The wet patch of her panties drags against your length, the friction making you both groan.

"Fuck, your tits feel even better than they look," you murmur against her mouth, gaining confidence as you squeeze harder, making her gasp.

Ningning circles behind you, her knees bracketing yours on the bed. Her hands slide over your shoulders, down your chest, her lips finding your ear. "She thinks she's in charge," she whispers, her teeth grazing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, "but we both know better, don't we?" Her fingers pinch your nipples, the sharp pain making your cock twitch against Karina.

You're sandwiched between them—Karina's weight on your lap, her body rolling against yours in a perfect rhythm, the lace of her bra scraping against your chest as she moves, and Ningning pressed against your back, her breasts soft against your shoulder blades, her breath hot on your neck. Karina's mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to mark you, while Ningning's hands roam lower, one sliding between you and Karina to wrap around your cock.

"Fuck," you hiss as her cold fingers encircle you, giving a slow, tight stroke that has your hips bucking involuntarily, pushing you deeper into her grip and harder against Karina's core.

Karina moans at the increased pressure, her head falling back, platinum hair cascading down her back as she rocks harder against you. The movement pushes your cock along her slit through the thin fabric, the head catching on her clit with each stroke.

"I knew you'd feel this good," Karina breathes, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as she watches your face, her lipstick smudged, her cheeks flushed. She takes your hand from her hip, guiding it between her legs, pressing your fingers against the soaked lace. "Feel what you're doing to me."

Your fingers press against her through the fabric, feeling the slick heat there. You can feel how swollen she is, how wet, even through the barrier. You rub your thumb in slow circles, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Goddamn," you breathe, feeling her wetness seep through the lace onto your fingers. "You're fucking soaked."

"Can you blame me?" she says, grinding harder against your hand, her movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure builds. "Who knew you were hiding all this..." She gasps as your thumb presses harder, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily.

Ningning's hand continues to stroke you, her grip tightening just beneath the head on each upstroke, twisting slightly in a way that has your thighs tensing. Her teeth find the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to make you groan. "Don't forget about me," she whispers, her other hand reaching around to pull Karina's face toward her.

They kiss over your shoulder, messy and aggressive, all tongues and teeth, while their hands continue to work you both. You watch, entranced, as Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, her hips still moving against your hand, Ningning's fingers still wrapped tight around your cock.

The image of them kissing while touching you, while grinding against you, is almost enough to push you over the edge right there. You feel the familiar tightening, the building pressure. Ningning must sense it because she squeezes the base of your cock, staving off your orgasm.

"Not yet," she breathes against Karina's lips. "I want more than just my hand on him."

Karina pulls back from the kiss, lips swollen and wet. "Greedy bitch," she says, but there's no real heat behind it, just desire. She grinds against you one more time, the friction delicious but not enough, before lifting herself off your lap.

Before you can process what's happening, Karina drops to her knees between your legs, shoving them apart roughly. Her nails dig into your thighs as she positions herself, looking up at you through her lashes, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

"Hold on," she says, sitting back on her heels. She reaches behind her head, gathering her platinum hair in her hands. The movement lifts her chest, her arms raised, exposing the soft skin of her armpits and stretching the fabric of her bra against her breasts. She works quickly, twisting her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.

The sight of her—arms raised, back arched slightly, body on display—makes your cock twitch with anticipation. She catches your reaction and smirks, knowing exactly what she's doing.

"Fuck, I need to taste it," she murmurs, her breath hot against your length. She runs her tongue from the base to the tip in one long, slow stroke, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When she reaches the head, she pulls back slightly, letting a string of saliva fall from her lips onto your cock. She works it in with her hand, coating you before wrapping her lips around the tip, sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks.

Ningning watches intently from beside you, her hand absently stroking your thigh. As Karina works you deeper into her mouth, Ningning reaches behind her own back, unclasping her light blue bra. She slides the straps down her arms slowly, revealing her small, perfect breasts, the nipples already hard.

Your hand instinctively reaches for her, palm cupping the soft weight, thumb brushing over the hardened peak. She sighs at your touch, leaning into your hand as she watches Karina suck you.

The sight alone is almost enough to make you cum—Karina, the girl half the guys at school would kill to talk to, on her knees with your cock in her mouth, her platinum hair pulled up to give you a perfect view, while your hand explores Ningning's bare breast.

Karina takes you inch by inch, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, creating delicious pressure as she sucks. Her hand works what doesn't fit, twisting in tandem with her mouth's movements, spit already making her fingers glide smoothly along your shaft. You feel the vibration of her moan around you as she takes you deeper, the hot, wet pressure of her mouth making your toes curl.

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing against your tip. "Fuck, you taste so good," she breathes, her eyes heavy-lidded with genuine pleasure. "Better than I thought you would."

She descends again, moaning around your length in a way that tells you she's enjoying this just as much as you are. The vibrations from her throat send shockwaves of pleasure through your cock.

"Jesus Christ," you breathe, your free hand instinctively going to Karina's hair, tangling in the loose strands that frame her face. She moans around you as you tug slightly, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine.

Just as you're settling into the sensation, she's yanked backward, Ningning's hand fisted in her hair, pulling hard enough to make Karina yelp.

"My turn," Ningning says, her voice sharper than before, edged with hunger. She moves between your legs, but first reaches behind Karina, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. "Take this off. I want to see you."

Karina complies, shrugging the black lace from her shoulders, her full breasts bouncing slightly as they're freed. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them now topless, their dancer's bodies on full display.

Ningning sits back momentarily, mimicking Karina's earlier motion as she gathers her hair, arms raised above her head, body stretched long and lean. The position emphasizes the delicate curve of her waist, the subtle definition of her stomach. She secures her hair in a high ponytail, a few strands falling to frame her face.

"Much better," she says, settling between your legs. Rather than starting slow, she spits directly onto your cock, the warm saliva dripping down your length, trickling over your balls in a sensation that makes you shiver. She spreads it with both hands, stroking you a few times before wrapping her lips around you.

The first slide of her mouth around you is electric—different from Karina's technique, more aggressive from the start. She takes you deep immediately, your tip hitting the back of her throat, the muscles there contracting around you in a rippling sensation that makes your vision blur momentarily. You feel every millimeter of her throat closing around your head, squeezing in a way that's almost too intense.

She pulls back, gasping for air, but her eyes are bright with excitement. "Fuck, you're so big," she breathes, stroking you with her hand. "Feel so fucking good stretching my throat." She dives back down with enthusiasm, humming in satisfaction as she takes you deep again, the vibrations traveling through your entire length.

Karina moves to your side, pressing her now bare chest against your arm. Your hand immediately finds her breast, significantly fuller than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your palm. You squeeze gently, drawing a soft moan from her as she watches Ningning take you deep.

The dual sensation is overwhelming—Ningning's hot mouth around your cock, taking you deeper than Karina had, her throat constricting rhythmically around your tip with each swallow, while your hands explore Karina's body, feeling the softness of her skin, the firmness of her breast in your palm.

This is not real life. This cannot be real life.

The sight of Ningning on her knees, lips stretched wide around your cock, eyes watering slightly as she takes you to the back of her throat, is almost too much. Her technique is different from Karina's—less teasing, more focused on depth and suction, her hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. Each time she pulls back, you feel the cool air against your saliva-slick skin for just a moment before she descends again, taking you impossibly deep.

Karina presses closer, guiding your hand to her breast again while she watches Ningning work. Your fingers pinch her nipple lightly, drawing a soft gasp from her that turns into a smile. She leans in to kiss your neck, her teeth grazing your pulse point as Ningning continues to suck you, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room.

"You're doing it wrong," Karina says after a minute, tugging Ningning's hair hard enough to make her release you with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva still connecting her lips to your glistening cock. She moves between your legs, gently pushing Ningning to the side.

Ningning doesn't move far. Instead, she shifts to your other side, pressing her small, firm breasts against your arm, guiding your hand to touch her as Karina had done. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller, heavier breasts against Ningning's smaller, perkier ones, both equally perfect in different ways.

Your hands explore their bodies as they continue taking turns with your cock—feeling the taut muscles of their dancer's bodies, the softness of their breasts, the hardness of their nipples against your palms. Karina arches into your touch, more vocal in her enjoyment, while Ningning responds with subtle shifts of her body, pressing herself harder against your hand.

Karina pushes Ningning aside, but instead of taking you directly into her mouth, she gathers saliva and lets it fall in a long, obscene strand onto your cock. The warm wetness slides down your shaft, pooling at the base and dripping onto your balls, the sensation making your cock twitch visibly. She spreads it with both hands, one working the shaft while the other focuses on the head, applying more pressure on the upstroke. Her technique is more deliberate—twisting motions, varying pressure, her thumb occasionally swiping over the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

"Watch and learn," she tells Ningning before taking just the tip between her lips, sucking firmly while her hands continue their assault, working you with practiced precision. Each stroke is wetter than the last, her spit making obscene squelching sounds as she pumps you. You feel the suction of her mouth intensifying as she hollows her cheeks, the pressure building at the base of your spine.

She releases you with a gasp, her eyes glazed with arousal. "So fucking good," she moans, jerking you faster. "Love how you throb in my mouth." She's not performing anymore—the pleasure in her voice is raw and genuine as she takes you in again, moaning around your length like she's tasting something delicious.

Not to be outdone, Ningning moves closer. "Let me show you how it's really done," she says, nudging Karina to share. She gathers a mouthful of saliva and lets it drip directly onto your cock where Karina's hands are still working, the added wetness making the glide even smoother. The warm spit runs down to your balls, the tickling sensation making your thighs tense.

Then she ducks lower, her mouth finding your balls. She takes one gently between her lips, sucking lightly while Karina continues working the shaft, their combined efforts making your head spin. The contrast between Karina's firm strokes and Ningning's gentle suction creates a dual sensation that has you groaning, your hands tangling in the sheets.

Ningning hums against your sensitive skin, the vibration traveling up your shaft. "Mmm, I can feel you getting closer," she purrs, her breath hot against your balls. "Getting harder for us." She sucks again, moaning like she's savoring the taste and feel of you, her enthusiasm unmistakable.

Karina watches Ningning with growing arousal, her own breathing heavy. "He tastes so fucking good," she tells Ningning, almost reverently. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"Fuck," you groan, hips lifting involuntarily, the muscles in your stomach clenching. "This really your guys' first threesome? There's no fucking way you're both this perfect at this."

They exchange a look, something passing between them that you can't quite read. Then, without warning, they both move at once. Karina releases your cock from her grip, allowing Ningning to take you deep into her throat in one smooth motion, her nose pressing against your stomach as she swallows around you. The tight squeeze of her throat has you seeing stars, the rhythmic contractions milking your length as she holds herself there, her eyes watering from the effort. You hear a muffled moan vibrating around your cock as she takes you, a sound of pure pleasure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.

The sensation is indescribable—hot, wet pressure surrounding every inch of you, her throat muscles rippling involuntarily around your head, her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your shaft. You feel yourself hit the back of her throat and then push beyond, into the tighter passage that spasms around you.

When she pulls back for air, a thick strand of spit connects her lips to your cock. Before it can break, Karina leans forward, connecting her mouth to Ningning's through the spit strand, the two of them sharing a messy kiss with your cock between them. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.

"Holy shit," you breathe, unable to look away as they kiss, their tongues visibly sliding against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.

Now they work in tandem, taking turns—Karina sucking the head while Ningning strokes the shaft with spit-slicked hands, then switching, Ningning taking you deep while Karina's hands massage your balls. The constant switching, the different pressures and sensations, the visual of them trading your cock between their mouths, is mind-bending.

Karina pulls off with a gasp, a line of spit connecting her bottom lip to your cock. Ningning immediately takes her place, but not before Karina spits directly onto your length, adding to the mess. Ningning works the extra wetness in with her hand before taking you deep again, her eyes watering as she pushes past her gag reflex.

The competition escalates further. Karina yanks Ningning off by her hair, replacing her mouth with her own. She takes you as deep as she can, gagging slightly but pushing through it, determined to outdo Ningning. When she comes up for air, Ningning is ready with another gob of spit, this time letting it fall into Karina's open mouth. Karina takes it, letting it mix with her own saliva before dripping it all onto your cock.

"Fuck," you groan, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The sight of Karina's mouth open, receiving Ningning's spit, then the combined wetness falling onto your cock, is filthier than anything you've ever seen.

They're getting progressively sloppier, wetter, messier with each passing minute. Ningning holds your cock at the base, pointing it toward Karina's waiting mouth, but before Karina can take you in, Ningning spits onto the head. Karina smiles, working the wetness in before adding her own spit, creating a growing puddle of saliva that drips down onto your balls.

The visual is obscene—both of their faces are wet with spit, their lipstick long gone, hair messed up from where you've grabbed it, eyes dark with desire as they work you between them. Your cock is coated in a sheen of their combined saliva, glistening in the fading light of Ningning's room.

The wetness is incredible—warm spit running down your shaft, pooling at the base, dripping onto your balls and beyond. Each stroke of their hands spreads it further, creating a slick, frictionless glide that has your toes curling. The sounds are just as filthy—wet suction, obscene slurping, the squelch of saliva between their fingers as they stroke you.

Then they change tactics. Instead of taking turns, they position themselves on either side of your cock. Karina takes the head into her mouth while Ningning works the shaft with her tongue, both of them moving in a synchronized rhythm that has your thighs tensing. You feel the different textures—Karina's soft lips sealed around your tip, the suction of her mouth pulling at you, while Ningning's tongue traces patterns along your shaft, occasionally dipping lower to tease your balls.

When they switch, it's seamless—Ningning taking the head while Karina's tongue traces patterns along the underside. Their eyes meet over your cock, some unspoken competition still driving them, but now they're working together to destroy you completely.

"He tastes so fucking good when he's about to cum," Karina whispers to Ningning, her voice raspy with desire. "Can you taste it?"

Ningning nods, her lips never leaving your skin. "Mmm, getting saltier," she agrees, moaning as she takes you into her mouth again. She pulls off with a wet pop. "Love how he twitches on my tongue."

Their obvious enjoyment, the way they're talking about you like you're some delicious treat they can't get enough of, pushes you even closer to the edge.

The most obscene moment comes when they both press their open mouths to either side of your shaft, essentially making out with each other with your cock between their lips. Their tongues slide against your skin and occasionally touch each other, sharing spit as they work you from base to tip. The sensation of both their tongues, both their mouths, both their breaths against your most sensitive skin has your head spinning.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you groan, your hands fisting in the sheets, hips lifting involuntarily. "I'm gonna—"

"Not yet," Karina says, pulling back, her hand squeezing the base of your cock hard enough to stave off your orgasm. Her lips are swollen, her chin and chest slick with spit and precum. "We're just getting started with you."

Ningning's eyes are dark with want as she looks up at you, her mouth and chin equally wet, a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to the side of your cock. "We haven't even decided who goes first," she says, her voice raspy from taking you so deep.

Karina wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze predatory. "And I'm not done showing off what I can do with my mouth."

Is this actually my life right now? How the fuck did I end up here?

The tension between your need to cum and their determination to edge you builds to a breaking point. Just as you think you can't take anymore, Ningning makes a decisive move, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backward onto the bed.

"My turn to feel good," she announces, climbing up your body with predatory grace. Her small, perfect breasts hang above you as she straddles your chest, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your torso. "Scoot back," she commands, waiting for you to shift until your head is properly on the bed.

Without hesitation, she moves forward, positioning herself directly over your face. Through the thin fabric of her panties, you can see how wet she is, a dark patch spreading across the cotton. The scent of her arousal hits you—sweet and musky and intoxicating.

"Show me what you did to Yujin," she demands, lowering herself until her covered core is just inches from your mouth.

You reach up, hooking your fingers into the sides of her panties, pulling them to the side to expose her completely. The sight of her pussy makes your mouth water—she's got a neat landing strip of dark hair leading down to otherwise perfectly bare lips. The contrast of the carefully maintained strip against her pale skin speaks to her personality—controlled yet still wild underneath. Her folds are delicate, pink and glistening with arousal, already swollen and parted slightly, revealing the deeper pink within. She's absolutely soaked, her wetness visible from her entrance all the way up to her small, perfect clit that peeks out from beneath its hood.

"Fuck, you're pretty," you murmur before lifting your head to run your tongue through her slit in one long, firm stroke, tasting her fully for the first time.

"Shit," she gasps, her thighs trembling slightly as she grips the headboard for support.

You continue exploring her with your tongue, learning what makes her breath hitch and her thighs quiver. You trace around her entrance, gathering her wetness before moving up to circle her clit, alternating pressure and speed to keep her guessing.

Meanwhile, Karina hasn't forgotten about your cock. You feel her mouth envelop you again, picking up where they left off, but with a new urgency. She takes you impossibly deep, her throat constricting around your head as her hands massage your balls.

"Don't forget about me down here," she whines when she comes up for air, her hand replacing her mouth as she strokes you firmly. "Just because she's getting your tongue doesn't mean I'm done with your cock."

The dual sensation—Ningning's wetness on your tongue, Karina's mouth and hand working your length—creates a sensory overload that makes your head spin. You grip Ningning's thighs, pulling her more firmly against your face, your tongue diving deeper into her heat.

"Fuck, your tongue is fucking insane," Ningning moans, her hips beginning to roll against your mouth with more purpose. "The way you—shit—the way you flick it right there."

You focus your attention on her clit, alternating between fast flutters and firm circular motions, watching her reactions to learn exactly what drives her wild. Her thighs tense and tremble around your head, her breathing becoming more labored.

"Oh my god, oh my god," she chants, grinding herself shamelessly against your face now. "Your fucking tongue, holy shit—don't stop, please don't stop."

From below, you hear and feel Karina's response—the wet suction of her mouth intensifies, her pace increasing to match your efforts on Ningning. The competition continues, each trying to divert your attention and pleasure to themselves.

"He's already shaking," Karina observes after pulling off your cock with a wet pop, her hand continuing to stroke you firmly. "His cock gets harder every time you moan, Ning."

Ningning looks down between her legs at you, then back over her shoulder at Karina. Without breaking the rhythm of her hips against your mouth, she reaches back with one hand. Karina meets her halfway, their fingers intertwining in a brief moment of unity despite their ongoing competition.

"Fuck, I think I could die on his tongue," Ningning confesses, her voice thick with pleasure but not quite at the breaking point. "No wonder Yujin kept coming back."

You feel a surge of pride at her words, doubling your efforts, flattening your tongue to provide a broad surface for her to grind against while occasionally dipping into her entrance. Her taste is addictive—tangy and sweet with a hint of something uniquely her. Your chin and lips are completely coated in her arousal now, the obscene wetness making filthy sounds with each movement.

As amazing as it feels having Ningning on your face, you're acutely aware of Karina working diligently between your legs, her mouth and hands tag-teaming your cock with relentless precision. Each time you feel yourself getting close, she backs off just enough, squeezing the base or slowing her rhythm to keep you right on the edge.

"You taste so fucking good," you murmur against Ningning's pussy, the vibration of your words making her gasp. "Could eat you for hours."

"Please," she whimpers, her body trembling with the effort of restraining her orgasm. She's close—you can feel it in the way her thighs tense, see it in the flush spreading across her chest, hear it in the pitch of her moans.

But before she can tip over the edge, you pull back slightly, easing the pressure on her clit, focusing instead on long, slow strokes through her folds. Her frustrated groan makes you smile against her wet flesh.

"Evil," she hisses, recognizing what you're doing—giving her just enough to keep her on the edge but not enough to push her over.

Two can play at that game.

You feel a newfound confidence swelling within you. Making Ningning tremble above you while Karina worships your cock below has awakened something primal and commanding. You're done being the passive recipient of their attention.

You grip Ningning's hips firmly, lifting her off your face despite her whine of protest. "Move," you tell her, your voice rougher than usual. "I want to try something else."

Ningning slides off you reluctantly, her chest heaving, lips swollen from biting them to hold back her moans. Karina looks up from between your legs, her chin wet with spit, eyes questioning.

"Get on your hands and knees," you tell Karina, sitting up and pointing to the middle of the bed. "Facing Ningning."

Karina's eyebrows raise, a slight smirk playing on her lips, but she complies, crawling into position on all fours across the bed. Her platinum hair falls around her face as she looks up at Ningning, who's watching this shift in dynamic with undisguised interest, still breathing heavily from her near-orgasm.

You position yourself behind Karina, taking a moment to appreciate the view—the elegant curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the way her hair cascades down her back. You run your hands over her skin, feeling the goosebumps that rise in the wake of your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her thighs. The reveal is exquisite—unlike Ningning's landing strip, Karina is completely bare, her pussy smooth and flawlessly waxed. Her lips are fuller than Ningning's, her pink folds more pronounced, glistening with an abundance of arousal that's already begun dripping down her inner thighs. She's swollen with need, her entrance visibly pulsing as you watch.

"Fuck, look at you," you breathe, running a finger through her slick folds, collecting her wetness. She's so wet it makes an obscene sound, a lewd squelch that fills the room. "Soaked just from sucking my cock."

Karina looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark with want. "What are you waiting for?" she challenges, but the slight tremble in her voice betrays her desperation.

You grip your cock, still slick with their combined spit, and drag it through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. The head catches on her clit, making her gasp and arch her back further.

"Please," she whispers, and the vulnerability in that single word hits you hard.

"Look at Ningning," you command, waiting until she turns her head forward.

Ningning has positioned herself cross-legged in front of Karina, close enough to touch, her eyes darting between Karina's face and your cock poised at her entrance.

This is it. This moment. After all the teasing, all the build-up, you're finally about to be inside one of them. The significance isn't lost on you—or them, judging by the anticipation crackling in the air.

You position yourself at her entrance, gripping her hips firmly with both hands, and then thrust forward in one smooth, relentless motion, burying yourself to the hilt inside her.

"Fucking hell!" Karina cries out, her arms nearly buckling from the sudden intrusion. She's impossibly tight around you, hot and wet and perfect. Her inner walls grip you like a vise, pulsing around your length in a way that nearly makes you cum on the spot.

"Goddamn," you hiss through clenched teeth, fighting for control. "So fucking tight."

You hold still for a moment, both to let her adjust and to regain your composure. The sensation is overwhelming—better than anything you could have imagined. Better than Yujin, better than anyone you've been with before.

Slowly, you pull back until just the tip remains inside, watching your length emerge coated in her arousal, before driving back in with deliberate force. She makes a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets.

"Eat her out," you command Karina, nodding toward Ningning. "Show her what that pretty mouth can do."

Ningning's eyes widen at your directive, but she doesn't hesitate. She scoots closer, positioning herself so her pussy is directly in front of Karina's face. Karina leans forward eagerly despite the distraction of your cock still pumping into her, her tongue darting out to taste Ningning.

You establish a rhythm, your hips meeting Karina's ass with increasingly forceful thrusts. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, mixing with Karina's muffled moans against Ningning's pussy and Ningning's sharper gasps.

"That's it," you encourage, your hand sliding up Karina's spine before tangling in her platinum hair, pulling just enough to arch her back further. "Make her feel good while I fuck you."

The visual is pornographic—Karina on all fours, her face buried between Ningning's thighs, her ass raised high as you pound into her from behind. Your cock glistens with her arousal each time you pull back, her wetness making the glide effortless despite how tightly she grips you.

"Fuck, she's good with her tongue too," Ningning moans, her hand coming down to grip Karina's hair, holding her firmly in place. "Not as good as you, but still—ah!—still fucking amazing."

The praise spurs Karina on, making her work harder to prove herself. You can feel her determination in the way she pushes back against your thrusts, meeting you halfway, taking you impossibly deeper.

You bring your hand down on her ass in a sharp slap, watching the flesh jiggle and redden under your palm. Karina jerks forward with a muffled cry, her inner walls clenching around your cock in response.

"You like that?" you ask, doing it again, harder this time.

Her answering moan, vibrating against Ningning's core, is all the confirmation you need. You develop a rhythm—thrust, slap, thrust, slap—each impact making her tighten around you, each moan making Ningning gasp.

"Fuck, don't stop," Ningning pants, her hips rolling against Karina's face with increasing urgency. "She gets better every time you spank her—fuck!—it's like she's trying to earn it."

You can tell they're both getting close, teetering on the edge of release. Karina's pussy is gripping you with almost painful intensity, fluttering with each thrust in a way that signals her approaching orgasm. Ningning's thighs are trembling, her chest flushed, her breathing ragged as she grinds against Karina's eager mouth.

But you're not ready for this to end. Not yet.

You pull out of Karina suddenly, making her whine against Ningning's pussy. At the same time, you reach forward to pull her away from Ningning, denying them both their release.

"Not yet," you tell them, your voice rough with desire but commanding in a way that surprises even you. "I'm not done with either of you."

They both look at you with identical expressions of frustration and arousal—lips swollen, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. Karina's mouth and chin glisten with Ningning's arousal, while Ningning's thighs are visibly trembling from how close she was.

"Don't forget about me," Ningning says, her eyes fixed on your cock, still hard and slick with Karina's juices. "I want to feel that too."

"You had his mouth," Karina argues, turning to glare at her friend despite her breathlessness. "My turn to have something."

"Your pussy isn't the only one that needs attention," Ningning shoots back, crawling closer to you. "He obviously likes how I taste better anyway."

"Bullshit," Karina scoffs, reaching for your cock possessively. "He was practically shaking inside me. Weren't you?" She looks up at you, seeking confirmation.

The competition between them reignites, both vying for your attention, both desperate to be the one who makes you lose control first. But you've found your footing in this dynamic now, no longer overwhelmed by their beauty or intimidated by their confidence.

You know exactly what you want to do next.

After pounding into Karina with increasingly forceful thrusts, your control begins to waver. The wet heat of her pussy, the sight of her platinum hair bouncing with each impact, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting—it's all becoming too much.

"Fuck," you growl, suddenly pulling out completely with a lewd, wet sound. Your cock springs free, glistening with her arousal, bobbing heavily in the air between you. Karina whimpers at the loss, looking back at you over her shoulder with confusion and frustration in her eyes.

You take a deep breath, fighting for composure, and shift backward until you're settled against the headboard. Your cock stands at full attention, slick with Karina's arousal, veins prominent against the flushed skin, pulsing visibly with each heartbeat.

"Get over here," you command, voice rough with barely restrained desire. "Both of you."

The frustration on both their faces at being denied release only heightens your newfound confidence. Their flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and desperate eyes tell you everything you need to know—they're as close to the edge as you are.

"Ningning," you command, your voice leaving no room for argument. "Come ride me. Karina, you're on ball duty."

Their eyes widen at your sudden assertiveness, but neither hesitates. Ningning practically scrambles toward you, her small breasts bouncing with the movement, eyes dark with hunger. She straddles your thighs, positioning herself above your cock, while Karina crawls between your spread legs, her platinum hair falling around her face as she looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal.

Holy shit, who am I right now? When did I start giving orders to the two baddest girls at school?

You take a moment to truly look at Ningning hovering above you—her skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, making her body gleam in the scattered light. Droplets trail down between her breasts and along the defined lines of her dancer's abdomen. Her dark hair, once perfectly styled, now falls in messy strands around her face where it's escaped her ponytail. The contrast of her disheveled appearance against her usually perfect composure makes your cock throb with anticipation.

You reach up to trace the elegant curve of her collarbone, your finger dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat where sweat has pooled. Impulsively, you lean forward to lick the salt from her skin, dragging your tongue along the defined ridge before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She gasps at the sensation, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance.

"You taste fucking incredible," you murmur against her skin, your lips moving down to capture a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts. "Even your sweat is sweet."

Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as you continue to explore her body with your mouth. Your hands roam freely, cupping her small, firm breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. They're incredibly responsive, stiffening further at your touch, drawing a whimper from her lips.

"Please," she whispers, her voice so different from her usual confident tone. "Need to feel you inside me now."

Ningning hovers above you, her entrance just brushing against your tip, teasing you both. You've had enough teasing. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingertips digging into her soft skin as you pull her down onto your length in one forceful motion.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out, her body going rigid as you fill her completely. She's even tighter than Karina, her walls gripping you like a vise, her heat enveloping you in a way that makes your vision blur momentarily.

Her pussy feels different from Karina's—tighter, with more texture, gripping you in rhythmic pulses that suggest years of dance have strengthened muscles you're now benefiting from. Every tiny movement sends lightning through your nerve endings.

This cannot be real life. There's no way I'm inside Ningning right now with Karina watching. No fucking way.

You feel Karina's presence below, her breath hot against your thighs as she watches Ningning take you. The anticipation of her mouth on you while you're buried inside Ningning makes your cock swell even harder.

"Move," you growl, your hands still gripping Ningning's waist, guiding her into a rhythm. She begins to ride you, her hips rolling with a natural fluidity that showcases her dancer's body. Unlike Karina's more controlled movements, Ningning rides you with complete abandon, her head thrown back, small breasts bouncing with each drop of her hips.

Your hands slide from her waist to her ass, squeezing the firm globes, feeling the muscles flex and contract as she moves. Her skin is impossibly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You spread her wider, your fingers digging into the supple flesh, controlling her movements even as she sets the pace.

Sweat drips down her temple, following the curve of her jaw before trailing down her neck. You lean forward to catch it with your tongue, tasting the salt of her exertion, the evidence of how hard she's working on your cock. Her hair has come further undone, dark strands sticking to her damp neck and shoulders, the ponytail now hanging by a thread.

"Fucking hell, you're deep," she gasps, her internal muscles clenching around you as she adjusts to your size. "Shit, shit, shit."

You feel Karina's mouth on your balls, her tongue lavishing attention on the sensitive skin while Ningning continues to ride you. Her lips are impossibly soft, contrasting with the occasional graze of teeth that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She sucks one into her mouth, the wet heat surrounding you from below as Ningning envelops you from above.

The dual sensation—Ningning's tight heat surrounding your cock, Karina's wet mouth on your balls—creates a pleasure so intense you have to grit your teeth to maintain control. Your hands tighten on Ningning's ass, fingers dipping between the cheeks, exploring every inch of her.

"Look at you," Karina murmurs against your skin, her breath hot and teasing. "Already about to bust for her. Your balls are so tight."

She's not wrong—your entire body is wound like a spring, tension building with each drop of Ningning's hips, each swipe of Karina's tongue. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing with the effort of holding back.

Her observation spurs you to reassert control. You tangle one hand in Ningning's hair, finding the loose ponytail and wrapping it around your fist before yanking her head back sharply, exposing the elegant line of her throat. The remaining hair tie snaps, releasing a cascade of dark waves that fall around her shoulders. She gasps, her pussy clenching around you in response, her rhythm faltering momentarily.

"Fuck, I love when you pull my hair," she moans, her pace increasing, taking you deeper with each drop of her hips. Her nails dig into your chest, leaving crescent-shaped marks that sting deliciously, adding tiny crescents of pain to the overwhelming pleasure.

You pull her down to crush your mouth against hers, swallowing her moans as you thrust up to meet her movements. Her lips are swollen from earlier kisses, softer now, yielding to your assault. You taste yourself on her tongue, mixed with her own unique flavor and the lingering sweetness of the Slurpee from earlier. The combination is intoxicating.

Your free hand slides up her sweat-slicked back, feeling each vertebra, each ripple of muscle beneath her skin. You trace the definition of her shoulder blades, the delicate curve of her spine, the subtle dimples at her lower back. Her body is a masterpiece of lean muscle and subtle curves, honed by years of dance but still undeniably feminine.

Karina's not content to be forgotten. She moves from your balls to nip at Ningning's thighs, leaving small red marks that make Ningning jerk and gasp above you. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin where thigh meets ass, leaving a trail of light bruises that will remind Ningning of this moment for days to come.

Then she presses her tongue flat against the place where your bodies join, tasting both of you with each of Ningning's movements. The added stimulation makes Ningning shudder, her inner walls fluttering around you. Karina's tongue slides up to tease Ningning's asshole, circling the tight ring of muscle before dipping back down to where you're connected.

"Oh god," Ningning whimpers, the added stimulation nearly pushing her over the edge. Her movements become erratic, desperate, her inner walls fluttering around your length in warning.

You can feel how close she is—her thighs trembling against yours, her breathing shallow and rapid, her pussy contracting in those telltale rhythmic pulses that signal impending orgasm. Her eyes are unfocused, lips parted, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck to her chest.

Not yet. I'm finally in control here, and I'm not letting it end this fast.

You're not ready to let her finish yet. With a sudden burst of strength, you lift her off you entirely, eliciting a cry of protest that cuts off when you manhandle her to the side, practically throwing her onto the mattress beside you.

Her body bounces slightly with the impact, her hair splaying across the sheets like dark ink, chest heaving with exertion and denied release. Her skin is flushed pink, nipples tight peaks begging for attention, thighs still spread with the memory of having you between them. A thin sheen of sweat makes her entire body glisten, highlighting every curve, every muscle, every dip and hollow of her dancer's physique.

"My turn with Karina," you state, your voice rough with arousal but commanding enough that neither questions you.

Karina's eyes darken with desire as she moves to take Ningning's place, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is hot to the touch, slightly damp with exertion, surprisingly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You can feel her pulse racing beneath your palm.

"Get your ass up here," you direct, indicating your face. "Wanna taste you while you ride me."

Her breath catches, pupils dilating until her eyes are nearly black, a fresh wave of arousal evident in the way she presses her thighs together momentarily. She complies immediately, positioning herself over your face, facing your feet, while reaching back to guide your cock into her waiting heat.

The position allows you full access to her pussy with your mouth while she controls the depth and pace of penetration. The view is spectacular—her round ass hovering above your face, her slick, swollen pussy lips parted and ready, the perfect curve of her spine leading up to her platinum hair cascading down her back.

As she sinks down onto your length, you grip her hips, pulling her core against your mouth simultaneously, your tongue finding her clit with unerring precision. The taste of her explodes across your tongue—tangy, sweet, with an underlying muskiness that's uniquely hers, different from Ningning's flavor but equally intoxicating.

She cries out, her body jerking at the dual penetration, her inner walls clenching around you. You feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, her weight shifting as she struggles to maintain balance in the face of such intense stimulation.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, beginning to move on your cock while grinding against your mouth.

Where Ningning rode you with wild abandon, Karina's movements are calculated, controlled—each roll of her hips designed for maximum pleasure, each contraction of her inner muscles deliberate and devastating. She knows exactly how to angle herself to take you deepest, how to twist to hit her most sensitive spots, how to clench around you to create the perfect pressure.

Your hands roam her body, one gripping her hip to guide her movements, the other sliding up her sweat-slicked torso to find her breast. It fills your palm perfectly, heavier than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your skin. You pinch it between your fingers, rolling it, tugging slightly, feeling her inner walls contract around your cock in response.

Your tongue works her clit relentlessly, circling the swollen bud before flattening against it, applying perfect pressure as she grinds down. Her taste becomes more intense as her arousal builds, her wetness coating your chin, dripping down your neck. You trace her entrance with your tongue, feeling where your cock stretches her, the tight ring of muscle yielding to your thickness.

That's the difference between them—Ningning all passion, Karina all precision. Both fucking incredible in completely different ways.

Ningning watches for a moment, her chest heaving, before moving to participate again. She positions herself beside your head, leaning down to whisper in your ear, her voice husky with arousal. Her breath is hot against your skin, her lips brushing your earlobe with each word, sending shivers down your spine.

"She thinks she can take you better than me," she murmurs, her hand trailing down to massage your balls as Karina continues to ride you. Her fingers are cool against your heated skin, gentle yet firm as they cup and roll, occasionally dipping lower to feel where you stretch Karina open. "But I had you deeper. I felt you throbbing inside me."

Karina hears her and responds with a particularly skillful twist of her hips that makes you groan against her flesh. The movement changes the angle, taking you impossibly deeper, her inner walls rippling along your length in a way that makes your toes curl.

"He's rock hard inside me," she shoots back, looking over her shoulder at Ningning with a triumphant smirk. Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-dampened back in places, strands darkened by moisture. "Like, literally throbbing."

Their competitive banter continues as they trade positions again, this time with Ningning straddling you in reverse, her back to your chest. The view is spectacular—the elegant line of her spine, the subtle dimples at the small of her back, the perfect curve of her ass as she positions herself over your cock once more.

She sinks down slowly this time, savoring each inch as you fill her, her head falling back against your shoulder with a gasp when you're fully seated. Her hair, now completely free from its ponytail, spills all around you, tickling your chest, your neck, your face—dark, silky strands that smell faintly of coconut shampoo and her own unique scent.

Karina kneels beside you, her mouth finding your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of her platinum hair against your skin is stark, beautiful, the strands sticking to your sweat-dampened chest as she moves.

You grip Ningning's hips, guiding her movements as she rides you with increasing urgency, her head falling back against your shoulder. Your hands slide up her torso, feeling the taut muscles of her stomach contract with each movement, the delicate ribs beneath her soft skin, before finding her small, perfect breasts.

They fit perfectly in your palms, the perfect handful, nipples stiff against your fingers. You pinch them lightly, rolling them between your fingers, feeling her pussy clench around you in response. Your mouth finds the side of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that will be visible for days.

"Fuck, the way you fill me," she gasps, her hand reaching back to tangle in your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss over her shoulder. The angle is awkward but intensely erotic, her tongue sliding against yours as she continues to move on your cock.

Her body is a furnace against yours, heat radiating from every inch of her skin, her sweat mingling with yours where your chests press together. You can feel her heartbeat, rapid and strong, her pulse fluttering beneath your lips when you break the kiss to suck at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

Karina's hand slips between Ningning's legs, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that make Ningning's rhythm stutter. "Let me help you," she offers, her voice innocent but her eyes calculating as she watches Ningning respond to her touch.

It's not cooperation so much as an extension of their competition—each trying to prove they can give and receive pleasure better than the other. Still, the effect is the same: Ningning moaning loudly as Karina's fingers work her clit, her pussy clenching rhythmically around your length.

They might be competing, but holy shit does it work in my favor.

You break the kiss to watch them, fascinated by the shifting dynamic. Karina leans forward to capture Ningning's mouth in a passionate kiss, swallowing her increasingly desperate moans while continuing to work her clit. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, the kiss open-mouthed and filthy, a performance as much for your benefit as for their own pleasure.

Your hands slide to Ningning's ass, spreading her cheeks, feeling where your cock disappears into her tight heat. The visual of them kissing while Ningning rides you, Karina's fingers visible between her legs, is almost enough to push you over the edge.

Sweat drips down your temple, your chest, your back—every inch of you is damp with exertion, muscles burning with the effort of maintaining control. The room smells of sex now, the sweet musk of their arousal mixed with sweat and the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo creating an intoxicating blend that fills your lungs with each ragged breath.

"Switch," you command, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "Karina on my cock, Ningning on my face."

They separate reluctantly, exchanging a look that speaks volumes before repositioning themselves according to your instructions. The brief moment it takes them to adjust gives you a chance to regain some control, your breathing ragged, your cock throbbing painfully with need.

Karina sinks down onto you with a satisfied sigh, her pussy still incredibly tight despite how wet she is. Ningning straddles your face, her thighs bracketing your head, her scent intoxicating as you pull her down onto your waiting tongue.

What happens next is the most seamless teamwork you've seen from them so far. Karina leans forward to kiss Ningning deeply, their breasts pressing together as they move in synchronized rhythm—Karina riding your cock with deliberate precision, Ningning grinding against your tongue with increasing desperation.

Their hands explore each other's bodies, pinching nipples, tangling in hair, tracing curves with obvious familiarity. It's clear this isn't the first time they've touched each other this way, but the addition of you between them brings a new intensity to their interactions.

They work together now, their earlier competition forgotten in favor of a united goal: pushing you past the point of control. Karina's inner muscles contract around you in waves, milking your length with expert precision. Ningning grinds against your tongue with shameless abandon, her wetness coating your chin, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.

"Fuck, he's gonna cum," Karina observes, feeling your cock swell and pulse inside her. "I can feel it."

The sensation is overwhelming—Karina's pussy gripping your cock like a vise, her inner walls rippling along your length with practiced control, while Ningning floods your mouth with her arousal, her taste growing stronger as she gets closer to her own release. You feel the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, the tension building in your balls, the telltale throb of impending orgasm.

Ningning looks down at you between her legs, her eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," she says, both to you and Karina. "We're not done with him."

They exchange another look, some silent communication passing between them, before they both lift off you simultaneously. The sudden loss of stimulation makes you groan in frustration, your cock twitching in the cool air, your mouth still chasing Ningning's retreating heat.

"What the fuck," you hiss, your voice rough with need.

Are they seriously edging me right now? After I was finally about to—

They smile at your frustration, identical expressions of satisfied mischief on their flushed faces. The power dynamic shifts again as they move to position themselves on either side of you, their hands trailing teasingly across your sweat-slicked skin.

Your body is hypersensitive now, every touch amplified tenfold. Karina's fingers along your ribs feel like fire, Ningning's breath against your neck like a physical caress. Your cock stands proudly between you, harder than it's ever been, the head swollen and purple, veins prominent against the shaft, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

"We told you," Karina purrs, her fingers wrapping loosely around your aching cock, not providing nearly enough pressure. The touch is maddening—just enough to keep you on edge, not enough to provide relief. Her platinum hair falls across your chest as she leans over you, a few strands sticking to your sweat-dampened skin. "We're not done yet."

"You'll cum when we say," Ningning adds, her tongue darting out to flick across your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Her dark eyes hold yours as she does it again, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of sharp pain and soft pleasure makes your cock jerk in Karina's loose grip.

Your earlier dominance wavers in the face of their united assault, but you're not ready to surrender control completely. With a growl, you reach out, one hand tangling in Karina's platinum hair, the other gripping Ningning's hip hard enough to leave marks.

You feel the damp heat of Karina's scalp as you fist her hair, the moisture from her exertion making the strands cling to your fingers. On Ningning's hip, your fingers dig into the subtle curve, feeling the contrast of soft skin over firm muscle. Your grip is possessive, commanding, a clear statement that this power struggle isn't over yet.

"No," you state firmly, pulling Karina's face close to yours. Her platinum hair falls around you both like a curtain, individual strands clinging to the sweat on your face and neck. You can smell her shampoo—something expensive and floral—mixed with the musk of sex and the salt of her sweat. "I decide when this ends."

The authority in your voice makes both of them freeze, their eyes widening in surprise before darkening with renewed arousal. Karina's pupils dilate so completely her eyes look almost black, while Ningning's lips part on a shaky exhale.

"Yes, sir," Karina whispers, the unexpected honorific sending a shock of pleasure through your system. The word falls from her swollen lips with surprising naturalness, as if she's been waiting for the opportunity to say it.

Sir? Oh fuck, that's hot coming from her mouth.

Ningning nods her agreement, suddenly docile under your grip. "Whatever you want," she adds, her voice softer than you've heard it all day. The contrast between her usual sharp-tongued confidence and this new, yielding tone makes your cock throb painfully between you.

The surrender in their responses ignites something primal within you. You pull Karina into a bruising kiss, your teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper. Her mouth opens immediately under yours, tongue sliding against yours in eager submission. Her platinum hair tangles around your fingers as you hold her in place, controlling the angle, the pressure, the depth of the kiss.

When you release her, her lips are even more swollen than before, a tiny drop of blood where your teeth caught her too hard. The sight of it—evidence of your intensity—makes something dark and satisfied unfurl in your chest.

You turn to Ningning, claiming her mouth with equal ferocity, your tongue pushing past her lips in a clear mimicry of what your cock has been doing to both of them. She yields immediately, moaning into the kiss, her small hand coming up to grip your bicep, feeling the muscle flex under her fingers.

The taste of them mingles on your tongue—Karina's cherry-sweetness, Ningning's slightly spicier flavor, both layered with the salt of sweat and the unique taste of their arousal from when they rode your face. The combination is intoxicating, driving you to deepen the kiss, to take more, to claim her completely.

You break the kiss, looking at them both with undisguised hunger. Their faces are flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with desire. Sweat makes their skin gleam in the fading afternoon light, highlighting the contours of their bodies—the swell of Karina's breasts, the elegant line of Ningning's collarbones, the defined muscles in both their stomachs from years of dance.

"Get on your backs," you command. "Side by side. Now."

They scramble to comply, positioning themselves as instructed, their earlier bratty competition replaced by eager compliance. They lie beside each other, legs spread, bodies on display for your approval. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller curves and platinum hair against Ningning's more delicate frame and dark waves.

Both are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, their skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal. Ningning's small breasts rise and fall with her rapid breathing, the subtle definition in her stomach more visible now as she lies flat. Karina's fuller curves create shadows and valleys across her body, her platinum hair spread out across the pillow like spilled moonlight.

You move to kneel between them, looking down at the feast before you—Karina with her full breasts and perfectly waxed pussy, Ningning with her smaller, perkier breasts and neatly trimmed landing strip. Both of them flushed, breathing heavily, watching you with identical expressions of desperate need.

Your own body bears the marks of your encounter—small crescent-shaped indents from their nails, light bruises forming where their mouths have been too eager, sweat dripping down your chest and back. Your cock stands painfully erect between you, harder than you've ever been, throbbing with each heartbeat.

"Now," you say, your voice calm despite the fire raging through your veins, "let's see which one of you can take me better."

They exchange a glance—half challenge, half solidarity—before turning their attention back to you, waiting for whatever comes next.

I've got the two baddest dancers at school spread out for me. Bio test be damned—this is worth getting benched for.

And what comes next will test all three of you to your limits.

You move between them, your body radiating heat, muscles tense with anticipation. Your hand trails up Ningning's inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath your touch, while you lean down to capture Karina's mouth in a hungry kiss.

"I want it first," Ningning demands, her voice a mixture of need and command. Her slender fingers wrap around your wrist, trying to guide your hand higher between her legs. The desperation in her tone sends a fresh surge of arousal through you.

Karina breaks the kiss, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. "Make him choose," she challenges, her eyes locked on Ningning's, then flicking back to yours. "Let's see who he really wants."

Jesus, even now they're competing. And I'm supposed to pick?

You pull back slightly, looking between them—both flushed, panting, their bodies on display just for you. An idea forms, something that will satisfy them both while maintaining your newfound control.

"I choose both," you state, your voice leaving no room for argument. "But I'm calling the shots."

Without warning, you move over Ningning, positioning yourself at her entrance. She's so wet you can see it glistening on her inner thighs, pooling slightly beneath her on the sheets. The head of your cock slides through her folds, gathering her arousal, the contact drawing a whimper from both of you.

When you finally push inside, the wet sound is obscene – a lewd squelch that echoes in the room, matching Ningning's sharp gasp as you stretch her open.

"Fuck, you're splitting me in half," she cries out, her back arching off the bed, small breasts pointing upward as you fill her completely. Her inner walls clamp down around you like a silken vise, rippling with involuntary spasms that nearly end you on the spot.

The sensation of her tight heat surrounding you again nearly makes your vision go white, but you hold on to your control by a thread, fingernails digging into your own palms as you fight the urge to come immediately.

You don't give her time to adjust, setting a brutal pace immediately, each thrust punctuated by the wet sound of her arousal and the sharp slap of your hips against the backs of her thighs. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, heels digging into your lower back, urging you deeper.

"God, don't stop," she gasps, each word punched out of her with your thrusts. Her hair splays across the pillow in dark waves, sticking to her sweat-slicked temples and cheeks. There's something almost painful in her expression as she takes you, a mixture of pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

You shift your angle, driving deeper, searching for that spot inside her that will make her fall apart. When your cock brushes against it, her reaction is immediate – her entire body seizes, back arching further, a broken sound torn from her throat.

"There! Right there!" she sobs, eyes wide and glassy, unfocused with pleasure. "Oh god, I'm gonna—"

But you haven't forgotten Karina. Your hand finds her core, two fingers sliding easily into her wet heat, thumb circling her clit with deliberate pressure. She gasps at the contact, hips bucking up to meet your hand.

"I need more than fingers," she demands, voice cracking with need as she watches you pound into Ningning. "She's hogging you."

You lean down, capturing one of Ningning's nipples between your teeth as you continue thrusting, the dual sensation making her cry out louder. The taste of her sweat-slicked skin is addictive – salt and something uniquely her that makes you want to lick every inch of her body.

Your fingers pick up speed inside Karina, curved perfectly to hit her g-spot while your thumb continues its assault on her clit. Her hips rise to meet each thrust of your hand, grinding against your palm, seeking more friction.

"I can feel how wet you are," you tell Karina, voice rough with exertion as you continue pounding into Ningning. "Soaked through. All for me."

Sweat pours down your back, drips from your forehead onto Ningning's chest, mingling with the perspiration already coating her skin. It slides between her small breasts, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Impulsively, you lean down to lick it away, tasting the salt on your tongue, feeling her pulse hammering beneath your lips.

The room fills with the sounds of your collective panting, moaning, the wet slap of flesh, the squelch of your fingers in Karina's pussy, the creak of the bed frame protesting your vigorous movements. The air is thick with the scent of sex – musky, primal, intoxicating.

Ningning's nails rake down your back, leaving burning trails that sting deliciously. Her inner walls flutter around you, signaling her approaching orgasm. Her eyes, which have been locked on yours, suddenly squeeze shut, brows drawing together in intense concentration.

"I can't—it's too—" she gasps, words failing her as pleasure overtakes her ability to form coherent thoughts.

You pull out suddenly, leaving her empty and gasping, hovering right at the edge of release. Before she can protest, you shift to Karina, removing your fingers from inside her only to replace them with your cock in one swift movement.

"Finally," Karina gasps, body arching up to meet your thrust. Her pussy welcomes you with a gush of wetness, the lewd sound filling the room as you bottom out inside her. She's different from Ningning—slightly less tight but wetter, hotter, inner walls undulating around your length in deliberate pulses that suggest years of practice.

Her legs immediately wrap around your waist, ankles crossing at the small of your back, pulling you deeper. The change in sensation is mind-bending – from Ningning's tight grip to Karina's silky heat, both equally devastating to your self-control.

Now it's Ningning's turn to receive your fingers, sliding easily into her abandoned pussy, still stretched from your cock and dripping with arousal. You find her g-spot with unerring accuracy, applying firm pressure that has her keening, back arching off the bed.

"No fair," she whimpers, eyes glassy with frustrated tears. "I was so close."

"You'll get your turn again," you promise, voice barely recognizable through your labored breathing. "Want to make it last."

You lean down to kiss Karina as you thrust into her, swallowing her moans. Her mouth is voracious against yours, tongue tangling with yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip. One of her hands tangles in your hair, pulling hard enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure down your spine.

"Feel how fucking wet I am for you?" she pants against your lips, inner muscles clenching deliberately around your length. "Been thinking about this since I first saw you in homeroom."

The confession, unexpected and raw, sends a fresh surge of arousal through you. Your hips stutter in their rhythm before driving deeper, harder, drawing a choked cry from her throat.

Beside you, Ningning grows impatient with just your fingers. She rises to her knees, moving closer until she can press her body against your side. Her small breasts brush against your arm, nipples hard points of contact that make your skin tingle.

"Let me help," she murmurs, surprising you as her hand slides down to where you're joined with Karina. Her slender fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with a practiced touch that suggests this isn't the first time she's touched her friend this way.

Karina's reaction is immediate – a sharp gasp, inner walls clenching around you, back arching to press her breasts up toward you. Her platinum hair fans out across the pillow, damp strands sticking to her flushed face and neck.

"Fuck, Ning," she breathes, using a nickname you've never heard before. "Just like that."

The sight of Ningning's darker fingers against Karina's pale flesh, the contrast of their skin tones as they work together to maximize pleasure, is possibly the hottest thing you've ever seen. Your cock throbs inside Karina at the visual, drawing a knowing smile from both girls.

"You like watching us together, don't you?" Karina purrs, voice thick with satisfaction. "Been playing with each other since sophomore year. Wondering when we'd find someone worth sharing."

The casual revelation sends your mind reeling, imagination filling with images of them together – Karina's head between Ningning's thighs, Ningning's fingers buried inside Karina, their bodies entwined in countless configurations.

Holy shit, this is actually happening.

You increase your pace, pounding into Karina with renewed vigor while maintaining the curl of your fingers inside Ningning. The awkward angle strains your wrist but the dual sensation of both their bodies clenching around different parts of you is worth any discomfort.

Suddenly, you withdraw from Karina, her disappointed whine cutting off as you move down her body. Your tongue finds her clit, sucking the swollen bud between your lips while three fingers thrust into her soaked entrance. She tastes incredible – tangy, sweet, with an underlying musk that's uniquely hers.

"Oh my GOD," she cries out, thighs immediately clamping around your head, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you in place. "Right there, don't you dare fucking stop!"

Your free hand continues working inside Ningning, her wetness covering your fingers, dripping down your wrist. The position is challenging but the sound of both girls moaning, their bodies writhing on either side of you, spurs you to push through the discomfort.

"His tongue," Karina gasps to Ningning, eyes wild, pupils blown wide. "You have no idea."

Instead of responding with words, Ningning leans down to capture one of Karina's nipples in her mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The unexpected cooperation between them – Ningning pleasuring Karina while you work between her legs – creates a tableau of feminine beauty that's almost artful in its eroticism.

You alternate between them, mouth moving from Karina to Ningning, fingers filling whoever doesn't have your tongue, never letting either girl get too close to the edge before switching again. Their frustration builds with each denial, whimpers turning to pleas, then to demands.

"Please," Ningning begs, voice cracking, a tear escaping the corner of her eye to disappear into her hairline. "I need to come so bad it hurts."

"Let her finish," Karina surprises you by saying, her own voice shaky with need. "Want to watch her fall apart on your cock."

The request – so unlike her earlier competitive attitude – makes your decision for you. You move up Ningning's body, positioning yourself at her entrance once more. She's so wet now that you slide in effortlessly, her body accepting you with a soft squelch that should be embarrassing but is just incredibly hot.

"Yes," she hisses, hands immediately finding purchase on your shoulders, nails digging in. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You comply, setting a relentless pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust. Her small body takes everything you give her, inner walls gripping you like a vise, fluttering with the beginning of her orgasm.

"Look at me," you command, one hand moving to cup her jaw, forcing her gaze to meet yours. "Want to see your eyes when you come."

Her gaze locks with yours, dark irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils. There's something raw and vulnerable in her expression that contrasts sharply with her usual guarded demeanor. A single tear tracks down her temple, disappearing into her hairline—overwhelmed by sensation, by the intensity of feeling you so deep inside her.

You grip her small, firm breast in one hand, thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, while your other hand finds her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. The gesture is possessive, dominant, and her response is immediate—pupils dilating further, inner walls clenching around you.

"Going to come," she warns, voice thin and reedy, barely audible over the sound of your bodies meeting. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't—"

Her words dissolve into a high-pitched keen as her orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy spasms around you in powerful waves, each contraction stronger than the last, milking your length with incredible strength. Her entire body goes rigid beneath you, back arched so dramatically only her head and hips remain on the mattress.

The sight of her coming undone – face contorted in ecstasy, throat working as she gasps for air, body surrendered completely to pleasure – burns itself into your memory with crystal clarity.

You continue thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it, feeling each aftershock ripple through her overstimulated body. Only when her whimpers take on an edge of discomfort do you finally pull out, your cock glistening with her release, harder than it's ever been, angry red and pulsing with need.

Before you can move, Karina pushes you onto your back with surprising strength, swinging one leg over to straddle you. Her eyes are wild, desperate, platinum hair hanging in damp strands around her flushed face, lips swollen from kisses.

"My turn," she growls, positioning herself above your cock. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

She sinks down onto your length in one fluid motion, taking you to the hilt with a satisfied groan. The wet heat of her pussy surrounds you, different from Ningning's but equally intoxicating. Where Ningning was all tight, gripping heat, Karina is velvet smoothness with deliberate control, her inner muscles rippling along your length in waves that suggest she's done her Kegels religiously.

"So fucking thick," she gasps, beginning to ride you with the perfect combination of speed and pressure. Her larger breasts bounce with each movement, nipples stiff peaks begging for attention. You reach up to cup them, feeling their weight in your palms, thumbs brushing over the sensitive tips.

She leans forward, changing the angle, her platinum hair falling around your faces like a curtain. The new position has the head of your cock dragging against her front wall with each movement, hitting that spot that makes her thighs tremble.

"Right there," she breathes against your lips, not quite kissing you, just sharing breath. "Can feel you so deep like this."

Ningning, still trembling from her recent orgasm, moves to join you. She positions herself beside you, her small hand sliding down your chest, over your stomach, to where you and Karina are joined. Her fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with practiced ease while her mouth finds your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

The dual sensation – Ningning's mouth on your chest, Karina's pussy gripping your cock, the visual of both girls working together to maximize pleasure – sends jolts of electricity down your spine, coiling at the base, threatening to push you over the edge embarrassingly quickly.

"Not yet," Karina commands, reading your expression with unsettling accuracy. She slows her movements, rising until just the head of your cock remains inside her before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. "Want this to last."

Ningning shifts positions, moving behind Karina now, her small hands reaching around to cup Karina's breasts, taking over where your hands just were. The visual is incredible – Ningning's darker skin against Karina's paleness, her delicate fingers pinching Karina's nipples as she continues to ride you.

Karina's head falls back against Ningning's shoulder, throat exposed, eyes closed in concentration as she chases her pleasure. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the beginning of what promises to be an intense orgasm.

"She's close," Ningning murmurs, looking down at you with dark eyes, her chin resting on Karina's shoulder. One of her hands slides down Karina's stomach to find her clit again, rubbing in tight circles as Karina continues to ride you with increasing urgency. "Can feel how tight she's getting."

The sight of them together – Karina bouncing on your cock while Ningning touches her from behind – combined with the incredible sensation of Karina's pussy gripping you like a silken vise, brings you dangerously close to the edge again. Your balls tighten painfully, pressure building at the base of your spine, every muscle in your body tensing with impending release.

"Gonna come inside you," you warn, voice tight with the effort of holding back. "Can't wait any longer."

"Yes," Karina hisses, movements becoming more erratic as her own orgasm approaches. "Fill me up. Want to feel it."

Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-slicked back, strands darkened by moisture. Beads of sweat roll down between her breasts, along her stomach, glistening in the fading light. The scent of sex fills the room – musky, primal, intoxicating – mingling with the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo and the cherry sweetness of Karina's lip gloss.

Behind her, Ningning continues her ministrations, one hand on Karina's clit, the other reaching down to cup your balls, feeling their tightness, the way they draw up close to your body as you approach your peak.

"He's about to explode," Ningning announces, voice husky with renewed arousal despite her recent orgasm. Her fingers massage your balls gently, adding another layer of sensation that pushes you closer to the brink. "Can feel how tight they are."

Karina's movements become more deliberate, grinding down on each downstroke, creating a corkscrew motion that has the head of your cock hitting every sensitive spot inside her. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the telltale beginning of her orgasm.

"Don't stop," she gasps, eyes locking with yours, pupils so dilated her blue eyes look almost black. "Please, I'm so close, I'm right there—"

Her words cut off as her orgasm hits, body going rigid above you, thighs clamping down on your hips with bruising force. Her pussy contracts around you in powerful waves, each pulse threatening to pull your own release from you. Her face contorts in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream, a single tear tracking down her flushed cheek as the intensity overwhelms her.

The visual of Karina coming undone above you – head thrown back against Ningning's shoulder, throat working as she tries to breathe through the pleasure, body trembling with the force of her release – combined with the rippling contractions of her pussy around your cock, finally shatters your control.

You grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as you thrust up into her spasming heat. The first pulse of your orgasm hits with such intensity that your vision whites out momentarily, pleasure radiating from your core outward until every nerve ending is alight with sensation.

"Fuck, I'm coming," you growl, the words torn from your throat as you empty yourself inside her in hot, powerful spurts. Each pulse seems stronger than the last, your entire body seized in the grip of the most intense orgasm of your life. Your hips buck uncontrollably, driving deeper, prolonging the pleasure for both of you as her inner walls continue to milk every last drop from you.

Karina collapses forward onto your chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Her skin sticks to yours with sweat, her breathing ragged against your neck. Behind her, Ningning strokes her back gently, fingertips tracing the knobs of her spine with surprising tenderness.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the room are your collective breathing, gradually slowing as your heart rates return to something approaching normal. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, mingled with sweat and the faint traces of their different perfumes – Karina's expensive floral scent, Ningning's lighter coconut notes, both now thoroughly blended with the musk of shared pleasure.

Eventually, Karina shifts, wincing slightly as she lifts herself off your softening cock. A mixture of your release and her own arousal follows, dripping onto your stomach in a lewd display that somehow still manages to send a weak throb of interest through your spent cock.

She collapses beside you, one arm thrown across her eyes, chest still rising and falling with slightly labored breaths. Ningning moves to your other side, curling against you like a satisfied cat, her small hand coming to rest possessively on your chest.

The three of you lie there in sweat-soaked, satisfied silence, the reality of what just happened slowly sinking in as your brain begins to function again. Your body feels simultaneously weightless and heavy, every muscle pleasantly exhausted, skin hypersensitive as you come down from the most intense experience of your life.

Ningning's fingers trace lazy patterns across your chest, occasionally circling a nipple, making you twitch despite your complete exhaustion. Her head rests in the crook of your shoulder, damp hair tickling your skin. You can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing where her small breasts press against your side.

Karina reaches for your free hand, intertwining her fingers with yours in a gesture that feels surprisingly intimate after everything you've just done. Her thumb strokes the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, sending tiny shivers up your arm.

"So much better than bio class," she murmurs, voice still slightly hoarse from all her moaning. "Worth missing that test for sure."

You laugh, the sound pulling from deep in your chest. "Coach is gonna kill me when I get benched, but yeah... definitely worth it."

Ningning lifts her head to look at you, dark eyes still soft with lingering pleasure. She leans in to place a gentle kiss on your lips – so different from the desperate, hungry kisses you shared earlier. This one is almost sweet, her lips soft and yielding against yours.

When she pulls back, Karina immediately takes her place, claiming her own kiss. Her style is different – a little deeper, her tongue briefly tracing your lower lip before she pulls away with a small nip that makes you gasp.

"We should make this a regular thing," Karina suggests, trying to sound casual despite the hint of eagerness in her voice. Her fingers continue their gentle exploration, trailing down your stomach now, circling your navel, deliberately avoiding your spent cock.

"Mmm," Ningning agrees, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Next time I go first though." The competitive edge is back in her voice, though softer now, wrapped in playfulness rather than genuine rivalry.

You find yourself laughing again, equal parts disbelief and delight. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Duh," they say in unison, then exchange a look and burst into giggles.

Karina props herself up on one elbow, pushing damp platinum strands behind her ear. With her makeup smudged and her hair a mess, she looks younger somehow, more like the girl who sits behind you in English rather than the untouchable dance team captain.

"I wonder if Yujin would want to join us sometime," she muses, glancing at both of you. "Now that I know about your little secret hookup."

Your face heats up at the mention of what you thought was your private encounter. "You think she'd be into this?"

Ningning shakes her head slightly. "She kept that whole thing with you totally quiet. Didn't even tell us, and we tell each other everything." She shoots a meaningful look at Karina. "She might not be into sharing."

"Maybe," Karina concedes with a thoughtful expression. "But I've seen how she looks at Ningning during practice."

Ningning rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Whatever."

"And I'm still determined to finish what Chaewon started with you at Jackson's party," Karina continues, poking Ningning's side playfully. "Before she chickened out."

"She didn't chicken out, she just got weird about it," Ningning protests, but there's a wistful quality to her voice. "Said she wasn't ready or something."

"Trust me," Karina says confidently, "if she saw what I just saw, she'd definitely be ready. We just need to ease her into it."

Your eyes widen at the casual way they're discussing expanding this... whatever this is. Your cock gives a valiant twitch despite being completely spent, drawing knowing smirks from both girls.

"Look at that," Karina teases, glancing down at your slight movement. "Someone likes the idea."

"Don't break him," Ningning warns, reaching across you to flick Karina's arm lightly. "We need him functional for next time."

Karina catches Ningning's hand, bringing it to her lips for a quick kiss before releasing it. The gesture speaks to a depth of connection between them that goes beyond the competitive dynamic you've witnessed so far.

"So what do you say?" Karina asks, blue eyes fixed on yours, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Ready to be our regular class-skipping buddy?"

"With benefits," Ningning adds with a suggestive smile, her hand drifting dangerously close to your cock again, though it's far too soon for you to respond.

You think about your day just hours ago – boring, predictable, defined by classes and swim meets and the constant pressure to maintain your GPA. Then you look at these two incredible girls curled against you, their bodies warm and soft, offering something you never imagined would be within your reach.

"Bio test was today," you remind yourself aloud, wincing slightly. "I'm definitely getting a zero."

"You can make it up," Karina says with a dismissive wave. "Just tell Mr. Park you were sick or something."

Ningning nods in agreement, her fingers drawing circles on your chest. "No one's gonna believe you'd skip for no reason anyway. You're like, annoyingly responsible."

As they continue chatting, arms draped across your body, heads resting against your shoulders, you find yourself wondering what exactly you've gotten yourself into. The dance team's secret hookup? Their shared boyfriend? The guy lucky enough to be their favorite distraction?

Whatever this is, whatever label might eventually apply, one thing is certain: there's no way you're backing out now.

Bio test be damned, you think, pulling both girls closer as you sink into the comfort of Karina's bed.

This is definitely worth getting benched for.

#malereader #kpop smut #cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #smut #karina x reader #ningning x reader #karina #ningning

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em1i2a3 · 27 days ago

Text

Good Grief

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Enhanced!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob is spellbound when he watches you train. It’s his favourite part of the day, and it’s his way of getting to know you. This is how the two of you grow a bond that is practically inseparable, and extremely protective.

Warnings: Hints of Angst and Fluff, Mentions of Violence (because of the training), Reader purposely puts themself in danger to coax out Sentry (this is to test a theory), Accidental Training ‘Injury’, Reader is Enhanced (super strength pretty much)

Author’s Note: I liked this request and the idea, and I kind of ran with it a bit and spiced it up at the end! So I’m glad I could write a nice little blurb for it! Thank you for the request! :)

P.S. I may or may not miss a day this week to upload something for a different Lewis Character….I won’t say who…But some people might know who it is for lol 🤓, or we might get a double update day! Who knows. Just thought I’d put that out there though.

Word Count: 6,163

The training bay was silent except for the soft slap of bare feet on mat and the distant hum of ventilation through the compound walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows that pooled at the edges of the room. The space smelled faintly of sweat and vinyl, clean but lived-in, the kind of place where discipline lived in every corner.

Half a dozen padded dummies stood propped in a wide arc across the center of the mat. Each one anchored with care, their placement intentional–neither random nor symmetrical. You’d paced the bay in slow circles earlier that morning, nodding to yourself before gesturing for Bob to help shift one a few inches to the left, another slightly forward. He followed your directions without question, even if he didn’t quite understand the pattern you saw.

He stood beside you, palms resting awkwardly against the top of the shoulders of one dummy, eyes flicking between them.

“Yo-You sure you don’t want to go one at a ti-time?” He asked, his voice soft but edged with concern.

He didn’t mean to doubt you–he never did–but this setup was different. Not just reps. Not just sparring. It looked like a battlefield mapped from memory, and you were the only one who knew how to walk it.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile. “Trust me.”

And he did.

You stepped away from him, shedding the lightweight black zip-up that clung damply to your arms from your warmup. Underneath, you wore a ribbed charcoal-grey sports bra, cropped snug against your chest, the hem riding high enough to show every breath you took. Your training shorts were low on your hips–matte black, skin-tight, with thick waistband support and slits up the sides for flexibility. Scuffed tape wrapped around your knuckles and a faint sheen of sweat already coated your skin, catching on your collarbone, and the dip of your stomach.

Bob was doomed from the start.

He took his usual place–cross-legged at the edge of the mat, your water bottle already in his hands–and watched.

And then you began.

A sharp inhale, a roll of your shoulder, and the first strike landed–clean and fast, a side kick directly to the gut of the closest dummy. You barely touched down before twisting, rolling into a shoulder drop and springing up again in a tight coil of movement. Your limbs snapped into each new angle like memories were guiding you. Like your body had done this a thousand times in another life.

Bob’s grip tightened on your water bottle.

You had told him once–over take out cartons on the roof of the Watchtower–that you were a gymnast before any of this. Before the field ops program. Before the blacksite conditioning and chemical rewrites. Before they molded your hands into weapons and trained you to end lives instead of chasing crappy medals that meant nothing.

That past still lived inside you though, and every single movement was proof of that.

The way you twisted midair and landed softly on the ball of your feet. The perfect, calculated bend of your back as you rebounded into a cartwheel, launching into a split aerial that folded into a kick. It was impossibly smooth–violent and beautiful all at once.

Bob could feel Sentry stirring the way a storm stirs just beyond the clouds. A pressure in the center of his chest. A weight behind his eyes.

“God she is beautiful…” Sentry whispered.

Bob exhaled shakily.

He had never seen anyone move like you before, and he was obsessed with it. He wished that he was able to see you on the field, to watch you take down actual threats, but ever since he voided the majority of New York's population, they had him sitting out until he could fully control himself. So this–this was all he had. And still, he couldn’t imagine anything more intoxicating than what he was watching now.

Your punches echoed through the room like cracks of thunder. Each one landing with calculated force, a precise explosion of movement that rolled through your shoulders, down your spine, and out through your fists. Bob could feel the vibrations in the air.

He sat perfectly still, barely breathing, with your water bottle gripped between his palms, the plastic creaking faintly under his thumbs. Steam hadn’t started yet, but it would, and he could feel it building under his skin.

You didn’t look tired, but there was a sheen of sweat forming now–glowing against the line of your throat, collecting at your lower back, glistening on your collarbones with every twist–but you didn’t breathe heavily, and your pace didn’t falter. If anything you moved faster, like the rhythm inside you had finally caught up to the shape of the room.

Bob’s eyes followed you like a man possessed.

You twisted, and ducked, and rolled seamlessly into a sweeping leg kick that took one dummy down with a harsh crack. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t hesitate. You flipped up onto your hands and spun into a tight, two-point kick, knocking a second dummy halfway backward before landing clean, knees bent, palms open.

It wasn’t training anymore. It was a ritual. It was instinct. A muscle-deep, cellular kind of memory, more ancient than tactics and more intimate than breath.

Bob could feel his throat tighten.

Your fists snapped with brutal precision, thighs flexing with each powerful step. And your eyes–glistening with anticipation–were locked on the next target with such focus that it felt like gravity bent towards you.

You landed on one hand, and kicked upward with explosive strength, sending a dummy rocking on its base.

Then–you pivoted low, gathered your weight and launched.

A scream of momentum–nothing verbal, just kinetic energy in its purest form.

Your shoulder slammed forward, with one final strike, and the last dummy flew.

Launching across the room, skidding off the mat with a plastic-laced screech before it smashed into the far wall–loud enough to echo with a thunderous boom.

Silence followed.

Thick. Charged. Unmoving.

You straightened slowly in the center of the mat, chest still rising in a quiet rhythm, arms loose at your sides. A fine mist of sweat clung to your stomach and thighs. You tilted your head just slightly, watching the dummy slump on the other side of the bay with a smirk on your face.

Bob stared at it as well, not blinking, nor breathing.

“Oh to be a dummy…I’d let her launch me across a room.” Sentry whispered, “I’d kneel at her feet, just to feel her shadow pass over me.”

The water bottle in Bob’s hands began to hiss.

Not audibly, it was just a faint pressure, a heat coiling inward, steam threatening to rise. The plastic beneath his fingers had begun to soften, warping faintly where the heat of his palms pushed in. But he didn’t even notice, because his senses weren’t registering anything except you.

You were still on the mat, framed in the center of his vision like some living storm–shoulders rising and falling in slow rhythm, now a towel slung lazily around your neck, with its ends brushing the curve of your chest as you dragged it across the glistening lines of your collarbone.

You looked like power incarnate. Like something divine caught in a human frame. And Bob? Bob was drowning in you.

You ran the towel down your stomach, catching the sweat that shimmered on your skin like dew on glass. You weren’t even looking at him yet, but he still flinched when you finally turned and strode toward him with that same slow, dangerous confidence you carried on the mat.

“How was that?” You asked casually, voice still slightly breathless. “Good form?”

Bob blinked.

Then blinked again.

And the world snapped back into sound with a pop.

Literally.

The lid of the water bottle burst off with a sharp crack, steam hissing faintly from the top as the pressure released, shooting the cap somewhere behind him. It clattered to the floor and rolled in a lazy half circle before spinning to a stop.

“Oh…Oh Je-Jesus.” He breathed, glaring down at the now-lidless bottle in his hand. You laughed–a puff of amusement–as you stepped towards him, holding out your hand.

“I’ll take that from you now,” You said. Bob’s eyes widened still fixated on the warped bottle in his hands.

”I-I could get you a new one…Th-This one is basically boiled.” You shrugged, stepping even closer, your shadow now brushing over his lap like a tide coming in.

“Water is water,” You commented with a lazy smile, “I don’t mind.” He swallowed hard, the sound thick in his throat. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to not hand you this half-melted, Sentry-steamed, probably-dangerous bottle of lava–but your fingers brushed his anyway, curling lightly around the neck of it.

Bob relented, blushing furiously as he let go.

You brought it to your lips without hesitation. The plastic crinkled under your grip as you tilted it back and drank–really drank–head tipped slightly, throat working, the rise and fall of your chest steady despite the heat. The soft sound of water hitting your mouth was too much, and Bob had to look away–eyes darting to the dummy you launched, to the vent above the door, anywhere but at the way your lips wrapped around the bottle’s edge.

You drained it in a few long gulps.

Then–with a snap of finality–you crushed the softened plastic in one hand and passed it back to him, like it was a token from a battle won.

A droplet clung to your bottom lip, and you licked it off slowly. Like it meant nothing. Like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Tell Sentry thanks for the impromptu tea,” You murmured, voice all syrup and smoke. Then you slung the towel back around your neck and turned away, already walking toward the locker room. “I’m gonna go shower off. Meet you on the roof?” Bob couldn’t look at you.

Not when his entire face felt like it was glowing. Not when Sentry was humming in his veins like molten sunlight.

He nodded, eyes on the mat. “Y-Yeah. I’ll–I’ll be there.”

—————————

The roof was quiet except for the soft rustle of wind and the distant city stirring far below.

Bob stood near the ledge, forearms braced loosely against the cool concrete, the weight of his body leaned into it like he needed the grounding. His hair was still damp from a quick rinse, curls pushed back by a hand that kept running through them nervously. The sun hadn’t fully crested the skyline yet, but the horizon was blooming in soft bands of color–mauve to gold to the faintest hint of fire. The sky looked half-awake, as if the day hadn’t decided yet whether to stretch or sleep in.

Behind him, the rooftop door gave a soft clunk as it opened.

You stepped out into the cool air wearing a hoodie that hung a little too long at the sleeves and a pair of loose sweatpants rolled once at the waist. Your socked feet were shoved into slip-ons, and your hair–still damp from your shower was clipped back, the ends brushing against your collar.

You were a completely different version of the woman who had just launched a dummy across the mat, and somehow, to Bob, you were even more dangerous this way.

He heard your footsteps before he saw you. You weren’t trying to be quiet–you never did up here–but there was something about the way you moved that always gave him pause. Even when you weren’t fighting, even when you were soft and warm and dressed in clothes he’d seen you nap in, you moved like a threat. Like someone who could shatter him without ever raising a hand.

He turned when you stopped beside him.

You held out one of the two containers tucked under your arm–clear plastic, condensation fogging the inside, layers of oats, berries, protein powder, almond butter, and a mess of chia seeds and yogurt.

“Added extra almond butter for you,” You said casually, like you hadn’t just left him speechless fifteen minutes ago in the training bay, “I’ve seen you eating it by the spoonful.” Bob smirked, and took the bowl from you with a soft, stuttered thanks, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.

You leaned against the ledge beside him, shoulder nearly brushing his as you opened your own container and sat it down on the concrete ledge. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The wind tugged at the strings of your hoodie, and your eyes stayed on the skyline.

It had started as a fluke, months ago. You had finished training early, Bob had offered to bring you a smoothie he’d prepped the night before, and you both ended up watching the sun rise in silence, chewing half-thawed berries in tired satisfaction. But the ritual had stuck. And now…This was just what you did.

Watch the city wake up. Together. Every time you trained early.

Bob peeled the lid off his breakfast bowl and picked up the spoon you’d shoved into the side.

“Th-this is my favorite one,” He said softly, glancing sideways at you, attempting to break the silence. You didn’t look away from the skyline when you responded.

”I know…You’ve told me.” That made his cheeks pink again. But he didn’t look away this time.

You were quiet for a moment. Chewing. Thinking.

Then, just barely loud enough to hear:

”I got a…Curious question for you.” Bob gulped softly, the sound nearly lost to the wind curling off the rooftop. His spoon paused midair, a dollop of almond butter sliding off into the bowl. He glanced at you, cautious but attentive, like someone approaching a line they didn’t know they were ready to cross.

“A-Alright…” He said carefully, the word sticking to the back of his throat.

You didn’t meet his eyes.

Instead, you scooped a spoonful of frozen berries from your container, crunching down slowly as the chill settled into your jaw. Your lips pressed together in quiet concentration, almost like you were tasting your words before saying them out loud.

“If Sentry is in there…” You said around the fruit, eyes still on the horizon, “Why haven’t I met him?” Bob’s eyebrows rose, and he blinked at you like you’d reached across the space between your shoulders and tapped directly on his soul.

”I do-don’t know,” He replied quietly, “Why do you ask?” You finally looked at him.

Not with challenge, not with anything harsh–just honest curiosity, softened by morning light and the glint of something deeper.

“I kind of want to see him, that’s all,” You said with a shrug. “Sometimes I can feel that he’s there, behind your eyes…” You gestured loosely to the general space around his face, your hand lifting just enough to draw a vague halo around his features. “But I just haven’t seen him. And I’m curious. That’s all.” You looked down into your bowl for a second, then added, “Yelena mentioned he talks differently too, so I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Bob choked on a breath.

Not dramatically, not loud–but just enough for his shoulders to twitch and the tips of his ears to go scarlet.

“Y-Yeah, well…He–He kind of only comes out in ex-extreme cases…” Bob glanced away again, fidgeting with the edge of the plastic lid. “I’ve been able to get a little bit of co-control over him these past few months but…I-It’s not like switching a light on…Not yet at least.”

“Extreme cases?” You echoed, your tone gentle but laced with curiosity. You swirled your spoon around the half-melted oats in your bowl, watching the almond butter spiral through the yogurt like a lazy storm. “What do you mean by that?” Bob cleared his throat. He adjusted his stance slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I–uh–I-if anyone I care ab-about is in danger…” He explained, voice tight, eyes fixed somewhere just past the edge of the roof. “Th-that typically triggers him.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him.

Anyone I care about.

The air seemed to pause for a moment. Not in a dramatic, thunderstruck way—but in that quiet, split-second beat where something subtle shifts. Where the wind changes direction.

“Really?” You said, just barely above a whisper. Bob nodded, slow and honest.

You bit your bottom lip.

Then you looked away–at the skyline, at the bowl in your hand–and cleared your throat softly. “Huh.”

Bob glanced over, unsure what that huh meant. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could speak, you placed your container down on the ledge beside you with a faint plastic clack, and then–you pushed yourself up onto the ledge.

Bob froze.

His breath caught like you’d pulled a pin from a grenade.

You didn’t do anything wild–not yet–you just perched there, casual as ever, one leg dangling off the edge of the rooftop and the other folded beneath you. The city stretched wide below your feet, vast and golden and humming with distant morning traffic. But Bob only saw you.

And your eyes–when they turned to meet his–were gleaming with something dangerous.

Playful. Calculating.

“I wonder,” You said slowly, tilting your head, “How close to the edge I’d have to lean before he decided to show.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “Wh–what? N-no, no, don’t–don’t you dare–”

You grinned.

“You just said it yourself…Extreme cases of danger.” Bob stepped closer immediately, alarm blooming in his chest, his breakfast long forgotten.

“P-please get down. Th-that’s not funny.” But you just arched an eyebrow, the wind tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

“I’m not gonna fall. I’ve done this a hundred times.” Bob’s pulse was a living thing in his throat.

He watched–helpless, breath caught, fingers twitching–as you stood.

One slow, deliberate motion. A shift in your hips, a plant of your foot. Then the other followed. Smooth. Balanced. Effortless.

You rose from the ledge like it was solid ground, and there wasn’t a ninety-story drop waiting just inches behind your heels. His entire body went tight.

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

“P-Please,” Bob choked, one foot already shifting forward as if sheer will might anchor you back. “Please don’t–just–get down, okay? I–I’m serious–”

But you weren’t listening. Or maybe you were–and that was worse. Because your gaze was steady. Calm. Amused. The wind tugged strands of hair into your face, and you didn’t even blink.

“Bob…I used to be a gymnast. I’m fine.”

Your foot shifted ever so slightly on the ledge—only an inch, maybe less—but the wind caught just right, and your body flinched. Just a twitch. A minor, involuntary jerk of balance.

And that was all it took.

One blink.

And then–

He was there.

A rush of gold.

A flash of heat.

Your breath hadn’t even finished catching before arms like tempered steel wrapped around your middle, yanking you from the ledge so fast your feet barely had time to register air. The skyline spun, the wind cracked, and then–you were grounded again.

Back pressed to a broad, heaving chest. Hands banded across your ribcage, fingers splayed like molten iron beneath your hoodie. You burst into laughter–a sharp, bubbling giggle that sounded almost wrong in contrast to the divine tension crackling through the air now.

The grip on your waist didn’t ease.

It tightened.

And when you tilted your chin back to look behind you–just slightly, just enough–you saw them.

Gold….His eyes that burned like sunlight through glass, pupils sharp as stars. Sentry.

“Hi,” You said cheerfully, still grinning, breathless from your own stunt.

”No,” Sentry replied, voice rich and low, echoing like thunder rippling through marble, “No ‘hi’…You almost fell off the roof.” It wasn’t a reprimand exactly…But he took the kind of tone that was reserved for things that were precious, vulnerable, and untouchable. His voice vibrated against your spine like something too old and too vast to be fully human.

You glanced down at the way his arms were locked around you–solid and certain, pressed against the soft fabric of your hoodie, heat blooming where his skin met yours.

“I won’t climb back up…I just did that to bring you out, you can let go.” His grip didn’t ease right away. You could feel the tension humming in his limbs. Like holding you was the only thing anchoring the storm.

“Can’t believe you did this deliberately.” He stated, words molten. You smirked at his comment.

”I knew you cared about me.” You teased, then there was a beat of silence. Not empty, not cold–but charged. Like lightning was being held back by sheer force of will.

And then Sentry groaned softly, tipping his head forward, forehead nearly brushing your shoulder

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” He murmured, his breath warm against your neck. You swore you felt the heat of a small sun in that exhale.

“I think my plan worked perfectly actually,” You replied, twisting in his grip slowly until you were facing him. He let you go gradually–arms loosening, like letting go was something he didn’t quite want to do. You stood in front of him now, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“You’ve been watching me,” You added, softer now. “So I thought I’d introduce myself.”

Sentry stared at you, golden gaze intense, unreadable.

“And how do you know I’ve been watching you?” You shrugged.

”The room kind of gets super hot whenever I’m around you,” You trailed off, playfully, and then added, “And the boiled and semi-melted water bottle during my training this morning really confirmed my suspicions.” Sentry’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment–longer than most people could withstand without blinking, without looking away, without shrinking under the weight of something celestial sizing them up.

But you didn’t shrink.

You just stared right back, lit by the bleeding edge of sunrise, hoodie sleeves bunching slightly as your arms crossed beneath your chest

He inhaled deeply through his nose.

The kind of breath that stirred the wind around you. Like he was tasting the moment.

Then–

“Well…” He exhaled slowly, gold eyes narrowing faintly, heat rolling off his skin like he hadn’t quite put the sun back in its cage, “We like watching you train, so…” A slight smirk, nearly imperceptible, “Sue me for melting the water bottle.”

You laughed, head tilting, teeth catching your bottom lip for a second before you let it go. “Oh, you do?” You echoed, all exaggerated with mock surprise. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

He said nothing.

So you stepped a bit closer, toe to toe now, looking at him, chasing eye contact.

“Anything else you want to tell me?”

The question hung in the air between you like a dare. A thread. A fuse.

Sentry’s jaw tensed.

Then slowly–very slowly–he bit the inside of his cheek and glanced away, gaze drifting out toward the edge of the city as though it might offer him a safer answer than the truth.

“Not that I know of.”

Smooth. Measured. Deceptively calm.

And a lie.

You could feel it ripple through him like static.

Your eyes narrowed just slightly, catching the minute shift in his expression. The way his mouth twitched like there was something sitting right behind his teeth that he didn’t trust himself to say.

But he wouldn’t betray Bob. Not even a little. Not even now, not when his hands still remembered the shape of your waist and the weight of your pulse thudding wildly against his palms.

You let the silence stretch, the smirk pulling at your lips again.

“Liar,” You muttered, voice low. Not accusing. Not even disappointed. Just certain.

His eyes flicked back to yours–sharper now, searching.

And for one breathless second, you swore the skyline bent around the shape of his frame. Like the sun tilted its arc to catch the side of his face, painting him in a soft gleam of fire and gold.

“Maybe,” He murmured finally, voice like molten glass. “But I’m not the one you want to hear it from.”

Your stomach fluttered.

Not because you didn’t know what he meant.

But because you did.

And for once…You didn’t push.

Instead, you stepped back, just enough to give him space. Just enough to keep the tension intact.

————————

You stood at the center of the mat again, barefoot, hands wrapped, shoulder blades flexing beneath a sleeveless compression top. You were rolling your neck in lazy circles as you waited for your new sparring partners to get their shit together.

“Jesus, how many wraps does it take you to tie your boots, Walker?”

John scoffed without looking up, still crouched in the corner tightening the laces on his combat shoes. “Some of us don’t train barefoot like monks on a mountaintop.”

“That’s because you’d trip over your own ego,” You muttered under your breath.

“C’mon now,” Bucky called from across the mat, stretching his arms behind his back, black long-sleeve rolled to his elbows. “Play nice, kids. I’m not pulling any punches today.”

From his spot on the edge of the mat, Bob looked up quickly at that–eyes flicking between the three of you, concern flickering across his face like a warning light. He was already perched where he’d always sat during your solo drills, long legs folded under him, with your water bottle in hand–now reusable and stainless steel–watching quietly like you were the only thing in the world that moved in color.

Walker clocked it immediately.

His head turned toward Bob with a crooked grin, already half-laced boots squeaking faintly as he stood. “Does he always sit there like that?” He asked, nodding toward Bob. “Watching you like it’s a one-woman stage play?”

You didn’t even blink.

“He always does,” you replied smoothly, turning your wrist in a light circle to loosen your shoulder. “Is this a new thing you’re just realizing?”

Bob flushed–brilliant red blooming beneath the collar of his navy crew neck–but said nothing, just curled his fingers more tightly around the water bottle.

Walker smirked. “What–you need an emotional support human to pummel some dummies?”

You turned toward him fully then, one brow raised, lips already twitching. “I’m glad you’re calling yourself a dummy so I don’t have to.” Bucky let out a laugh from his spot near the wall, shaking his head.

“Alright, alright–enough with the bickering. Let’s go for another round, huh?” He rolled his shoulder and stepped toward you, that slow, loose gait of someone who’d seen more fights than birthdays. You nodded once, tightening the wraps on your wrists.

“Let’s.” You muttered.

Bob settled deeper into his spot at the edge of the mat, posture stiff but eyes locked on you. Sentry stirred beneath his skin again–he could feel it like pressure in his spine, heat behind his ribs. Watching you get ready, watching you glow with motion and discipline, was like watching a match hovering over gasoline.

And then you moved.

You and Bucky danced the way soldiers did–tight and calculated, strike and recover, quick feints that turned into fast contact. He wasn’t going easy on you, and you wouldn’t have let him if he tried. Walker hung back at first, arms crossed, smirking, tossing in the occasional jibe about your stance or form.

Until you spun low and landed a solid elbow to Bucky’s ribs. He let out a grunt, rubbing the area with the flat of his hand.

“Had my guard down,” he muttered, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

You cocked your head. “You always do.”

Walker snorted. “Alright, let me get in on this now.”

You cleared your throat, barely disguising your amusement. “Don’t be shocked when you get humiliated.”

“Big words for someone who’s at a one man disadvantage.” He said, cracking his neck as he stepped forward onto the mat.

You rolled your shoulders. “Yeah? Let’s see what you’ll be saying when you’re on your ass.” From the sidelines, Bob’s grip on the water bottle tightened.

It started slow–Walker lunged, you ducked, Bucky feinted–and then all at once, it shifted.

The three of you moved like an orbit, tight and reactive. A storm of limbs and instinct.

Walker threw strength. Bucky threw precision. You threw heat.

And Bob? He watched like he was studying scripture.

Your body was in constant motion–every movement timed perfectly, every dodge low and tight, using Bucky’s stance to redirect Walker’s force, using Walker’s height against him to launch yourself higher. You pivoted with a fluid snap, stepping off Bucky’s knee to catch Walker’s shoulder with your heel, spinning out of reach before either of them could tag you.

You were alive in a way that made the room bend around you.

Bob had stopped blinking. His heart beat like a war drum behind his ribs, the kind of rhythm that only came when Sentry hovered near the surface, watching through his eyes like a god hungry for movement.

You slid under a punch, twisted Walker’s momentum to force a stumble, and kicked Bucky’s thigh hard enough to send him back a pace. The two men glanced at each other then—silent communication—and came at you together.

You grinned like you were being handed a gift.

Your foot landed on Bucky’s shoulder and you pushed off, flipping neatly in the air, body tightening mid-rotation. Your leg caught Walker’s bicep and you twisted, but his center of gravity adjusted quick–too quick–and suddenly–

Your body slammed into the mat.

Hard.

The noise cracked through the air.

Bob surged to his feet.

You wheezed–chest collapsing, eyes wide, lips parted but no air catching–and for one sickening second, you didn’t move.

And that was all it took.

The heat slammed into the room like a detonated sun.

Sentry burst through Bob like goldfire ripping seams in his skin. One moment it was Bob’s widened eyes and open mouth–

And the next?

The mat shook under the force of Sentry’s arrival.

He was halfway across the floor before anyone could react, a golden blur slicing through the fluorescent haze. The floor steamed faintly beneath his bare feet. His fists were already clenched, molten lines of fury pulsing under his skin like veins lit with solar flares.

He didn’t think. He moved.

Straight toward Walker.

“Hey!” Walker shouted, palms already lifted as he stumbled back a step. “Jesus Christ–It’s not like I meant to do it!”

Sentry was drowned in the roar of protection and wrath, his eyes wild, glowing like twin cores of a star gone supernova. His mouth opened, teeth bared like something celestial barely contained in a human shape.

“You hurt her.” The voice wasn’t loud–it was deep. Like stone cracking under pressure. Like a threat too old to need volume.

Bucky stepped in without hesitation.

“Whoa–hey! Hey, easy! Stand down!” His voice was sharp but not panicked, hands up in a calm brace, body angled between Walker and the god.

Sentry didn’t listen.

Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just stood there, vibrating with heat, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Walker like he was calculating exactly how many bones to break.

On the floor behind them, you coughed–one harsh, painful breath, then another. You rolled onto your side slowly, eyes blinking hard against the light, one hand braced on the mat as you forced yourself upright.

“Sentry–” You wheezed, chest still hitching, still attempting to catch your breath.

His head snapped toward you. Immediately.

“I’m fine.” You said, firmer this time. You winced as you sat up straighter, hand pressed against your ribs. “Don’t…Don’t worry. I’ve had worse happen. Calm down.” Sentry’s eyes flicked from you…To Walker…Then back to you.

His chest rose and fell once. Sharp. Controlled.

And then–like a pressure valve easing open–he exhaled. The heat softened just enough that Bucky didn’t feel like he was standing in front of a furnace. His fists slowly loosened at his sides, muscles still taut, but held.

Sentry turned fully toward you, and for the first time since appearing, his voice shifted–just barely.

Lower. Softer. Still fire-wrapped, but laced with something else.

“He slammed you.”

You gave a weak smile through your breath, “We’re…We’re sparring, accidents happen, you don’t have to…Scare the crap out of Walker.” Sentry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

“Yeah, no need to scare the crap outta me,” Walker echoed, huffing a laugh like he was trying to keep things casual even though his heartbeat was still visibly pounding in his neck. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking between the three of you. “And also–when the fuck did Sentry suddenly come back?” He asked, motioning to him.

“He’s been coming back for a while.” You blinked at Walker, still cradling your ribs lightly, and shrugged.

“You’re the one that triggered him by hurting me, moron.” Walker’s mouth opened in disbelief.

“Me?!”

“You slammed me,” You clarified, not unkindly, but with a smirk twitching at the edge of your lips. “Like…full-body slammed me.”

“You jumped on me!”

“You adjusted your center too fast–”

“Guys,” Bucky said mildly, hands raised, “No more arguing please.” Walker, still shaken, jabbed a finger toward Sentry, who was still standing like a stone beside you, radiating enough heat to keep the entire bay at a slow simmer. His golden gaze hadn’t left you once.

“I’m just saying,” Walker said, eyes narrowed, “You make it sound like we should’ve known. Like this was a thing. I’m still caught up in the fact that we haven’t seen him appear in almost a year, and now suddenly he’s back up and running—no warning, no update, just–” He gestured to Sentry’s still-glowing hands. “–bam, golden demigod about to fry my ass.”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky said, his voice quiet, but laced with warning.

Walker rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m saying it’s insane.”

You leaned your head back, letting out a slow breath. Sentry’s hand moved–just barely–hovering again near your spine like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to touch you. You shifted to sit up straighter, letting your shoulder brush his forearm gently.

“It’s not like Bob can snap his fingers and summon him,” You said, keeping your tone level. “Sentry shows up when he wants to. Or when Bob needs him.”

“Which is usually when someone’s in danger,” Bucky added, folding his arms and glancing at Walker meaningfully. “Someone Bob—or Sentry—cares about.”

Walker stared at that. Then looked at you. Then back at Sentry.

The dots were not subtle.

Sentry still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need to. His silence was heavy. Watchful. The sun pressed into a man’s body.

You reached out and gave his wrist a light touch, enough to feel the heat still thrumming beneath his skin. “It’s alright,” you murmured, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. “I can breathe now.”

Sentry blinked slowly. Then–almost imperceptibly–nodded.

The heat around him dropped by a few degrees.

Not gone.

Just…Tempered.

Walker, still trying to reconcile what had just happened, ran a hand over his face. “Look, I didn’t mean to–if I’d known he was even still awake in there, I wouldn’t’ve–”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” You interrupted, waving him off, wincing a little at the motion. “You’re just an idiot. But that’s not new.”

That earned the tiniest snort from Bucky.

Sentry, finally, tilted his head just slightly. “You’re in pain.”

You turned to look at him.

The golden light in his eyes had softened–just a touch. It was still otherworldly. Still ancient. But there was concern there. Sharp and clear.

“I’m sore,” You corrected. “Not dying.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Come on,” Bucky said, stepping forward, placing a steady hand on Walker’s shoulder as he glanced between the rest of you. “Training’s over. Let’s all cool off before someone actually does get launched through a wall.”

Walker muttered something under his breath and turned toward the exit.

Bucky lingered a moment longer, looking at you. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Just bruised, but I should be fine.” Bucky’s gaze slid over to Sentry.

”Should I be worried he’s gonna explode if you ever truly get hurt?” You smirked faintly.

”Let’s hope we never have to find out the answer to that question…”

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meizhen-illustration · 2 years ago

Photo

Mediterranean Landscape in San Francisco Ideas for a sizable, formal, full-sun Mediterranean backyard garden made of stone in the summer.

#long rectangular planter #fountains #mosaic pool surround #pool #shrubs #natural stone retaining walls #symmetrical patio details

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demasiadasmalasideas · 2 years ago

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Modern Pool

An illustration of a sizable, minimalist backyard slide with a unique shape.

#symmetrical #pool privacy #travertine #rain falls #terraced #flush spa #freeform pool

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querida-cinderela · 2 years ago

Text

Water Slide - Pool

An illustration of a sizable, minimalist backyard slide with a unique shape.

#stucco arches #freeform pool #bridge #symmetrical #mike farley

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silkpagess · 2 months ago

Text

Out of Office, into you

Summary: Y/N lands her dream job and definitely does not plan on falling for Harry Styles — her charming, too-handsome coworker with rolled-up sleeves and a knack for ruining her concentration. What starts as harmless flirtation over office coffee runs, late-night texts, and passive-aggressive Google Docs turns into romance and a very unexpected ending. She was just trying to survive her probation period. Now she’s wearing his sweater.

Content Warning: Light smut scene.

Word Count: 11,308

If Y/N had a pound for every time someone told her how “lucky” she was to land a job at Maven & Moore, she could’ve retired before even walking through the front doors.

Instead, she stood in the middle of their marble-tiled lobby—portfolio tucked under one arm, nerves simmering beneath a very carefully chosen cream blazer—reminding herself she belonged here.

The agency was sleek and modern, buzzing with creative chaos: voices bouncing off glass walls, interns speed-walking with coffee trays, and the faint smell of eucalyptus diffuser oil that was trying (and failing) to mask the scent of collective burnout.

She was five minutes early, but she liked to be early. People noticed that kind of thing. Especially in a place like this.

A receptionist with blunt bangs and effortless cool smiled at her. “Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me,” she replied, bright and breezy.

“HR will grab you in a sec. In the meantime, here’s your welcome kit—badge, laptop, schedule… and a company pen no one ever uses.”

Y/N laughed softly, slipping the folder under her arm. She didn’t care about the pen. She wanted her desk. Her first meeting. Her first opportunity to prove that she wasn’t just another hire—she was the hire.

And that’s when she noticed him.

Harry Styles.

She’d heard about him in whispers during her interview rounds—strategist turned creative lead, impossible to hate, stupidly charming. But no one had mentioned he was hot.

Of course, she’d never admit that aloud.

Short brown curls, neatly trimmed. White T-shirt under a dark overshirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that looked too good for someone who probably spent most of his day typing. He was deep in conversation with someone, hands moving as he spoke, but he glanced over just long enough to meet her eyes—and smile.

It was subtle. Polite.

But curious.

“Hey,” said a soft voice behind her. HR had arrived. “Ready to see where the magic happens?”

Y/N gave one last glance at Harry and followed the woman toward the elevator.

⸻

The seventh floor was less sleek than the lobby and more chaotic—in a good way. Desks arranged in near-symmetrical clusters, walls pinned with half-finished campaigns and color palettes, the occasional potted plant trying to stay alive under industrial lighting.

They weaved past clusters of people already in meetings or arguing over font sizes.

“Your team lead is Harry,” HR said, motioning toward a desk near the windows. “You’ll be working closely with him. And—”

“I know who he is,” Y/N said, a little too quickly.

The woman smiled like she knew something Y/N didn’t. “He’s… sharp. But collaborative. And you’ve got quite the resume—everyone’s excited to see what you’ll do here.”

No pressure.

⸻

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as the HR rep left her with a cheery “Good luck!” and disappeared into the chaos. For a moment, she just stood there, blinking at her new desk.

It was… perfect. Sunlight pooled across the light wood surface, a sleek monitor already set up beside a few branded notebooks and—why not—a tiny succulent in a too-small pot. She sat down gingerly, unsure if she was allowed to, and traced the rim of her coffee cup just to keep her hands busy.

“Morning.”

Her stomach did a dumb little flip. She looked up—and there he was.

“Hi,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t come out weirdly high. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I read your portfolio last week. You’re good.”

Oh. She tried not to beam. Tried even harder not to let that weird, fluttery warmth crawl up her neck.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I mean… thank you. I’m excited to be here.”

“You’ll fit in just fine.” Then he nodded toward his desk—adjacent to hers, naturally. “We’re seatmates, by the way. If I’m typing too loud or swearing at my inbox, just throw something.”

“Got it. Stapler or pen?”

He grinned. “Surprise me.”

⸻

The first week passed in a blur of logins, introductions, and cautiously making sense of company Slack channels with names like #meme-dump and #fontfights. But through all the buzz and buzzwords, Harry was there. Not hovering—never that—but orbiting close enough to feel like a safety net. An annoyingly good-looking, absurdly competent safety net.

He helped her navigate the folder system during her second morning, leaning over her shoulder with a half-eaten banana in one hand and pointing at her screen. She was hyper-aware of his cologne—clean, sharp, and vaguely citrusy—and the way his laugh rumbled low when he said, “Okay, no, ignore everything that says ‘Final_v3_Revised_REAL_FINAL’—those are all lies.”

By the end of the first week, they had a rhythm.

Harry was focused and fast—too fast sometimes, tossing out ideas that made her brain spin just to keep up. But he never made her feel behind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy her questions, even when she doubted herself. He’d tilt his head, lips tugging at the corner in that half-smile she was starting to recognize as his version of you’ve got this, and say, “Okay, walk me through what you’re thinking.”

He actually listened.

She learned his habits quickly. Mornings meant iced coffee—black, no sugar. He always stretched before meetings, standing up and doing a lazy twist at the waist that made his shirt ride up just enough to be distracting. His desk was somehow always clean, save for a few random objects that rotated weekly: a stress ball shaped like a brain, a tiny pink disco ball, once even a framed photo of a goose in sunglasses.

“Is that… your goose?” she asked.

“It’s aspirational,” he deadpanned. “His name’s Todd.”

The second week was when the teasing began.

Soft at first—little quips, exaggerated sighs when she disagreed with a design choice, mock horror when she said she’d never seen The Godfather. He’d roll his eyes dramatically and say, “You’re lucky you’re clever,” or “That’s borderline offensive, Y/N.”

One Thursday, she brought in homemade banana bread. He took a bite, closed his eyes, and moaned just loudly enough to make the nearby intern snort with laughter.

“Jesus,” she muttered, cheeks flaming.

“I’m expressing gratitude,” he said, mouth still full. “This is an emotional experience.”

The rest of the team adored him, of course. But there was something different about the way he was with her. It was subtle—no lines crossed—but it was there.

He saved her a seat during team huddles, even when others were scrambling. He remembered how she took her tea. He walked her out on late nights, hands in his pockets and easy smiles that lingered when they said goodbye at the corner.

There were moments.

Moments when their eyes held for just a second too long. When his fingers brushed hers while passing a printout. When she’d catch him watching her across the room with something unreadable in his gaze—like he was trying to solve her, piece by piece.

By the third week, her coworkers had started noticing.

“You and Harry,” Sarah from the art department said casually over lunch, stabbing a fork into her kale. “There’s a bit of a… vibe, huh?”

Y/N choked on her water. “What? No. No vibe. We just work well together.”

“Mmhmm.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Right. That’s what they always say.”

Y/N tried to brush it off, but her mind replayed the way Harry had leaned over her earlier that morning, hand braced on the back of her chair, murmuring about a slide change while her pulse decided to drum in her ears.

It didn’t help that they texted now. Mostly work stuff. Memes. Occasionally a “You see this shit?” followed by a screenshot of some client’s over-the-top email.

Okay, sometimes a good morning or don’t forget your umbrella—looks like rain.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything. That she was imagining things. That this wasn’t that kind of story.

But then came week four.

A Friday afternoon. Almost five. The office thinning out. She was finishing up a brief when Harry appeared beside her, chewing on a pen cap like he didn’t know how distracting that was.

“Wanna help me choose a playlist for the client dinner next week?” he asked. “They’re young, rich, and impossible to please.”

“Dangerous combination,” she said, standing to stretch.

He tilted his head. “You’re not doing anything, are you?”

“I’m working.”

“You’re scrolling through fonts.”

“Which is important.”

“Which is pointless. Come on.”

So they spent the next twenty minutes arguing over songs—her trying to convince him Phoebe Bridgers was dinner-friendly, him making a case for Sade. He queued up a slow R&B track, and as the music filled their corner of the office, something thickened in the air.

It was quiet. Just the two of them, dusk falling outside the windows.

And then he looked at her. Really looked at her. Not with a smirk. Not in that teasing way.

Something softer. Warmer.

“I like working with you,” he said.

Her breath hitched.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled. That real one—the one that crinkled at the corners.

If she hadn’t said what she said the following week… maybe things would’ve gone differently.

But she did. And everything changed.

⸻

It happened on a Tuesday.

Tuesdays were typically uneventful—somewhere between “still recovering from Monday” and “not yet caffeinated enough to look forward to Friday.” The kind of day you just endured. But this one, unfortunately, stood out.

Y/N had arrived ten minutes late, thanks to a torrential downpour and a very dramatic umbrella collapse in the middle of Lexington Avenue. Her shoes were soaked. Her hair was in that annoying state between damp and frizzy. She trudged into the office with the grace of a drowned squirrel.

Harry, of course, was already there. Dry. Perfect. Typing away like a storm hadn’t just swallowed half the city.

She dropped her bag, muttering under her breath. “You’d think someone who’s always five minutes early would at least pretend to be human on rainy days.”

He glanced over, smiled, and said, “You made it. That’s all that matters.”

She groaned. “How do you always look this pulled together? It’s very ‘main character in a bookshop who also solves crimes on the side.’”

Harry tilted his head, the grin tugging at his lips. “You think I solve crimes?”

“You’d have a trench coat. And a mysterious past.”

He smirked. “Don’t forget a tragic ex.”

“Oh, definitely,” she replied, already laughing.

The morning carried on as usual—meetings, edits, half-eaten breakfast bars. Their team had a major pitch scheduled for the afternoon, so nerves were high, but so was the energy. Harry, as the lead, carried the meeting effortlessly. He always did. Smooth, confident, completely in control of the room without being arrogant about it. Even the clients seemed charmed—leaning in, laughing, nodding too enthusiastically.

Y/N watched from beside him, impressed, as always. Maybe even a little too impressed.

⸻

Later that afternoon, the creative team gathered in the lounge for a quick regroup. Someone had brought muffins, there were soft drinks sweating on the table, and Harry—fresh from a meeting—was leaned back in a chair, sleeves rolled, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

Everyone was a little punch-drunk from the long hours. Conversation bounced around, people cracking jokes, poking fun at themselves.

Someone said, “You two are basically the dream team now. Give it a few more weeks and we’ll all be obsolete.”

Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the robots treat you kindly.”

Y/N, flushed from the compliment and still riding a weird high from the day, laughed and said, a little too loudly, a little too easily:

“Please. People listen to you because you’ve got that voice that makes everything sound like it matters. I could say the same exact thing and no one would even blink—you say it and suddenly it’s strategy.”

She meant it playfully.

But as soon as it was out there—hanging in the middle of the room—she felt it.

The shift.

A few people laughed. A few looked down at their phones. But Harry’s face didn’t change right away. He smiled—sort of. But not the way he normally did.

There was something about the way he blinked once, slow and deliberate, before saying, “Wow. Thanks for that.”

He didn’t sound angry. But he didn’t sound amused, either.

She opened her mouth to respond, to explain, to soften it—but he was already standing, brushing muffin crumbs off his trousers.

“I’ve got a call,” he muttered, to no one in particular, and left the room.

⸻

The fallout was subtle.

Not immediate. Not dramatic.

But she felt it the next day.

He still greeted her. Still responded to questions. Still made notes in the shared doc they were editing. But it was all… different.

He didn’t nudge her coffee mug toward her like he used to. Didn’t ask what she was listening to when she wore headphones. Didn’t drop sarcastic commentary during team meetings just to make her laugh.

Everything was suddenly crisp. Clean. Professional.

It was like the light had dimmed between them.

She spent the rest of the week overanalyzing. Replaying the moment. Rewriting her words in her head until they no longer sounded like a jab.

It had been a compliment, in a way—she’d meant that he was compelling, that people gravitated toward him, that she noticed. But it had come out like an accusation. Like she was reducing his skill to tone and charisma instead of craft.

And Harry, for all his confidence, didn’t take kindly to being dismissed—even unintentionally.

⸻

By Friday, she’d all but given up on trying to fix it at work. Harry wasn’t cold, exactly—but the warmth was gone. The inside jokes, the easy rhythm, the small moments where he used to look at her like she was actually seen? Gone.

So naturally, she did what anyone does when they’re spiraling: She called her two best friends and asked them to meet her at a bar.

They picked their usual place. Ava was already there when Y/N arrived, sipping something neon out of a glass shaped like a lightbulb.

“I got you the second-least sugary drink on the menu,” Ava said, holding up a glass. “The least sugary one looked like cough syrup.”

Y/N took the drink and slumped into the seat. “I said something stupid.”

“That’s kind of your thing, though,” Ava said brightly. “Be more specific.”

Before Y/N could respond, Clara slid into the booth like a woman on a mission. She was already peeling off her scarf and dumping her massive tote onto the floor.

“Sorry, sorry—I got cornered by that guy from my gym who thinks we have a connection because we both own water bottles. What’s happening? Who’s dumb? Is it you?”

“It’s me,” Y/N said, taking a long sip. “And it’s bad.”

“Ohhh, good,” Clara said, cracking her knuckles. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N hesitated, then groaned. “I kind of… made a joke about Harry. In front of the team. Like, during a casual moment after a meeting.”

Clara raised a brow. “Define joke.”

“I said people only listen to him because of his voice.”

Ava blinked. “Like… his actual voice?”

“Yeah. Like, his vocal cords. The way he talks.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, babe,” Clara said gently. “That’s a tiny bit brutal.”

“I know! I meant it in a compliment-y way! Like, ‘your voice is compelling, you're charismatic’—but it came out like I was saying he doesn't have to actually know anything because he sounds hot while talking.”

Ava winced. “That’s rough. Accurate… but rough.”

“It was a joke!” Y/N protested. “You know the kind of joke you make when you're tired and riding an adrenaline crash and your mouth decides to go rogue before your brain catches up?”

“Oh, like the time Clara told her cousin she had a ‘very confident nose’ at her wedding?” Ava offered.

Clara lifted her glass. “It was objectively bold.”

Y/N let her head fall onto the sticky table. “He looked at me like I kicked his childhood dog. And now he’s just… normal. Like painfully polite. It’s like I got demoted to coworker.”

“Well, you are coworkers,” Ava pointed out.

“Yeah, but I was, like, coworker-plus,” she mumbled into the wood. “There was banter. There was eye contact. He brought me coffee once and remembered I don’t like the syrupy stuff.”

“Damn,” Clara said, biting a fry. “That’s practically intimacy.”

“So now what?” Ava asked. “Are you gonna apologize or just emotionally decompose in front of him until retirement?”

Y/N groaned. “I don’t know. I keep thinking about how close we were to something. I could feel it. And now it’s like I slammed a door I didn’t mean to.”

Clara studied her for a moment. “Do you like him?”

Y/N paused. “I like working with him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She sighed. “I don’t not like him.”

Ava leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Okay, so here’s what you do: you ask him out.”

“I cannot ask him out.”

“Why not?” Clara demanded.

“Because we work together! And I’ve already embarrassed myself!”

“Perfect,” Clara said. “Start from the bottom. Nowhere to go but up.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she said, dipping a fry in ketchup.

Y/N stared at them both. “And if he says no?”

Ava shrugged. “Then he says no. It’s not a Greek tragedy. It’s just a guy.”

Clara leaned back in the booth and looked at her like she was tired of being gentle. “Y/N, come on. You’ve been tap-dancing around your feelings for a month. You clearly like him. And he liked you too—until you made him feel like he was some shiny toy with a good voice and nothing else.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Y/N muttered.

“No one ever does,” Clara said. “That’s why it sucks.”

They were quiet for a second, the music from the bar pulsing low around them. Someone at the next table was aggressively describing a break-up in full detail.

Then Ava leaned in, her tone softer this time. “Okay, listen. You made a dumb comment. It happens. You’re not a monster. You’re not doomed. But if you keep sitting in this guilt spiral like it’s a beanbag chair you refuse to get out of, you’re gonna waste something that could’ve actually been good.”

“I don’t even know what it was,” Y/N whispered. “I just knew it felt… different.”

“Then tell him that,” Clara said, matter-of-fact. “Tell him you said something dumb. Tell him it came out wrong. Tell him he matters to you—even if it’s just as a friend, or whatever the hell this is. But don’t just let it fade away because you’re scared of looking messy.”

“I hate looking messy,” Y/N said, frowning.

“I know,” Ava said. “You love the illusion of control. It’s very chic.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” Clara cut in. “No more ‘but.’ Just text him. Don’t plan a speech. Don’t write a script in your Notes app. Just be a human woman who said something weird and wants to make it right.”

Y/N slumped deeper into the booth and sighed dramatically. “God, I hate when you’re both right.”

“Drink up” Ava said, pushing the glass toward her. “And text him before you overthink it so hard your thumbs fall off.”

—

Back in her apartment, the night felt too quiet in that way city nights sometimes do — muffled cars passing outside, the low hum of a neighbor’s TV bleeding through the wall. Y/N stood in the doorway for a second, coat half on, bag sliding off her shoulder, feeling like her body had arrived home before her mind did.

She dropped everything on the floor. Didn’t bother turning on more than one lamp.

Her makeup was smudged, but she didn’t check. Her hair smelled like fried food from the bar, and her socks were damp at the heel. It had started to drizzle halfway through her walk home — of course it had.

She changed into her oldest sweatshirt — the oversized gray one that said “Property of No One” across the front — and sank onto the couch like her bones weighed more than usual.

Her phone was already in her hand. She didn’t remember picking it up.

She stared at Harry’s name.

For a while, she didn’t type anything. She just let the screen glow against her face while her thumb hovered, frozen, like maybe he’d magically know she was thinking about him. Or regretting every sentence she’d said to him all week.

Then, finally, she typed:

hey. i think i owe you a proper apology.

She paused. Watched the cursor blink. That didn’t feel like enough.

i didn’t mean what i said the other day to come out like that.it sounded flippant but it wasn’t. you’re actually…

She stopped. Groaned.

Deleted the whole thing.

Rewrote it:

hey. i’ve been thinking about what i said the other day. and i hate that it might’ve come off the wrong way. i know i made it sound like you get by on charm, but i hope you know i’ve never thought that.

That felt better. Maybe.

Then she deleted half of it again. Too long. Too heavy. Too much.

She let her phone fall to her chest and stared at the ceiling. There was a crack up there she kept meaning to patch. Or maybe it was just a shadow. Either way, she didn’t move.

Eventually, she sat back up and typed:

hey. i feel like i owe you a drink or an actual apology that isn’t in front of ten coworkers. if you’re around next week… maybe we could fix that.

She read it over three times.

Then hit send.

There was no dramatic sigh. No tossing the phone like it burned her. Just a long, slow exhale as she set it down on the coffee table and pulled her knees up to her chest.. She just sat there, heart heavy and fingers twitching, hoping he still saw her the way he used to.

Hoping it wasn’t too late.

—

Y/N woke up before her alarm.

She blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, not quite ready to face the day but too alert to keep pretending to be asleep. Her mouth tasted like the drink from the night before and her back ached slightly from falling asleep on the couch again, curled into the same throw blanket she always used.

She reached for her phone out of habit, thumbing through the usual—news notifications, a calendar reminder she’d ignore, an unread email from a store she didn’t remember subscribing to.

And then, at the top of her messages:

Harry Styles 1:43 AM

Her thumb paused. She tapped it.

you don’t owe me anything but yeah I’d like that

A second message followed:

next week’s wide open. name a day.

She read it twice. Then again.

No dramatics. No “let’s talk” or “what you said hurt.” Just… neutral. Still, it didn’t feel cold. It felt like he was giving her the option to move things forward without making it a thing.

It was more than she expected. It was… actually kind of perfect.

She sat up, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm, and muttered, “Okay.”

The apartment was too quiet, so she turned on the kettle and stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles, scrolling through potential bars nearby. Not anywhere too fancy—that would look like she was trying too hard. Not the dive near work either. She’d run into someone from the office, and the whole point was not to make this a watercooler topic.

She made toast, added too much butter, and leaned her hip against the counter while typing her reply.

how do you feel about tuesday? somewhere low-key. i promise to behave this time.

She stared at the last line for a second. It felt light enough. Honest, but not clingy.

She hit send.

Then she took a bite of her toast, still slightly warm, and set her phone down on the counter without waiting for the little “read” checkmark.

She’d figure out the details later.

But Tuesday? That was something.

—

The weekend came and went, but Harry never really left her mind.

She kept it together. Ran errands. Cleaned her apartment like she was trying to wipe her brain clean, too. Pretended to be annoyed when Clara asked for updates every six hours, and avoided Ava’s “so have you planned your outfit yet” texts entirely.

She didn’t spiral. But she did think about him. Often. And especially when she didn’t want to.

By Monday morning, she’d half convinced herself it was fine. Normal. Just drinks. Just Harry. Nothing to freak out about.

Then she saw him.

—

She was walking toward the kitchen with her mug in hand—already mentally preparing herself for the weak office coffee—when she saw him rounding the corner.

He was wearing one of those outfits that somehow looked unintentional and perfect at the same time: navy trousers, a white t-shirt under a dark cardigan, and a lanyard he never actually needed but wore anyway. Hair slightly messier than usual, eyes sharp but calm.

They locked eyes for a second.

And then he smiled. A real one. Not the tight, clipped one from last week. Not forced, not tense.

Just… easy.

“Morning,” he said, stepping aside so she could pass.

“Morning,” she replied, matching his tone—cool, casual. No big deal.

He held the kitchen door open for her and followed her in. She was painfully aware of the two feet of space between them. Of how normal this was. And how not-normal it felt, knowing tomorrow night they’d be sitting in a bar alone and trying to be honest again.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, pouring himself a coffee.

She shrugged lightly. “Quiet. Tried to do laundry. Failed.”

Harry chuckled. “Strong effort, though.”

“What about you?”

“Visited my mum,” he said, stirring his coffee. “She made me take home leftovers like I hadn’t eaten in three weeks.”

Y/N smiled, distracted for a second by the image of him sitting in a kitchen somewhere warm, fending off Tupperware with a half-hearted protest.

“Big week?” she asked.

He looked at her then—really looked—and said, “Not until tomorrow.”

Her breath caught for just a split second. But she held steady.

“Right,” she said, soft. “Tomorrow.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just gave her the smallest nod, like he was confirming they were still good. Still on the same page.

And then he left the room. It made her stomach flip a little. Not in a bad way. Just in the okay-so-this-is-really-happening kind of way.

—

The next day, she found herself in front of her closet at 5:40 p.m., half-dressed and whispering curses under her breath. Nothing looked right. Everything felt too try-hard or not enough. She wasn’t trying to impress him, but she didn’t want to look like she’d come straight from work either.

Eventually, she landed on a black knit top, a leather jacket, and the jeans that actually fit her the way she liked. Comfortable. Sharp enough to feel put together, soft enough to feel like herself.

She didn’t overthink it.

Well—she did. But she still left the apartment on time.

—

Tuesday, 7:06 p.m.

Y/N got there first.

She always did, mostly because it gave her control. Over the setting, the nerves, the awkward hello. She chose a small table in the back near the window—far enough from the bar to hear each other, close enough to the door that she didn’t have to pretend she was doing something else while she waited.

Her phone stayed face-down on the table. Her drink—gin and tonic, no frills—sat half-finished when he walked in.

She looked up and felt that little jolt. The one that had started happening more often lately.

Harry had on a dark sweater, black coat draped over one arm, and that same kind of quiet confidence he wore so naturally, like he wasn’t trying at all. His hair looked freshly pushed back, a little messy at the ends, and the gold chain at his neck caught the warm bar lighting just enough to be annoying.

He spotted her immediately.

“Hey,” he said, smiling as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Hey.” She mirrored the smile, unsure what to do with her hands, so she adjusted her sleeves unnecessarily. “You found it okay?”

“Did a loop around the block like an idiot first, but yeah.”

There was a beat of quiet while he looked over the menu. She studied his face briefly while he wasn’t looking—he looked a little tired, but relaxed. Comfortable.

A server came by and he ordered a whisky neat. Simple.

“So,” he said once they were alone again, resting his forearms on the table. “No work talk, right?”

“Right. Fully banned.”

“Can I at least ask how your day was?”

She grinned. “Only if you want a very detailed play-by-play about me arguing with a printer.”

“Tempting.”

Conversation started slow—small things. What she was reading lately. A movie he watched twice in one weekend out of boredom. It wasn’t tense, but there was still a strange politeness between them. Like neither of them knew how far they could lean in just yet.

Eventually, she took a sip of her drink and leaned back, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me just get this part out of the way.”

Harry tilted his head. “The part where you apologize?”

She made a face. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly. “Go on then.”

She smiled despite herself. “I really am sorry for what I said last week. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said, not looking away.

“It was a dumb thing to say.”

“You’ve said worse.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Have I?”

He shrugged, his mouth twitching. “You once called me ‘a walking Pinterest board for rich introverts.’”

She burst out laughing. “That was objectively accurate.”

“Still hurtful,” he said, mock serious.

“I thought you liked being called mysterious.”

“I like being called brilliant,” he replied, grinning now. “Or at the very least, devastatingly handsome.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, shaking her head. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“That thing you do. Where you say something cocky but somehow get away with it because your delivery is so smooth.”

“Is it working now?”

She tried not to smile. Failed. “A little.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “That’s good. Because I was actually kind of nervous about tonight.”

“You were?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Didn’t know if this would be weird. Or if you’d show up just to cross it off your list of regrets.”

She paused. “I thought you might not show.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I don’t know. You were… different last week.”

“You made a weird comment. I sulked about it. Then you texted me, and I realized I’d rather have one awkward drink with you than spend another week pretending like I don’t miss our conversations.”

Her heart skipped. Just once, but enough to notice.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Well. I missed them too.”

He smiled again—softer this time. “Good. Let’s not mess it up again.”

“No promises.”

He lifted his glass. “To a fresh start?”

She clinked hers against his. “To pretending we’re not both weird about feelings.”

He laughed into his drink.

And just like that, the tension finally cracked—melted under the ease they used to have, the banter slipping back into place like it had just been waiting for one of them to say the right thing.

—

The change didn’t happen all at once.

There was no grand declaration, no dramatic pause in the hallway while someone said I think I like you. It was slower than that—quieter. But it was real. And Y/N felt it.

Especially at work.

The morning after their not-date date, Harry walked into the office with two coffees in hand—hers already made exactly how she liked it—and dropped it on her desk without a word. Just a smirk. She looked up at him, slightly suspicious.

“Is this a peace offering or a bribe?”

He leaned against her desk, took a sip of his own coffee. “Neither. Just wanted to give you something that wouldn’t get me in trouble with HR.”

She laughed, cheeks warming. “Well. Thank you. I’ll only report you if it’s decaf.”

That became the pattern.

Little things. A muffin on her chair. A sticky note doodle left on his monitor. Her pulling his headphones off without warning, only to find him already smiling like he knew she was going to.

At meetings, he sat next to her every time. Sometimes too close. Once, she caught his foot nudging hers under the conference table. She glared at him. He winked.

They weren’t trying to hide it exactly. But they weren’t announcing anything either. Mostly because they didn’t know what this was. Not yet. But it felt like something.

And outside the office? That was changing too.

They texted now. All the time.

It started with casual stuff—TikToks, screenshots of unhinged client emails, memes with captions like you this morning in the kitchen. But then it shifted.

Late night: HARRY: still awake? Y/N: debating if eating cereal at 1am makes me a genius or a gremlin HARRY: i vote genius Y/N: you would. you love chaos disguised as charm. HARRY: that feels like a compliment Y/N: ...it wasn’t HARRY: still taking it

And then there were the lunches.

The first one was spontaneous—she’d had a horrible morning, and Harry had caught her glaring at her screen like it had personally betrayed her. Without a word, he grabbed her coat and said, “Come on. We’re getting real food.”

Now it was routine.

Sometimes they went to the café two blocks down where the barista knew their names. Other days, they grabbed takeout and ate it on a bench outside, their knees bumping lightly as they unwrapped sandwiches and talked about everything except work.

He asked questions—real ones. Not just polite filler. Stuff like what kind of kid were you?, what scares you the most but also secretly thrills you?, have you ever been in love?She dodged that last one.

But she asked things back. She wanted to know the small stuff. What his sister was like. Why he always smelled like cedar and oranges. How he got into this industry at all.

And now, they had another date planned.

Set for Friday.

Not just drinks. Dinner this time. Somewhere cozy, tucked away in the West Village, with low lights and too many candles.

He’d picked it. Told her it was “low-pressure.” Then followed it up with: but i might wear a proper shirt, just in case you bring up my tragic introvert wardrobe again.

She was nervous. But not in a bad way. In a something’s unfolding and I don’t want to mess it up kind of way.

At the office on Thursday afternoon, she caught him looking at her from across the room during a meeting. Not intense. Not dramatic. Just... there. Quietly steady.

And when the meeting ended and people began to file out, he stayed behind.

Walked up to her. Close enough to make her heart tick a little faster.

“Tomorrow,” he said, low and easy.

She raised a brow. “Still on?”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—

The place he picked was small, tucked into a quiet West Village block, glowing with warm light through the windows and smelling faintly of rosemary and wine. It felt relaxed, cozy. The kind of restaurant that didn’t need to be loud to be cool.

Y/N spotted him at a corner table near the back, nursing a drink and scrolling his phone. He looked comfortable there, legs stretched a little too far under the table, one hand resting on the rim of his glass.

He looked up before she could say anything. His smile appeared instantly—soft, a little crooked, and warm enough to make her stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, standing as she reached the table. “You made it.”

“You sound surprised.”

He shrugged. “I was half-convinced you’d flake just to maintain the mystery.”

“I’m not that unpredictable,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Mm. Jury’s out.”

There was a moment where his eyes lingered—not in a heavy way, but in a way that made it very obvious he noticed what she was wearing. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

The waiter came and went. He let her choose the wine, teasing her about pretending to read the menu like she wasn’t going to pick based on the vibe of the label.

Conversation flowed easily—Harry had a way of keeping things light without letting them turn shallow. He asked about her week. She asked if he’d ever gotten around to fixing the broken drawer in his kitchen he’d been complaining about. He hadn’t.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and the plate of shared pasta, something shifted.

He leaned in a little closer when she spoke. Not dramatically—just enough to make it feel like her words were meant only for him. When she reached across the table to grab the salt, he didn’t pull his hand away right away when their fingers brushed.

And once—just once—he let his hand rest on the side of the table, close enough that her knee grazed it.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

If she moved her leg slightly closer… well, he didn’t move his hand either.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said after a beat.

She looked up at him, surprised. “Am I?”

“A little. Thought maybe you were nervous.”

She smiled into her glass. “Why would I be nervous?”

He shrugged, mouth curving. “Because I’m very charming and slightly annoying. That combination tends to throw people off.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re more subtle than that.”

“I can be,” he said, tone a little lower now. “Sometimes.”

The air went still for a second, like the moment hovered somewhere between teasing and something else. But then the waiter returned with the check, and Harry leaned back again, letting the tension settle without pushing it.

When they left the restaurant, it was still early enough that the city wasn’t completely quiet. The streets were lit up, but calm. She walked beside him, hands in her pockets.

He didn’t grab her hand. He didn’t pull her close.

But his shoulder bumped hers once, gently. Then again, intentionally.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said after a while, voice quiet now.

“You’re welcome.”

They stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. He turned slightly toward her, looking at her fully now. His eyes were soft, but direct.

“I like this,” he said. “You and me, like this.”

Y/N felt something warm creep up her neck, but she didn’t look away. “I like it too.”

They stood there for a second too long.

Then he smiled again—smaller this time—and nodded toward the direction of the subway. “Can I walk you to the station?”

“You’re not trying to get me to come home with you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“The kind who flirts with his coworker for a month and finally asks her out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he said, gently bumping her arm with his, “I was professionally respectful for a solid three weeks.”

“Impressive,” she teased.

“I thought so.”

And as they kept walking, their arms brushed again. Neither of them moved.

—

Group Chat: “Chaos Committee 💅🔥🍷”

Clara: Sooo How’d it go last night?

Ava: Yeah don’t make us guess We were very respectfully trying not to text you during the entire dinner window 🙃

Y/N: Appreciate the restraint Also: it was nice Really nice, actually

Clara: Ugh You’re being vague You like him

Y/N: I do. I’m trying not to be annoying about it But yeah

Ava: Okay but give us something What was the vibe? Better than the first one?

Y/N: Yeah Way less awkward He was calm, funny, kind of... quiet but not in a bad way And he looked really good Wore that green shirt again

Clara: Oh. The shirt. The rolled sleeves shirt

Y/N: Yup Forearms out Rings on And the waiter definitely thought we were already together

Ava: As they should

Y/N: He was kind of extra warm last night Little touches here and there Like when I reached for my glass and his hand brushed mine Or how our knees kept bumping under the table and he didn’t move

Clara: So the tension was doing push-ups under the table Got it

Y/N: Basically He said “I like this. You and me, like this” Then immediately acted like he hadn’t just said something that made my brain stop functioning

Ava: That man is running a very calculated long game Respect

Clara: So… what happened after dinner?

Y/N: He walked me to the train Talked the whole way Lightly roasted my Spotify taste Then gave me this soft smile and told me to text when I got home

Clara: ...that’s it?

Y/N: Yup No kiss No lingering hand on the small of my back Just a really warm goodbye and the sense that he’s waiting for something

Ava: Waiting for you to make the next move maybe?

Y/N: I don’t know He’s so good at walking right up to the line and stopping Like he wants me to notice it but doesn’t want to cross it without me saying yes

Clara: Honestly I hate how respectful that is

Y/N: I know It’s actually making me lose my mind

Ava: Okay but you’re into it

Y/N: ...I’m very into it

Clara: So what now?

Y/N: I see him Monday And I’m pretending like it’s just another normal day And not like I’ve been thinking about his hand brushing my knee for 12 straight hours

Ava: Good plan That always works out great for people

Y/N: Shut up

—

Monday – Office, 10:42 a.m.

Work was work.

Emails. Edits. Slack notifications that piled up faster than she could read them. But Y/N couldn’t focus for more than fifteen minutes at a time without remembering the way Harry had looked at her Friday night. Or how he hadn’t kissed her. Or how she kind of loved that he hadn’t.

She was scrolling through a doc when she sensed him before she saw him—there was always something in the air when he walked by her desk, like her body clock recalibrated itself.

“Morning,” he said casually, appearing next to her chair with a cup of coffee and that effortlessly smug smile.

“Is this for me?” she asked, accepting it anyway.

“I figured you needed it,” he said, then leaned down slightly to whisper, “You were frowning at your screen like it owed you money.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling already. “Thanks.”

He didn’t leave right away. Just hovered at the edge of her desk for a few seconds, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something there.

“You want to eat together later?” he asked.

“Sure” she said “Meet you at the elevator later?”

“Sounds like a plan”.

—

Monday – Lunch Break

“Are you gonna judge me if I order two things off the specials menu?” Y/N asked, squinting at the little chalkboard propped up at the edge of their table.

Harry leaned back in his chair, half-smiling. “I’d only judge if you didn’t. What kind of monster comes to a place that smells like heaven and doesn’t over-order?”

She grinned, setting the menu down. “Alright, good. Just wanted to make sure we’re both mentally prepared for me to have a post-lunch food coma at my desk.”

“Can’t wait to watch you pretend to be productive while slowly falling asleep mid-email,” he said, stretching his legs out under the table until they accidentally brushed hers.

Neither of them moved.

They were tucked into a small two-person table by the window of the Italian place Harry had suggested—a quiet spot with sun spilling through the glass and just enough hum from other tables to feel private. The food smelled ridiculous. Garlic, butter, rosemary…

When the waiter left with their orders, Harry glanced at her across the table. “You always get that serious when you read menus?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a high-stakes decision. This is lunch. I have to live with it for the rest of the afternoon.”

“That’s true. It does define your mood for at least three hours.”

“Exactly.”

“I respect that.”

She sipped her water and watched him tilt his head slightly, like he was studying her. “What?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nothing. I just like seeing you outside the office.”

She blinked. “We text constantly.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. In person you make these little faces when you’re thinking—like right now, you’re trying not to smile.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, failing miserably to hide it. “I hate that you notice stuff like that.”

“I’m very observant.”

“You’re very smug.”

He raised his glass to her. “Also true.”

The food arrived a few minutes later—her pasta, his risotto—and they both took their first bites at the same time. Harry made a soft sound, not dramatic, just satisfied.

“Okay, that’s a throwback,” he said, sitting back a little.

“What is?”

He gestured toward his plate. “Risotto. My mum used to make it almost exactly like this. Creamy, garlicky, winey. I haven’t had it like this in years.”

Y/N raised her brows. “What happened, did she stop loving you?”

Harry smiled. “No. I just haven’t had anyone make it since I moved out. It's not exactly the kind of dish people whip up on a whim.”

“I do.”

“You make risotto?”

“Mushroom risotto. With wine. Sometimes thyme, if I’m feeling fancy.”

He stared at her, amused. “That’s dangerously specific.”

She shrugged. “It’s one of my go-to ‘I swear I’m a real adult’ meals. Feels impressive but it’s mostly just stirring and committing to the bit.”

Harry looked at her, eyes narrowed slightly like he was considering something. Then he said, slowly, “So when are you making it for me?”

Y/N blinked once. Twice. Then gave a small smirk. “Wow. Not even a subtle lead-in. You just jumped right to the invite.”

“Gotta keep up with you somehow,” he said, smiling easily now. “I’m not above being fed.”

She paused, then: “Friday?”

His expression softened, surprised but not caught off guard. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

Y/N raised her brows as she twirled a bite of pasta. “No allergies? No weird food trauma I should know about before I commit to this dinner plan?”

Harry laughed, sitting back in his chair. “None. I eat everything. Except olives.”

She gasped. “What? Olives are elite.”

“They taste like brine and betrayal.”

“I’m still putting them in the salad,” she said. “You’ll deal.”

He pointed his fork at her. “You say that now, but you’re gonna be weirdly invested in whether I like it or not. I can already tell.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “I just don’t want to waste my good cooking on someone with broken taste buds.”

“Then you’ll have to find out if it’s worth the risk,” he said, voice low but playful, like there was a dare tucked into the words.

Her eyes held his for a beat too long. She looked away first—barely.

They both went back to eating, but the quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged in that new way. Comfortable, but close to something else. Their legs brushed again under the table. Neither of them moved.

He went quiet for a beat, watching her as she gathered the last of her pasta onto her fork.

“I’m excited for Friday,” he said, almost offhand, but his eyes were too steady for it to be casual.

She looked up. “Who said it was a date?”

Harry smirked, didn’t miss a beat. “Me. I did. Mentally. While you were talking about thyme like it’s a love language.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard—and laughed. “Wow.”

“I stand by it,” he added, casually wiping his hand on a napkin. “You invite me over, cook for me, maybe pour me a glass of wine… that’s textbook date behavior. Page one.”

She tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably. “What if I burn it?”

“Then we order takeout,” he said, standing, grabbing both their receipts. “And it’s still a date. Just one with a fun plot twist.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she followed him toward the door. “You’re annoyingly sure of yourself.”

Harry glanced back at her, holding the door open. “No,” he said, voice low but smiling. “I’m just sure about you.”

She froze for half a second. Then stepped past him, heat blooming in her chest and creeping up her neck.

He walked beside her all the way back to the office, hands in his pockets, like he hadn’t just said something that would replay in her head for the next four days straight.

They stepped into the elevator together. Just the two of them.

It was quiet inside—soft hum of motion, the faintest trace of cologne in the air. Y/N stood beside him, arms folded, eyes on the glowing numbers overhead like she hadn’t just invited him over for a dinner she now absolutely could not mess up.

Harry, on the other hand, was perfectly relaxed. Leaned casually against the wall, side-glancing at her with a look she pretended not to notice.

“Friday,” he said softly, not looking away.

“Seven,” she replied.

“I’ll bring the wine.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s your only job.”

He tilted his head. “And yours?”

She raised a brow. “Cooking. Obviously.”

He smirked, slow. “No. I mean your real job.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s my ‘real’ job?”

Harry let the pause stretch just enough to feel it. Then said, low and playful, “Try not to make me fall for you over risotto.”

Her stomach dipped. Hard.

She opened her mouth—maybe to reply, maybe to deflect—but the elevator dinged before she could say a word.

He stepped out first, like he hadn’t just dropped that and walked away.

And she followed, entirely aware she was already failing at that job.

—

7:03 p.m.

Y/N wasn’t nervous.

That’s what she told herself as she adjusted the straps of her top for the third time, checked the risotto on the stove for the fifth, and glanced at her phone for no real reason at all.

She wasn’t nervous. She was… anticipatory. Which was worse.

The apartment smelled like sautéed garlic, wine, and rosemary. Her playlist was low, something warm and rhythmic playing in the background. She’d cleaned. Lit two candles—not too many. She was wearing jeans and a simple black tank top that looked casual from far away but a little dangerous up close.

At exactly 7:06, there was a knock.

She wiped her palms on her thighs, walked to the door, and opened it—

—and forgot how to speak for a second.

Harry stood in the hallway, wine bottle in hand, coat open over a navy button-down that was just fitted enough to hint at the lines underneath. Sleeves rolled once, casually. Hair pushed back. Rings on. Slight scruff on his jaw like he hadn’t bothered shaving for the occasion, and it somehow made him look better.

“Hey,” he said, smile already tugging at his mouth. His voice low and smooth and a little too warm.

Y/N opened the door wider, trying to look unaffected. “You’re late.”

“By three minutes,” he said, stepping in. “You gonna punish me for it?”

She turned to walk back to the kitchen before he could see her smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

Harry’s eyes followed her. “Already am.”

She ignored that. Barely. “Wine goes on the counter. Glasses are in the cabinet to your left.”

He slipped off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair, the motion unhurried. His sleeves shifted higher, showing the veins along his forearms, and it was ridiculous how aware she was of every single movement he made. Like her whole body had decided to tune into just him.

He found the glasses without asking, poured two, and brought hers over like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Smells incredible,” he said, glancing at the pot on the stove. “Didn’t realize this would be a full sensory experience.”

She took the glass from him, their fingers brushing. “Didn’t realize you’d show up looking like you belong in a perfume ad.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a compliment or a threat?”

“A little of both.”

He leaned against the counter, swirling his wine lazily. “You’re already nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can tell.”

She sipped her wine. “You’re very confident for someone about to eat food I made unsupervised.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he said, smile curling slowly. “But I’m also a risk-taker.”

“Really?” she asked, stepping just a little closer. “What kind of risks are we talking?”

Harry’s gaze dropped, briefly, to her mouth. “Ones that involve very pretty women in tank tops inviting me over and pretending it’s all casual.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered.

But she covered it with a dry, “You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be quietly impressed.”

“I haven’t even tasted it yet,” he murmured, leaning in like he might say something else.

But he didn’t. He just reached around her—close enough to brush his chest against her shoulder—and stirred the risotto with one of the wooden spoons she’d left on the counter.

She didn’t move.

“You’re doing it right,” he said, still low, still close. “Good technique.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“I can tell.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to feel the space between them shrink.

Then he looked at her, and his voice dipped just slightly, deliberate now:

“You know this is a date, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is. And you’re doing dangerously well.”

Her throat went dry.

The spoon was still in his hand. The risotto still simmering. But everything between them had gone still—warm, weighted, suspended between polite flirtation and whatever the hell this was becoming.

“I haven’t even served it yet,” she said quietly.

Harry’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve already got me.”

Y/N held his gaze for a second too long, heat blooming low in her stomach. But she didn’t let it tip yet. She reached out and gently took the spoon from his hand, turning her focus back to the risotto.

“You’re lucky I like feeding people,” she said, stirring.

“Lucky’s one word for it.”

“You’re also distracting.”

“Also one word for it.”

He sat at the kitchen table while she plated the food, watching her with that unshakable calm, fingers tapping against the stem of his wine glass. When she finally set a bowl in front of him, he looked up and said, very simply:

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve tried it.”

He took one bite, then another—no dramatic noises this time, just that slow nod of approval, the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I hate how good this is,” he said through a smile. “Now I can’t even fake critique you.”

“You weren’t going to anyway.”

“I was, just to keep you humble.”

She grinned, settling across from him, and they ate in a rhythm that felt natural. Familiar. They didn’t fill every silence. They didn’t rush the conversation. He asked how she got into cooking. She asked what kind of kid he was at school. He told her he was quiet. Kind of nerdy. Read more than he talked.

“But you’re so…” she paused, waving her fork at him, “you now.”

Harry smiled. “Still kind of nerdy. Just taller.”

They finished eating slowly, in no real rush. Conversation drifted, low and lazy. Harry told a story about getting lost on the Tube as a teenager and ending up an hour outside of London. She admitted she once cried in a grocery store because she couldn't find the right brand of olive oil.

When the food was gone and only half the wine left, Y/N stood with a stretch and started clearing plates.

“You cooked,” Harry said, getting up beside her. “Let me clean.”

“You can help,” she said, stacking dishes. “But don’t think you’re getting full dish duty just because I made risotto.”

“Worth a try,” he murmured, brushing against her as he took the plates to the sink.

The touch lingered—his hand grazing her hip on the way past. Not overt. Not rushed. But purposeful.

She handed him a glass, and their fingers met again. This time neither of them looked away.

“You’re quiet,” she said, filling the silence with something safe.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “I’m trying not to say something reckless.”

Her heart fluttered. “Like what?”

“Like how long I’ve been thinking about this. About you.” He turned slightly, drying a plate without breaking eye contact. “Since the first time I saw you that day in the office. You walked in like you belonged there. That little nervous smile. I was done for.”

She didn’t move, just held his gaze. “That’s not reckless.”

“It is if I tell you I wanted to kiss you before I knew your last name.”

Y/N blinked slowly.

Then she set the towel down, stepped closer, and looked up at him.

“You’re really going for it tonight.”

Harry’s smile was slow and sure. “Trying to make up for lost time.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she kissed him.

Soft at first, but immediate. Like they’d both been holding it back all night and finally decided to stop pretending. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, while his other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against him.

She sighed against his mouth as his tongue brushed hers—slow and unhurried but thorough, like he meant every second of it. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

When they finally pulled apart, just slightly, she caught her breath and whispered, “We should take this to the bedroom.”

He blinked, lips parted, eyes dark.

“Yeah?” he said, low and rough now.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t ask twice. He just followed.

And the second they stepped into her room, everything changed.

—

The door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet deepened. The only light came from the hallway and the faint glow of the city through her windows. Harry stood there for a second, eyes on her like she’d just undone something in him.

Then he crossed the room and kissed her again—deeper now, slower, like they finally had permission to feel everything.

She let her hands roam, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips skimming over warm skin and firm muscle. He hissed softly through his teeth when she tugged the shirt over his head, dropping it somewhere behind them.

“God, you’re…” she breathed, letting her gaze fall over him, eyes hungry and soft all at once.

“Say it,” he murmured, thumb brushing her lower lip.

“You know exactly what I was going to say.”

He smirked. “I like hearing it anyway.”

She kissed down his neck, tongue brushing the curve where his shoulder met his collarbone, and smiled when she felt him shiver under her mouth.

He didn’t just touch her—he held her, his hands sliding over her back, her sides, her hips, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted her most. His fingers dipped under her waistband, pausing, waiting for her nod before easing her jeans down slowly.

Once she stepped out of them, she stood there in nothing but her tank top and underwear, heart pounding.

Harry looked at her like she was already undoing him.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, stepping closer, brushing his mouth over her jaw, “and now that I have it, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered.

He lifted her gently—just enough to lay her back on the bed—and followed, crawling over her with slow purpose. Her tank top came off next, tossed somewhere beside them, and when he looked down at her, he stilled.

His hands traced her bare skin like it was something delicate. Not hesitating—just taking his time.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice rough and low.

She nodded, eyes locked on his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed her again, mouth moving over hers with quiet intensity, hips pressing against hers as his hand slid between her thighs, not rushed, just there, warm and solid and deliberate.

Every touch was a question, and every breath she gave him was an answer.

By the time he eased her back into the pillows, lips brushing her throat, her shoulder, her chest, she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. His name slipped out of her in a whisper, soft and urgent, as his mouth trailed lower—lips against her skin, tongue slow and teasing, every movement sending sparks through her like aftershocks.

He moved with patience. With purpose. With a kind of reverence she hadn’t expected, but felt all the way down to her ribs.

And when he finally pulled her into his arms afterward—bodies warm, tangled, skin still humming—he didn’t say anything right away.

Just ran his fingers up and down her spine, slow and steady, anchoring them both in the quiet.

Then, almost too softly to hear:

“I’m really not going to be able to stop thinking about you now.”

Y/N smiled into his chest.

“Good,” she whispered. “That makes two of us.”

—

The first thing Y/N noticed was warmth.

Not sunlight, not sound—just heat, steady and solid behind her, an arm draped heavy across her waist and breath moving slowly against the back of her neck.

She blinked her eyes open. Her bedroom was quiet, soft light filtering through the curtains. Everything smelled like skin and her lavender laundry soap and something distinctly him.

She shifted slightly and felt him move behind her—just the barest reaction, like his body didn’t want to lose the contact.

Then came the voice, low and sleep-rough.

“Morning.”

She smiled before turning. “Morning.”

Harry was already watching her, eyes soft, hair a total mess, the faintest smirk on his lips like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brushed a hand over her shoulder gently, fingers trailing up to her jaw like he needed to confirm she was still there.

“Didn’t dream that, did I?” he asked, voice still scratchy.

She shook her head. “You were definitely here. There was risotto. There was wine. There was…”

“A lot of things,” he offered, still grinning.

Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away. “You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

They lay there for a moment, quiet again. His thumb moved lazily over her hip under the covers. She could feel the way his legs tangled with hers, warm skin brushing everywhere.

She wanted to ask what this meant. If they were different now. If they were going to try to pretend it hadn’t happened at work on Monday morning—but then he leaned in and kissed her forehead, soft and slow, and said:

“You know I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen, right?”

Her eyes met his.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” she said.

That was it.

Not a relationship talk. Not labels. Just honesty.

Just this.

“Good,” he whispered, voice still sleep-warm. “Because I was already planning breakfast.”

She laughed. “You’re confident.”

He rolled onto his back dramatically. “I just gave the performance of my life and made sure you didn’t burn the risotto. Let me have my moment.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And charming.”

She leaned over him and kissed him again. It was slow, languid. The kind of kiss that didn’t go anywhere, but still promised everything.

Her hand slipped into his hair, and his arm curled back around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest again.

—

They stayed in bed longer than planned.

The risotto dishes were still in the sink. Her hair was a mess. His shirt was missing. They didn’t care.

Harry made coffee while Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of his sweaters—something he must’ve tossed into his overnight bag, though she couldn’t remember when. It hung loose on her frame, sleeves too long, fabric soft from wear.

“You can’t just look like that and expect me to focus on pouring,” he muttered as he handed her a mug.

She took it without breaking eye contact. “I like how quickly you folded.”

He sipped his coffee with a lazy smirk. “Folded the moment I walked in your door last night.”

They ate toast over the sink. Talked about absolutely nothing. She told him her neighbor leaves passive-aggressive sticky notes in the laundry room. He told her he once accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a client meeting and no one noticed—still one of his proudest office wins.

And then, too soon, it was time for him to go.

He stood by the door, keys in one hand, the other still lingering at her hip like he hadn’t decided whether to pull her back in or let her breathe.

“I’ll see you Monday,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

She nodded. “We’ll pretend to be normal.”

He leaned down and kissed her once—soft, careful, like he didn’t want to wake whatever spell they’d slipped into.

But before he pulled away, he whispered, “Just so you know, I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Y/N smiled, her chest tight in that restless, breathless way that meant she already was too.

He left.

The apartment was quieter now. Still warm, still full of him, but quieter.

—

After he left, the apartment was quiet.

Y/N wandered back to the kitchen, barefoot, still wearing his sweater. She poured herself a second cup of coffee even though it had already gone cold. Leaned against the counter, staring at nothing in particular.

There was a dish towel still hanging crooked off the oven handle. A candle burned too low on the windowsill. A wine glass tipped slightly in the sink.

All signs that last night had really happened.

Her neck was still warm where he’d kissed it. Her body ached in that good, quiet way. And every now and then, her mind would flash to the way he’d looked at her—right before, during, after. Like he knew something she didn’t.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled to herself.

It was funny.

She didn’t think this was how it would go. When she started the job, when she’d met him this wasn’t in the plan.

She didn’t think it would turn into late-night texts. Or pasta. Or him, standing barefoot in her kitchen like he belonged there.

She especially didn’t think it would turn into this quiet kind of happiness. This soft, steady warmth that hadn’t faded even after the door clicked shut behind him.

She shook her head to herself, grinning.

“I really didn’t see that coming,” she murmured into her mug.

But somehow, that made it better.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry x y/n #coworker!harry #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x fluff #harry styles x smut #harry smut #harry edward styles #one direction #1d #fanfic

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emmkayyy03 · 7 months ago

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🌙 Moon vs. Venus Beauty: The Soft Glow or Magnetic Allure? 💕

Let’s talk about two of the most iconic forces of beauty in astrology — Moon and Venus. If the Moon is the soft lullaby that soothes your soul, Venus is the sultry jazz that makes you feel alive. Both create different flavors of beauty, charm, and charisma, and the way they manifest is endlessly fascinating. Let’s dive in, shall we?

Physical Beauty: The Difference is in the Vibe

When you look at someone with a strong Moon influence, their beauty feels like home. Think Aishwarya Rai(Hasta rising), with her round, symmetrical features and a radiance that’s more celestial than earthly. Moon beauty doesn’t scream for attention — it whispers, gently drawing you in with soft eyes and an air of quiet mystery. Their faces tend to be heart-shaped or round, with skin that glows like it’s been kissed by the moonlight. Their hair often looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial: soft, wavy, and silky.

Moon beauty has an added layer — it’s not just what they look like, but how they make you feel. When you’re around a Moon-dominant person, it feels like you’ve finally found your way home. Their presence is nurturing, as if they’re silently saying, “You can rest here. You’re safe.” There’s an emotional gravity to them, like they intuitively know what your soul needs.

Now, Venus beauty? That’s the kind of allure that turns heads and stops conversations. Venus is all about glamour, luxury, and undeniable sensuality. Think Megan Fox — sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes that feel like they see right through you, and lips so full and perfect they could start wars. Where Moon’s beauty is soft and comforting, Venus is bold and provocative. Their complexion glows, but it’s a velvety glow, polished to perfection like fine jewelry. Their bodies? Venus doesn’t just have curves; she is curves.

Behavioral Patterns: Gentle Grace vs. Bold Magnetism

Here’s the thing about Moon beauty: it doesn’t just sit on the surface. Moon-ruled people (especially those with nakshatras like Rohini, Hasta) exude a warmth that feels healing. They’re the ones who listen deeply, who laugh softly, and whose presence feels like an embrace. They don’t need to try to be charming; they just make you feel like you’ve finally found someone who gets you.

Moon natives have a quiet charisma that pulls people in without overwhelming them. You might find yourself telling them your deepest secrets after five minutes of conversation because they radiate an aura of emotional safety.

Venus, on the other hand? She’s the life of the party, the person everyone flocks to because they just have to know her. With Venus nakshatras like Bharani, Purva Phalguni, or Purva Ashadha, there’s this magnetic quality that screams confidence. Where the Moon might invite you over for a heartfelt chat, Venus will make you laugh, flirt shamelessly, and leave you obsessing over her presence long after she’s gone.

The Eyes: Pools of Emotion or Mesmerizing Seduction?

Moon eyes are the kind that make you feel things. They’re large, watery, and brimming with emotion, like they’re always on the verge of tears — but in a way that makes you want to protect them. Think of Marilyn Monroe’s soft, vulnerable gaze, or the way Julia Roberts’ eyes seem to smile even before her lips do.

Moon-dominant eyes don’t just look at you; they see you. Their gaze carries an emotional depth that makes you feel understood, even if they don’t say a word. Being around them feels like returning to a place you didn’t realize you missed.

But Venus eyes? Oh, Venus eyes don’t ask you to protect them — they command you to worship them. They’re almond-shaped, sultry, and impossible to look away from. Look at Megan Fox’s stare, and you’ll know exactly what I mean. Her gaze doesn’t just meet yours; it owns it.

The Smile: Sweet Warmth or Seductive Curves?

A Moon-ruled smile is pure sweetness. It’s not just a smile; it’s an invitation. You see it in someone like Madhubala — soft, symmetrical, and just vulnerable enough to make you feel like she’s letting you in on a secret. Their smiles come from the heart, and you feel it.

Meanwhile, Venus smiles are more like a weapon. They’re sharp, deliberate, and almost dangerously inviting. Think Lana del rey, whose smile can flirt with an entire room at once. It’s a smile that knows exactly what it’s doing — it’s not just pretty; it’s calculated.

The Body: Comforting Curves or Voluptuous Glamour?

Moon beauty carries a softness in their body that feels natural and nurturing. It’s not about being slim or curvy — it’s about balance. Moon-ruled people tend to have bodies that look like they’re built for warm hugs, with soft, round edges that feel inviting rather than intimidating.

Venus beauty, though? That’s the kind of body that fashion designers dream about. Curves in all the right places, and even when they’re not naturally curvaceous, there’s something about their proportions that just screams luxury. They carry themselves like they’re on a catwalk, even when they’re in sweats. Kim Kardashian, with her iconic Venusian hourglass figure, is a textbook example of this energy.

The Nakshatras: Home vs. Desire

Nakshatras tell us everything about how these planets play out. Moon nakshatras (Rohini, Hasta, Shravana) lean into nurturing, comfort, and emotional resonance. Rohini natives often have lush, fertile beauty — they’re the archetype of feminine grace. Hasta brings precision and charm. They attract and seduce by making others feel their warm and inviting aura and just melt down, it all happens subconciously tho.

On the other hand, Venus nakshatras (Bharani, Purva Phalguni, Purva Ashadha) are built to seduce. Bharani is raw, powerful, and magnetic — Priyanka Chopra’s sharp features and bold presence come to mind. Purva Phalguni is playful and indulgent, while Purva Ashadha is glamorous and commanding, demanding attention without even trying.

Big 3: The Dominant Energy

If the Moon is in your Big 3 (especially as the Ascendant or Moon sign), you’re likely to exude that soft, nurturing glow. Moon-dominant people are the friends who make you feel safe, the lovers who cradle your soul, and the stars who shine without blinding.

If Venus takes center stage in your chart (especially as the Ascendant or Venus sign), your beauty is unforgettable. Venus-dominant people are the ones who walk into a room and make everyone stop and stare. They ooze confidence, sensuality, and a touch of unattainable perfection.

The Final Takeaway

If you’re more Moon, your beauty lies in your softness, your ability to soothe, and the way you make people feel like they’ve found a home in your presence. If you’re Venus, your power is in your allure, your boldness, and the way you inspire desire and admiration.

So, which energy do you resonate with? Are you the glowing comfort of the Moon or the magnetic seduction of Venus? Either way, the universe is lucky to have your light. 🌙✨

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sunbeamlessreads · 2 months ago

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Even, Over Dinner - Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x Reader One-Shot

❝ You’ve flown combat missions, Kazansky. You can handle a date. ❞

[tom kazansky x reader] ~12k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, explicit sexual content, soft vulnerability, emotionally tense intimacy, language

quiet tension. practiced restraint. one dinner date, and everything that follows.

notes: i proofread this on an 8 hour long plane ride so i'm sorry if its iffy lol. this was a request for my dear @valkilmher. hope you enjoy bestie <3

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Tom Kazansky adjusted his tie for the fourth time, watching himself in the bathroom mirror with a practiced eye. The knot was flawless. Sleek, symmetrical. The kind of tie you could hang your name on.

Still, he loosened it again. Smoothed the fabric. Started over.

He told himself it was just habit. Muscle memory. Precision was part of the job—it bled into everything. But even he knew that was only half true tonight.

Behind him, the apartment was quiet and still, its surfaces immaculate, every line sharp. A study in control. But there were tells. The tie he’d rejected first was slung across the arm of the couch. A second cologne bottle sat on the dresser, uncapped, like it had been considered and dismissed mid-thought. His bed was made, but one corner of the sheet had come untucked where he’d sat down too fast, stood up too soon.

Not chaos. Just… noise. Interference.

This couldn’t be nerves. He didn’t do nerves.

Except now, apparently, he did.

He checked the time. Early, but not so early he could afford another wardrobe change.

His reflection was still watching him—expression composed, jaw steady, eyes bright. On paper, he looked perfect. But there was something just beneath the surface. A charge in the air. A quiet tension in his spine. Not fear, exactly. Just a sharp kind of awareness.

Tonight meant something. And that was the problem.

It wasn’t about impressing you. You weren’t the kind of person who needed dazzling. You weren’t expecting some show. You’d said yes easily, casually, like it hadn’t even been a question. Like dinner with him was just a nice idea, not something to read into.

And somehow, that made it worse. Or perhaps—better.

He wasn’t used to this kind of feeling. This quiet, persistent pressure to get it right not because you expected perfection—but because he wanted to be good for you. Because the idea of making you smile and keeping you comfortable mattered more than he was ready to admit.

You were easy to talk to, a respite in his workday. Easy to laugh with. He liked the way you lit up at your own stories. The way you looked at him when he said something a little dry, a little offhanded, like you were still waiting to see if he was really kidding. You made everything feel lighter—more tolerable.

But tonight felt heavy in the best possible way. Like it could turn into something, if he didn’t screw it up.

He took a breath. One of those long, grounding breaths that started in his stomach and worked all the way to his chest. The kind of breath he took on the tarmac before stepping into the cockpit.

The kind that meant something was about to happen.

One last glance in the mirror.

Hair sharp. Tie straight. Posture exact.

Still, something in his chest fluttered—something he hadn’t felt in years.

You’ve flown combat missions, Kazansky. You can handle a date.

Right?

Your room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the record spinning in the corner. A mellow track hummed low from the speakers—something slow and steady, the kind of song you didn’t need to think about to feel. Late sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, painting the walls in warm amber and pooling across the carpet like warm honey.

You weren’t ready. Or maybe you were, and it just didn’t feel like it quite yet.

Your dress was already on. Simple, soft, something you didn’t have to tug or adjust. It felt like you—just a little dressed up, just a little more thoughtful than usual. Your hair was done the way you liked it, and your makeup was light, just enough to make your reflection smile back a little easier.

You weren’t going for impressive. You just wanted to feel… worth looking at.

Tom wasn’t flashy. He didn’t flirt like he needed to win. He didn’t fill the silence, didn’t chase the room, didn’t try to own it. He simply existed in a way that made you want to lean in. And when he asked you to dinner, it wasn’t bold or dramatic. Just direct. Quiet. Like he didn’t need to sell it. Like he hoped you’d say yes—but would survive if you didn’t.

You’d said yes before you even thought about it.

And now you were pacing slowly in your room, your fingertips tracing the edge of your vanity while the record kept spinning. It almost felt like something was about to begin. Not a fairytale. Not a firework show. Something real.

You sat at the edge of the bed and reached for your perfume. A small bottle with a fading label and a scent you’d loved since high school. You dabbed it at the base of your throat, then your wrist. Let it settle into your skin.

Then you just sat there a moment, your hands resting in your lap, watching the light crawl across the opposite wall.

You weren’t nervous. Not exactly. You’d been on dates. You’d worn this dress before. But tonight, you found yourself hoping he’d notice. Hoping he’d see you and that soft, unreadable look would flicker in his eyes—the one he got when he was really looking at something.

You weren’t used to wanting like this.

Not urgently. Not achingly.

Just… gently.

You checked the clock on your nightstand. Almost time.

You stood, pulled your cardigan off the chair, and stepped into your shoes—low heels, nothing loud. You glanced in the mirror, then back again. Not to fix anything. Just to see yourself.

There was a knock at your apartment door.

Your breath caught—not in panic, but in anticipation.

You reached for your bag. Smoothed your dress once more. And smiled.

Just dinner. Just him.

And maybe something more.

You opened the door.

Tom Kazansky was standing before you in the apartment’s outer hallway like he’d stepped out of a photograph—pressed and polished, almost impossibly still. His suit was sharp, classic, worn like second skin. His tie lay flat and perfect, no sign of adjustment. Jacket crisp. Collar clean. Shoulders squared like he belonged in a portrait.

But his eyes—his eyes gave him away.

They weren’t cold, or detached. They were focused—drawn to you in a way that wasn’t practiced. Not the kind of look he gave to charm. This was something else. Something searching. Like he was taking inventory, not of what you were wearing or how you looked, but of the way you smiled when you saw him. The way you stepped forward.

He blinked once. His jaw shifted slightly. A muscle in his cheek ticked—almost imperceptible.

And for half a second, you saw it: the hesitation behind all that polish.

“You look…” he started, then paused. Just a second too long.

It was barely noticeable. A hiccup in the rhythm. But from him, it meant everything.

“…perfect.”

The word landed softly. No punch of flirtation, no clever smirk behind it. Just a truth that had pushed itself to the surface.

You laughed gently, stepping out onto your doormat and locking the door behind you.

“Do you always start dates with flattery, or am I just special?”

That earned you something. Not a grin—he wasn’t grinning tonight. Not yet. But his lips tugged at the edges, like a smile was thinking about forming. Like it was waiting for permission.

“Depends who’s at the door,” he recovered, voice smooth, but softer than usual.

You walked with him to the car, your heels clicking lightly down the hallway, down the stairs, and against the sidewalk. The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward—but it wasn’t comfortable yet either. It felt full. Too full. Pressurized. Like neither of you wanted to say the wrong thing, or worse—too much.

He moved to open the passenger door before you could reach for it.

You gave him a look.

“Really?” you teased. “You’re that kind of guy?”

“Every time,” he said, straight faced—but the gleam in his eye gave him away. “Sorry if that’s a dealbreaker.”

You slid into the car, smoothing your skirt and trying not to smile too much. When he shut the door, you watched him through the windshield as he rounded the hood. His pace was steady. Not rushed. But there was something deliberate about it. Like he was walking through a checklist in his head.

Open door. Say the right thing. Don’t blow this.

He slid into the driver’s seat beside you. The key turned in the ignition with a clean click, and the engine hummed to life beneath you both. His hands found the wheel naturally, fingers wrapping around the leather like they knew exactly where to settle.

But his right hand—his dominant one—hovered near the gearshift a second too long before resting on it.

You noticed.

So did he.

“You nervous?” you asked quietly, looking at him sideways.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I look nervous?” he asked, still facing the windshield.

“You don’t,” you admitted. “But you’re holding the gearshift like it’s going to punch back.”

He glanced down, flexed his fingers once, then let them relax.

Another beat of silence. Then—

“You make it hard to pretend I’m not,” he said.

His voice was lower this time. Not in volume—just in tone. Less polished. Less performative.

Honest.

You looked at him for a long moment. “Nervous, you mean? That’s good.”

That made him smile. A small one. But it reached his eyes—that rare, flickering kind of smile that didn’t come easy to a man like him. A smile that cost something. Or meant something.

You let your hand rest lightly on the edge of the center console—close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, even if there was still space between you.

He noticed, but didn’t move.

Instead, his voice came again—low, dry, maybe even a little vulnerable, “You act like you’re not grading me.”

You raised your eyebrows, amused. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know,” he said, eyes still on the road. “Feels like I already handed in the assignment. Just waiting to see if you liked it.”

That made you laugh—soft, surprised.

He turned the wheel with practiced ease, merging onto the main road. But his posture was still a little too straight, his jaw still a little too tense.

And underneath all of it, you could feel it—not nerves like stammering or sweating or cracking jokes.

This was Ice’s version. Controlled. Contained. But unmistakable.

He cared. He wanted this to go well.

And that tension—the effort he wasn’t used to feeling—sat in the air between you. Alive. Unspoken. Ready.

The restaurant sat tucked behind a row of hedges and dark wooden fencing, soft lighting glowing from inside like it was trying to keep its secrets warm. From the street, it barely announced itself. No neon. No music leaking through the doors. Just one gold-lettered name on the glass and a bell that chimed softly when Tom opened the door for you.

Inside, it was quiet—intimate in a way that didn’t feel staged. No loud clatter of dishes, no crowd noise bleeding into your space. Just low conversation, flickering candlelight, and the soft scrape of cutlery against china.

The hostess greeted them with a soft smile and a leather-bound reservation book perched neatly in front of her. She looked up from it as you approached, her eyes flicking once over Tom’s tailored jacket, then to you in your dress and heels.

“Reservation for two?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Tom replied, “Kazansky.”

She checked the book with a quick nod, then motioned with her hand. “Right this way.”

The dining room was dim, the overhead lights low and golden, made warmer by the tea candles flickering on each table. Everything was hushed—the quiet murmur of conversation, the distant clink of silverware, the gentle hum of a saxophone-heavy jazz record playing somewhere near the bar.

You walked side by side behind the hostess, your heels muted against the carpet. Tom’s hand hovered behind your lower back—he never touched you, but it was close. Protective. Present.

You were seated at a two-top booth tucked near the back. Not isolated, but private enough to feel like your own little pocket of the evening. The table was already set: two wine glasses, polished silverware, a single flickering candle in a short glass holder. A folded linen napkin sat across each plate.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess said, placed the menus on the table, then disappeared.

Tom waited until you sat, then slid into the seat across from you.

His jacket shifted as he leaned back. He didn’t remove it. The tie remained perfectly in place. But his shoulders seemed… less locked now. Like he’d passed the first checkpoint of the night.

“I like this,” you said, glancing around. “It’s quiet. Feels like a secret.”

Tom looked around, then back at you. “That’s why I picked it.”

“Not trying to impress me with a steakhouse and a bottle of overpriced Bordeaux?” you teased, unfolding your napkin.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching just slightly. “You’d prefer that?”

“No,” you said easily. “I’d wonder what you were compensating for.”

That earned you something—another flash of real amusement across his face. There and gone again. A glimpse of the man beneath the polish.

The waitress arrived moments later—mid-30s, red lipstick, a notepad already in hand and a half-practiced smile that softened when she saw Tom.

“Good evening,” she said. “Can I get you two started with drinks?”

Tom glanced at you first. Let you go ahead.

“I’ll do a gin and tonic,” you said.

“Tanqueray okay?” the waitress asked, already scribbling.

“Perfect.”

Tom looked at the drink menu once—not really reading it. Then he folded it and set it down. “Just a bourbon. Neat.”

“Any brand?”

“Whatever doesn’t come in a plastic bottle,” he said, deadpan.

The waitress grinned. “Got it. I’ll give you two a minute with the menus.”

As she walked away, you glanced at him. “Bourbon? I pegged you for more a whiskey sour guy. Something mildly more interesting.”

He gave you a look. “I don’t drink anything that comes with a garnish.”

“Of course not,” you said, smiling. “God forbid someone mistake you for approachable.”

That earned a soft chuckle, the kind he didn’t give away often.

The candlelight flickered between you. The mood had shifted—slightly, almost imperceptibly—but something had eased.

The waitress returned a few minutes later with the drinks. Your gin and tonic sparkled, beads of condensation already forming on the highball glass. His bourbon was poured into a low, square glass with thick sides.

He nodded his thanks, and she left again.

You picked up your drink. He picked up his.

“To?” you offered.

Tom looked at you for a long second, then lifted his glass. “To being off base and out of uniform.”

You tapped your glass against his, the soft clink sounding far louder in the cozy hush of the booth.

You sipped. So did he.

It hit warm, slow. Yours was crisp and botanical, cool against the back of your throat. His—he took it like he was testing it. Just enough to taste. And nodded like it passed.

When it came time to decide what to have for dinner you both looked, but it didn’t take long. You ordered grilled sea bass with rosemary potatoes and sautéed spinach. He ordered the steak—medium rare—no sides.

When the waitress left, the conversation started to breathe. A little lighter. A little more playful.

“You eat like a caveman,” you teased.

“You drink like someone who wants to forget something,” he countered, eyes warm now.

“Do I?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Gin’s a heavy choice. All that juniper.”

“And bourbon’s subtle?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it does the job.”

You leaned in slightly, your fingers tracing the stem of your glass. “And what job is that tonight?”

His gaze flicked up to meet yours. Still steady. Still calm. But under it—something real. Something felt.

“Trying not to screw this up.”

That silenced you for a moment—not because it was shocking, but because it was honest. Not dressed up. Not deflected.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, softer now.

“Fine doesn’t cut it,” he replied.

You blinked. His tone wasn’t sharp. Just simple. Matter of fact.

And before you could think too much about it, he followed it up:

“You make me nervous,” he said, voice low and certain. “That’s never happened before.”

You let the words settle. Felt them sink into the space between you.

And then you smiled.

“Good,” you said. “Then we’re even.”

The plates arrived like punctuation. Your sea bass was fragrant and perfect, the skin seared golden and crisp. His steak was a clean, unapologetic cut—perfectly pink, with no sides, just a little garnish of a mixed salad and a small dish of coarse salt, both on the side.

Tom picked up his knife and fork, cut into the steak like he’d done it a hundred times with the same quiet efficiency he used for everything. Still, his eyes lifted as you took your first bite, like he needed to see your reaction before he could fully relax.

You hummed softly through your smile. “Okay. This place is officially a good call.”

He didn’t quite grin. Just nodded once, like the approval mattered more than he’d let on.

Conversation trickled back in with each bite. The nerves that had bracketed the evening began to fade—replaced by a warm, easy rhythm that surprised you both.

He asked about your job, and listened like he meant it. You told him about the hellish day last week, about the coworker who kept using the wrong file format and made you restart a project from scratch.

“You don’t strike me as someone who loses patience easily,” he said.

“That’s because you’ve never seen me swear at a printer.”

He laughed under his breath. “You ever throw anything?”

“Once. At a wall.”

“What was it?”

You looked at him across the candlelight, smiling. “A stapler.”

Tom raised his glass in mock salute. “Respect.”

You took another sip, feeling the gin buzz warm through your veins.

And then he started talking.

Not all at once. Not in some monologue. But slowly, in pieces. Droplets of himself placed carefully between bites and long glances across the table.

He told you about growing up near a naval base—how his house always smelled like his mom’s old perfume and a hint of jet fuel. How the first time he got in the cockpit, he didn’t speak for three hours afterward. How flying wasn’t about speed or power—it was about the special kind of quiet that came with it. The kind he couldn’t find anywhere else.

You listened.

He didn’t embellish. Didn’t show off. Just told you the truth in his voice—deep and steady, with the occasional pause like he wasn’t quite sure how much of it to give away.

“I used to think,” he said, pausing for a drink, “that the way people talked about love sounded a lot like what it feels like to fly.”

You blinked. Caught off-guard by how gently it landed.

He looked down at his plate then, cutting another piece of steak. “But flying doesn’t make you vulnerable.”

He looked back up after a moment—and you were already watching him.

And then—carefully, deliberately—you shifted, and your leg brushed against his under the table.

Neither of you moved.

If anything, he leaned into it.

It wasn’t overt. Wasn’t an invitation. Just…a confirmation. That you were both here, in this moment, no longer circling.

Your foot nudged his lightly. He didn’t flinch. Just let it happen.

He looked down at his glass, ran a thumb along the rim.

“This is going better than I thought,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “That a good thing?”

“It is,” he said. Then, with the faintest edge of humor: “I just don’t know what to do with it.”

You laughed, and it broke something open between you—eased the last of the tension, let the warmth rise in its place.

When the waitress returned to ask about dessert, Tom didn’t even glance at the menu she’d set on the table. Just looked to you.

“Split something?” he asked.

“Chocolate mousse,” you said immediately after glancing briefly at the dessert menu.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t hesitate.”

“I know what I want.”

Those five words seemed to hold more weight than just desserts.

She returned a few minutes later with two spoons and a single glass bowl—whipped mousse with a dusting of cocoa and a small curl of dark chocolate on top.

You scooped a spoonful and took the first bite. Closed your eyes for effect. “Perfect.”

Tom didn’t say anything. Just watched you for a moment before taking his own bite.

It wasn’t quite sensual and it wasn’t flirty either.

But it was intimate.

The air had shifted. Grown heavier in a pleasant way. The kind of heaviness that meant everything was headed somewhere else now. Slowly. Inevitably.

His hand brushed yours as you reached for your spoons at the same time, and this time, he didn’t pull back.

You looked up.

He was already looking at you.

Not smiling. Not speaking.

Just… there.

The check came not long after. He paid for it without asking. And when you reached for your purse—more out of formality than anything else—he gave you a look that shut it down instantly.

You followed him out into the night. The air was cooler now, soft wind trailing across your shoulders. Tom stepped ahead and held the door open for you. When you passed him, your hand grazed his.

This time, he did reach for it.

Just for a moment.

But long enough to make it clear—this wasn’t ending yet.

The sky had deepened to a thick, velvet blue by the time you stepped out of the restaurant. The sidewalk gleamed faintly beneath the glow of streetlamps, still damp from the morning’s forgotten rain. You could hear the dull hum of passing traffic, but it felt far away—like the world had narrowed to the few feet between you and Tom.

He opened the door for you again. Still effortless. Still instinct.

When you stepped past him this time, his hand brushed the small of your back. Just a whisper of contact. Not clearly intentional, but not necessarily accidental either. You didn’t flinch. Neither did he.

He shut the door behind you, rounding the hood of the car at a slower pace than earlier. When he slid into the driver’s seat, he didn’t say anything. Just settled in. Buckled his seatbelt. Hands resting lightly on the wheel.

But he didn’t start the car.

Not right away.

Instead, he stared straight ahead, his body still, his breath shallow. The keys sat idle in his hand, silver catching the light of the nearest streetlamp.

You watched him.

The sharp crease between his brows. The tension ghosting through his shoulders. He was thinking too hard. Holding something back. You recognized it now—restraint worn thin.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Still, the keys didn’t move.

“Tom,” you said.

He turned his head toward you. The name pulled him like a magnet; you didn’t usually call him that. His eyes met yours, and in that flicker, something unspoken cracked just a little.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

“What thing?”

“Being too careful.”

He looked down at the key in his hand, then back out the windshield. A beat passed. Then another.

“I really don’t want to rush anything,” he said.

“You’re not. Not at all.”

He let out a breath—a deep, low exhale that seemed to loosen something under the surface.

“I don’t want to screw it up.”

You leaned in slightly, elbow brushing the console. “You haven’t. And you won’t.”

For a long second, that sat between you. No rush. No pressure.

Then he finally turned the key.

The engine rumbled softly to life. The dashboard glowed in amber and red, casting light across his features. He adjusted the mirrors, turned on the headlights, and pulled out with practiced ease—hands steady, movements clean.

The tension hadn’t vanished. It had just shifted. Narrowed. Focused, maybe.

You settled back into your seat, letting your leg shift toward him.

He didn’t move away.

His right hand dropped from the wheel to rest palm-up on the center console, close to yours—but not touching.

An invitation.

You looked at it for a moment.

Then slid your fingers slowly into his.

His thumb twitched against yours. His fingers closed. Not tight—just firm enough to feel like a choice.

The road passed under you in smooth rhythm—streetlamps flaring and fading like breath. The inside of the car smelled faintly like him: clean cologne, a trace of bourbon now, and something sharper you couldn’t place.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, without warning, his voice cut into the hush.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t defensive.

Just quiet. Like a man trying not to fall too hard into something he couldn’t unfeel.

You turned to him. Watched the way the passing lights painted golden stripes across his jaw, the faint pulse of tension in his neck.

And you didn’t hesitate.

“But it does,” you said.

He didn’t look at you. But his grip on your hand tightened—not by much, just enough to say everything he wasn’t putting into words.

He didn’t let go.

And he didn’t say anything else.

Just kept driving—with one hand on the wheel, and the other in yours.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he let the car idle for a moment. His hand slipped away only so he could put it in park. Then the silence settled again—different now, deeper.

You undid your seatbelt slowly, the click impossibly loud.

Then turned to face him.

“Come upstairs.”

He didn’t ask if you were sure.

He didn’t offer some half-hearted joke to deflect the weight of it.

He just turned his head. Met your eyes.

And nodded.

Then he killed the engine.

The headlights clicked off. The cabin fell into stillness. And when you opened the door, stepping into the quiet night, you didn’t have to look back to know he was already following.

Not because he had to.

Because he wanted to.

Your key slid into the lock with a soft metallic click, and the door swung open into the hush of your apartment. No lights yet. Just the spill of a streetlamp through a window, casting long shadows over the floorboards.

Tom stepped in behind you without a word, letting the door shut softly at his back. He didn’t move fast. Didn’t reach for you. He just stood there, looking at you in the dark like he was giving you every second to change your mind.

You turned slowly to face him, your back to the door. The air was thick between you—warm from everything unsaid, everything barely touched.

“I don’t usually…” you started, then trailed off.

He didn’t fill the silence. He waited.

You wet your lips. “I don’t bring people up like this.”

Tom nodded once. Quiet. Not surprised. Just… listening.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said.

You looked down. Smoothed your fingers along the side seams of your dress.

“I just didn’t want you to think this was casual.”

“I don’t,” he said. Instantly. Without hesitation.

You looked up at him.

“It doesn’t feel casual,” he added, voice lower now. “It feels… like you.”

You took in a shaky breath.

Then, quietly: “You can touch me.”

That was all it took.

He raised his hand—slowly, like you were made of glass—and cupped your face, his thumb brushing just under your cheekbone. His palm was warm. Steady. His other hand came to your waist, anchoring there like it had always belonged.

You leaned into his touch, and he kissed you.

It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t rushed.

It was deliberate.

The kind of kiss that unfolded like a sentence. Word by word. Breath by breath.

Your lips parted on instinct, and his deepened the kiss slowly, tongue tasting yours with the same care he used to test the wind before flying. Every movement deliberate. Intentional. He was learning you—and letting you learn him back.

You moved together, step by unsteady step, until your back hit the inside of the door with a soft thud. His body followed—close, but not crushing. One arm braced beside your head, the other still at your waist.

You fumbled lightly with the lapel of his jacket, fingers tracing the seam as you slid your hands up to his shoulders. The fabric was smooth. Starched. Still holding the warmth of his body.

His lips moved to your jaw—slow, almost reverent—and then down to your throat, where he paused.

He didn’t rush. He let you feel the press of his mouth against your skin, the soft scrape of his breath, the care in every motion.

You gasped—quiet, involuntary—and your hands clutched at his lapel.

He pulled back instantly.

His eyes were wide. Alert. Reading you.

“Too much?”

“No,” you said, breathless. “No. It’s just—”

You swallowed, laughed a little, eyes dropping for a second.

“I swear, I don’t usually go this far on the first date.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t mock.

He just looked at you like he’d heard that confession in his bones.

“I’m not—” You shook your head, eyes flicking back to his. “I’m not this easy.”

His hand moved from your waist to the side of your neck—fingertips brushing along the edge of your jaw.

“I don’t think you are,” he said. Quiet. Certain.

And something in you melted at that.

Because he meant it.

Because he wasn’t here because it was easy. He was here because it was you.

He kissed you again—softer this time, lips just barely brushing yours before he deepened it slowly, carefully. Your arms slipped around his waist beneath the jacket, fingers finding the hem of his shirt tucked neatly into his slacks.

You whispered against his mouth, “Do you want to stay?”

He didn’t answer out loud.

He didn’t need to.

His lips were still on yours when your hands slipped beneath the lapels of his jacket. He stilled, just slightly—not because he was resisting, but because he was checking in. Even now, even with your mouth on his and your body angled toward him, he was waiting for your signal.

You tugged gently.

“Can I take this off?” you asked against his jaw.

His answer was breath, not words—but he nodded.

You slid the jacket back over his shoulders. It came off smoothly, the fabric cool beneath your palms. He caught it before it hit the floor and folded it over the back of a nearby chair without looking away from you.

“I don’t want to push,” he said quietly.

“You’re not.”

He nodded, but his eyes stayed on you like he needed to hear it again.

“I want to,” you said, softer now. “But only if you do too.”

He let out a breath through his nose and stepped closer, hands framing your face with an almost unbearable gentleness.

“I’ve wanted to since the second you opened the door.”

You kissed him now—slower, deeper—and your hands found the knot of his tie. He let you pull it loose. One slow tug. The silk slid through his collar with a soft whisper, and he didn’t break the kiss as you laid it aside.

When your fingers moved to the first button of his shirt, he caught your wrists gently.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, barely audible. “I promise.”

He held your gaze for a long second, then let go.

You undid the buttons one by one, his chest slowly revealed in narrow glimpses—smooth skin, lean muscle, the curve of his collarbone. Your fingers hesitated at his belt, but he didn’t press.

Instead, his hands moved to your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He waited again.

You nodded.

He pulled it down slowly. The fabric loosened against your frame, the air kissing your skin as it slipped from your shoulders and down your arms. You let it fall, stepped out of it.

Tom took a slow breath. He didn’t look down. He kept his eyes on your face like that was the part of you he wanted to remember first.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

You took his hand and started backing down the hallway—toward your bedroom, bare feet quiet against the floor.

He followed, letting you lead, his shirt still hanging open, the sleeves loose at his elbows.

Halfway down the hall, you stopped and kissed him again. This time, you pressed into him fully, your fingers sinking into his hair, and he responded with a low, muffled sound that lit something in your core.

“This is okay?” you asked. You already knew the answer. But it felt right to ask again.

“This is more than okay.”

But still waiting for your next move.

You crossed into your bedroom first, the floor cool against your bare feet. The bedroom was dim, lit only by the ambient spill of light from the hallway. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a thin silver ribbon of moonlight across the bed.

Tom followed behind, quieter than ever.

He stopped in the doorway for a moment. Like he was taking it in—not the room, but the fact of it. The shift. The invitation.

You turned toward him slowly. You were in nothing but your underwear: simple, matching, a soft fabric that still clung in all the places that counted. You didn’t cross your arms. You didn’t cover up. But your breath was a little shallow.

He noticed.

His hands, still resting lightly at his sides, flexed.

But he didn’t move until you stepped closer and reached for his shirt.

It was already unbuttoned, the fabric hanging open over his chest. You laid your palms flat against the skin there—warm, smooth, solid. He exhaled, the muscles under your hands tightening slightly.

“You’re still wearing too much,” you whispered.

His voice was low, roughened by restraint. “You want to fix that?”

You nodded.

You pushed the shirt from his shoulders slowly, letting your fingertips trace the dip of his collarbone, the slope of his arms. The fabric slid down and fell to the floor. You moved to his belt next. Your fingers hesitated just slightly.

He stilled.

Not because he didn’t want it—God, no. But because he was waiting again. Always waiting.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice soft now. “Only if you want this.”

“I do.”

He watched your hands as you unbuckled the belt, your knuckles brushing the flat of his stomach. You undid the button of his slacks next, then the zipper—slow, careful, deliberate.

He helped—just a little—by easing them down, stepping out of them once they pooled at his feet. His shoes were gone by now—somewhere between the hallway and here. Socks too. He stood in nothing but black boxer briefs, and the tension between you spiked in the best way.

You reached out, fingertips ghosting across the waistband.

His voice came again, low and serious: “Let me take my time with you.”

You nodded, breath catching.

Then he leaned down and kissed you again—this time with more pressure, more heat. His hands cupped the back of your thighs as he walked you back, step by slow step, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

He sat you down gently.

Then knelt.

Right there.

Both hands slid up your legs, from your calves to your knees, thumbs stroking slow circles against your skin. He kissed the inside of your thigh, just once, through the fabric of your underwear. Then looked up at you.

“Still good?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled them down slowly, like it mattered to him not to miss a second of it. He helped you lift your hips, never breaking eye contact as he eased them all the way off.

You were half-naked now. Fully exposed. But you didn’t feel bare.

You felt wanted.

When he stood again, you reached for the clasp of your bra. Fumbled.

“Here,” he said, brushing your hands away gently. “Let me.”

He undid it with one hand. You didn’t ask how. And then you were fully undressed—nothing between you but breath and skin and everything you hadn’t said out loud yet.

His briefs were the last thing left.

You looked up at him, your voice a whisper. “Take them off.”

He did. Slowly. With the same reverence he’d shown you. And when he stood fully bare in front of you, you reached for him—not because he needed the invitation, but because you wanted the contact.

Your palms met his skin, warm and solid. His arms circled your waist, and he drew you up, against him, chest to chest.

You felt everything.

And for a moment, you just stood like that.

Breathing. Pressed close. Choosing.

The sheets were cool against your back as he finally laid you down—slowly, gently, like he was worried the moment might break if he moved too fast.

He hovered over you for a second. Just looked at you.

Not just your body—at you. Eyes searching, breath already uneven, jaw tight with the effort of holding himself together.

You reached up and slid your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to pull him down for another kiss.

This one was messier. Warmer. His mouth opened against yours with more heat than before, his tongue sweeping slow and sure, like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

When he kissed down your throat, you felt his breath stutter against your skin. Like it was costing him something not to give in completely.

He pressed a kiss just below your jaw. Another on the hollow of your throat. Then a third, lower, near the curve of your shoulder.

And then he paused.

His lips barely touching your skin. His breath warm.

“You don’t mind if I…?” he murmured, voice thick with want.

Your hand found the nape of his neck. Fingers curled in his hair.

“Please.”

That single word cracked something open in him.

He groaned, low and quiet, and kissed your shoulder—really kissed it—then opened his mouth slightly and bit down. Not hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to claim.

Your back arched.

He soothed the bite with his tongue, then moved lower.

Your collarbone. The top of your breast. The swell of it.

He took his time.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said softly, in between kisses.

Each one deeper. Slower. Leaving a faint mark—something you’d find in the mirror later and remember exactly how it felt.

His mouth moved over your chest, worshipful. When he circled your nipple with his tongue, you gasped. When he closed his lips around it and sucked, you moaned.

He didn’t stop.

He kissed down your ribs, your stomach, the dip of your hip.

Your fingers trembled in his hair. He looked up once, made eye contact—and the look in his eyes devastated you.

Hunger. Restraint. Awe.

As if he couldn’t believe he had you like this.

He came back up your body, mouth hot and damp, his skin brushing yours as he climbed.

When he reached your face again, you kissed him like you needed to anchor yourself—arms around his neck, your body pressing up into his like you couldn’t get close enough.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against your mouth.

You kissed him again—slow, deep, anchoring yourself in the heat of him, in the steadiness of his hands, in the way his body trembled ever so slightly above yours.

“You,” you breathed. “I want you.”

That made him exhale hard through his nose, his forehead dropping to yours. For a moment, he didn’t move—just held you there, close, like he was afraid the whole night might vanish if he let go.

“Say it again,” he said quietly.

“I want you.”

“Fuck.”

He kissed you again—harder this time, more need than control now—and you felt him press against you, thick and hot and aching. You moaned softly against his lips, shifting your hips into his, and he nearly choked on the sound it pulled from him.

“I need to—” he said, already pulling back just slightly, reaching over the edge of the bed where his pants lay tangled on the floor. He dug into the pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open with a practiced flick of his thumb.

Foil glint. Soft rip. Controlled breath.

You watched his hands—steady, careful—as he slid the condom on. And you could feel it in your chest, that thick ache of want building even harder now. This wasn’t rushed. This wasn’t careless.

This was him choosing you.

When he looked up again, the tension in his face was tighter—jaw clenched, brow drawn, lips parted like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

He came back to you slowly, crawling over your body, bracing himself above you.

“This still okay?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

“Please,” you whispered. “I want to feel all of you.”

His breath hitched.

That word—please—wrecked something in him.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips brushing your cheek, his voice rough and reverent.

“God, baby… you have no idea what that does to me.”

And then he shifted—just slightly. You felt it in the way his weight settled between your thighs, the way his body aligned against yours with more intent now.

Still careful.

Still gentle.

But no longer tentative.

“This still okay?” he murmured, even as his cock slid through your slick folds, nudging at your entrance.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. I want you.”

He groaned—low and unfiltered—and kissed you once, slow and deep, before lining himself up and starting to push in.

The sudden stretch made you gasp.

He caught your jaw gently with one hand, his thumb stroking along your cheek as he moved deeper—inch by slow inch.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good. So damn tight—fuck. You feel unreal.”

You clutched at his arms, nails digging in, and he stilled once he was fully seated inside you. His breath caught at the base of his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, almost laughing—but breathless. Shaken. “I don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve you.”

Your heart thudded at that—at the way it sounded not like a compliment but a truth he believed too deeply.

“You do,” you whispered. “You do, Ice.”

He looked down at you like he didn’t know what to do with that—like it mattered more than anything else tonight. Part of him knew that nickname would never be the same.

Then—finally—he started to move.

Slow. Deep. Measured.

He kissed your neck as his hips rolled, then murmured against your skin: “Every inch, baby. You’re taking all of me. Just like that.”

You moaned, and that’s when it happened—that flicker of a grin, the shift in his tone, that unmistakable hint of Ice in his element.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice dropping. “You like that. Thought you might.”

He thrust again—deeper this time, slower—and when your mouth dropped open, he caught your lip between his teeth and growled softly, “Knew you’d feel this good. Knew you’d be perfect.”

His praise didn’t stop.

“So goddamn warm. So wet for me. I could stay inside you all night.”

Another roll of his hips. Another moan from your throat.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Shaking already. And I’ve barely even started.”

But even as the swagger crept in, the care never left.

His eyes were still on yours.

His hand still cradled your cheek.

He kissed you again, and this time it was slower, sweeter—like a promise beneath all the filth.

“You still okay?” he asked softly, brushing your hair back.

You nodded, breathless. “You’re perfect.”

That did him in.

He smiled—wrecked and awed—and muttered, “lucky bastard,” to himself before sinking back into you with a low groan that felt like it came from the deepest part of him.

His rhythm deepened, hips rolling in long, slow strokes that dragged a low sound from your throat every time he bottomed out. He grunted softly with each push forward, his jaw tight, his breath hot against your ear.

“God, baby… You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, voice breaking on the words. “You don’t even know.”

You couldn’t speak—not when he was moving like that, filling you completely, your body trembling with every deep, deliberate thrust. You could only hold on—arms locked around his shoulders, fingers curled into the muscle at the top of his back.

But he was still watching. Still reading every sound you made.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your cheek. “Making me work for it.”

You arched into him, your body chasing the next thrust before he gave it.

And he laughed—low and rough, the sound laced with disbelief and heat.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Your breath caught. “What?”

He thrust hard and fast—just once—and you gasped, body shuddering beneath him.

“You heard me.” His mouth was at your ear now, his voice a teasing growl. “Dangerous. Should’ve known the second you opened that door.”

You laughed through a moan, barely able to keep up with the way he moved now—deeper, harder, faster, but still controlled. Still holding you like you were precious.

He kissed the underside of your jaw, then your mouth. “Wrecking me and you’re not even trying.”

“Ice—”

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he asked, voice full of heat and reverence. “Let me feel you lose it all over me?”

You could feel it building already—fast and hot, curling low in your stomach, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge.

He felt it, too.

“C’mon,” he whispered, his thumb finding your clit, stroking in tight, perfect circles. “Give it to me. Want you to fall apart for me, just like that.”

You gasped—one hand fisting at the sheets, the other clutching at his shoulder as your body started to shake.

“That’s it,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “That’s my girl.”

The orgasm hit fast, your whole body locking around him, back arching off the bed. You cried out, breath caught on his name, and he kept moving—kept whispering to you, grounding you through it.

“Fuck, that’s it… that’s it, baby. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

He barely held on.

Your walls pulsed around him, and he cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering for the first time.

“Shit—gonna come—”

You pulled him down to you, wrapped him in your arms, your legs tight around his waist.

“Do it,” you whispered against his skin. “Come inside me. I want it.”

That broke him.

With a low, raw groan, he buried himself deep and came hard, body locked above you, chest heaving, hands trembling where they gripped the sheets. You felt every pulse of him, every shudder, every breathless whisper of your name as he gave himself to you completely.

He stayed like that for a long moment—his body heavy, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours.

“You okay?” he finally asked, voice worn thin with emotion.

You smiled. “More than okay.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh and kissed you again—this time soft, slow, reverent.

“Dangerous,” he murmured against your lips. “Completely fucking dangerous.”

He hadn’t moved.

Not really.

His chest was still pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around you like he wasn’t ready to let you go. His face was tucked into the curve of your neck, breath warm against your skin, steady but ragged.

Your fingers stroked through the short hair at the base of his neck, slow and soothing. You could feel the aftershocks still humming through him.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to kiss your jaw. Then your cheek.

Then your mouth—soft and slow, not asking for anything. Just being with you.

He pulled back slightly to look at you. His hair was a mess. His lips were swollen. His eyes were still glassy, pupils blown wide.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, like he didn’t want to break the quiet between you.

You nodded. Smiled, even.

“I’m kind of wrecked.”

He huffed a soft, half-laugh and dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Same.”

You stayed like that for a moment—warm skin against warm skin, your legs still loosely tangled, the air still carrying the smell of sweat and sex and something sweeter underneath.

Eventually, he pulled out with slow care, kissed your shoulder again, and got up just long enough to take care of the condom, grabbing a towel from your bathroom without asking where it was. He moved quietly. Efficiently. Still himself.

He returned a moment later, sliding back into bed beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You both lay there for a few seconds, eyes on the ceiling.

Then—

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

He turned his head toward you.

“You regretting it already?” he asked, quiet. Not joking. Just honest.

You looked at him—hair mussed, still flushed from what you’d just shared, those damn eyes fixed on you like you were still the only thing in the room.

“No,” you said. “Not even a little.”

That landed. You could see it in the way he exhaled. The way his arm moved to pull you in, tucking you against his side like you belonged there.

“I don’t usually do this,” you murmured into his chest. “Not like this. Not the first night.”

His fingers moved through your hair, slow and steady. “Yeah. I kinda figured.”

You smiled against his skin. “Why’s that?”

“Because if you did… no one would ever shut up about you.”

You laughed—soft and surprised—and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You both went quiet again.

But this time, it was heavier.

Not bad. Just… honest.

You shifted slightly, looked up at him.

“So… what now?”

He looked down at you. Met your eyes without flinching.

And then—he gave you a real smile. Small. Sure.

“We figure that out. Together.”

notes: i hope you enjoyed it!! <3

comment to be added to my top gun taglist!!

#top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun x reader #top gun smut #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #iceman x reader #iceman smut #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky smut #val kilmer #val kilmer x reader #val kilmer smut #catie tries her best #sunbeamlessrequests

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hivemuthur · 4 months ago

Note

Would you mind possibly making a fic for a reader that is a member of the itty bitty titty committee? For me personally there is nothing there and I just want Viktor to show me love for it lmfao also I love love love your work💞💞

Hi Anon! I'm sorry this took so long!

The Heart Below

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! fluff & smut :) artist!Reader and Viktor plays with her boobies, dat it :v

word count: 1,9K

author’s note: beta read and brainstormed with @rennethen!

artist on X

—

Shadow and light battle across the flat plane of your chest as you try to transfer the study of your figure onto the canvas in front of you. Each shift of your hand derails you slightly, and you wince, sigh, and adjust your position again, coaxing the shade under your breasts into place.

You’ve been working for hours, your eyes tired from shifting between mirror and canvas, trying to capture the delicate contours of your body—each curve, each dent in your skin. It’s a challenge to get the light just right—where it falls, how it rests—so that the shapes aren’t lost in the blending shadows.

Looking at yourself on the canvas is entirely different from studying the person staring back from the mirror. You decide to give her an objective moment—your shoulders sag, legs fall limply off the tall stool as you just scrutinize. Stomach bent so that the eye of your belly disappears into a lopsided smile-like crease, your hips spill beyond the stool’s edge in a pretty curve. Hands rest against your thighs before you bring them to your chest to cup your breasts.

You feel out their shape by touch. Not entirely flat, no—a subtle, symmetrical rise on both sides of your sternum, falling gently into skin stretched over your ribcage. Your fingers travel up to the pool between your collarbones and trace the lines from there to your nipples. A curious observation crosses your mind, how your body consists of triangles.

You turn back to face the canvas, adjusting the stroke, trying once more to get the effect just right. Silence envelops you and it’s peaceful, almost meditative, until you feel a presence behind you. It waits patiently until you set your brush aside and once you do, warm hands snake around your waist and a tickle of hair brushes against your cheek.

Viktor.

“Can I be the first bidder when you finish?” he asks and his breath fans your skin. His chin comes to rest in the crook of your shoulder and when you say nothing, he adds, “You look beautiful.” Reverently, like it’s the universal truth in this world.

“You can have it, if I finish it,” you say thoughtfully. “As long as you keep it in the basement,” you add with a smirk, and ghost your hand over his on your belly.

He squeezes you tighter and hums, “No deal. I want it above our bed. And a small version to carry in my wallet. In fact, could I just take these,” he teases, as his hands creep up to cup your breasts. “Once you are done?”

“And whatever will you do with them, hmm?”

“Oh, lásko,” he breathes against your shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask. Let me show you.”

You inhale sharply, hesitating as your eyes flick down to his hands, noticing you've already transferred some of the paint onto his skin. “Viktor,” you say softly, and he hums out a question before stilling, sensing the unease in your voice.

“What troubles you, my love?” he murmurs into your ear. “Does this have a deadline?” He lingers on the first thought—he might have just interrupted something.

“No, I’m just—” Your breath hitches when his lips trail up your neck, sucking just beneath your ear. “Not feeling it.”

“The painting?” Viktor asks—or rather mumbles—into your skin.

“The painting, and the body. It’s just… a shape,” you breathe out, leaning instinctively into him, then releasing a surprised oh when Viktor pulls away, his face reflecting a nearly outraged expression in the mirror.

“Just a shape?” he huffs, and you almost laugh at the way his brows scrunch in disbelief. “It’s not just a shape.” The last word is spat out as if it’s offensive. “It’s a beautiful thing, look,” he says, tilting your chin to face the reflection, then takes your arm and drapes it over his neck.

He drags a hand from your hip, across your waist, all the way up to your elbow. “Goosebumps. A new texture,” he says proudly. Then, looking back at you in the mirror, he adds, “And a new shape,” brushing his thumb over your hardened nipple.

You try to chuckle away the blush creeping up your neck, but Viktor nuzzles into your face, his voice soft as he whispers, “My favourite one.”

Eyebrows raised, you tease, “Since when are you so knowledgeable about painting—” but before you can finish the question, your nipple gets pinched between his calloused fingers, and you can feel his mouth curving into a smirk.

"Since I exist with a work of art daily," he replies, his voice low, the words almost smug as he watches you react.

"Viktor," you say, the tone laced with a hint of disbelief. But he’s not done. He smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t Viktor me now,” he murmurs, as he drapes your other hand over his neck. His fingers caress your chest gently, almost reverently, as if he’s tracing the curves and contours of something precious.

His gaze lingers on you, not just looking but seeing, as if he’s trying to imprint every inch of your body into his memory. “You are beautiful,” he murmurs, his touch lingering as he skims his palm along the soft skin of your chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall of your breath. “Not just a shape. A living, breathing body.”

His palm stills at your sternum, and his expression softens. “And here’s the best part,” he says, making your breath hitch. His favourite part is now thumping so feverishly you can almost see the tremor of skin beneath his fingers. “And I’m glad I can touch it so freely.”

You unwind one arm from his neck, threading your fingers into his hair as you pull him in for a kiss. And oh, Viktor is so pleased he hums into your mouth, taking it as encouragement when his palms cradle your chest lovingly. He spreads his fingers wide, tracing the lines of your ribs before clasping around your breasts, trapping your nipples between his knuckles.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” he rasps, voice etched with gravel now, the words spilling into your mouth, rolling off his hot tongue. His palms rub up and down your front, the heels pressing into the soft flesh while his fingers catch beneath your collarbones.

He groans softly against your lips, hands teasing along the sensitive spots, as he rolls your nipples between his knuckles. Everything measured—each reaction observed and memorised, so he touches over and over until your skin blurs with red and pink. His breath is warm when he pulls away just enough to murmur, “Come here.”

Without breaking contact for long, he shifts, guiding you to turn on your chair as his knee presses between your thighs. His hands are firm but gentle when he grasps your hips, stepping between your legs and slotting himself close.

"Look at yourself," he whispers, tilting your chin toward the mirror. His golden eyes meet yours in the reflection, dark with desire. "How could you ever call this just a shape?"

And it’s hard to look away from Viktor, but you finally slide your gaze off his hands on your ribs to look at the swell of your thighs spilling off the chair seat, up the curve of your belly to your breasts—faintly swollen and reddened by his work. You smile when his head dips to kiss your neck. Not just a shape, you finally think.

Then his mouth travels down. His lips part against your collarbone, warm and soft, his breath fanning over your skin before he presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss there. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and then he sucks—just enough to make the heat pool low in your stomach. He hums as he pulls back, admiring the mark blooming beneath his lips.

Lower again. Down the slope of your breast, then up, as if tracing invisible brushstrokes against a canvas. He licks each new lovebite with a brush of his tongue before sealing it with another kiss, possessive and ardent all at once. "Mine," he breathes, the word sinking into your skin with each mark he leaves behind.

Your fingers curl into his hair, gripping, pulling, wordlessly asking for more. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sternum, before his teeth scrape lightly over the peak of your breast. "So gorgeous," he muses, voice thick with awe.

And then he takes your nipple into his mouth. The first pull of his lips sends a spark all the way down to your toes. His tongue flicks over your nipple before he sucks again, letting the warmth of his mouth sink into your skin. His hands grip your waist, knuckles whitening.

Your breath stutters when his teeth graze you, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue. Viktor hums, so pleased when you arch to meet him, he adjusts his grip. “My beloved,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the wetness he left behind. “Now I can feel the heart below.”

And indeed it’s there. Under his mouth, barely pressing to the centre of your chest. It twitches and beats, rising the plane of your skin in a frantic rhythm. The vibration travels through his lips, down, down his throat to his lower belly where he’s straining in his pants. He breathes into it, hot air dancing on the slick layer he’s left, more goosebumps blooming across your body.

He trails lower, dragging his tongue over the underside of your breast before leaving another mark, his mouth working as if to lay claim to every inch of skin. He takes his time, keeping every response somewhere precious—the sharp inhale when he sucks, the way your thighs twitch when he presses his teeth down just enough to sting.

His hands smooth over your stomach next, fingers splaying as he maps the softness there, brushing over your ribs before settling at your hips. His fingers press into your flesh, thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles into the dip there. He leans back slightly, admiring the marks he's planted across your chest, then catches your gaze in the mirror. His eyes darken at the sight of you—lips parted, skin flushed, body pliant under his hands.

“Do you see now?” he asks again, but this time, his voice is lower, rougher. “How I see you?”

You turn in your seat to face yourself fully—glistening with his drool, a mosaic of red imprints from Viktor’s lips decorating your neck, chest, nipples, the tender skin beneath your breasts. Teeth marks remain visible on the swollen flesh, a gentle rise where he sucked harder. Your gaze shifts to his reflection—messy hair plastered to his forehead, lips plush and bruised, his eyes heavy with something dark and satisfied.

“I think I want to paint us like this,” you breathe, tracing your fingers over the places he’s marked.

“Oh?” His brow arches slightly, his voice taking on a playful lilt. “Should I do anything?” He tilts his head, studying your reflection as his hands find your waist again, thumbs pressing idly into your skin.

“Yes,” you say, voice steady despite the warmth lingering between you. You turn toward him and run your fingers over his collar, toying with the fabric before slipping lower. A smirk tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. “Get naked. We have to match.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests #viktor fluff

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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 : 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 1.7k of unedited alien prince shouto thoughts based on this post from the other day! sfw, gender neutral reader. several elements of this universe were borrowed from my fave sci-fi novel; see end notes for deets!

he's beautiful—the todoroki prince. tall and strong in his high-collared uniform, strapped with lean muscle and handsomely humanoid. he's the first thing that snares your gaze as your party is guided into the hall of the sun—the reception dome that overlooks the rise of the star yuuei in the morning sky, used by the ruling family to receive visiting dignitaries.

it is morning, in endeavorian planetary time, and the sun has begun to rise. its light is weaker than you remember from back home—almost watery, pooling like quicksilver in the panes of the dome's ceiling.

up at the front of the hall, it catches in the strands of the white half of the prince's hair. from what izuku has told you, it's the half that indicates he's part of the himura bloodline. the himura dynasty has ruled the yuuei system from its capital planet of endeavor iv for tens of thousands of earth-years. it's the second longest line of unbroken rulers in mapped galactic history, an impressive feat.

the other half of the prince's hair is a fiery red, like that of the man who stands next to him—todoroki enji, the general of intergalactic renown, who donated half of prince shouto's genome as well as his clan name. each time a himuran royal from the main line marries, izuku had explained, talking at lightspeed in the podship, they take a branch name, typically sourced from the primary gene-donator. it helps keep inheritance lines clear.

prince shouto looks like he's inherited empress rei and todoroki enji's genes in exactly half—his coloring split down the middle, though his features are perfectly, almost hauntingly symmetrical. he wears a pin of flint at his collar that symbolizes his gender—one of yuuei's thirteen official designations. from what you understand from izuku, it most closely aligns with earth designation "man".

it's embarrassing how much you notice about the prince as you file into the hall, stationing yourself right at the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, so you can still see todoroki shouto.

"you don't think they'll reject the treaty and kill us all, do you?" denki mumurs nervously as he presses in behind you.

"no, i don't think so," izuku's gentle voice drifts back to you. he's a three-star ethnologist, studying for a command ethnology post. subsequently he's the most informed of any of the cadets that have been sent along with the treatise party. you and denki are just mechanics, sent along in case anything goes wrong.

"the alliance would be too much trouble for the yuuei," izuku explains. "they have good relations with the surrounding galaxies and tight control over a lot of resources. but the alliance is really large now, compared to the last time they approached the yuuei. they'll likely want to accept at least a loose federation with the allies."

up on the platform at the front of the hall, prince shouto blinks long and slow, like an earth cat. you realize with a start it's the first time you've seen him blink at all, and the subtle reminder that he is not just an extraordinarily handsome human man but the prince of an alien species makes your skin prickle.

"don't you think it's weird they are all this pretty?" denki asks. "it's weird, right?"

"definitely weird," you laugh, your eyes trailing over prince shouto's blade-straight nose, his pert, perfect mouth. "possibly illegal under intergalatic law."

prince shouto stills all of a sudden, and there is the tiniest tilt of his head. two heterochromatic eyes flick over your way, and you are completely embarrassed by the way your stomach swoops in response. you just manage not to grab onto tenya's uniform to steady yourself.

one of the prince's eyebrow arches almost imperceptibly, and you wonder if he's heard you from this distance—but no, that would be insane.

denki picks up his commentary, emboldened by your playing along. you think the prince's eyes linger just a little too long on the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, but then you're distracted by the reception beginning.

the alliance treaty officer strides forward, flanked by a few of the other officials your crew had ferried here. she performs an elaborate bow, as do the other officials. from izuku's muttering you gather it's some sort of ritualistic greeting, and empress rei at least looks pleased with it, waving a gentle hand to gesture the party forward.

there is some shuffling as various aides set up a table and a series of holo-tablets, along with various inks, a leathery roll of endeavorian traditional parchment, and—

"is that a knife?" you ask, peering at the long obsidian blade placed on the table in front of the officials.

izuku's fluffy head of green curls inclines. "treaties are sealed twice. once in the alliance fashion and then again in the local custom, to make it binding per both systems. blood pacts have been used in yuuei for millennia."

the brush of something over your face has your gaze turning back to the prince—to find him staring straight at you, those unblinking eyes boring into you.

"izuku, weird question. can the yuuei hear across rooms?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

a green eye peers back at you. "only in the event of their pair bonds—the yuuei are documented hearing their matepair across approximately ten earth-kilometers. i think we're safe over here though. why?"

matepair. the world settles strangely under your skin, as the prince's eyes brush across it.

"uh, matepair?" you echo.

tenya gives both you and izuku a quelling look, but it's not enough to deter izuku from ducking down to explain in slightly quieter tones. "the yuuei look human but they pair differently. they form a parapsychic bond with only a single partner, which they maintain and uphold for life. it's not just cultural—it's like a physical compulsion. they cannot take another pair, and they cannot be separated for long periods or they grow sick."

prince shouto is still staring straight at you, and it's not quite comforting enough to know that he cannot possibly hear you.

it's only his role in the ceremony that seems to eventually break the prince's weird focus in your direction. he steps forward to perform his duty as empress rei's chosen heir. you almost flinch as the knife draws across the pale skin of his palm, and he adds several drips of silvery blood to the parchment, symbolizing yuuei's intent to uphold the treaty across future monarchs.

the flesh of his palm knits itself back together in seconds, and another little shiver goes up your spine. those mismatched eyes flash back your way as he steps back, and the various aides and officials once again converge on the documents.

there is a brief flurry of activity, various bows and oaths, some stilted endeavorian verse. the chief treaty officer looks relieved when it's all over, and the royal family steps down from the dais to greet the rest of the visiting party, as is the customary honor granted to allies to the yuuei. tenya ushers you into the queue near the back with denki, a symbol of your lower status as mechanics.

you don't mind, as the thought of reaching prince shouto has your stomach doing what feel like backflips in your gut. the longer the delay the better.

izuku had walked everyone through the appropriate greetings on the podship, a few murmured words and a hand touch at chest-level—extremely hard to mess up, even for you. but nevertheless your pulse kicks up the closer you draw to the royal family.

there's a long line of them you greet first. offshoot branch members, then general todoroki enji, whose enormous palm burns hot against yours and who looks he'd rather take your party's hands off than touch them. then rei's unchosen heirs—the princess fuyumi, prince natsuo—and a gap where prince touya would have stood, were he not offworld.

and then you're standing in front of prince shouto, your pulse pounding in your ears. he's extremely tall up close, clearing six feet easily, broad across the shoulders and handsome in a way that almost makes your teeth ache. the yuuei look deceptively human, but this near you can see the tiny details that separate them from you—the slight double-point to their ears, the silvery undertone to their skin, the prolonged space between their breaths and their blinks.

and of course their inhuman beauty. they don't quite look like regular people, and it sparks a tiny note of wariness in the primeval part of your human hindbrain.

prince shouto's mismatched eyes pin you, silver and blue, as a sudden, silvery flush creeps across his face. you hold your hand out in greeting, trying not to wonder if you've somehow managed to offend him already—but instead of pressing his palm against yours, his long fingers suddenly grasp yours, clasping tightly.

beyond him, empress rei freezes too. all at once you can feel every single himuran noble turn to look at you, hundreds of eyes pinning on you.

reflexively, words tumble out of you. "shit did i—what did i do? were you supposed to get a different hand thingy?"

you can hear the treaty officer's horrified inhale at the terms shit and hand thingy, deployed in crass galactic standard in front of a literal prince. you immediately wish you could take them back, but from the look on the prince's face, he's already heard them.

something at the corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile.

"y/n," he says, in a deep tone. it's crisply accented and just as beautiful as the rest of him.

it takes you a second to realize prince shouto has used your name, which he could not possibly know considering the uniform you'd been issued for the yuuei visit has no unique identifiers on it. you glance down at yourself, then back up at him, befuddled.

"how did you—? where did you—?" you garble out. "did denki put you up to this? how do you know me?"

prince shouto's fingers smooth over yours, delightfully warm, calloused and sure. "i would know you in any universe," he says, voice soft. behind you, you hear princess fuyumi make a tiny sound of delight.

you blink. "universe? what—uh, what universe? how would you—?"

but shouto leans in, tugging you closer with those deceptively strong fingers. he's so very warm up close, and so beautiful it makes your brain short circuit, especially as he lowers his face to yours. a shiver rolls down your spine as his other hand takes you gently by the chin.

and then he murmurs a single word before pressing his mouth to yours—

"matepair."

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: credits where they are due!! the idea of a space general dna donator, an overarching space alliance pursuing a treaty, & the flint pin denoting gender were taken from my fave sci-fi novel winter's orbit by everina maxwell! (if you love heartfelt gay love stories in space i am actually begging you to read it).

#todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x you #todoroki x you

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maya1525 · 1 year ago

Text

Kissing Practice 🍃💨

18+ MDNI

Pairing✩࿐Fem!Reader X Satoru Gojo & Suguru Geto

WARNINGS✩࿐Fem!Reader giving & receiving oral, cream pie, rough fucking, fingering, choking, group sex, cursed technique usage during sex. Substance use, language, smoking, shotgunning.

Word count✩࿐11.3K

BONUS✩࿐Everyone is high out of their minds

Summary✩࿐Young Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are friends with the other female Jujitsu Sorcerer in their class. The innocent Fem!Reader gets high with both men and accidentally asks if one of them could teach her how to kiss. She ends up getting more than she bargained for.

A/N✩࿐ Here’s my playlist of inspiration✨(sorry Spotifers, I’m a YouTube Premium Girl) This was an idea I had on my mind shortly after watching the first few episodes of season 2. I didn’t plan on it being this long! I hope you enjoy it!

Sex is like a sinful pool of honey, tonight you dipped your toe in to test the waters, but you weren’t able to take your toe out. Instead, the pool of pleasure had a mind of its own and pulled you under. You couldn’t breathe, regardless you didn’t care. You were drowning in it, and your whole body was lost in pure ecstasy. You felt like you hit a revelation within yourself, who knew that sinful acts could be so exhilarating? You felt hyper-aware of your body and you felt even more in tune with yourself. Tonight you will share your soul with Suguru and Satoru, and the three of you will be forever intertwined.

“What’s up Y/n? The za too good for you?” Satoru teased with an annoying smirk, as he playfully poked your cheek. He had caught you midway through spacing out. Your mind whirled trying to muster up a good comeback, but you couldn’t respond quickly enough. “Suguru look at her, she’s completely out of it,” Gojo said to his friend humorously. Now Geto was eyeing you with amusement.

“Roll us another hun, this one’s almost done.” The black-haired man instructed as he handed you a brown paper wrap.

A few previous smoke sessions ago, Suguru admitted that he likes it when you wrap the blunts. So now it’s your job whenever you smoke with them. You don’t mind it though, you like the praise he gives you whenever you wrap a good-looking dart.

You obediently leaned forward on the edge of the couch to reach the coffee table. You began to break the large green clusters down into fine pieces. Pulling the weed nuggets apart with your sharp fingernails. You set the stems off to the side as you added small sage green crumbs to the wrap. You made sure all the little clusters were consistent in size and spaced out evenly on the paper. Even though you guys were almost done smoking the first dart, you felt incredibly buzzed.

“Cat got your tongue, Y/n?” Suguru said as the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “You’ve been quiet for a while.” His voice rang out like smooth honey.

“Mmh, nothing. I’m just high.” You mumbled to yourself without thinking, earning a chuckle from both men.

“Damn, you’re such lightweight Y/n! That’s a knee-slapper.” Satoru wheezed as he leaned over and slapped Geto’s knee aggressively. The two jostled you a bit when they hit each other. Furthermore, their rough horseplay didn’t deter you from finishing up the wrap. You carefully brought the brown rolled-up paper to your mouth and began to lick its edge from left to right. Once it was damp with your saliva you closed the blunt. Holding it delicately in place to keep its shape, it was perfectly symmetrical.

“How’d I do?” You directed your attention to Geto handing him your accomplishment. After breaking the clusters down, your fingers became a sticky crumbly mess - it would feel wasteful to wash it off. You began to lick your weed-covered fingers clean. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Gojo watching you intently as you brought your dainty fingers to your lips.

Geto eyed you briefly and then to the blunt with approval, “It looks great Y/n, you did an amazing job.”

“Yeah? You think so?” You beamed up at him; feeling warmth well up in your chest at his praise. Out of everyone you met, his words always seemed to have a great effect on you.

“Of course! You always do it perfectly. Wanna do the honors?” He gave you a sly smile as he handed it back to you. “I’ll light it, hun.” He whispered lowly.

You blushed slightly and nodded, you brought the blunt up to your lips and leaned in close to Suguru. His long slender fingers clasped the lighter and his thumb rolled over the dial, sparking a flame. As he brought the flame close to your face, you felt his left elbow lean against the couch next to your soldier. He was so close to you, that you could feel his warmth coming off of his body. You couldn’t help but notice how amazing he smelt. His scent reminded you of the warmth of fall, with a hint of something mysterious.

Once the end of the dart caught fire you inhaled and sucked on the blunt greedily as the tangy smoke filled your mouth. You swallowed the smoke down into your lungs and handed the wrap to Suguru.

Immediately, you began to cough from the rip you just took, your whole body shook as you felt your lungs twitch with irritation. You heard both men laugh at your feeble attempts to stop, but you had no luck. You felt your cheeks warm up with embarrassment as you covered your face shyly. Your whole body shuttered with each feeble cough that escaped from your lips. “S-stop *cough* laughing at me!” You croaked meekly.

“You’re such a pouty little child. How cute.” Geto chuckled, his attractive laugh echoed in your mind.

“I’m not…” you coughed once more, peaking at him through your hands and throwing your head back against the couch cushions impulsively. The music that played on the TV felt as if it was hitting you in waves. You feel high out of your mind and when you get like this, you notice words are hard to muster up.

“Not cute? Pshh, don’t be such a liar.” Satoru’s voice rang out, you felt his smooth fingers gently pry your hands away from your face to peek at you.

You shifted your attention to Gojo so your body was facing his. You felt your knees touching the side of his thigh. “Aww. So you think I’m cute?”

“Oh come on, don’t give me that shit. You’re hot and you know it. A girl with your type of looks has me confused though,” he paused taking a hit from the blunt, blowing its strong-smelling smoke in your face as you batted your pretty eyelashes up at him. “How do you not have a boyfriend yet? Is there anyone you like?” He coughed after taking that rip, it was a bit too pungent.

You felt your cheeks flush at his words. “Umm, well I can’t tell you that! If I do, it might not come true!” You giggled playfully, poking Satoru’s cheek the same way he poked yours earlier.

The icy-haired man arched a brow at you with amusement, “Not come true? Isn’t that the rule for wishing on stars?”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Suguru retorted while he French inhaled; the cloudy smoke rose from his mouth and into his nose in the most captivating manner. “So you going to tell us who this mystery guy is or what?” He teased as a strand of his inky black hair fell to the side of his face.

“I do like someone.” You admitted, now getting both men’s attention. “But I feel too embarrassed to do anything about it.”

“Oh come on, why do you have to be shy? Grow a pair and make a move! It’s easy, I’ll show you!” Satoru chuckled while bringing his face closer to yours, forcing you to look into his hazy ocean-blue eyes. You noticed how easy it was for Satoru to corner you and get you all hot and bothered by his actions. In response, you swatted him away playfully and leaned over to Suguru to take the blunt. You inhaled it, letting the smoke stay in your mouth for a brief moment before letting it exhale through your nose.

Gojo snatched the blunt from you. He inhaled from the dart and blew out three impressive smoke rings. With his cursed technique, he made the rings transform into a three-dimensional sphere. The large smoke bubble floated into the TV and popped, causing the room to get even more foggy.

“Don’t tell me it’s Nanami.” Geto croaked out mid-cough and laugh.

Satoru chuckled, “Man, can you imagine if Y/n and that strait-laced Kento got together?” Gojo addressed Suguru while stealing a glance at you.

“Yeah, she’d have to say goodbye to smoking with us, that’s for sure.” The Suguru responded, but then he shifted his attention back your way. “Why would you feel embarrassed to admit your feelings to him? What type of a guy is he?”

“Well, I’ve never been in a relationship before… and I feel like my lack of experience would be embarrassing.” You muttered bashfully while stealing the blunt back from Gojo. You wanted to avoid their eyes and look busy.

Overanalyzing yourself when you’re high is one of your weaknesses. You felt clouded out of your mind at this point, if only you were sober enough to come up with a good response. It mildly frustrated you, that the feelings you felt were too hard to verbalize. All while it felt like your body was vibing to the beat of the music, as if you were melting into the couch. It began to get hard to focus like an anchor was resting on your soul. Yet at the same time, you also felt like your state of consciousness was elevated to a higher plane of reality.

“That’s such a lame excuse.” Gojo blurted out, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm, maybe it’s different for girls.” Suguru backed you up. “Some guys find innocent girls hot, I think you’ll be fine.” He winked at you when you glanced over at him. Geto lounged on the couch with his legs spread out and his palm resting on the back of his neck coolly, his warm faded gaze glued on you. The way he presented himself, spurred a random desire within yourself. The irrational thought of you climbing on top of his lap just to see his reaction, crossed your mind.

“So… how innocent are you Y/n?” Satoru eyed you with a cocky grin.

“I’ve um-“ you cut yourself off trying to focus on the correct words to use, “only ever hugged and held hands before. And that’s it.” You muttered, feeling a hot wave of mortification overcome you. You couldn’t believe you just admitted that to them!

“Oh? So you haven’t even kissed anyone?” Suguru asked nonchalantly while his narrowed gaze was fixated on you.

“No, would one of you like to teach me?” You blurted out jokingly, then immediately regretted it. You panicked in your clouded state, normal people don’t joke like that with their friends! How embarrassing, they’re going to turn you down and how will you ever recover? You practically just dug yourself your own grave.

“Yes.”

Both of the men say in union and for a split second, they exchange an irritated glare towards each other.

To your bewilderment, you couldn’t believe that both would like to kiss you. The alarm you felt earlier was immediately replaced with the thrilling feeling of fireworks going off in your brain.

“So which one of us would you want to teach you? I could give you a personal lesson right now Y/n.” Gojo’s seductive voice drew you in as you felt his hot fingertips lightly graze over your left arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I-I can’t choose between you two.” You stammered nervously, “Do you think you both could teach me?” You asked, not wanting to hurt either of their feelings.

“At the same time?” Gojo inquired curiously.

“Right now?” Getou asked with a hint of excitement.

You could feel both of the men’s eyes burning holes in you. You noticed they were both sandwiching you on the couch, when did they close in on you? “I’m down to learn right now.” Your mousy voice broke the thick silence in the smoke-filled room.

In a frantic whirl, both men had you situated above one of their thighs. Suguru and Satoru sat side by side so their shoulders touched. You straddled Getou’s left leg and Gojo’s right. The look of anticipation on your face did little to hide your excitement yet overwhelming nervousness.

“Let’s start with something easy hun.” Suguru stated as he eyed you with desire, “I’m going to shotgun smoke into your mouth. You don’t have to worry about kissing yet. Just get used to the feeling of my lips.”

“Aww no fun, I just wanted to dive right in and make out with her,” Satoru whined playfully while turning the volume up on the TV. His blatant interest in you caused you to look down with an adorable blush on your face. “Damn, no need to be so bashful Y/n, you have nothing to worry about,” Gojo responded, reaching up to rest his left hand on your hip. His thumb rubbed comforting circles on you. The bold action stirred up an unfamiliar sensation in your stomach.

“When I press my lips against yours, inhale. Geto instructed while bringing the dart up to his lips. You naturally held your breath with the fluttering sensation of butterflies clouding your emotions.

Suguru’s hooded dark amber eyes glinted toward yours as he gingerly brought your chin closer to his. This was your first kiss and you wanted to memorize everything about it. In your smokey state of consciousness, you felt as if this moment was going in slow motion. As his face got closer to yours he closed his eyes, and you instinctively did the same. His smooth lips ghosted over yours which caused sparks to fly inside of your mind. You parted your lips while he opened his mouth to blow the harsh smoke into yours. You naturally inhaled just like you were supposed to. His lips softly brushed against yours, he delicately kissed your plump lower lip and pulled away. A subtle smile danced across his handsome features, as thin wisps of smoke slithered upward between your faces.

You felt as if your heart was beating a million miles per minute, Suguru handed you the blunt; purposely grazing his fingers against yours in the process. “Now do what I just did to Satoru.”

You brought the blunt up to your lips, inhaled, and held the smoke in your mouth as you shifted your weight onto Gojo’s lap. You gripped his broad shoulders for balance. In return, his hand that was on your hip snaked its way to your lower back, pulling you into him possessively. A surprised gasp came out of you as a sliver of smoke escaped from your lips. Satoru gave a hazed smirk at how easily he could fluster you. He leaned forward and pressed his soft lips against yours. You parted your lips to blow the foggy smoke into his awaiting mouth. You felt him suck the air out of your lungs, causing you to battle him for oxygen. You mustered up the courage to kiss him the way Suguru kissed you. Timidly, you kissed his upper lip as he greedily sucked your lower. You felt his molten tongue barge into your mouth and glide across your tongue. Feeling his tongue for the first time spurred a primal arousal deep inside of you. Not only was your head buzzing, but your lower region buzzed with excitement as well.

Gojo pulled away from your mouth as a small strand of saliva broke that connected your lips. With his free hand, he brought his thumb up to your lower lip to wipe off the little bit of drool. He kept his hot gaze on your lips for a brief moment before you felt Geto’s comforting hand guide your slim waist over to him.

“You’ll kiss her again Satoru. But right now it’s my turn.” Suguru spoke out huskily. He took the blunt from you to take a quick puff before handing it over to Satoru. With his tender grip on your waist, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. The strong-smelling smoke entered your mouth once more. Your mouth watered at its taste as you sucked it in. This time you made sure to kiss Suguru back while he moved his lips against yours expertly. You hesitantly brought one of your hands to the back of his head and gently tangled your slim fingers in his black cascading locks. As soon as you did that, you felt his hand on your hip glide down to your thigh. He squeezed your plump skin lightly, causing a muffled mewl of surprise to get swallowed by his lips.

The way he kissed you was a little different compared to Gojo’s style. Suguru seemed to focus on sucking and biting. While Satoru was playful and liked to utilize his tongue. You copied the way Geto moved his lips against yours; you alternated between nibbling and sucking his lips gently. You felt a rhythm form between you two the longer you kissed him. You memorized the feeling of his smooth lips and sharp teeth against your lips. You felt a bit more confident in the way you kissed Suguru, so you pulled away with a mischievous smile. You leaned over to kiss Satoru, who was watching you two intensely.

He immediately darted his tongue into your mouth and you greeted it with your own. His tongue wrestled yours for dominance and he easily overpowered you. You mirrored the way Gojo kissed you by using his style against him, which fired him up even more. He felt a bit more desperate with his kisses, while Suguru seemed to be slightly possessive. Being this close to Satoru made you realize how much you desired his scent, he smelt fresh and clean like a summer’s breeze next to a waterfall. You felt Geto lean in close to the two of you and latched his hot mouth onto your exposed neck. A muffled gasp of pleasure escaped from your lips and into Gojo’s mouth.

“Got tired of watching?” Mumbled Satoru cockily as his lips danced across yours for another hot kiss. No one has ever done that to your neck before. Suguru gently smooched your tender skin which caused chills of excitement to run across your body. His molten mouth felt so sensual on your sensitive neck. You suddenly felt so needy, and in your buzzed state, you decided to follow your instincts. You reached up to grab a hold of Getou’s broad shoulder, pulling him closer to you. All while you kissed Gojo, you made sure to tangle your free hand in his white hair. It felt like your body and your energy were colliding and entangling itself with theirs. You were able to sense their intense desire and excitement towards you, which felt like overpowering waves.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Suguru pulled away from your neck. He gently guided your face away from Satoru’s so he could steal some kisses from you. His mouth gently nibbled yours as he moved his lips against yours passionately. Gojo didn’t take it lightly when his dark-haired friend stole you from his grasp. So in return, he leaned forward and began to roughly kiss and suck on your neck. Knowing that he’d leave a few angry red marks. The hand Satoru had on your lower back, snaked its way to the inside part of your upper thigh. The feeling of his hand between your legs activated a wanton desire inside of you. Gojo delicately traced his fingers along your thigh, all the way down to your knee and then up, dangerously close to your center. He tested the waters and snuck his fingers underneath your skirt this time. His hand slid upward to the hem of your underwear but then darted lower to grip your leg firmly. This bold gesture caused your center to fire up with excitement. Suguru picked up on what his friend was doing to you so he brought his hand underneath your skirt too, but higher up of course. He rubbed his thumb in soft circles on your squishy thigh.

Gojo then pulled away from your neck to steal you back from Suguru. In return, Geto gently kissed your neck while he stroked the inside part of your thigh. You moved your mouth against Gojo’s with a sense of urgency now, you wanted them to touch you more. With two mouths working on you, you felt overwhelmed with sensations. Everything felt amplified, because of how high you were. It felt as if you were hyper-aware of every little touch and caress each man did to you. You didn’t want to ask them to take it further, so in your blurred state of consciousness, you felt bold enough to make a move. You hesitantly brought your hand down to Suguru’s firm thigh as you feverishly made out with Gojo. You slowly traced your fingers higher up his leg until you felt a firm bulge in his pants. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over you causing you to freeze.

“Tch, no need to be so nervous Y/n…” Geto purred, he kissed a trail up your neck and whispered in your ear, “I can show you how to touch it if you want.”

“Show me.” You whimpered into Satoru’s mouth as you felt Suguru’s hand caress the top of yours. He guided your hand along his clothed shaft, he felt so hard and girthy. He controlled your hand with a bit more pressure. You heard him inhale sharply as your dainty hand rubbed his length. While you persistently stroked Geto’s growing dick, your mouth battled for dominance against Gojo’s. He wiggled his tongue into your mouth with immeasurable desire. It felt as if the room was on fire with passion, your clothes suddenly felt so restricting. Suguru’s pants seemed to get tighter the more you rubbed on him.

Geto greedily stole your mouth off of Satoru’s to kiss you excitedly. Gojo placed feather-like kisses on your neck and exposed collarbone, and you felt his hand inch it's way higher up your skirt. You sensed Satoru’s hot fingers lightly prodding your pussy lips from the outside of your underwear. The pleasurable sensations drove you wild, you could feel your panties dampen tremendously.

Your curious fingers traced the outline of Suguru’s cock and you were able to feel his bulge twitch when you neared his tip. “Fuck.” Geto hissed out in satisfaction.

“I want to do so much more to her Suguru…” Gojo groaned while giving your neck a heated and sloppy kiss.

“Y/n’s pretty innocent. We don’t want to spoil her if she has her heart set on another guy,” Geto mumbled against your lips.

Gojo hooked his finger into your panties, his finger glided over your slick folds in the process. “Mmh, Satoru!” You moaned quietly as he dipped the tip of his finger into your tight wet hole.

“You’d rather have the guy you like do these things to you, hun, wouldn’t you?” You felt him tug at your lace underwear with his reddish lust-filled eyes. “I don’t think I could hold myself back if we continue. Do you want us to take things further?”

You studied the flirtatious look on Satoru’s face for a brief moment, as you gathered your thoughts. You weren’t sober enough to think this over the way you would’ve liked, but the thought of experiencing more intimate pleasure with these two excited you. Without meaning to; you lightly squeezed Geto’s penis, causing his alluring dark eyes to light up as he flashed you a killer smirk. You felt Satoru’s fingertips sweetly stroke your pussy lips and a small needy whimper escaped your lips. “I-mmh.” Another sweet moan interrupted your sentence when you felt his finger gently rub over your clit.

You looked over at Geto whose dark eyes had a mischievous glint in them. “What is it dear?” Suguru teased with a sly smile on his handsome face.

“I want- ahh.” This time Satoru pressed on your clit with a bit more pressure, causing sparks of ecstasy to bubble up inside of you for a split second. Both Geto and Gojo were extremely turned on by your sexy little sighs and gasps of delight. They both wanted to make you feel good. Yet, the greedier side of their personalities wanted to claim you as theirs and deflower you, before you ended up with the guy you liked.

You removed your hand from Suguru’s bulge and ghosted your fingers over the button on his pants, you looked up at him for permission. “Teach me how to be a good girlfriend-“ You got cut off with a feverish kiss from Suguru, and you felt his hand grip your ass firmly. You pulled away to finish your sentence, but when you did Gojo sneakily pressed his lips onto yours, as his fingers teased your dampening pussy lips. “Don’t hold back.” You said almost innocently with a sweet smile on your pretty face.

“If that’s what you want, then unbutton our pants dear,” Suguru instructed, while bringing the blunt up to his lips.

“Fuck.” Satoru growled as he leaned forward to give you a heated kiss, he deliberately grabbed your hands and led them down to the tent in his pants. “Unbutton mine first.” He murmured urgently into your mouth. Excitement rose inside of you. You obediently did what he ordered and your nimble fingers worked at freeing his dick from its confines. Once his zipper went down, the bulge in his boxers seemed to grow even more. Like a delightful present just for you. You felt the heat coming off of his hidden shaft. You looked up to see Gojo giving you a buzzed smile with the blunt in between his lips. “Go on, take it out to play.” His blue eyes looked at you with a burning passion in the dark hotboxed room.

Without thinking you lowered his gray boxers down to see his large and lengthy dick spring free. Your mouth instinctively watered at the sight of his delicious-looking cock. Even though it looked heavy, it surprised you with how it stood up on its own. Before you could reach out and touch it, Geto guided your hands over to his crotch. You knew what he wanted and undid his restraints as well. Within seconds his elongated dick stood up proudly like Gojo’s. Both men’s cocks were quite similar in length, but Suguru’s leaned a little to the left and Satoru’s to the right.

It looked like both of their horny rods were pointed toward you. They wanted you just as bad as you wanted them. You softly placed your left hand on Geto’s dick and your right hand on Gojo’s. Their smooth girths felt hot to the touch, both men naturally bucked their hips into your soft hands. This entire situation felt completely taboo and that turned you on tremendously. Your curious hands examined each man's shaft. Your fingertips felt every vein on their velvety dicks. It intrigued you when they would occasionally twitch in your hands.

Satoru put his hand over yours and pumped your smaller hand at a quick pace. “Can you keep this up, babe?” You got the idea and nodded when he removed his hand from yours. You jerked off each man in union. You loved how they would quietly groan to themselves in pleasure while you jacked them. Both men watched you with delight, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Gojo handing the blunt over to Geto.

You suddenly felt a small amount of hot slick wetness drip down onto your right hand. Satoru’s tip had leaked a bit of precum. You wiped your thumb over the head of his dick to watch more clear liquid ooze out. You looked over to Suguru’s tip, to see that he had a small droplet of milky white cum rolling down the side of his penis too.

“Get on your knees.” Geto’s smooth voice interrupted your ogling, so you did what you were told. Now that you were at eye level with both men’s rods, it made you realize how much larger they actually were. “Lick my tip, sweetheart,” Suguru instructed while inhaling on the blunt. He blew the delicious-smelling smoke down onto you, as you brought your face closer to his upright cock.

His dick practically loomed over your face with its impressive length. You made sure to keep pumping Gojo’s length as you brought your pert lips to Suguru’s clean-scented shaft. Your mouth water with anticipation. You brought your heated gaze to Geto’s, while your molten tongue gingerly licked his tip.

Geto hissed out in pleasure when he felt your slick tongue glide across the head of his cock. Pride welled up in his chest knowing that his dick is the first one you put your mouth on.

Once your tongue came in contact with his precum the taste reminded you of tears. You licked his entire tip and worked your way lower down, so he was coated in your drool. His shiny penis reflected the light that came off of the tv in the dark smoke-filled room. You were about to put him inside of your mouth when Satoru guided your head over to his needy dick.

“Suck me.” Satoru hummed softly while affectionately tangling his fingers in your hair. You lowered your mouth down to the tip of his hot cock. You made sure to pump Geto in your left hand, he was so slippery from your saliva. Jerking him off was effortless and you were able to glide your hand along his shaft quickly. You gently beckoned Satoru into your mouth with your sultry tongue. You were able to feel his dick throb against the roof of your mouth. You naturally wanted to make Satoru feel good, and you forced yourself to take him towards the back of your throat. Panic set in quickly when it became hard to breathe. Your throat instinctively squeezed the head of Gojo’s cock as you gagged on him.

“Easy babe…” Satoru groaned out sexily, vigorously enjoying your enthusiasm, “You don’t have to choke yourself. Take your time getting used to having a dick in your mouth.” He purred, just his voice alone made you dampen in your underwear.

You moved your mouth higher up his dick to focus on sucking his tip. You swirled your tongue around him curiously, he let out a pleasured exhale. “Mmh… yeah. Do that again.” He muttered as his brilliant blue eyes looked down at you with heated ratification. Suguru handed him the blunt and Satoru drew a greedy breath from the slowly shrinking dart. You swiveled your tongue around his sensitive tip while maintaining eye contact with him. Smoke flared from his nose as the tip of his tongue grazed over his top row of teeth with satisfaction.

You mustered up a bit more courage to take more of him into your mouth. This time you tried to calm your breathing as you alternated between sucking and moving your tongue along his shaft. He was much too big to fit in your mouth entirely, so you placed your right hand on the base of his shaft. “Can you move your head up and down Y/n?” Satoru instructed. You obliged, as you bobbed your head on his girthy cock. You found it easier to get used to having him deep in your throat with your quick movements.

With more confidence in having a dick in your mouth, you switched over to Geto’s erect cock. You licked his tip lovingly before engulfing him in your wet mouth. Suguru relished in the slick warmth your mouth provided. You sucked his tip and slowly worked your way down to his base. Feeling him that deep in your throat caused you to gag slightly, this was a tough feeling that you would have to get used to. You pushed the choking feeling aside, you wanted to make Geto feel good too. You held him there for a brief moment while he sweetly tangled his fingers in your hair.

“You’re doing so good, keep it up.” He cooed huskily; you felt your eyes well up with tears from the mild suffocation. Suguru couldn’t help but admire the way you looked as you struggled to have him in your throat. You felt his penis pulse inside of you, causing you to make a small muffled cough. Your time on his dick was cut short, “I think it’s time we advance this lesson a bit further.” He groaned out in pleasure as you sucked him like a straw. He reluctantly moved you off of his dick.

“Get undressed for us?” Satoru purred, his statement was more of an order than a suggestion.

You stood in front of both men as you unbuttoned your blouse. You could feel their eyes watching you intensely. Once you slipped your shirt off, you let your skirt pool down to your feet. There you were; standing before Gojo and Geto partially naked, yet entirely aroused. They admired your sexy bra and skimpy underwear. Your body looked so appetizing for the men, you felt like a rabbit on display for a pair of starved wolves.

With Gojo’s six eyes, he could sense how wet you already were. Suddenly, you became weightless and floated in the air. A surprised squeak escaped your lips, as you tried to comprehend what was happening. You felt your body direct itself without command and positioned above Gojo’s lap. A dashing smirk flashed across his face and within seconds he expertly pushed your panties to the side and placed his slippery dick against your entrance.

“Is this what you want?” He teased with a cocky laugh.

Feeling his dick against your needy opening sent waves of excitement rushing through your veins. You felt Gojo’s technique release and gravity pulled you down further onto his hot and ready dick. The tip had barely inserted itself into you causing discomfort at the stretch. Your knees dug into the couch on either side of him, and you hovered above him to prevent more of his meaty cock to penetrate you.

Geto picked up on your displeasure, “Slow down Satoru, she’s a virgin. Perhaps we should prepare her a bit more thoroughly.”

“Mmh, don’t be such a wet blanket Suguru. I was only teasing her.” Gojo chimed as he pushed his pelvis upwards, forcing about an inch of his dick to invade you.

“Ahh!” You whined at the stinging ache between your legs. Even though the pain was prominent, you couldn’t help but get aroused at such a close feeling with Satoru.

Gojo’s blue eyes began to glow, indicating his technique was at play. Your body floated off of his lap and upward. Your legs spread apart without your control, your left leg rested on Geto’s right shoulder and your right leg went over Gojo’s left. You felt your cheeks heat up in this vulnerable position.

Now both men were between your legs with a lustful look in their faded eyes. You could feel your pussy buzz with excitement. Suguru took the initiative and slid your panties to the side; exposing your pretty pink pussy. Your lips are slick with arousal, causing both men’s mouths to water. They couldn’t wait to try a taste. “Is it ok if we touch you down here?” Suguru hummed as he ghosted his index finger across your folds. Earning a needy sound to come from the back of your throat.

You nodded desperately, “please.”

Geto maintained his focused gaze on your red-hot cunt. He faintly traced the folds of your slippery lips with his pointer and index fingers. Gojo brought his hand to the inside of your thigh and lightly massaged the sensitive crook between your legs. His skilled fingers rubbing your crease, made you realize how sensitive you were there. You unintentionally squirmed underneath his hand. Small whimpers of delight escaped your lips when he massaged a bit deeper into your thigh. All while Suguru’s ghostly touches drove you up a wall, you wanted him to touch you so much more.

The burning passion these two men made you feel, felt incredibly intense. In your buzzed state, every touch they did to you felt amazing. Even though the teasing only just began you couldn’t stand it. Your entire body craved for more. As if Geto could hear your thoughts he lowered his mouth down onto your pussy. Before he came in contact with you, his dark eyes met yours, “You want me to eat you?” You felt his hot breath waft over your sensitive core.

“Mmh-hmm.” You mewed with excitement, the anticipation burned you up.

With his warm gaze fixated on yours, you saw the corner of his mouth tilt upward, “I’ll eat you only with one condition.” Suguru paused, almost drooling over your appetizing snack. “Who’s this guy you like?”

You felt your face heat up, “why do you wanna know-ahh!” Suguru slid his hot tongue up your pussy causing a delectable sensation to overcome your train of thought.

“Sorry couldn’t help myself,” Geto gave a mischievous smirk as he pulled a couple of inches away from your desperate cunt. “I only ask, because what Satoru and I are about to do to you… will cause you to lose interest in any other man you thought you liked.” Suguru stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Do you think you’ll still like him, after this?” Gojo asked while snaking his hand to your ass, gently squeezing your squishy flesh.

Their words slightly confused you. The way Geto phrased his statement and how Gojo asked that question; you couldn’t help but think that they might have deeper feelings for you. Otherwise, why worry about what you feel and who you like? You suddenly realized what tremendous power you had over them. “Mmh, I’ll tell you later.” You looked down at the men between your legs with a newfound confidence you didn’t know you had. “Also can you pass the blunt?” You flashed them a heart-stopping smile, rendering both Satoru and Suguru speechless.

“Here babe,” Satoru floated the blunt up to your lips with a tempting look in his hooded eyes. You inhaled as the smoke-filled your senses. Once you exhaled, the blunt sailed back down to Satoru’s lips. It was all so clear now, you felt like a queen atop her throne, looking down at her peasants. You felt it in your soul that both Gojo and Geto had deeper intentions for you, and the thought of that made your ego skyrocket.

With that being said, Suguru leaned forward and plunged his sneaky tongue inside of you. Pleasure shook you to your core and you instinctively clenched around him. He twirled his tongue around inside of you as his nose brushed against your clit deliciously. He retracted his tongue and smooched your clit hungrily, gently sucking and swiveling around your delicate bud in the process. His hot mouth drove you wild and amazing pleasure clouded your senses.

Satoru grew impatient even though Suguru had just started to devour you. Therefore, he leaned forward and began to kiss and suck on the inside parts of your thighs. While his kisses trailed up and down your leg, you felt his hand roughly fondle your ass.

Suguru focused on pleasuring your clit, he sweetly sucked on your sensitive bundle of nerves, which made you writhe around in delight. Small cute gasps escaped your lips while he snacked on you. You felt one of his long fingers gently prod your damp opening. Geto felt his dick rage upwards upon feeling your wet readiness.

“Can I finger you?” Suguru asked you sweetly. You looked down to see his handsome face at your core. The way his dark narrowed eyes locked with yours, and how his long hair messily fell in front of his face. Made you feel incredibly needy between your legs. It’s as if he had some sort of enchantment over you.

“Yes, but be gentle.” You blushed shyly while enjoying the way Gojo was massaging your plump ass cheeks. Satoru gave you a devilish sneer while he snaked the hand that was on your ass to your upper back. He expertly undid your bra with one hand, and your tits bounced free. Both Gojo and Geto eyed your breasts as if they were the most wondrous things they’d ever laid their eyes on.

Suguru then rested his mouth back onto your clit as he gingerly inserted the tip of his index finger inside of you. He went in ever so slowly until he was knuckles deep. Despite trying to relax, you couldn’t help but tense up at the stretch inside of you.

“It’s ok baby…” Suguru mumbled onto your clit, the vibrations from his voice felt scrumptious on your cunt. “Just relax. It’ll feel better soon.” He cooed as he gradually slid his finger out of you and it felt you could breathe again. But the time of having his finger out of you was short-lived when he stuck it back in lazily. This time the pain wasn’t as prominent, it helped that Geto was softly sucking your clit in the process.

Suguru knew that he’d have to prepare you thoroughly until the time came for you to take his and Satoru’s dick. The way your walls clenched around his finger, made his cock leak more precum down his shaft. He made sure to be extra careful with your virgin pussy when he started to pump his index finger into you at a quicker pace. As his plunging finger increased in speed you couldn’t help but feel excited. The ache of pain was still there, but you were able to move past that point. Now the natural sensation of pleasure was becoming more prominent.

“How does it feel?” Geto asked while giving your pussy sloppy kisses.

“It feels better.” You sighed, now being able to relax onto his mouth and hand a bit more easily.

“Good. Satoru, care to join me?” Suguru asked while taking his mouth off of your core, his lips were shiny from the mixture of your arousal and his saliva. Gojo perked his head up from off your thighs, you glanced down to see the masterpiece of hickeys he left on your thigh.

Satoru brought his right hand up to your face, “Suck ‘em.” He ordered and you obediently obliged. His pointer and index fingers invaded your mouth. You greeted his digits with your tongue as you sucked them off graciously. He playfully lodged his fingers down your throat, and to your surprise, you took them without a problem. Earning a pleased smile from the white-haired man. Once his fingers were well coated with your saliva, he removed them from your mouth. He placed his index finger at your entrance, right next to Geto’s.

“Ready?” Suguru asked you with a genuine smile.

You nodded anxiously, and with that, both men simultaneously inserted their pointer fingers inside of you. The stretch was more noticeable than Suguru’s single finger, which caused slight unpleasantness. However, the pain vanished once you started to focus on the erotic feeling have having both men finger you. You leaned back in the air to get more comfortable. You felt yourself saturate onto their pumping fingers, the extra lubricant helped them set into a faster rhythm. Small sighs of satisfaction escaped from your mouth once they sped up.

“Shit, she’s so wet.” Groaned Satoru as he shoved his finger into you extra deep, earning a sultry whine to come from you.

“Mmm, you like it when it goes deep?” Gojo muttered while deliberately pumping his finger into you while Geto pulled his finger out. This new sensation of their fingers repeatedly plowing into you, made you clench around them needily.

Geto’s finger in. Gojo’s finger out. Gojo’s finger in. Geto’s finger out. This rhythmic pattern collided into your core forcefully. You felt entirely euphoric at the overwhelming pleasure.

You felt Suguru’s free hand reach up to lightly caress your breasts. His fingers focused on your erect nipples as he teased and played with them. Satoru brought up his other hand to stroke your clit. He rubbed it around in little circles, causing you to become an overstimulated mewling mess. Having both men worship you felt incredibly sensual. Even though experiencing pleasure with more than one person is considered taboo, this entire situation felt entirely perfect.

“I need to taste her,” Gojo grunted as he removed his hands from your privates. Suguru leaned over to kiss your thigh, giving his friend a chance to eat you. Gojo didn’t pass up on the opportunity and dove right into you. He hungrily snacked on your dripping cunt, you felt his tongue slither along your lips. You tasted heavenly to him, he slurped up your wet arousal. He had a wicked tongue and plunged it into you at an incredibly fast speed. He flicked his tongue up inside of you, which caused more sparks of electricity to run through your veins. “Oh! Satoru!” You whimpered out. What had he just done?

You felt him smile cockily against your privates, “you like that?” He mumbled while keeping his blue glowing eyes locked with yours.

“Mhh-hmm.” You affirmed nodding your head. He zapped his tongue over that spot inside of you briefly, but then he teasingly pulled away. Earning an annoyed glare from you. “Keep going.” You whined, giving him your best pleading look.

“Oh?” Gojo hummed, as he gave your slippery cunt a ravishing kiss. “I think I want to hear you moan my name a couple more times before I do.”

“You’re arrogant Satoru.” Geto chided while leaving loving hickeys on your left thigh, mirroring Gojo’s.

“Shut the fuck up, and don’t be jealous when Y/n cums on my face instead of yours.” Satoru snarked as he plunged his tongue back into your pussy. He scooped his tongue inside of you, loving the way you’d squirm under his mouth.

“Mmh-Satoru…” You moaned when you felt him reach that delectable spot inside of you. He used a bit more force, which roused more pleasure within your core. “Gojo, please-“ he pounded his tongue against your G-spot relentlessly. You instinctively tried to close your thighs together, but both men between your legs prevented that. You had no idea that having Gojo eat you would feel so… incredible. Like a flash of lightning, you felt yourself release onto Satoru’s greedy tongue. He drank you enthusiastically while stroking his lengthy rod.

Suguru forcefully moved Satoru away from your core so he could steal a taste of your delicious nectar. His hot and skilled tongue easily slipped into your cunt. He slurped what was left of you and then he grabbed your waist and pulled you down into his lap.

“I can’t take it anymore, I need to be in her now.” Growled Suguru, as he positioned your petite body down to his raging dick.

Your body rejected his actions and hovered over to Satoru’s lap, “Who decided that you’d take her virginity? I want to.” Gojo retorted with an arched brow, as his iridescent eyes glowed blue. He possessively wrapped his arms around you.

Geto directed his attention towards you and gave you a heated kiss. “You want me to do it? Or him?” You could taste yourself on his lips.

Due to how buzzed and turned on you were, it honestly didn’t matter who did the deed at this point. “Someone just fuck me now. Flip a damn coin if you guys want.” Your soft voice spoke out in the steamy hotboxed room.

“Good idea.” Satoru purred, as he dug in his pocket to pull out a shiny silver coin. “If it’s heads I get to take her virginity, but you get to finish in her. If it’s tails you take her virginity and I get to cum in her.” Gojo exclaimed, then handing the coin over to you. “Care to do the honors babe?” He gently nibbled on the crook of your neck, earning delightful shivers to crawl up your spine.

You took the coin from Satoru’s large palm and flicked it with your thumb. It shot into the air vertically and you caught it with your right hand. You opened your palm to reveal, heads.

Satoru gave your waist a celebratory squeeze, “That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t get carried away Satoru,” Geto advised, rolling his eyes with a wry smile. He decided to prepare himself another blunt since he wouldn’t be enjoying you at the moment.

Gojo knew exactly what position he wanted you to be in when you took his dick for the first time. He shimmied his pants and boxers off, while simultaneously taking his shirt off. You felt his skilled hands then pull your wet underwear off and down your legs. He turned you around in his lap so you straddled him, like the way he had you before. You couldn’t help but admire his lean and toned body. You felt him rub the head of his cock against your slick entrance. However, instead of shoving it in like you were anticipating, he crashed his lips against yours feverishly. You kissed him back eagerly and held onto his broad shoulders for balance. His tongue tangled with yours passionately, all while you felt him slowly inch the head of his dick inside of you. This time it wasn’t as painful, probably because you got fingered thoroughly.

Excitement overcame your senses while the two of you made out, your needy little pussy wanted to feel more of Gojo’s long rod. Therefore, you lowered yourself a bit further down onto his sprung dick. Satoru gasped with surprise when you took the initiative, he was exceptionally pleased, to say the least. You felt his infamous smile against your lips as his left hand gripped your plump ass firmly. He was about two inches inside of you. Now you were able to feel the slight sting of being stretched. You pushed the feeling aside and felt confident enough to take more. Your breath hitched, and it felt like the room was getting hotter. You glanced over at Geto who eyed you seductively with the blunt between his lips. He was watching you two with a lustful expression as he lazily jacked himself.

“Anxious aren’t we?” Gojo hummed, enjoying the snug squeeze that surrounded the upper part of his cock. With his other hand, he gripped your waist a bit more securely and forcefully brought the rest of his length inside of you. Pain struck you like a slap to the face, he was much too big for you. You tried to cry out in discomfort but no sound came out. As a reaction to the strain, you dug your nails into his shoulders. Knowing you’ll leave little crescent marks behind.

“She’s so fucking tight.” Satoru hissed out in pleasure, fully relishing in your comforting tightness. His lips collided with yours, he made sure to not move in you just yet. He brought his face over to your ear and whispered, “How are you holding up? Does it hurt?” He said almost tauntingly, his shimmering blue eyes looked at you friskily.

“You’re too big.” You mewled pathetically; as soon as those words left your mouth you felt his dick twitch up inside you. Earning a small whimper to come from your throat.

“Oh, dear. Regretting the consequences of your actions? Want me to stop?” He cooed with fake sympathy while giving your neck some love bites.

Your cheeks blushed, “N-no…” You murmured, “I want to go through with this.”

“Good girl.” Satoru hummed in the crook of your neck. He then pulled away to study the desperate look on your face. “No need to be insecure, you just need a little time to… adjust.” He lifted your waist so his cock exited your body. The second his shaft was out of you, you felt so empty. He then brought you back down onto his dick swiftly, filling you up completely.

This time you let out a pain and pleasure mixed moan. Gojo repeated the action to you again, you noticed he entered your pussy much easier this time. He set into a rhythm of pulling out entirely, and then sliding back into you. Each thrust was more pleasurable than the last, you felt yourself instinctually moisten around his intruding cock.

“Mmh, you’re getting so wet for me.” Satoru groaned softly, “I bet you couldn’t get this wet for the guy you like.” Gojo sneered while bullying his rod inside of you with a bit more force. This time you both moaned out in delight.

“Why should it matter if I like another guy? I’m having sex with you aren’t I?” You retorted breathlessly with slight annoyance.

“Oh, so should I feel honored that you’re letting me dick you down? Must mean you like me or something.” Satoru grinned at you cockily with a playful glint in his eyes.

You blushed, “What, no...” You gasped and tried to look away shyly. In response, Satoru gripped your throat roughly and angled your jaw so you looked at him. When he wrapped his hand around your neck, you couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling. Your pussy subconsciously squeezed his dick inside of you.

Satoru felt that and smirked at you knowingly through his clouded gaze, “What’s his name?” Without warning, picked up the pace and began to rapidly bounce you onto his elongated dick. He watched the look on your face change into one of pure bliss as he fucked you ruthlessly. “Is it me?” His cock ramming into you persistently made it hard for you to focus. “Or Suguru?”

“N-no. I don’t want to tell you. Mmh… Satoru!” Having him fuck you so vigorously made you go dumb with pleasure.

“Tell me.” Gojo eyed you, while he shoved his length into your wet heat. Loud moans escaped your lips as his heavenly dick claimed your pussy.

“Mmh! So good….” Was all you could muster up, while he pounded you with ease.

“Tell me,” Satoru repeated himself with a hint of strain in his voice. The grip he had on your throat tightened as he bounced you on his shaft with impressive speed.

“Yes! Keep… going.” You whined out wantonly, you could feel your walls clench around his rod with appreciation.

“Only if you tell me,” Gojo grunted, his pumping dick became erratic as he chased after his sick pleasure. The thought of fucking you in front of his friend boosted his ego tenfold. He was in love with your sexy moans. Especially the way your slick and tight pussy felt, you took his dick so perfectly. He didn’t care if he made it obvious that he had deeper feelings for you. He knew if he fucked you good enough, you’d have no choice but fall for him. He’ll make you forget that other guy you liked.

The incredible ecstasy Satoru made you feel caused uncontrollable tears of desire to spill from your eyes. Never in your life have you felt such amazing euphoria. You could feel your release boiling to the surface.

“You cryin’?” Satoru mocked, while he relentlessly hammered his elongated dick up inside of you. “So it must be me then, huh?” He grunted with a smug look on his face. His white hair fell messily in his reddened eyes. Knowing that he had you crying because of his cock made pride well up in his chest.

All you could do in response was shake your head ‘no’. You didn’t want Satoru to know the truth, especially if he got it out of you in such a lewd manner. When you planned on confronting your feelings, you didn’t expect the truth to come out through a brutal fucking.

“Perhaps let me have a try? I think I can get the truth out of her.” Suguru spoke out, reminding you that he was still watching the both of you.

“Go ahead. I’m about to cum anyways.” Gojo traded you for the blunt that was in Geto’s fingers. He floated you off of his glorious dick without hesitation and directed your body over to Geto. You immediately missed the way Satoru was fucking you, but you were also looking forward to having Suguru inside of you.

Suguru reached up to embrace you on his lap sweetly. You noticed that he was still fully clothed. You hastily tugged at the hem of his shirt. He got the idea and popped his top off with a dashing smirk. You couldn’t help but blatantly admire his muscular physique.

Speaking your thoughts a quiet “fuck me.” Came from under your breath.

Geto was also cherishing your small naked body hovering over his, “You’re so impatient.” He eyed you while the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “If that’s what you want-” Suguru then lunged forward with you scooped up in his arms. He swiftly laid you down on the couch and situated himself between your thighs. “Then that’s what you’ll get.” Without warning he shoved his long and eager cock inside of your hot cunt.

The overwhelming feeling of being filled up made you arch your back in delight. “Oh! Yes!” You cried out in satisfaction.

Suguru groaned softly in your ear, you felt so slick and inviting for him. “You feel amazing.” He then gave the shell of your ear a tantalizing kiss.

Due to how saturated and horny you were, Geto didn’t have to hold back or wait for you to get used to his dick. He gently guided your legs over his shoulders and plowed into you furiously. His toned hips slapped against your smooth thighs, causing clapping sounds to fill the room. You two fit so well together, it’s as if your body was made for his.

“Shit, Satoru got you so fucking wet.” He hissed under his breath. Suguru never looked so handsome; the way his sultry narrowed eyes looked down at you with approval made you wetter if that was even possible. His long hair fell in front of his face to form a cascading curtain that shielded you from Satoru’s hungry gaze. Suguru surrounded you, his entire being dominated your senses, and you felt high off his glorious presence.

“It’s me isn’t it?” Geto muttered while bringing his hand down to your clit. He rubbed fast circles over your sensitive bud, making you writhe underneath him in delight.

“Oh! Suguru!” You whimpered out, the combination of his pumping rod inside of you and his teasing fingers made your pussy squelch him deliciously. Geto couldn’t help but let out a small groan of pleasure in return.

“I’m the guy you like, aren’t I?” He murmured while increasing his speed. You weren’t able to look away or avoid his gaze, so you closed your eyes and focused on his perfect dick. “Look at me,” Geto commanded as he slowed his thrusts down into sloppy ones. "Tell me you're mine."

With his speed dying down, it brought you back to reality. “I'm yours! Now, fuck me Suguru!” You whined, desperately moving your hips against his, yearning for more friction.

“I am.” He winked down at you with a devilish grin. He set into a steady rhythm of shoving his lengthy cock inside of you nice and deep. Even though his thrusts were prolonged, he still had so much power behind each one. Your whole body shook every time he came back into you.

You were able to hear the gushy slick sound of his dick entering and exiting from your cunt. If someone were to walk by the dorm’s door, they would know what exactly was going on. Those lewd noises filled the room along with the smoke from Satoru’s blunt.

“Satoru, her mouth looks like empty. Better come fill it.” Geto stated in a matter-of-fact tone, as he leaned back onto his knees. You immediately missed the closeness of having Suguru on top of you. But having Suguru pump into you at this angle was quite enjoyable. He kept your legs resting on his shoulders as he pounded into you vigorously.

Satoru got to his knees next to your head and brought his girth to your lips. “Open up dear,” Gojo asked almost sweetly, he gently placed his hands on your head and guided the head of his cock to your mouth. You opened for him and sucked his tip, you felt him push more of his length into your mouth. Soon enough he was down your throat while you choked on him. You did your best to calm your breath, but it seemed difficult. Especially when Suguru would ram into you forcefully, causing your whole body to move. Each thrust from Getou would make Gojo’s dick jostle in your throat roughly. It felt too suffocating, yet so arousing at the same time.

Gojo was much too big for you, and it didn’t help when you would feel his tip twitch down your throat with delight. “Keep it there. Just like that.” He groaned softly while eyeing you with ratification.

Geto’s thrusts began to get more erotic. He pumped his hips against the back of your thighs, causing loud slaps to echo through the room. His lengthy cock rammed into you persistently, you soon realized that you liked getting fucked rough. It felt extremely heavenly each time he slid back into you. You became breathless as he plowed into you rabidly.

You looked so ravishing in Suguru’s eyes, you took his dick excellently, all while deep-throating Gojo. He knew that you were on the verge of release, and wanted to make sure you came together. Yet, another side of him wanted to make things a little more interesting.

“If you cum within ten thrusts you gotta tell us who you like.“ Suguru instructed while admiring the way your breasts would bounce each time he plowed into you.

“Anh-m. I dnh-“ you tried to say through Gojo’s meaty dick. Satoru pulled his cock out of your comfortable throat, so the tip of his penis rested against your lips. His rod was slick with your saliva. “And if I don’t?” You flashed Geto a playful smile.

“Daring aren’t you? Trust me, you will.” Suguru chuckled, “But if you happen not to, then we can drop the question. And you can pick our punishment. Deal?”

“D-“ Satoru cut you off while he impatiently shoved his dick back in your throat. He loved the way he could see the outline of his penis in your neck.

“Sorry hun, but if you don’t swallow all my cum, then you’ll owe me another round at my place.” Satoru winked down at you flirtatiously.

“Mmh-hmm.” You hummed with agreement. Gojo then leaned forward to grab a hold of one of your nipples to tease.

“Okay let’s start the countdown.” Suguru stated with a hazed look in his eyes, “Ten…” He slammed his cock into your dripping cunt deliciously, causing you to moan onto Gojo’s dick shamelessly.

“Nine…” Suguru’s long fingers swiveled over your clit briskly, while he kissed your right ankle that was resting on his broad shoulder.

“Eight…” Geto��s thrusts were quick and decisive, making your pussy squelch him with an intense neediness.

“Seven…” He grunted out, Suguru was on the verge of release but he knew he could wait it out until you came first.

“Six…” Satoru’s left hand gripped your hair tightly, while his other hand was big enough to fondle both of your nipples at once; sending waves of delight to your core.

“Five…” Gojo fucked your throat with a sense of urgency now, he was getting close and couldn’t wait to feed you.

“Four…” Geto’s dick hit your G-spot with intense precision and your walls fluttered around him with ecstasy.

“Three…” So close, you were so close you were able to see stars. The stimulation from Suguru’s plunging dick and Gojo’s teasing fingers, made mewls of pleasure come from your throat and around Satoru’s girth.

“Two…” You couldn’t take it anymore, the way Suguru pounded against your sensitive spot relentlessly sent you over the edge and you drenched his cock in your release. You held nothing back and unleashed the waterfall that you held within you.

“One…” Geto groaned out, as he filled you to the brim with his seed. You were able to feel him shoot his massive load up against your cervix, knowing that it would reach your womb in no time.

“Shit… get ready to drink it all babe,” Satoru growled out while plunging his shaft down your throat one last time. His thrusting hips came to a stop as a copious amount of his juice filled your mouth. You felt his hot liquid squirt down your throat sporadically. You did your best to swallow it all, but his seed filled your mouth faster than you could drink. Small strands of his milky white cum slid out from the corners of your lips and down your chin quickly.

“Aww too bad, you were so close,” Geto uttered breathlessly, as he slowly pulled his length from your drenched cunt. He couldn’t help but watch in pride as his cum mixed with your release flooded out of your pussy like a burst dam. You felt it run down your bubbly ass cheeks and onto the couch cushions below you.

Satoru gingerly removed his softening cock from your mouth, his time well spent. “It looks like you owe me a round two back at my place.” He smirked down at you as he wiped some of his cum off of your chin with his thumb. He brought his finger to your mouth and you obediently licked it clean. His gaze was full of pride and approval. The redness in his eyes was less prominent, meaning he must be sobering up already.

“I look forward to it.” You eyed him briefly while hunching up on your elbows. Even though you lost both bets you felt as if you were on cloud nine.

“So do you still have feelings for that guy?” Suguru asked inquisitively, as he helped you sit up on the couch.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, “Yeah, I do.”

A flash of disappointment flickered in Satoru’s eyes, “even after that?” His voice sounded slightly insecure.

“As you said, I’ve lost interest in other men.” You glanced toward Getou’s warm gaze, then you shifted your sight over to Satoru, whose blue eyes glinted towards yours.

“So you like Suguru and I?” Gojo eyed you curiously.

You nodded hesitantly, “Yeah, the ‘guy’ I like is you two.” You nervously glanced between them both. “You’re not planning on using me, right?” You asked trying to hide the wavering in your voice.

“Of course not,” Satoru was quick to answer, “the truth is, shortly after getting to know you I admitted to Suguru that I wanted to be more than just friends with you. And he thought the same.”

Your heartbeat increased, “really?” Your mousy voice was barely audible.

“So I proposed an ultimatum,” Suguru replied, “because we both had deeper intentions with you… I felt like it would be fair if you decided which one of us you wanted to pursue. And we weren’t allowed to straight up ask you out or make a move on you, unless you did first.”

You let out a small laugh, “wow you two might’ve had to wait forever because of how timid I can be.”

Suguru chuckled and gripped your thigh softly, “Yeah, good thing we got you high enough to ask us how to kiss.”

“That’s right! All of this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t ask.” Satoru smirked while draping his arm over your shoulders comfortably.

You gave both men your gorgeous smile, “So as long as I can say I belong to you both, do what you want with me.”

Surugu leaned down to press his lips against yours, “You should’ve asked us how to kiss sooner.”

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